The First Binding, page 52
He took my meaning and sped off with all the enthusiasm of a kid free from work.
I sucked in a breath, steadying myself and enjoying my moment of luck. So far, so good. Now to just find out where they’re hiding their coin.
I walked down the hall, keeping the tray as steady as possible. I hadn’t noticed it at first but the cups and pot were all fashioned out of bone-white and polished porcelain. The material came from Laxina, a neighbor close in proximity to the Mutri Empire, but a world apart in customs, appearances, and more. They valued the substance enough to be both currency and used in artisanal crafts.
All of which meant it was terribly expensive. Dropping or cracking even one of these cups would see me forced out of the building and promised a beating. Not to mention the possibility of the cost of the broken cup being asked of me.
I reached the end of the hall, staring at a trio of doors. The boy hadn’t told me which exactly housed the man I was looking for, but I knew enough that the merchant’s cadre would be behind any of the doors. I pulled back a foot to kick one of the doors in way of knocking when one of them opened to my side.
The man who stepped out towered over me, reaching well over six feet in height. Tightly bound and fitted black clothing obscured most of his body. The clothes were cut and measured to his frame, indicating they weren’t cheap. But they lacked the adornment I’d expected of someone wealthy. In truth, they resembled what one might wear on long journeys. A wrap of cloth covered most of his head, hanging loose and open at the sides of his mouth to reveal some of his face.
“You’re late. We’ve been waiting for that.” He reached out to take the tea.
I didn’t move or pass him the tray. “I’m supposed to bring this to the sahm in charge? The one who the rooms are for in all.” A lump of cold stone formed in my throat, soon settling in my chest.
The man held his stare and crossed his arms. “He didn’t ask you for the tea, boy. I did.”
Which told me all I needed to know about these merchants. They couldn’t tell one tea runner from another. To people of wealth, people like me were interchangeable. All beneath them, all not worth the bother to take notice of until we’d done the job they’d instructed.
And I know for a fact that hasn’t changed in the world today.
“It’s my head and hide if I don’t serve everyone like good guests and get back to the others.” I kept my grip firm on the tray.
The man gave me a look that made it clear he wouldn’t budge on the point. “Then it’s your head and hide, boy. I’ll tell the next one what an idiot you were. Maybe he’ll do better. Be faster.” His eyes narrowed.
The temptation to hurl the tray at him, hot tea and brittle porcelain all, overwhelmed me. But that would end all my ambitions on the spot.
“At least let me set it down and serve you, then I’ll leave. I have to be able to tell the malak-sahm I did that much.”
He pursed his lips. “Who’s malak-sahm?”
“The ‘owner-sir,’” I translated. “Sorry. That much, at least, please?” My insistence obviously drained the last of the man’s patience, but he’d be left with cold tea if he kept barring the way. My stubbornness wouldn’t be beaten by him. Not with what was at stake for me.
Finally, he relented with a heavy sigh. He reached over and banged a fist on the door I’d been looking at first. “Tharum!” I didn’t recognize the word. It wasn’t any derivation of language spoken within the Mutri Empire, and it certainly wasn’t the Trader’s Tongue.
The door opened and another man dressed like the one I’d been speaking to stood in the way. He gestured me inside with the other man following at my back.
I’d made it inside with two very large gentlemen following me.
… Wonderful.
The room had been decorated with the opulence I expected for a group of traders with the wealth to be considered kings.
A thick rug that had more brightness in its threads than some of the clothing I’d seen High Quarter citizens wearing. I saw no signs of scuff marks despite how well-worn it must have been under the constant feet of travelers. The low table at the center of the room had been fashioned out of a black wood the name of which I couldn’t recall but knew to be a weight of silver in price. And the cushions of the room were covered in silk.
A man lounged against several of the padded pillows, a smoking pipe in hand.
My first look told me he’d touched his fiftieth year of life recently. Face as hard-lined as driftwood with eyes warm and bright as honey. He too had most of his hair hidden behind a tightly fastened wrap of rich purple. His clothing matched the other men, but not the shade of plum lining his collar, breast, and cuffs. Instead he wore a sash of red so rich and deep it looked the color of ruby.
All of him reminded me of a grizzled fox. Life as a sparrow had ingrained a sense in me of which men to be wary of on the streets. Some would cause small trouble, a beating or so. Maybe a quick slap of the hand. Others would chase. Some would raise a row and get the kuthri on you. The last men were the ones who took fast and hard to settling things on their own in the most permanent of ways.
He struck me as the last. And the sword, broad and curved, resting on his hip confirmed that for me. It was no ornamental thing. Even from where I stood I could see the leather wraps were worn and stained from sweat and the oils of his hand. Sunlight and use had dampened the luster of gold on the pommel. And his hand rested on the hilt with a casual familiarity that meant he was all too accustomed to its feel in hand.
“Sit.” He spoke the word with the firmness and weight that comes with years of being in charge. If you’ve ever been scolded by someone clearly in a position of power, you know the tone.
But no one did as asked.
The man who’d spoken locked eyes with me. “I’m not accustomed to repeating myself.”
In my stupidity, I took a moment to look at the men who’d followed me in, assuming them to be the target for his command.
Neither of them moved.
I moved closer and set the tray down on the table, taking my time under the guise of not wanting to tip over a cup or spill anything from the pot. I took just as much time in pouring the tea into the first cup before the man in purple-lined robes waved me off.
“Just two cups will do. Sit, boy.”
My surprise fell under the realization I’d gotten what I’d wanted, in a way. Sitting and talking with the man afforded me the time to take a good look at the room proper and commit it to memory.
He waved a hand to the pair of men who’d come with me into the room. “Irf, thalm.”
They bobbed their heads, hand over their hearts, and left in perfect synchrony.
The man before me took a long drag from his pipe, blowing smoke into the air that smelled like dried cherries through the dryness of the haze. “Do you know why you’re here, boy?”
“Because you asked for tea?” I hadn’t tried to be clever with my answer. In truth, it felt the best way to start the conversation—simple honesty.
One corner of the man’s mouth twitched. “When you get to be as old as me, something I’m not yet sure you’ll manage, given how clever you think you are, you come to pay attention to the little things. Things like the differences in the faces of the boys who’ve come and gone over the past set to serve tea. To their walks. Their voices. These things, these differences, can keep a man alive where I come from. Especially in the life I lead. Do you understand?”
I did. It was the same wariness I’d learned to adopt as a sparrow. Why he needed it still eluded me. But, I let the man go on, using the time spent talking to eye the room carefully. All done without breaking solid eye contact with him. A careful trick I’d learned long ago watching Khalim address patrons while onstage. He managed to look at all of them while looking at none of them at the same time. And many couldn’t tell the difference.
“The tea tastes burnt. It’s also tepid.” He drained more than half the cup, though, in a single gulp.
“I’m sorry—”
He waved me off again. “It was boiled too long, too hot, and carried for just as long again.” He fixed me with a knowing stare. “But I suppose that has to do with you taking the tray from whoever was carrying it, hm?”
I said nothing.
“Don’t, boy. There’s little point. I’ve had men try to poison me. Many tried to rob me. Some try under the bright sun with sword and arrow. I’m still here.” He gave me a fox’s own grin. Just as sharp. Just as sly.
“And where are they now?” I’m not sure what prompted me to ask, especially since I had an inkling to the answer.
His smile widened and he patted his sword.
“Oh.” Sometimes all my cleverness fails me. This was one of those moments. I shifted uncomfortably on the ground, not having taken one of the cushions to ease my already tired bottom.
He noticed this and casually tossed one toward me. I caught it and alleviated my discomfort. “Most people try to rob me with less thought than you, though. For that, I’ll give you the time to explain yourself.” He put the pipe back to his mouth and inhaled.
I froze as I nearly touched my own cup. My head turned of its own accord, facing the doorway I’d come through. A quick spring and I could haul myself out of the room before the man could even get to his feet. I was young, fast, and sure of it.
“Don’t, boy. My men are outside. You wouldn’t get out of the doorway. And you wouldn’t get a chance to speak, then. Maybe scream. So, why?”
My mouth dried and I eyed the cup, then him.
He nodded, catching my silent question.
I took a sip. He’d been right. The tea had been burnt. And it was cold. I drank enough to relieve the dryness in my throat. “How did you know?”
“How could I not, boy? How could you not imagine I’d find out? Better yet, think. A man in my position, a merchant with the fortune of a king, old as I am, and having kept it all. This isn’t my first time here, or along any of the paths along the great Golden Road itself. Think.” He tapped two fingers to the side of his head. “Do you think people only trade hard goods and that’s all they have a mind for? That those without wits then peddle their bodies and soft goods? That you are the only one who figured out the secret turnings of a man’s mind can be sold and traded.”
Of course. Fool that I was. He didn’t get rich just trading what he could hold in his hands. The man sold secrets as well. Which meant …
He smiled. “Caught on, have you?”
“Someone told you about us. The sparrows, I mean. Someone let on about my plans.” There was no point in hiding it now, especially when he had me confined in his quarters with a sword nearly in hand and two men at my back. “But who?”
He shook his head, then exhaled another plume of smoke. “Almost there. Close, boy. Close. But no. Think harder. Would someone in my position make it so easy for you to find out about me? To have such an easy time learning where I’d stay, and that I brought a small king’s fortune with me?”
The truth thundered into me with the ringing loudness of metal striking metal. “Kaesha. He didn’t manage to trade and pick up this secret through any wit of his own. Someone fed it to him. You meant for all of this to happen.”
The old man nodded. “More or less. For as many secrets as you think you’ve traded, I’ve bartered off tens of thousands more over my life. And it’s still not the extent of all I’ve come to know. In that, I still confess to having grown curious about the little boy said to run all this. The sparrows. Bloodletter. Some say you’re a demon. You murdered men who ran the streets of Keshum. Stealing coins, white-joy, all before this demon boy and blood-spilling murderer burned down a drug lord’s building. No one survives your wrath.”
That wasn’t true. Nika and Juggi did everything to ensure every child in Koli’s joy house had escaped. The rest fled on account of my ruckus, and even if they hadn’t, the fire hadn’t been enough in the middle of a storm to raze the building to the ground. But, with the twists and turns of how stories spread to form reputations, that had come to be truth.
I was a demon to many. How else could I pluck and peddle people’s secrets? Those were safely kept in heart and mind, of course. They never slipped a drunk man’s lips or angry woman’s mouth. Secrets are more easily told than ever held.
And I came to learn they made an even better hook to the greedy, the ambitious, and the childishly foolish.
I happened to be all three.
“But why?” I took another sip from the cup, still searching for any sign of the man’s fortune. It had to be somewhere within the room. No man of his stature would keep it so far from where he could see it.
“Curiosity. I may have come here to trade, but there are other things far more valuable than what can be bartered for.”
I waited for him to go on.
He didn’t.
I relented and gave into the obvious ploy to have me ask the question. “What is that?”
“Talent, boy. Skill. I came to see what you would do. How you would go about it, and if I’d be killing a reckless fool, or maybe walking away with something else.”
I licked my lips and took a series of slow and measured breaths. My heart all the while had picked up like I’d been running from the two thugs I’d encountered working the streets for Mithu all that time ago. The tension between us slowly built like a song quickening in tempo, promising a crescendo, but it refused to come and reach that cathartic break.
“Are you really a king?”
He inclined his head. “Of a different sort. It’s not something you’re born into where I’m from. It is, in part, by blood. Another piece is earned. We’re not raised in marble and stone palaces. No gilded roofs and priests and gurus and sages. We live by and in the desert. At its mercy. By horse and shade and blood and water. Everything else is made and earned. A man’s fortune is not given—passed down. It’s built. Painfully.
“As I’ve done mine. And it’s not something I mean to see taken by a child.” His hand stroked the pommel of his sword again.
“So … what happens now?”
He arched a brow. “You tell me why. Was it greed? A boy looking to make an even larger name for himself? Robbing a merchant king from another land? A fortune large enough to never have to work another honest day in your life, or even a dishonest day. Is it just for the thrill of it? Have you fallen so far into your work you live for it now, risk and reward mean nothing? Why?”
One word. And it begged for no end of them in return to answer properly.
Should I lie to him? Would he know? A man who could set all this in motion and have me fall so neatly into his hands could easily have found a way to know the shape of my life. Would the truth earn me any sympathy?
Would it be enough?
He didn’t give me the choice to think it through. The old man pulled the sword free and let the blade rest on the side of the tray, point aimed at me. He held it firmly and spoke. “Men get clever when they think they have time. Less so when they realize they have very little of it. You have until the count of five to speak, and truthfully. In my age, I’ve learned more than what I’ve said. I can tell when a man, or a boy, lies.”
I bristled at him calling me a boy, but I reached for whatever words I could. “I didn’t have a choice.” Not wholly true, but close enough.
“One.”
“It’s true!” It wasn’t.
“Two.” He raised the sword and got to his feet.
I backed away, kicking my feet against the table. Could I make it to the door in time? Maybe past him through one of the open arched windows.
“Three.”
“I needed the coin for my family. To make sure they’re safe!” That was almost the truth. It certainly wasn’t a lie.
“Four.” He rounded the table and had me pinned against the door. “Five.” He brought the sword down.
“The Ashram!”
The sword never reached my throat.
My chest heaved like I’d been starved for breath and my heart beat twice as hard as my breathing.
The old man smiled. “I knew I could make an honest man out of you, if even for a moment.” He rolled his wrist in a gesture for me to continue. I noticed the sword never wavered from where he held it, the silent threat still clear.
So I told him everything. Almost everything, leaving out the Ashura. I told him of my life with the theater, of Mahrab and the night Koli and his friends came to kill my family. I told him of Mithu and my life with the sparrows, and then the day at the Zanzikari where I remembered what I wanted out of life. But the only way to get there was to follow through on what Kaesha had brought me. To rob the man before me and ensure my family would have money long after my departure, no matter what happened. And, I could use some of it myself to fund my trip to the Ashram without taking it from the sparrow treasury.
The sword still stayed steady in the air, no sign of it dipping or being pulled away. I took note of the calm strength it must have taken to hold a weapon like that for all this time without the slightest hint of wavering. He wasn’t just smart, but strong.
“I can offer you a different life to studying old books and stories. A life beyond chasing and trying your hand at magics best left alone, not to mention the fact most men never manage to string half a binding together. There is a reason you rarely see a binder and the world hasn’t fallen to a host of angry magicians. It’s nearly an impossible thing to do. And it’s why we’re here.”
He finally moved away from me and reached to one side, tossing another cushion out of the way.
In the space under it sat a wooden box as long as a man’s face and half as thick as one’s head. Not large by any means, but big enough for what it held when he lifted the lid.
Small king’s fortune indeed.
The entire box shone a color I’d only seen in paint and clothing and had only ever dreamed of seeing in coins.
Gold.
Even in a box that size, the weight must have easily rivaled that of a heavy brick or two.
That much gold could buy a lifetime of comfort for every sparrow. It could buy someone a minister’s appointment, a court life. Anything I could dream of.
