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Authors: Benjamin Tate

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BOOK: Well of Sorrows
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Tom felt himself harden. “We won’t go.
We can’t
. We don’t have the means anymore. You’ll have to remove us by force.”
Sartori leaned forward slightly. “Then so be it.”
Tom thought about the riot on the docks that afternoon, about those from Lean-to facing the Armory with knives, with stones, with their bare hands.
If the Armory fell on Lean-to, it would be a slaughter, even if Shay’s cohorts joined them.
The bitter anger turned to nausea as he stared at Sartori’s implacable face, as he realized that Sartori was serious, that he’d already made his decision, and nothing Tom could say or do would change it.
“Gentlemen.”
Neither Tom nor Sartori turned at the intruding voice, not until the word was repeated, with emphasis.
“
Gentlemen
.”
Sartori’s gaze broke first. “What is it, Signal Daverren?”
Daverren shifted forward in his chair. “I believe I have a solution to both of your problems, one that does not require violence. If what Tom Harten says is true, and he has been unjustly judged.”
“And that would be?” Sartori asked. His tone held a mild warning, but Daverren ignored it.
“It goes back to the opportunity I spoke of before we were interrupted,” Daverren said. He reached down to retrieve a wooden cylindrical tube beside the seat. “Do you mind?”
Sartori hesitated but motioned to the table.
Shifting the tray with the tea and cups to one side, Daverren opened the silver end of the cylinder and removed a sheaf of papers, sorting through them until he found the one he was looking for. With a murmured, “Aha,” he pulled the parchment out and spread it out on the table, motioning Sartori and Tom forward.
“This is a map of the known world,” he said. He pointed to the center of the map, to a large land mass that was divided into different regions using subtle shading. “This is Andover, with each of the Families represented by different colors. And this large stretch of blue is the Arduon Ocean.” He traced east from Andover, across the Arduon, until his fingers came to rest on a new coast, the details of the land behind it empty, as if someone had forgotten to draw in the rest of the map. A few towns littered the new coast, represented by dots and scrawled names, the edges of the land itself shaded in colors that matched those used for individual Families from Andover. “New Andover,” Daverren said, although it was obvious. “And right here is Portstown.” He glanced upward, to Tom, “And Lean-to, of course.”
Sartori grunted.
“You’ll notice that the coast is shaded to represent the division of the land to the Families as decided by the Court once the new continent was discovered and the first settlements, such as Portstown, were seen to be successful. However, you’ll notice that the land behind the coast,” he motioned toward the empty area, “has not yet been claimed. Not officially. Proposals were drawn up as to how this land was to be divided, once it was explored, but those proposals have fallen by the wayside in the wake of the discovery of the Rose and its potential.”
“Those proposals haven’t been forgotten,” Sartori said.
Daverren smiled. “No, they have not. But look at what happened with the settlements along the coast. The Court was forced to respect the claims of the towns that had already made a start. If a Family backed a particular group, and that group successfully began a colony on the coast before the Court became involved, the Court ceded the land surrounding that colony to the respective Family. Carrente owns the land around Portstown because your father established the town here, and it thrived.”
Sartori leaned back from the map. “You want to lay claim to the inland, while the Families are distracted by the Feud.”
“Exactly. The respective Family Trading Companies are already at war. We’ve been at war since the Companies were first founded. The Rose is a political affair—potentially a religious affair if what I’ve heard of the powers of the Rose are true—one that the Companies will profit from, true, but at its heart it is not a commercial endeavor. Establishing an early presence in the heartland of New Andover is.” Daverren’s eyes narrowed. “The West Wind Trading Company wants to stake its claim as early as possible, before any of Carrente’s rivals have the chance. And we know that other Companies are interested. The Southern Isles have already gathered an expeditionary force, although it had not yet sailed at the time of my departure.”
Sartori held Daverren’s gaze for a long moment. “An expedition is dangerous. And expensive. I’ve already sent groups out into the plains, at significant cost to myself and the Carrente Family. None of those expeditions have returned. None that have traveled a significant distance from the coast. And in order to stake a legitimate claim, the group would have to travel relatively far.”
“The West Wind Trading Company is prepared to underwrite the cost of the venture. In fact, I’ve brought the majority of the necessary resources for an expedition with me, on the
Tradewind
. Wagons, horses, supplies for the establishment of a settlement, a town. My only concern was finding someone to lead the expedition and the people willing to risk it.” He turned to Tom. “That’s where you come into play, Tom Harten. You and those in Lean-to who are
not
associated with Vetralla or the Avezzano Family.”
“I’m not a farmer,” Tom said warily. “I know nothing about settling a town.”
“No, but you are a craftsman. And I’m willing to bet that there are others in Lean-to with the requisite skills to start a settlement. A successful settlement. The only question is whether you and the others would be willing to risk the open plains, and whatever they hold.”
Tom hesitated. He thought about Ana, about Sam and Paul and all of the rest of the guildsmen huddled in Lean-to. “What would we gain from doing this? What are you offering us?”
“Other than survival?” Daverran said, then smiled. It did not reach his eyes. “I’m certain that the Carrente Family would be willing to cede a percentage of the land to the settlers and the guilds. Thirty percent seems reasonable. You’d become landowners, beholden to the Carrente Family, of course, but you’d be free.”
Sartori stirred at this, frowning. “There would have to be a Carrente presence in the group, a contingent of Armory.” He glared at Tom. “I must protect the Family interests after all.”
“Then what’s our guarantee that the land would be ours, that the Carrentes won’t seize it back after we’ve established the town?” Tom protested.
“What’s my guarantee that you won’t seize the land and claim it for your own Family!”
“Gentlemen, please.” When neither Tom nor Sartori backed down or spoke, Daverran’s eyes flashed. He addressed Tom first. “An expedition of this nature cannot be undertaken without Family approval. The Company would need an official charter, issued by Sartori Carrente, giving us the right to embark on the journey, the right to claim the land we settle in the Carrente Family name. The charter can be written in such a way as to legally cede the land to the guildmembers and the guild.”
Before Tom could respond, the Signal shifted his attention to Sartori. “And I believe, given the . . . misunderstanding that occurred because of your association with ‘Shay Jones,’ that Sartori could be persuaded to decrease the Carrente Armory’s presence in the expedition. As a sign of renewed trust and good faith?”
Sartori bristled, then caught and held Daverran’s gaze. “And what rights would the Company receive from this . . . venture?”
Daverren smiled. “The trade rights, of course. With exclusive claim to the town and its immediate vicinity for use by the West Wind Trading Company, under the Carrente Family name.”
“A percentage of the trade to be extended to the Family.”
“Of course.”
But Sartori still hesitated.
Daverren shifted closer and lowered his voice. “There is little risk to you or the Family. The risk falls on the Company. And it has the advantage that it will resolve your problem with those in Lean-to without disgracing the Family name. Forcibly removing—or killing—that many guildsmen can only hurt your endeavors in the Court, and at a time such as this . . .”
Sartori winced and turned away, moving toward the fireplace. He stared down into its depths, lamplight flickering on either side of him.
“If the expedition is to go forward,” he said grudgingly, “there would have to be a Carrente Family representative in the group, in addition to a . . . minimal Armory contingent.”
Daverren relaxed, tension draining from his shoulders. “The Company will have a presence as well. You’ll have the appropriate papers drawn up?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Daverren began rolling up the map. “We can discuss the particulars later.”
“I’ll have to discuss it with those in Lean-to,” Tom said suddenly. “Those that I can trust. They may not all agree.”
“Of course,” Daverren said. “But I think you’ll find you have little choice.”
The Signal made ready to leave, Sartori still deep in thought. When it became clear that the Proprietor had forgotten him, Tom stepped forward, catching Sartori’s attention.
“You haven’t made a decision about my son.”
“Ah, yes, your son.” He glanced toward Arten, who stood silently in the background, then frowned. “Is your son of age?”
“Yes, sir. He turned twelve this summer.”
“Then I’m sorry. An example needs to be made, to those in Lean-to who may not be as honest as you, to their Families. All of those arrested and currently in confinement will be sentenced tomorrow morning.”
“But he wasn’t part of the riot!”
Sartori’s eyes narrowed. “Nevertheless, he attacked my son, a member of the Carrente Family. He
will
be punished.”
With a sharp gesture, he motioned for Arten to escort Tom out, the Armory commander grabbing him by the upper arm. Tom clenched his jaw, but he didn’t resist. Arten didn’t release him until they stood outside the gates of the estate. Night had fallen, but two lanterns had been lit on the top of the wall above the gates.
“You should accept the offer,” Arten said as he let Tom go. “There’s nothing for you here in Portstown. There never will be. Not while Sartori is Proprietor.”
Without waiting for a response, the commander stepped back through the gates, slipping from the lantern light into the darkness of the yard beyond.
4
 
“W
HERE’S COLIN?” ANA DEMANDEDthe moment Tom ducked through the flap over the door. A fire blazed in the pit, Sam and Paul on the far side, Ana tightening a bandage over Paul’s upper arm. A spot of blood already stained it. A used dressing sat at Ana’s feet.
Tom caught Sam’s gaze, and Paul’s. Sam frowned; Paul spat into the fire.
He couldn’t meet his wife’s eyes.
“Sartori refused to release him,” he said, moving toward the fire, noting the aleskin to one side. He picked it up and took a long, heavy pull before setting it back down, the ale bitter on his tongue.
He caught Ana’s expression out of the corner of his eye, but turned away, settling down before the fire, across from Sam.
“What did he say?”
“He said that Colin attacked Walter with the sling, that he beat him.”
“I told you not to give him that sling, that it would only lead to trouble.” Ana jerked at the bandage and Paul winced. “And what did you say?”
“That Colin must have been provoked.”
Ana snorted and stood. “Well then, Tom Harten, you don’t know your own son as well as you think.”
Tom’s shoulders tensed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that there’s more of you and your anger inside of Colin than you can possibly imagine. More of your pride. He’s taken his share of beatings from Walter and his gang, but I wouldn’t put it past Colin to have started the fight today. What’s going to happen to him?”
“I don’t know.” When Ana didn’t respond, he glanced up to where she stood over him, hands on hips, met her gaze directly for the first time. “I don’t know! Sartori said he’d pass judgment in the morning. On Colin and all of those they took after the riot.”
The anger in Ana’s eyes hardened, the muscles of her jaw tensing.
“He arrested people from the riot?” Sam asked.
Tom didn’t turn from Ana. “Yes. Shay and a few others.”
“And he’s lumped Colin in with them?” Paul shook his head. “That’s not good. That’s not good at all.”
Tom felt the urge to punch him.
Ana’s hands fell from her hips and she turned away, began rummaging through their few possessions, rattling pots, sorting knives and utensils that didn’t need to be sorted.
“We have another problem,” Tom said, trying to ignore his wife for the moment.
“What’s that?” Sam asked. He stoked the fire with a stick, embers flaring as they rose with the smoke.
“Sartori is going to raze Lean-to. Apparently, Shay’s not one of us. He’s a member of the Avezzano Family, not a guildmember, and Sartori believes he was sent here to foment a rebellion. He’s been using us and the others in Lean-to to cause trouble, like the riot today, but Sartori’s had enough. He’s going to send in the Armory to clear us out.”
BOOK: Well of Sorrows
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