The Kalis Experiments

by R A Fisher

  Thirty minutes later, the box was open. There was a leather sack crammed with two hundred Three-Sides, including more than a few stamped with the Sun-and-Moon of N’narad. There was also a thick ledger, which she began to thumb through.

  The numbers were in order, or so it seemed at first. Expenses of production and materials were right in line with what she’d expected, considering Skaald’s troubles with the Corsairs. But the profits from sales were low despite the high production costs from what looked like a large number of custom orders. The more she read, the more she realized that the amount of product shipped to Fom vastly outweighed the profits coming in. Someone down there was getting a hell of a deal, which solved one mystery and created another. Either Lees was fudging his numbers to avoid paying taxes, or he was shipping a sizable chunk of his merchandise to Fom for free. Especially the special orders—advanced stuff, from what Syrina could tell by looking at the ledger—seemed to be going out with no one paying for them.

  The N’naradin importer listed in Fom was a woman named Stysha N’nareth. There was a good chance she wouldn’t know anything about the missing parts or money even if Syrina ever made it to Fom to ask her, but it was worth remembering the name just in case.

  There was another name in the ledger that stood out, too. An accountant in Eheene—Ehrina Ka’id. Syrina knew of her. Ka’id was a big player in Eheene. She worked for many local politicians, and Syrina was willing to wager the woman had at least an inkling that something shady was going on with Lees.

  Syrina spent the rest of the night going over the numbers, but that was all there was. Enough to confirm Ormo’s suspicions that Lees was up to something, but not enough to know what it was. The simplest explanation was tax evasion, but something about that theory didn’t quite sit right. It seemed too elaborate. There were easier ways of not paying taxes for a man as connected as Xereks Lees.

  What troubled her even more was that Ormo would’ve already known most of the details in the ledger before he sent her in. She tried to ignore the spark of anger that lit in her belly. She shouldn’t care. She was his Kalis. He could tell her to do anything he wanted, and he didn’t need to explain himself to anyone, least of all her.

  A little after midnight, Triglav came into the drainage chamber. He’d caught a rat somewhere, and he perched on a stump of crumbling clay pipe, holding its limp form in his beak a moment before tipping his head back and gulping it down whole. When he finished, he turned his attention back to Syrina and gazed at her with his big questioning eyes. She watched him eat and thought about all the little things that weren’t adding up. She kept going back to Lees’s supposed Syndicate backing. If Ormo was going to sick her or another Kalis on Lees—or any of the names she’d found in the ledger—he needed some serious evidence that misdeeds were being done. The ledger told the story without revealing the plot or most of the characters.

  Anyway, if Ormo asked Syrina to make a ledger look like money or materials were disappearing in Fom, she’d have one for him in fifteen minutes. She could even make one up in Lees’s own handwriting in a couple hours, as long as she had a sample of the real thing to work off of. If this was the only evidence Ormo took to the other High Merchants, he’d be shamed out of the Syndicate and then assassinated. The ledger by itself couldn’t be used as evidence. Just as well, since it was too risky to keep.

  The next morning, she hammered the lock on the box with a rock until it broke, put the ledger back in it, and ditched it under one of the piers where someone would find it after the tide went out again. She left the money in the muck in the drainage chamber to give to Ormo next time she saw him.

  She waited until her arm was working again a few days later. The flesh between the tattoos was pink and raw, but the lines had re-entwined over the scars, and the bones were straight and solid-feeling. Her shoulder was still sore. The bolt had cut deeper than she’d thought, and she must’ve fractured something else when she swung her arm around on the other side of the Papsukkal Door. At least the limb wasn’t a target anymore. In the meantime, she sat in the drainage chamber and watched Triglav sleep. She was glad he was there.

  She was down to two possibilities outside of going to Fom, which, thanks to the Church of N’narad, would add complications she didn’t cherish dealing with. The accountant Ehrina Ka’id, and Lees himself. Lees obviously knew what he was doing, and Ka’id did insofar as much as it was her job to keep track of it, numbers-wise. She probably didn’t know anything she didn’t have to. After all, the damning ledger was at Lees’s office, in Lees’s handwriting. Still, Ka’id would be too smart to not realize something underhanded was going on. She’d also be smart enough to pretend she didn’t see it.

  There wasn’t anyone else. Even if Orvaan knew all the dirty details about his boss, he wouldn’t rat, and he probably knew very little anyway. He was a hired goon, and good goons stayed ignorant of their employer’s business.

  In the end, poking more around Lees and going to Fom were both beehives she didn’t want to jab sticks into, at least not until she’d run out of all other options. So it was back to the accountant.

  Syrina decided she’d pay Ka’id a visit.

  5

  Accountants

  That night, Syrina moved back into the city proper and checked into a hotel called the Mercantile Oasis as an exporter named Rina Saalesh. She’d used Rina before, building the woman’s history and reputation over the past five years as someone she could use to interact with the upper echelon of Skald society without drawing attention to herself. As a result, Rina Saalesh was a name almost everyone in the higher social circles had heard of, but almost no one had met. It was rumored, however, that Rina was quite eccentric and fabulously wealthy, and it was well known that she preferred to do business in person.

  The Mercantile Oasis was the most opulent hotel in Eheene, consisting of five floors of rough-hewn volcanic glass. The ceilings were each two stories high. From the street, it was a black obelisk that towered above the white marble townhouses around it. Doorways and windows were framed in pillars of white marble, carved with angular, abstract patterns. Within, above windows and doors jutted white marble hands, lither and more stylized than the ones in the Syndicate Palace, palms upturned, holding their steady gas flames. Naphtha lamp chandeliers made the black walls of the lobby and hallways glitter like stars.

  Rina got a room on the third floor with a perfect view of the Walk of Bridges. Her balcony overlooked granite dikes sculpted like plants and fish, slowing the violent spring runoff into a series of soothing waterfalls, cleaned every week by indentured laborers from the District. Pink cherry blossoms freckled the eddies beneath the eves of the marble buildings, while couples sauntered over the delicate arches, glittering with jewelry and bright spring fashions, pausing to watch the water and steal kisses when they thought no one was watching.

  The room faced south, and it received all the glory of the sun and the Eye. The floor was planked with polished, golden pine, and the rough stone walls were blanketed with tapestries woven in bright, intricate patterns bearing some version of the Spiral. The huge bed was draped in velvet and supported by four posts of dark wood that almost reached to the ceiling, which was covered in an abstract mural of pale interlocking shapes. Both the washbasin and the sunken tub were filled by a hidden tank which was refilled daily and heated with a naphtha flame that could be adjusted by a brass chain hanging from the ceiling.

  The first night, Triglav tapped on the window until Rina padded over and opened it. He hopped onto her shoulder, gave her a quick nuzzle of greeting, then flapped up to stare at her from the top of a bed post. The tops of his black, ear-like feathers brushed the ceiling.

  Rina spent the next week mingling with the upper class. She never came across Ka’id and found out that she was as rare a sight as Rina, even at the trendiest parties. She also learned that the accountant was from N’narad, but Syrina had already guessed that from the woman’s name. From Pom, to be exact. Not to be confused with Fom,
the biggest city on Eris, but Pom, the small but well-off port town across the sea of N’narad from Fom, on the Island. Rumor had it that most of Ka’id’s clients had dealings with the Church on some level. By itself, that was far from suspicious. Ka’id was from there, spoke the language like the native she was, and was versed in the complex laws that governed trade between the Empire of N’narad and the merchants of Skalkaad.

  The accountant was single, though she had two daughters, both grown and off to their own lives, and it was common knowledge that she preferred women over men, in business and personally. She managed accounts not just in Eheene, but all over Skalkaad, including, it was whispered, those under direct ownership of one or more of the Fifteen. Everyone said she was distressed by the break-in at Lees’s and the subsequent murder of three guards, but then, so was everyone else.

  Of course, none of that came from Ka’id herself, and most of it came from people who seemed more interested in looking like they knew Ka’id than telling Rina what the woman was like. It was time to track down the accountant herself.

  Rina emerged from the Mercantile Oasis a half-hour before noon. She wore a black and cobalt high-collared dress highlighted in red. It hung from her compact figure and folded at the shoulders in a way that gave her the casual impression of being larger than she was. Three black stone hairpins carved like snakes held the black hair piled on her head, leaving a few curls to trace down from her temples and over her ample breasts.

  She summoned a palanquin since the noisy steam cars weren’t allowed in the city center, save those used by the High Merchants themselves. It was an hour-long trip, and she reclined on the silk pillows, enjoying the ride. She opened the gossamer curtains as far as they could go so she could bask in the slanted sunlight. It was cold outside, more like late winter today than spring, but hidden naphtha burners kept the interior cozy. Eight tall men carried the palanquin, clothed in white linen but still drenched in sweat under the weight of the conveyance. The entire thing was gilded in polished tin and bronze that had been worked into fine abstract swirls that ran about the lower half. The compartment was all high crystal windows and warm polished wood.

  She watched the sunlight dapple the flagstones. Passers-by greeted her with looks of curiosity coupled with either disdain or envy, but they were too busy earning their own tin to give her more attention than that. Outside of the Foreigner’s District, there was no poverty in Eheene, only varying degrees of wealth. Even servants were well-provided for since by law, they had to be citizens to live in the city proper.

  Her route meandered down the widest boulevards to the financial district. Her behemoth of a palanquin wouldn’t fit through any of the narrow, more direct routes, and she crossed a dozen of the twenty-five canals that slashed through Eheene before she reached her destination. Each one signaled the path over it with a faint metallic oozing scent, so she was aware of their progress even when her thoughts wandered from the view. The breeze blew from the west today, so the stench from the steamships waiting in the harbor was blessedly absent.

  Ka’id’s office was in the Third Merchant’s Trust and Depository Bank, which was one of five companies in the area that catered to businesses dealing with N’naradin finance and law. The front of the building was three stories of sheer windowless white marble that gleamed in the sun until it was hard to look at.

  Two of Rina’s bearers helped her down from the box, and she tipped their open palms with a kiss each. They thanked her generosity with scowls, but she was already making her way up the short wide stairs, hobbled but still graceful in the clinging dress. She shuffled to Ka’id’s office after the receptionist absentmindedly pointed the way. She ignored his pleading calls to her back that she needed an appointment, too late realizing his mistake, and burst in on Ka’id while she was writing letters. Rina introduced herself in the doorway as security appeared to escort her out, and her reputation paid off. Ka’id waived the guards away and gestured for Rina to sit down across from where she sat at a polished wood desk, dark and mesmerizingly grained. The walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling, and the afternoon light glowed through the tall arched window behind Ka’id’s winged leather chair.

  Ka’id was a pleasant woman, younger than Syrina expected for someone of her status and with two grown children. Her hair was brown and pulled back in a taut braid that started at the nape of her neck and ended at the small of her back. She was plump and smelled of vanilla. Her nose was small. Her eyes were soft and brown, wise and kind. Eyes people liked to trust.

  “So you’re the infamous Rina Saalesh,” Ka’id said, voice pleasant. Her smile was almost shy.

  “And you’re the famous accountant, Ehrina Ka’id.” Rina smiled back and gave a nod of greeting from where she still lingered in the doorway.

  Ka’id laughed. “If accountants can be famous.”

  It was Rina’s turn to chuckle. “If they can be famous anywhere, it is in Eheene.”

  “I must confess,” Ka’id said after another light, pleasant laugh. “Though I’ve heard your name, I’m ignorant to the type of business you’re in and what reason you might have to honor me with your intrusion.”

  Rina gave an apologetic little bow. “Up until recently, my dealings have been with Valez’Mui. Sculpture and raw stone.”

  “Ah, that would explain why we’ve never met.”

  “Yes. That, and because we’re both bored to tears by the society gatherings that neither one of us attend.”

  Ka’id smiled, leaned back in her chair, and gestured for Rina to continue.

  “It’s why I’ve come to you now.” Rina finally took the invitation to sit and settled on one of the two simple plush brown chairs placed opposite the desk. “I do apologize for showing up without an appointment like this. I realize how irritating it must be, so I’ll get to the point. I’ve come into some foreign machine parts I’ve not had many dealings with before, and I wanted to know more about the legalities of unloading such things in Fom, as well as find someone to handle my accounts. I’d like to get rid of them as quickly as possible. And yes, I know that’ll affect the price. But quickly, and you are a difficult woman to get an appointment with. Hence, my reason for barging into your office and interrupting your affairs.”

  Ka’id nodded through the soliloquy and studied the other woman in silence for a moment. “Your reputation for spontaneity precedes you. It’s true that better prices can be found in N’narad, but even in a hurry, such things can take time. Could you be more specific on what sort of merchandise you have?”

  “So you’ll take me on as your client?”

  Ka’id shrugged. “You’re still here. I’m still listening. Let’s leave it at that for now.”

  “I obtained them from a Ristroan airship wreck off the north coast of the Upper Peninsula.” Rina settled in, crossing her legs and draping her arm across the back of the empty chair next to her, pleased to tell a story. “I got lucky. Twice. First, that we survived the storm at all. And then there it was, dashed against the cliffs that would’ve been our fate had the squall lasted another thirty minutes. Quite the nightmare to scavenge it, but we waited for low tide and picked our way on foot. In the end, I only lost two men, and them only because of their own foolishness.”

  As she spoke, Rina let her gaze fall across Ka’id’s desk. Several letters were lying in a stack face down, and Ka’id flipped each one over long enough to fold and seal with blue wax, bending them toward her so the other woman wouldn’t be able to get more than the briefest glance of their contents. Rina watched without much interest.

  “What did you recover?” Ka’id dribbled wax onto the last letter and pressed her seal into it.

  “Some parts from their engines—tarfuel driven. Or something close to it, according to my engineer. A couple weapons—those fire-thrower things you’ve no doubt heard they sometimes use. A few items from their cargo, which nobody could identify that may or may not be valuable.”

  Ka’id raised her eyebrows. “Well, the part
s are all right, and they’ll fetch a good price. I may even already have a buyer, in fact. I can look into it. The weapons though…”

  “Oh, no, no.” Rina laughed and shook her head. “I won’t be selling those in N’narad. I plan to keep them myself. For my own people.”

  “Well, there’s no law against that.” Ka’id smiled.

  “Does that mean you’ll assist me?”

  “We can work together. Of course, I’ll need all the details before we can hash out a contract, but I don’t see why not. I’m afraid I’ll have to take forty percent.”

  “Forty?” Rina froze where she’d half-stood to shake on the agreement.

  “Yes. Twenty for the accounting services, and another twenty if I’m the one that finds you a buyer.”

  “Ah, I see. Well, I hear you’re worth it, but I’ll need to think about it.”

  “Of course. I’m sure you’ll find that you’ll still make a tidy profit. More than you would unloading them anywhere in Skalkaad after the add-tax on acquired or found merchandise. Let me know when you decide. You know where to find me. Although, if you wouldn’t mind, make an appointment next time. I do tend to be out of the office a lot. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure Tiab knows to squeeze you in at your earliest convenience.”

  “Thank you.” Rina stood. “Once again, my deepest apologies for the intrusion.”

  “Think nothing of it. If it leads to profit, I can’t complain.”

  Rina lingered in the doorway a moment longer, looking around the room until Ka’id stood under the guise of courtesy and escorted her out.

  On Syrina’s ride back to the Oasis, she leaned back and closed her eyes to let the images of the letters she’d been able to glimpse well-up from where she’d stored them. She hadn’t been able to see them all, but there was a handful she’d been able to mentally file away. They came to her upside-down, just as she’d seen them, so she turned them around one by one until they stood against her closed eyes. Most were irrelevant personal and business correspondences, interesting to someone looking for juicy gossip or blackmail, but useless to her. One, though, looked lucky.