The Ambassador’s Mission: Book One of the Traitor Spy Trilogy (31 page)

“We do.” She named a price that raised Gol’s eyebrows.

“We’ll have it,” Cery told her.

The girl nodded politely and left the room. Turning to the window, Cery opened the screen again and glanced outside. The street was busier now.

“Should we convince Makkin the Buyer to help us?” Gol asked. “He’s already scared of her so it won’t make her suspicious if he acts a bit nervous.”

“He’s the sort that’ll cooperate with whoever he’s most scared of,” Cery replied. “If he knows she has magic he’ll be more scared of her than us.”

“She sent him out of the room before she opened the safe. That suggests to me he doesn’t know she has magic.”

“Yes, but …”

Gol hissed. Cery looked at the man and found him staring out of the window.

“What?”

“Is that her? In front of Makkin’s shop.”

Cery spun back to the window. A stooped woman had stopped in front of the shop. Her hair was streaked with grey. For a moment Cery was sure Gol was mistaken – so much so that he was about to tease him – then the woman turned her head to survey the street. He felt a shiver of recognition.

He looked at Gol. Gol stared at him. Then they both looked down at the wraps they were wearing.

“I’ll go,” Gol said. “You watch.” He leapt over to the pile of clothes he’d removed and hastily began to dress. Cery turned back to the window and watched as the woman entered the shop.

His heart was hammering. He felt every muscle in his body slowly tense, and counted every breath.

“She still in there?”

“Yes,” Cery replied. “Whatever you do, don’t let her see you’re following her. Even if you have to pay someone to—”

“I know, I know,” Gol said impatiently. Cery heard him open the door. At the same time he saw the door to the shop open and the woman stepped out.

“She’s leaving,” he said.

Gol didn’t reply. Cery turned to find the big man gone and the door swinging open. He looked back down into the street and caught a glimpse of the woman just before she moved out of view. A moment later Gol appeared. Cery breathed a sigh of relief as his friend and bodyguard headed in the same direction, his steps confident.

Take care, old friend
, Cery thought.

“Um … sorry for the wait.”

He turned to find the bathhouse girl standing in the doorway. Her eyes shifted from him to the window screen then to the floor. Cery closed the screen and stood up.

“The bath is ready?”

“Yes.”

“Good. My friend had to leave. Take me to the bath.”

Her shoulders drooped at the loss of a customer, then she gestured for him to follow and led him out of the room.

A
s the slave whimpered, his head squeezed between the large hands of Ashaki Tikako, Dannyl couldn’t help wincing. Though Dannyl had never had his mind read by a black magician, if the reaction of this man’s slaves was anything to go by, he gathered it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

Tikako gave a gasp of anger and frustration and thrust the slave away. The man fell back onto a shoulder, then scrambled away on all fours as his master shouted at him to leave. The slaves kneeling nearby, waiting their turn to be questioned, hunched as the Ashaki’s attention turned to them.

There weren’t many slaves left. Dannyl had counted over eighty so far. None of them had produced any useful information about Lorkin and Tyvara. They couldn’t even confirm if Tyvara had ever spoken to anyone within the estate.

The master’s finger jabbed, and a young woman reluctantly came forward, shuffling on knees reddened from long contact with the rough stone pavement. Tikako grabbed her head before she had even settled before him. Her brows knit together, and Dannyl could not help holding his breath and hoping she would prove to be holding the secret to Lorkin’s whereabouts, even if that did mean she would probably be killed for not coming forward with the information when her master first demanded it.

After a long pause Tikako stared at her, then with a wordless roar of fury he half lifted, half tossed her away from him. Her eyes flew open as he sent her flying across the room. She crashed into one of the large pottery jugs spaced along the walls, from which pretty, flowering plants spilled. Rising to a sitting position, she blinked slowly, her eyes glazed.

Dannyl bit back yet another curse.
The brutality of these people. They like to think they are so dignified, with all their rituals and hierarchy, but underneath they still are as cruel as the histories have always described them.
After today, Dannyl knew he would not easily forget why the Sachakans were so feared, even when his hosts were being perfectly respectful and well mannered. It was not the power they held that made them cruel, but their willingness to use it to dominate those weaker than themselves.

The girl had not risen to her feet. Nor had any of the other slaves moved to help her. As Ashaki Tikako called another slave, Dannyl slipped away from Ashaki Achati’s side and approached her. She blinked at him in surprise, then looked down quickly as he crouched at her side.

“Let me see that,” he said. She passively bowed her head as he examined the back of her skull. It was bleeding and starting to swell. He placed a hand against the wound and concentrated, sending magic to heal the wound. Her eyes widened, and her gaze cleared.

“Better?” he asked, as he finished.

She nodded, then leaned closer to him.

“The ones you seek are gone,” she told him in a quiet voice. “He is dressed as a slave now, his skin dyed to look like us. They are taking a cart to the master’s country estate to the west.”

“Do you mean … ?” Dannyl began. But she shook her head slowly, as if trying to clear it, and backed away from him.

“Don’t waste your power, Ambassador.” Dannyl looked up to see Ashaki Tikako smirking at him. “She won’t cost much to replace.”

Dannyl rose to his feet. “Saving you even a little money is the least I can do after you spent so much time and effort questioning your slaves.”

“Without much success, I admit.” Tikako sighed and regarded the last five slaves. He beckoned wearily, his anger now turned to resignation.

As the master began to read their minds, Dannyl moved back to Ashaki Achati’s side. The man gave him a questioning look. Dannyl shook his head slightly. He couldn’t tell Achati what he’d learned within hearing of Tikako. If Tikako learned that the slave had managed to conceal something from his mind-read he would be humiliated. The slave would be questioned again, and possibly killed. That was hardly a nice way to repay her for the information.

Though it is possible it was a decoy.
Dannyl frowned.
Why not tell her master when he first asked for information, then? If she did not want him to know, why did she tell me? Is her master working with the woman who abducted Lorkin?

Whatever the reason, clearly the Sachakan mind-reading method wasn’t as thorough as they thought it was. Ashaki Tikako sent the last slave away and turned to Dannyl and Achati. He apologised for failing to find Lorkin. Yet there was a defensive tone to his voice. He felt vindicated. None of his slaves had been hiding fugitives. None had lied about knowing nothing.

Or perhaps they did know, and he pretended to find nothing to protect his pride and honour – or involvement in the abduction.

Achati seemed satisfied, however. He thanked Tikako and told him his assistance would be rewarded. Soon he and Dannyl were walking back to the carriage, farewelling their host and climbing inside. Achati’s two slaves, both young men, looked relieved to be leaving.

When the vehicle had rolled out through the gates to Tikako’s mansion, Achati turned to Dannyl, his forehead creased with worry.

“I don’t know where to go next, I have to confess. I—”

“Westward,” Dannyl told him. “Lorkin is dressed as a slave now, and he and Tyvara are in a cart heading for Ashaki Tikako’s country estate.”

Achati stared at him, then smiled. “The slave girl. She told you this?”

“Yes.”

“Your methods of investigation, unlikely as they may be, do appear to be working.” The man’s smile faded. “Hmm. That means … that suggests one of the worst possibilities I have been considering may be the correct one.”

“That Ashaki Tikako read this in his slave’s mind and did not tell us because he is involved with the kidnapping of Lorkin, or that Sachakan mind-reading methods aren’t as effective as they ought to be?”

Achati shrugged. “The first is unlikely. Tikako is related to the king and is one of his greatest supporters. The second has always been the case. You need time and concentration to fully search a mind.” He grimaced. “But it is the way of the mind that what it most wants to hide tends to be in its thoughts when it is being read. Tikako should have seen this information. The fact that this girl managed to hide it hints at abilities that she should not have. Abilities that only the members of a particular group of rebels have.”

“Rebels?”

“They call themselves the Traitors. They use women slaves to do their spying and to carry out assassinations and abductions. Some – mostly women – believe they are a society made up only of women, because it is women in difficult and unfortunate circumstances they most often take. I suspect it is a rumour to encourage cooperation from their victims, and the real reason for stealing the women is to sell them into slavery, here or in some other country.”

Dannyl felt a chill run down his spine. “What do they want with Lorkin, then?”

“I’m not sure. Sometimes they meddle in politics. Usually with bribes or blackmail, but sometimes by assassination. The only gain I can see for them in abducting Lorkin is embarrassing the king.” He frowned, thoughtfully. “Unless they want to stir up a war between our countries.”

“Surely they would have killed Lorkin if that was their intention.”

Achati’s expression was grim as he met Dannyl’s eyes. “They may still intend to.”

“Then we have to find them quickly. Are there many west-leading roads to Tikako’s country estate?”

The Sachakan didn’t answer. His expression was of distracted puzzlement. “Why tell us?” he said.

“Who?” Dannyl asked.

“The slave girl. Why did she tell you how to find Lorkin if she is a Traitor? Is she trying to put us off the trail?”

“Perhaps the Traitors aren’t involved, and want to avoid being blamed for Lorkin’s abduction.”

Achati’s frown deepened. “Well, it is the only clue we have. Decoy or not, we have no alternative but to pursue it.”

The road to Tikako’s country estate bore a constant stream of traffic, forcing Lorkin to follow Tyvara’s advice and not speak in case his Kyralian accent drew attention. He could not ask her where they were going, or question her more about her people, or the people who had tried to kill him. His skin itched from the dye that coated it. She frowned at him disapprovingly if he scratched it, and kicked his ankle gently if he forgot himself and looked directly at the people they passed – even the slaves. This was immensely frustrating, and made the slow pace of the cart, hauled by an ancient-looking horse, almost unbearable.

From time to time he stole a glance at her, noting the tension in her body and the way she chewed at her lip. He could not also help admiring her near-flawless brown skin. It was the first time he’d seen her outside and in sunlight, rather than in the glow of lamp or magical globe light. Her skin had a healthy sheen and he found himself wondering if it would be as warm to touch as Riva’s had been. Then the inevitable memory came of Riva’s dead, staring eyes and he’d look away.

Tyvara is a dangerous woman to be attracted to
, he mused to himself.
But for some reason the mystery that surrounds her, and not knowing how powerful she is, makes her even more alluring. Still, this is not the time to be losing one’s wits over a woman. There’s a real danger I could end up losing more than my wits.

It was on the third day of travelling when she finally muttered to him that they were about to arrive at their destination. The sun was hovering just above the horizon. He felt a relief that they wouldn’t be sleeping in the wagon again, but it quickly evaporated as she told him what he must do next. They would enter another estate, where he would have to pretend to be a slave. They would eat and sleep there, but she didn’t know what they would do after that until she’d made contact with her people.

This would be a more risky test of his disguise. She’d instructed him to say no more than necessary, to keep his eyes to the ground, to obey without hesitation or protest, and to stay in the shadows if he could.

Nodding at a gap in the wall ahead, she told him to steer the cart horse toward it. It was a little odd for a female house slave to be accompanying a delivery slave, so the excuse they had come up with was that she was showing him the route and teaching him to drive the cart because no other slave could be spared. He’d enjoyed the driving lessons, despite not being able to ask many questions for fear of being overheard.

They made it through the gap without mishap, though a corner of the cart brushed one side of the wall. Lorkin looked ahead at the buildings. Figures moved among them – all slaves judging by their clothes and mannerisms. As the cart neared, the slaves stopped to watch for a moment, before continuing with whatever duties they were performing.

“Through here,” Tyvara said, pointing to an archway. He directed the cart into a small courtyard. A large slave wearing the headband of a slave master emerged from a doorway and waved at Lorkin to stop.

They pulled up. Conscious of the slave master’s stare, Lorkin kept his gaze lowered. Two more slaves stepped out and moved to the horse’s head.

“Haven’t seen you two before,” the man observed.

Tyvara nodded. “I’m Vara. This is Ork. He’s new.”

“Bit skinny for a delivery slave.”

“He’ll put on muscle with a bit of work.”

The man nodded. “And why are you here?”

“Got to show him the way.” She sounded smug. “Nobody else free.”

“Hmph.” The slave master beckoned and turned away. “The master wants the cart filled now, so you can leave at first light. We don’t get fed until it’s done.”