The Broken Man

by Brandon Jones

  “I’m a man of the God now, right? Let’s see if I can’t conjure a miracle.”

  * * *

  Epalli disliked dealing with Berden. He had been all over the Passbound cities, worked with men and women from every social status and walk of life, Governors and cabinet makers, plowboys and cold-blooded killers, but he had never worked with a more squeamish, uncomfortable, boring man than the Reverate Steward Han Berden.

  “You… You are positive? That this is wise, I mean,” Berden said. His eyes flitted about, as if there was some sinister danger lurking unseen in a corner. Epalli wanted to smack his pasty, cringing face.

  “Ah. Yes,” Epalli said instead. This was by far the most reputable bar Epalli had arranged for one of his meetings with Berden—well-lit and clean staffed. The only danger to Berden was the person sitting across from him. Epalli took another bite of the soft cheese to keep his hands busy. “Everything is proceeding as we discussed. The Oak boy ran home like a scared rabbit, as we said he would. He will be ordained Reverate within the day, if he has not already.”

  “That is … a good thing?”

  Epalli ignored the question and raised his hand to get the attention of a serving boy. “Ah, yes, I need something to drink. Whiskey, if you have it. And something hot to eat. Thank you.”

  “I mean, why does Riveran want Josen installed as the new Reverate at all? Wouldn’t it be far simpler to…” Berden swallowed hard. “To have Josen killed? Riveran would then be free to make a bid for the vacant stewardship, and with myself as the Arch Steward this season—”

  Epalli made a noise in the back of his throat and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, wondering if he shouldn’t have ordered a pair of whiskeys. Or a bottle.

  “I’m… It’s just an observation,” Berden continued, having apparently built as sort of anxious verbal momentum. “The whole thing seems rather convoluted.”

  “This is why Riveran has not asked you to engage in any of the planning or the scheming. We ask you only for simple things. Straightforward. Nothing convoluted, yes?”

  “But why?”

  The serving boy set down a short glass half full of amber liquid, and Epalli took a grateful sip.

  “Ah. Bring another, thank you,” he said to the boy, pressing a few coins into his hand, and then a few more than was strictly necessary. “Quickly, please.” Hopefully liquor would help keep him from strangling Berden. God’s tears, but that would be satisfying.

  Epalli forced the thought aside before it became overly tempting. “Because,” he said instead, “killing a single person without suspicion is a difficult thing, yes? And we would have to kill at least two more. The boy’s sister is far too competent and well liked to leave alive. She would have to die as well.” Epalli shook his head. “The winding route is sometimes safer. We cannot simply kill the Oak boy.”

  “Wait, two more?” Berden asked, eyes widening. “Who … you didn’t kill Bosch. Did you?”

  Epalli took another sip of the whiskey, relishing the burn as he held it in his mouth, and chose not to answer. “You will do as instructed, and the Oak boy will do our work for us. Give him a chance, and he will destroy himself and everyone around him.”

  Chapter 14

  “I can’t believe him!” Vale stopped lacing up her boots to stare at Kalen, who looked oddly happy.

  He sat in a chair in their room at the Oak family estate in Ceralon. Until recently they had lived in their own house, one she and Kalen had moved into together when they were first married. They had moved back into Vale’s childhood home a month ago to sell their house to begin repaying Kalen’s debts. Which wasn’t what they told people. When people mentioned it, Vale would say that she felt responsible for her family or some other such partial truth.

  “Believe who what?” Kalen asked.

  “Josen!” she said. “He just left! Today of all days.”

  “He’ll be back,” Kalen said.

  Vale shot him an annoyed glance.

  “I know that, you starving man,” Vale said. Josen had borrowed Lyona for the day, so Vale assumed he was coming back unless he was planning to hold the driver hostage. Vale snorted at the thought.

  “He said he would be back tonight,” said Kalen. “Something about business in Ludon.”

  “Don’t side with him.”

  Kalen shrugged. “Should I call Sam? He is going with you to the Basin today, isn’t he?”

  Vale shook her head, letting him change the subject as she finished lacing up her boots. “That’s not necessary. You don’t need—”

  “Come, Vale, love,” Kalen said in a gently chiding tone. “Keeping an assistant doesn’t make you any kind of incompetent.” He walked over to her and kissed her on the back of her head. “It makes you busy. Besides, what else is the boy to do? He’s here to help you. It’s his job. He’s been bored to tears for weeks.”

  “Fine,” Vale said with a sigh. “But I’m not waiting even one minute if he’s not ready.” The meeting with the Surveyor General would determine much of the success of the entire ceral season, and Vale wasn’t going to let anyone else foul it up. “Well?” she asked Kalen, who stood there, just grinning at her. “Kalen?”

  “Sorry,” he said, bending down to kiss her again. “I know you’re stressed. We’re going to be okay.”

  Vale let herself collapse into his chest, and Kalen put is arms around her. “How do you know?” she asked. “With Josen back, I get nothing. No title, no money. Nothing. That money was supposed to clear your debt. Our debt.”

  “It’s going to be okay,” Kalen said again. “I’ve been working on some new contacts who might be willing to partner with me on some short-term mercantile ventures. I’ll be making money again soon, love. And you certainly have a right to at least some of your family’s money. Explain it to Josen. I’m sure he’ll be happy to help.”

  Vale laughed. “You don’t know my brother.”

  Kalen frowned. “Well, no, but surely he wouldn’t—”

  “Oh, Josen would help. His idea of help would involve some wild ending with all of us in more trouble than when we started. Trust me, the last thing we want is Josen helping, no matter how good his intentions might be.”

  Kalen looked at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. “Okay,” he said. “I trust your judgement.” He kissed her again. “You should go. I’ll fetch Sam.”

  “Mistress Vale, I’m sorry,” Sam said as he rushed into the room a bare moment later. He balanced a walking meal on a tray, Vale’s jacket and vest under one arm and a mess of papers under the other—estate reports and the morning’s news. “Your vest, the one you wanted, was just done at the laundry, and I was getting breakfast, I—” He set the tray down and nearly lost the papers, then almost knocked the tray over as he fumbled for the papers. Vale managed to catch the tray and took the papers from Sam, suppressing a smile. He was a nice enough boy, for all his teenage clumsiness.

  “No reason to be sorry, Sam. It’s not your job to make sure I put my pants on straight,” she said, letting Sam help her into the vest and jacket—fine Binovine wool in shades of grey. She liked the boy, who she had hired at the end of last season, after her father’s accident. Just shy of eighteen, Sam had grown close to four inches in the last six months and stumbled around like his bones weren’t all the way solid yet, but he was bright and hardworking. He was a dark-haired, olive-skinned Pomish, the twenty-sixth son of a wealthy shepherd in Pomay. Vale had thought the boy was exaggerating when she had first asked Sam about his family. Turned out his father was among the minority of Pomish who still practiced polygamy—the man had eight wives, thirty-one sons, and twenty-two daughters.

  Vale couldn’t help but feel like she had rescued the poor kid. Her own father had been far from perfect, but at least he had been able to remember Vale’s name.

  “Anything going on I should know about this morning?” she asked as they walked together out the door.

  “Not really,” Sam said, flipping through his papers. “A
nother new invention from Kendai ‘that will change the world.’”

  Vale rolled her eyes. “What is it this time?” Vale asked.

  “I can’t even tell. An ‘engine,’—whatever that is—that involves boiling water or something. The article claims the machine will eventually replace horses, though by the drawing, it doesn’t look like there’s anywhere comfortable to sit. I don’t understand half of what they write in those invention articles. Umm…” Sam paused, glancing through his notes. “People are expecting another shortage of light rods from Jurdon.”

  “And speculation is driving the price up more than the shortage would.”

  Sam shrugged and moved on. “Rumblings from the Chessian Revolutionary movement, but nothing new there. Nothing worth taking seriously. Let’s see… Some mid-level Deferate in Ludon was arrested last night. Deferate Parose. Conspiracy to counterfeit, misuse of holy items—whatever that means—and accepting bribes.”

  “Idiot,” Vale said through a mouthful of toast. “He deserves whatever he gets. Is that it?”

  “Yeah,” Sam said, “unless you count the ‘escalation’ in the feud between the Aristonia and Governor Alzeer.” Sam made no effort to hide the scorn in his voice.

  Vale shook her head, unsurprised. It had been nearly forty years since Chessia, the capital of Chessay, had accepted the Church’s demands and became an official part of the Passbound Union, and Pomay still refused to get along with her sister country to the south. “Escalated past idle threats and name calling?” Vale asked. It couldn’t have escalated much—neither country would risk losing its status in the Union, as much for the trade revenue as access to cheap ceral.

  “A new level of name calling. According to Governor Alzeer, the Aristonia’s mother was fond of—”

  “God’s tears, don’t. Your mothers would kill me if they found out I asked you to repeat that kind of filth.”

  “Some of them. The others might join in,” Sam said with a smirk.

  “Still. Hurry up. I don’t want to keep Fairhill waiting.” She just needed to get this over with. She would feel better, knowing what kind of a season to expect after the meeting. Josen could starve. Vale would keep doing what she had for years now—her brother’s job.

  A short carriage ride through Ceralon took them to the Ceral Basin Pass. Unlike the other Passes to any of the Passbound cities—which were all set on the bluffs overlooking Ceralon—the Basin Pass was in the middle of the city, near the Temple of the Faceless God. A pair of low level Deferate Carters acting as guards at the Basin Pass nodded to Vale as she and Sam stepped out of their carriage. One of them stayed standing formally to one side of the ramp leading down into the pass itself. The other stepped into the small guard house to retrieve the activation rod, which he handed to Vale a moment later.

  “Here you are, Mistress. That’ll get the mist up for you.”

  “This is good for two?” Vale asked, holding up the rod. She shifted the opaque glass rod in her hand, judging the weight. It was just longer than her hand and as thick as a pair of fingers, though it seemed to weigh less than it should for glass.

  “Yessir,” the Deferate nodded. “Er, ma’am.”

  “Very good,” Vale said, ignoring the slip. “Ready, Sam? Keep close.” Vale stepped past the guard and walked down the ramp into the pass. Sam hurried on her heels, the shoulder bag he carried bouncing on a knee as he did.

  Unlike when she made trips to one of the Passbound Cities, there was no pool of mist waiting for her as she descended into the pass. Instead, it rose out of the ground as they walked, forming a pocket of mist that swelled and swallowed both of them. The familiar sense of disorientation followed, like the ground under her rotated, like she was changing directions without turning, like…

  The pocket of mist broke, revealing the Ceral Basin. She walked out of the Pass and onto the Ceral Basin Plateau at the edge of the Upper Basin City. Two more Deferates stood at either side of the pass ramp, just as on the Ceralon side.

  “Flood check today, eh?” asked one of them, a wide man with a short blond beard. The pair was dressed like the two on the other side, but with jackets and even a few shirt buttons undone to help combat the heat of the day. Part of her, the parts that were suddenly sweat soaked and sticking to her shirt, wished she could shrug off her jacket and open her shirt a bit more. She would do no such thing, of course.

  “Indeed. Has the Surveyor begun?” Vale asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Aye, Reverate Fairhill came through early this morning,” the guard said, motioning back toward the pass. “The Reverate was visitin’ the other three first, I believe.”

  “That’s what I was told,” Vale said. “But I have plenty of other matters to attend to.”

  “No doubt. Always somethin’. Ma’am,” the Deferate said with a nod.

  “Gentlemen.” She returned the nod, walking toward the edge of the plateau. She could wait there until Fieldmaster Montiel came with horses.

  The edge was only a few dozen yards from the Pass. Vale rested her hands on the short fence that had been erected there and surveyed the Basin. The yearly flood that turned the Basin floor into a shallow lake each spring had mostly receded. That was good. In the distance, she could see that the Galant and the Blackwater rivers had receded back to their normal channels everywhere except immediately surrounding the merger of the rivers. That land would remain wet and swampy well into the summer.

  “Ah, Vale,” a voice called from behind her—a voice that, unfortunately, did not belong to the Fieldmaster. Vale took a deep breath that was not nearly as calming as she would have liked and turned to face Arch Reverate Berden.

  “It is good to see you,” Berden said from atop his horse, an over-pleased smile splitting his face. He wiped his dirt-stained hands on his pants and leaned down to offer one to her in greeting. “I assumed I would see you here today.” He gripped her hand more firmly than necessary. Berden was unique among the Stewards in his insistence in participating in the physical labor of farming ceral, rather than acting only as an administrator. The work kept him more fit than most despite being thirty years Vale’s senior, and Berden never passed up an opportunity remind others. He made no secret of his loathing of his fellow Stewards for ‘their profane apathy.’ Now, his eyes danced with a kind of mirth that made Vale want to like writhe like an exposed earthworm. Or punch his smug mouth. She resisted both urges.

  “Reverate Berden,” Vale said, as respectfully as she could manage. Berden’s presence, his self-assured superiority, had the effect of making Vale want to strangle things named Berden.

  “I assume you are on your way to meet Fairhill?” Berden asked.

  “Indeed,” Vale said. “And I’d rather not keep him waiting.” She made to move past Berden, but Berden shifted to block her way. Vale’s eyes filled with resentment and contempt and flashed up to lock with Berden’s. “If you don’t mind,” Vale said.

  Berden ignored the request and kept smiling that vicious smile. “I am surprised,” he said slowly, “that the Reverate isn’t here for such an important meeting. How is he? Your brother, I mean.” Berden’s smile grew, impossible as it seemed.

  That’s what has him so tickled, Vale realized. This went beyond his normal condescension; this was unashamed joy at Vale’s suffering. The starving, leathery bastard.

  “I don’t have time to chat right now, Berden” Vale said. She was in no mood for this.

  “A shame,” Berden said, though his eyes disagreed. “Well, I wish you luck. My own survey went well this morning. The floods were excellent this year. I’ll be able to plant on seventy-eight percent of my holdings this year, and from what Fairhill said, your holdings may have fared even better.”

  “Oh,” Vale said, taken back by the news. The forecasts had boded well, but... “Thank you. Safe passage to you.” Vale’s mind was already elsewhere. If the floods had risen high enough to bless over three quarters of Berden’s land… That was more arable land than Berden had planted in years.
The Oak estate should have fared at least as well, if not better.

  “And to you,” Berden said. He swung down from his horse and walked back toward the Pass, handing the horse off to a stable boy.

  Montiel moments later, trotting a pair of horses behind his own.

  “God’s jangling jowls,” Montiel said as he swung down from his horse, eliciting a snort of laughter from Sam. “Sorry I’m late. I’m too starvin’ old for this crap,” he said, his Jurdish accent making him sound for all the world like he had mud in his mouth. He wiped the sweat from his dark, bald head with a cloth he pulled from the back pocket of a sturdy set of work pants—linen to help combat the hot Basin weather.

  “Is that so?” Vale asked.

  “It is exactly so. Near to dead, as I reckon. Liable to keel over any time now. And wipe that smirk off your face, young lady.” He stopped, giving her an odd look. “Come now, you’ll take all the fun out of me scolding you off if you keep on lookin’ like someone switched your beer for buffalo water.”

  “I’m sorry, Master Montiel,” Vale said. “It’s been an odd few days.”

  “Ah. I’ve heard.” Montiel gestured for them to mount up. “Where’s your brother, then?” he asked as the three of them kicked their horses into a walk and pointed them toward the Estate. Sam rode back behind them, close enough to hear if she called.

  “Who knows?” Vale said, riding beside the Fieldmaster. He had been with her family for as long as Vale could remember. Montiel was a close family friend and invaluable advisor in all things related to the Ceral Basin and ceral farming.

  “Do you need to talk about it?” Montiel asked hesitantly.

  “No. God’s tears, no.”

  Montiel looked relieved.

  They rode for a long while without speaking, working their way around the perimeter of the plateau toward the Oak estate. Vale tried not to brood and failed. She stared over the edge of the plateau, glad that Montiel seemed to be willing to ride in silence for now. She could see down onto the plains immediately surrounding the Upper City, what would become the Lower Basin City over the next few weeks.