11: Arayim

This theft was going so well. Gaxna got us over the wall with an insane throw of her thief’s rope, I used watersight on a guard to find the statue despite them moving it every day, and we found a ton of other loot with it. We’re crouched now in a long hallway of Bamani smokewood statues, debating the best way to get out. Actually, I agree with Gaxna about dropping her rope out the window and risking courtyard guards rather than trying to slip through the house. It has the best chance of us getting away unseen, and of not breaking this statue that’s worth so much money.

But that’s just it: I’m not here for the money.

Or not only the money. Yes, I could use it to bribe criers for more information or put it towards what Gaxna’s contact wants to stain my eyes. But this is the mansion of the head of the salt merchants, and I read more than the location of the statue in the guard’s thoughts: the merchant is here, and practically alone.

A man like him will know what the merchant in the baths didn’t. If any head of guild was involved in bribing the criers or supporting Nerimes’ rise to power, he’ll know it.

And that kind of proof, direct sight into his thoughts, is what I need to expose Nerimes.

So I’m crouched here arguing back about how I can use the water to tell exactly where people are in the house. How much less chance we’ll have of being spotted if we just switch our disguises and walk out the side door like two maids done with work for the day.

“That’s slop,” Gaxna whispers, back against the gleaming smokewood walls, “and you know it. We get caught and we’ll be lucky to get out of here at all. The rope’s the best way.”

“Fine,” I say. “You’re right. But I’ve got something I need to do downstairs. I’ve done my part in this one, right?”

She hesitates, then grimaces. “Flooding idiot. Go then. I’ll wait for you up here, and we’ll take the rope when you’re done.”

I feel a sudden wash of gratitude, even as my stomach knots over what I’m about to do. I wouldn’t call Gaxna a friend yet, but after I got past her mistrust, things have been getting better between us.

And come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever called anyone a friend, other than maybe Dashan.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Thank you.” I whisper, and hug her on impulse.

She stiffens in my arms. “Five minutes, okay? After that you’re on your own.”

I nod and slip back up the corridor, turning toward the baths. Direction is a strange thing in watersight—sort of like pointing to a sound with your eyes closed, only underwater. Still, I’m pretty sure I read the merchant’s thoughts coming from this direction.

Two male voices drift through a wide doorway ahead, matching the thoughts I heard. Good.

I pull my mask up higher, leaving just a slit for my eyes, then call, “Master! Come quick!”

“Uje’s Eyes,” I hear one of them curse, the other one chuckling, then louder, “What is it?”

Think fast. “The statue! The statue is gone!”

The merchant curses for real then, and wet feet slap the stones. I tense, and the moment he’s out of the doorway I wrap him in Coral Bind, pressing a hand to his mouth.

“News of the heresies,” I hiss into his ear. “At the end of Stergjon’s rule. Who paid the criers to call them?”

He tries to lash out and I twist his left arm closer to breaking. “Don’t test me, merchant. Who paid the criers?”

I read panic and confusion in his thoughts. He doesn’t know.

Floods. “What about the traditionalists? Were any guilds involved in getting them into power?”

Images flood into his thoughts then—but they’re of money coming to the guilds, not the other way around. Keeping them from bankruptcy.

Floods. I need time to sort through what this means, but there’s no time. “Who is that? Who gave you money?”

I get some sense of a man, but no clear picture, and no name. I grimace. This will have to be out loud.

“I’m taking my hand off your mouth now, so you can tell me who. Make any other sound—” I twist his arm just a touch more—“and you live the rest of your life a cripple. Understood?”

Part of me can’t believe what I’m doing. The other part of me is ready to do much worse to find out what he knows.

“Arayim,” the merchant gasps. “That was his name, that’s all I know, he wouldn’t let us see him!”

It’s an Ujeian name, but unfamiliar. “From the temple? The traditionalists? Who was he?”

“I don’t know!”

Watersight says he’s telling the truth. Slops. “And all the guilds were getting supported this way?”

“Yes!” he cries.

“Keep your voice down,” I hiss. “Why? Who did he work for?”

“I don’t know!” His shoulders shake, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s weeping. He’s probably never been in this much danger.

I feel bad despite myself. “Fine. Stay here. And, sorry.”

I grimace. That’s not what heroes say in the legends, but this isn’t a legend, and I’m too distracted to come up with something better. This still isn’t direct evidence against the temple, but at least I have a name now.

“Who are you?” he moans as I let go.

I’m tempted for a moment to tell him the truth. To let the temple know I’m still here and coming for them, but again this isn’t a legend and I’m not stupid. Anonymity is my only protection.

“I’m no one, and this was nothing. Forget it, speak nothing of it, or I will be displeased.”

I slip away, turning a new name over on my tongue: Arayim.