Sorgius sighed. “Now get up and row before the current carries us all the way to Ulin.
“But which way? It’s pitch black out here, and I bet all the cutthroats from the port are waiting for us on the bank. We’re Asp’s personal enemies.”
Sorgius laughed. “Didn’t you used to call them a bunch of rabble from the port?” He shook his head. “Just row in place for now. If we see a boat with lights, we’ll try to follow it. Once we get back to the city, we’ll find a place to jump off. But there’s one thing. What are we going to do with Fenia? They’ll chop her into tiny pieces if they find her!”
“She’s not my problem,” Vordius shot back. “I have a fiancée.”
“I can’t take her home,” Sorgius objected. “My father told me not to bring any more women home. After that one time…”
Something in the bow rustled and they heard Fenia’s voice. “Don’t bother. I already owe you my life. I’ll spend the night in some lice-infested hostel for the homeless, and in the morning I’ll strike out for one of the provinces.”
“How could I forget about the inn!” Sorgius exclaimed. “Have no fear, we will put you up in style. You’ll be fed and have a clean bed to sleep in.”
“Sorgius!” The guardsman sounded shocked in the dark. “You don’t mean…”
“I do! It’s all settled! Don’t bother arguing. Look!” he cried, “there’s a light just above the water. Stop talking and get behind it. I’m sure it’s a Capotian merchant. Don’t worry, Fenia. Your fate is in good hands!”
Chapter 2. All about Her
The man behind the table read the scroll closely, and the careless way he held it contrasted strangely with the deep attention in his eyes, which looked as if they were prying what he needed to know out of the very parchment. His chair was of light-colored Torgendam oak, but it had been made so long ago that it had turned dark red-brown. The rest of the furnishings in the room – rugs, paintings, a massive bronze lamp, bookshelves, a marble bust of Norius the Founder, and even the quill pens on the desk – had at least three things in common. First, all of them bore the visible mark of history, because they were very old, some of them even ancient. Second, they were extremely expensive, and not only because they were antiques. And third (which only an expert in antiques would have noticed), they had all belonged to different people in the long-gone past. To be precise, they all once belonged to the greatest emperors of Herandia, who had led the country for the last four hundred years. But the room’s inhabitant would not have liked a loud statement like that. He was vain enough to want to enjoy his treasures in the peace and privacy of his own study.
On the day in question, the lover of costly antiques had made an exception. This exception half-reclined on a sofa made of ekva wood, which only grows in one place on the island of Rbun, which is a two-day sail off the coast of Unguru. Some said that a sofa very much like it had been presented to Emperor Nazalio by an ambassador from the high priest of Mustobrim, who had hoped to prevail upon the Emperor to allow priests of the one invisible god to preach their faith in Herandia. The request had been denied, and now the sofa was occupied by a woman of somewhat less than noble blood. Perhaps it was this knowledge of her humble origins, which had caused her much suffering in secret, that caused her to compensate by means of the most extravagant clothes. Enormous gold earrings with turquoise stones matching the color of her loose dress of the finest Ulinian silk – all in the style worn in the times of the continent’s first kings – contrasted oddly with a lavish necklace of sparkling diamonds, emeralds and topazes, each the size of a fingernail. The effect was antiquated and even a little tasteless, but altogether, the woman radiated a strange, unapproachable magic.
“You’re early,” the man said in a monotone without looking up from the scroll.
“I know,” the woman said in a distracted voice. “But you’re still happy to see me, aren’t you?” The question did not sound like a question.
The man sighed heavily and set aside the scroll with the look of a man who knows that he won’t get much done today.
“You’re certainly dressed up!” he observed skeptically, casting a glance at his companion’s new image.
“I have to wear it all sometime,” she shrugged. “I always dreamed of wearing heavy earrings like these so that my earlobes would stretch to my shoulders like those gorgeous Unguru women's!” At this, she laughed.
“Very well!” the man smiled generously. He scratched his shoulder and began to massage his deltoid muscle. This was made easier by the simple sleeveless tunic of linen he wore.
“I hate it when you do that,” the woman said, making a face. “It’s unhealthy narcissism, if not worse.”
The man’s face took on a business-like expression. “Tell me, how are our affairs?”
“Did you see the report from the inspectors?” she replied with a question of her own.
“What’s the point?” the man yawned. “Sometimes I think we pay them just to distract attention from our real agents.”
“Perhaps, but you always manage to find something important. If not for the present, then for the future.”
The man leaned his head to the right and gestured with his left hand as if he was rolling a piece of bread into a ball.
“They met,” the woman said, sounding as if she were communicating a terrible secret.
“Yes! I knew it.” The man leaned back in his chair and held his arms up in victory. “In Vuravia?”
“In Vuravia,” the woman nodded. “Now I suppose you’ll say that your intuition never lets you down.”
“Who was there?”
“We’ll have a full list by evening. But I know there were Capotians, four of them.”
“From the Council?”
“One was a Secretary. There was also one from the navigators’ guild, one merchant, and a representative of the banking houses.”
“That all makes sense: men who know cargo, trade and finance. And the men who offer protection,” he added. “What about our own people?”
“The heads of all three banking houses – Halava, Repu and Mankarin – were there. All three Big Kinsmen. And a man from the shipbuilders’ guild was there on behalf of the Great Provider.”
“The same people, but from our side. What about the capital?”
“Just Mastersium Krikey.”
“Enel Forsey’s deepest pocket. That’s nice. Who else?”
“He was the only one.”
“That’s not possible,” the man rubbed his chin and gave the matter some thought.
“Here’s the most interesting thing. Do you know where they met? At Dracasium Nerey’s estate. What do you think of that?”
“Ha! Very nice. Vuravia’s richest landowner. Now it all makes sense. Wonderful. But one thing doesn’t make sense. They have to sell the grain once they get it
