The Rogue (28 page)

“Do you think others might make the same mistake as she?”

“Only if they happened to stumble on some books containing instructions on learning black magic while under the full effect of roet. That depends on there being any other books like that out there.” Sonea sighed. “Lord Leiden was breaking a law by not surrendering his to the Guild.”

“Should we start searching private libraries?”

“I doubt we’d find anything. Unless the owner doesn’t know what he or she has stored in theirs, they’d remove and hide anything suspicious as soon as they heard a search was possible.”

Rothen nodded in agreement. “It would take years to go through the bigger libraries thoroughly enough,” he added. “Are we any closer to finding Leiden’s killer?”

She shook her head. “Obviously someone else has learned black magic. Either that or it was Kallen, and the people who claim they saw him that night were lying. I’m surprised Osen hasn’t asked us to read each other’s minds, yet.” The carriage came to a halt. She unlatched the door and climbed out, then turned and waited as Rothen followed.

“I heard that there were enough witnesses to confirm you were both elsewhere when the murder occurred that a mind read isn’t needed.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Nice of him to tell me that. Having my mind read, or reading Kallen’s, isn’t something I look forward to.”

“I’m sure he would tell you, if you asked. Shall we go inside?”

She turned to face the door of the building. The Guild was renting it as a way to deal with the shortage of rooms in the grounds for magicians. When Dorrien came to the Guild on his own he stayed with his father, but there wasn’t enough space in Rothen’s room for an extra two adults and two older girls.

From the outside it looked like a single, though large, family home. Sonea walked up to the door and knocked. A man in a Guild servant uniform opened it. He greeted them, stepped aside and bowed as they passed through into the entry hall.

It was a lavishly decorated room, with staircases winding up to a second floor. Once, it would have been the home of a rich family from one of the Houses, but now it had been divided into four parts, which provided accommodation for four magicians and their families. At first, this idea of dividing up a large house had been rejected, because it was assumed that magicians would be too proud to share a building with others. But the concept proved popular among young magi ci ans with fam ilies from the lower classes, who saw immediately that it provided much more space for their children than an apartment of rooms in the Magicians’ Quarters.

The servant led them upstairs to a large door that filled what would have once been an opening to a corridor. He knocked, and when Dorrien answered the door the man bowed and introduced them formally.

“Thank you, Ropan,” Dorrien said as he ushered Sonea and Rothen inside a large guest room. Tylia and Yilara were sitting in two of the chairs, and Sonea noted they were wearing dresses more in the city style. “Welcome to our new home. It’s four times the size of our house. Alina is worried we’ll get so used to it, it’ll feel like a tight fit when we move back. Here she is.”

His wife had appeared in a side doorway, her hands clasped together and an anxious expression on her face. Her eyes snapped to Sonea, dropped to the black robes; then her expression hardened and she looked away. She smiled nervously as Dorrien urged her to join them. The two girls reluctantly stood and bowed, hovering a pace or two away as the adults exchanged pleasantries.

“How are you finding it here?” Sonea asked Alina.

Alina glanced at Dorrien. “It will take a little getting used to,” the woman said quietly. “I prefer to cook meals myself, but Dorrien says to leave it to the servants.”

“Where do they do the cooking?”

“In the basement,” Alina replied. “They cook for all the families staying here. It looks like there are more servants there tonight. I hope that’s not our fault.”

Dorrien smiled. “Lord Beagir is entertaining guests, too,” he said. He looked at Rothen and Sonea. “Come into the dining room.”

“Dining room, eh?” Rothen chuckled and opened his mouth to say more, but Dorrien frowned, shook his head and glanced at Alina, who had turned away.
Looks like Alina isn’t comfortable with all the luxuries here
, Sonea mused.
Dorrien doesn’t want Rothen teasing him about it, as it’ll make her feel worse.

They moved into a room featuring a large table and eight chairs. A gong the size of a dinner plate sat in an alcove at the end of the room. When all were settled in the chairs, Dorrien glanced at it and the striker moved, filling the room with a pleasant ringing. Alina’s lips thinned and she shook her head.

It probably seemed like a fancy extravagance, but the sound let the servants know that the family was ready for their meal. Sure enough, a pair of male servants appeared carrying trays laden with bowls and plates of food. As they finished arranging the food on the table they tucked their empty trays under their arms and asked which drinks were required. Dorrien requested wine and water, and the men hurried away.

Foregoing the old-fashioned custom of serving guests himself, Dorrien simply invited them to start. They helped themselves to the dishes and began eating. Alina looked up at Sonea, her expression serious.

“How is your hunt for the rogue going?” she asked.

“Right now it has turned into an exercise in patience,” Sonea told her. “We’re waiting for information. Good information, because we don’t want to endanger our sources by acting too quickly.”

“You mean this spy working for the other Thief. The daughter of your friend?”

Sonea paused and resisted looking at Dorrien. He’d given his wife more information than Sonea would have liked. The fewer people who knew she was still friends with Cery the better, but if the fact became known it would not risk anybody’s life. However, the information that Anyi was Cery’s daughter could definitely put her life at risk, if it were discovered.

“Yes,” she replied. “It is a dangerous task, and I know my friend is very worried about her.”

“If it’s dangerous for her …” Alina looked at Dorrien, then straightened a little and turned back to Sonea. “Is it dangerous for us?”

Sonea blinked in surprise. “No.”

“But none of us are magicians.” Alina gestured to her daughters and herself. “What if these people you’re chasing find out that Dorrien is helping you, and that he has a family, and that we live here, not in the Guild grounds?” Alina’s voice rose a little. “What’s to stop them coming here when Dorrien is out, and threatening us – or worse?”

Sonea schooled her expression to hide the amusement she felt. Alina was genuinely worried.
Does she have reason to worry?
The scenario Alina imagined was not impossible, just unlikely. It would take a particularly bold and cunning assassin or abductor to enter a magician’s home, especially this one which housed several magicians.
Someone as bold and cunning as the assassin who killed Cery’s family?
Perhaps, but this was no hidden Thief’s lair, where secrecy also ensured nobody would notice a break-in was occurring and come to help.

“The living arrangements you have here work to your advantage,” Sonea told Alina. “Having other magicians living nearby means that, even when Dorrien isn’t here, you have someone to call upon for help, or the servants can fetch help for you. One magician in a house is a big deterrent, but you have four. Which also makes it harder for an outsider to know if they’re all at home or not.

“You should come up with rules to stick to,” Sonea added as Alina opened her mouth to argue. “Who to let into your rooms and who not to. How to be safe when you’re out in the city. What to do if you think someone is following you, or trying to get into the house.” Sonea looked at Dorrien, who nodded resignedly. “I’m sure you can work it out between you.”

As Sonea had hoped, Alina’s attention now shifted to Dorrien. “We will.” She glanced at Sonea briefly. “And we appreciate the advice.”

“The sooner we find Skellin, the sooner you can stop worrying about this,” Dorrien said.

Rothen hummed in agreement. “And nobody will be safe if we don’t.”

“What will happen if you don’t find him?” Yilara asked.

Sonea looked at the girl and smiled in approval at her interest. “He wants to gain control of …” A knocking from the guest room interrupted her.

“I’ll see who it is,” Dorrien said, rising and hurrying out of the room.

The rest of them continued eating, listening in silent curiosity to the sound of Dorrien opening the door and another male voice, then the door closing again.

Footsteps told them he was returning. He stepped into the dining room doorway and looked at Sonea.

“A message for you. Osen wants you to return to the Guild immediately. Lady Naki has disappeared.”

A day’s sailing had brought Achati, Dannyl and Tayend to a smaller port north of Arvice. Achati had arranged for them to spend the night on shore, at an estate owned by an Ashaki who grew crops of raka. Ashaki Chakori had sent a carriage to fetch them from the docks. The smell of the roasting beans was recognisable long before they reached the estate.

Unlike most Sachakan homes, the mansion and work buildings were not surrounded by walls. The main house stood to one side, and the work buildings were a few hundred paces away from them. From one of two circular structures came a plume of smoke, forming a dark stain against moonlit clouds.

“My dear cousin,” Achati had said when formal introductions were over. “It is good to see you again.”

It had surprised Dannyl that Achati hadn’t told them of his relationship to their host. Since his Sachakan friend had taken on the responsibility of organising the journey it had seemed rude to press for too many details.

Ashaki Chakori radiated a kind of strength mixed with contentment. He was of an old and powerful Sachakan family, which allowed him to live away from the city and do what he most enjoyed – growing and producing raka – without risking losing any standing among the Ashaki.

“Our fathers were brothers,” Achati explained as he noted Dannyl’s curiosity. “The younger inherited a city mansion, the older this estate.” He turned to Chakori. “How are your son and wife?”

“Kavori is in Elyne, exploring trade options. Inaki is well.”

Achati’s eyebrows rose. “In Elyne? How is that going?”

“Not as well as we’d hoped.” He looked at Tayend thoughtfully. “There is a perception that raka is a commoner’s drink. Is this so, Ambassador?”

Tayend nodded. “It is growing in popularity, however, due to magicians returning from their time of learning in the Guild with a new taste for it.”

Chakori’s attention shifted to Dannyl. “So it is not a commoner’s drink in Kyralia.”

“It was,” Dannyl said apologetically. “But the Guild has, for the last twenty years, invited people from all classes to seek entry. Those who came from the common classes introduced raka to the rest, and it is popular with novices studying late into the night.”

“It would be,” Chakori chuckled. “There is another exotic product that Kyralians have embraced in recent years that begins with an ‘r’, isn’t there?”

“Roet.” Dannyl shook his head. “It has become quite a problem.”

The Ashaki nodded. “Slaves of one of the southern estates acquired some, recently, though I do not know how. Perhaps an enterprising trader from Kyralia brought it across the mountains. It had an alarming effect, causing slaves to rebel or refuse to work. Their owner has forbidden its use – and the possession of it, too – and recommended that others do the same.”

“A good idea,” Dannyl said.
And yet … if roet induced slaves to revolt, perhaps it could be the key to ending slavery in Sachaka. But afterwards the country would be in trouble, with most of its workforce rendered useless. It would take a ruthless or desperate enemy to do that, and if roet production took hold here what would that mean for Kyralia?

“Would you like to eat, or wait until later?” Chakori asked. “I could take you around the estate, if you are not tired from your journey.”

Achati looked at Dannyl and Tayend. Dannyl lifted his shoulders to show he was amenable to either choice. Tayend nodded.

“Both are inviting offers,” Achati told his cousin. “Whatever is most convenient.”

The Ashaki smiled. “Then I will give you a tour, since I have ordered a special dish prepared for you that is always best cooked for at least three hours.”

Chakori led them through the mansion. Though the estate was unconventional in its lack of an outer wall, the mansion’s interior layout and decoration were traditional. A main corridor wound from the Master Room where they had met Chakori past two clusters of rooms, but unlike in the Guild House the corridor branched and the passage Chakori led them down took them to a rear entrance.

They stepped out into a generous courtyard area and headed toward the work buildings. The two tall, circular structures made the mansion look small and meek. The smell of raka beans roasting was strong.

Chakori gestured at the buildings. “The one on the left is for storage and fermentation; the one on the right for roasting and packing.” He headed toward the store, ushering them through a heavy wooden door into a lamp-lit room. A globe light fizzed into existence above his head and brightened to light the whole interior.

The room was divided into sections, with wooden walls radiating out from a central area. Slaves had removed one of these walls and were raking a great mound of beans into the neighbouring space. Another group were shovelling beans into barrows. As a slave moved from one group to another, clearly watching over the progress, Dannyl felt a shock of recognition.

It’s Varn!

Chakori led his guests into the central area, the slaves throwing themselves onto the floor at their master’s arrival, and as Varn turned, his eyes flicked from Chakori to Achati. He hesitated for the tiniest moment in surprise, before dropping in turn.

Dannyl looked at Achati. Varn’s former master looked surprised, and a little dismayed, but he quickly recovered his composure.

“I used to own your supervising slave,” he told Chakori.