The Gathering, page 13
part #1 of The Hundred Series
“Later. For now, I find myself rather hungry, and I am sure the Hunar is, too. You are still doing your tasting menu?”
Yvonne put a hand over her stomach as it made a small, desperate sound. Tasting menus were legendary in this city. It might be corrupt, and she might hate being here, but the food was superb. Apparently liars, cheats, and thieves liked to eat well.
Neither Modig or Guise paid any attention to her abrupt move, the hotel owner disappearing silently into the depths of the hotel. He was replaced moments later by a pair of waiters, one carrying a tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses, and the other a tray with an array of small savouries that made Yvonne’s stomach gurgle again.
“The menu here is superb,” Guise told her casually, pushing one of the dishes of savouries across to her. “You will want to give it most of your attention.”
She bit her lip to hide a smile. They were worlds apart in their upbringing and life experiences.
Instead of answering him directly, she took the topmost ledger from the pile he had put on the table, and began reading.
If she was not so hungry, she might have lost her appetite, despite the promise of a tasting menu. The ledger went back months, recording a series of apparently innocuous transactions. Horses. Cattle. Pigs, of various varieties. Sheep. Not one single mention of humans, or any of the other races. And yet the prices were oddly consistent across the different breeds of animal.
“There’s some code here,” she commented after a while. Guise had another one of the ledgers open in front of him.
“Yes. I think horses must be the younger children,” he said, lip curling and showing a glimpse of white teeth for a moment. No fangs. Not now. “They are the highest price.”
“There were horses on Ubel’s ledger,” she remembered.
“Yes.” There was fury in his voice. Not directed at her. He lifted his eyes a moment, red pinpricks visible. “No wonder he was hiding from me.”
“Too quick a death,” she agreed.
“Much too quick.” He smiled, fangs very white against his skin, then turned his attention back to the ledger.
She took a hasty sip of wine, not wanting to think about that, and was distracted for a moment. Another superb vintage, and another bottle the cost of which would keep her family fed for the better part of the year.
“Did they get away?” She thought to ask him, finally. She had assumed so, from his return.
“Yes. All of them are out of the city. My friends will see the boy safely home to his parents.”
Her ears snagged on that word again. Friends. She had, for some reason, not expected Guise to have friends. Associates, yes. He had those aplenty. Business transactions. People that were useful to him. But friends. That was something rare.
There was no more time for talk as the waiters returned, bearing what looked like an entire month’s worth of food, the scents curling through Yvonne and making her mouth water even before she had set eyes on the dishes.
Guise cleared the table surface with swift, casual movements, tucking the ledgers into another satchel he had brought with him.
By the time he had tidied up, the table was covered with dishes, most of which Yvonne had difficulty identifying. There was fish, and chicken, and some kind of roasted meat with an aroma that drew her full attention from anything else.
“If you will allow me?” Guise said. She nodded, and moments later was presented with a plate with about half a dozen different foods on it.
“This is just the first course,” he told her. “Have as much as you like.”
The one area where they were equal, Yvonne had noticed before, with much inner amusement, was in their table manners. She might be from a humble background, but her mother in particular had insisted on good table manners. Her knuckles ached in memory for a moment of that wooden rod being brought down with force as she made yet another mistake. The echo faded, chased away by the tantalising scents, the manners she had learned standing her in good stead now, settled across from a member of the Karoan’shae.
If the first course had been mouthwatering and delicious, the second was finer still. She did not think that her stomach could take any more, and found herself in the extraordinary position of turning down food as she was offered a second helping.
Apparently, there was also a dessert course, the thought of which made her groan. She loved desserts.
“They will package the leftovers up for us, if we want,” Guise said. “They have access to some decent preservation spells. Perhaps your children would like some?”
Yvonne tilted her head, considering the offer. It was generous, and out of character. In their business dealings, Guise was usually direct.
“If I was given leftovers, I’m not sure that they would survive to reach my children,” she told him, with a smile.
“Probably just as well. I doubt that they would appreciate the kitchen’s work as it should be enjoyed.” Guise turned and gave some low voiced instructions to the waiters, who cleared the table with the same silent efficiency as they had set the course.
“I’d still like to go back to the warehouse,” Yvonne said. “I’m sure we’ve missed something.”
Now that she was completely full of food, and clean, and pleasantly relaxed with half a glass of wine inside her, she had the nagging feeling that she had missed something. Something important.
“We can go back there tomorrow. I want to see if we can trace that other wagon,” Guise said. He must have seen the surprise on her face. “It may not have been in your ledger, but it is clear from the one I was looking at that several wagons have been sent already. Many of the sales were of individuals, to individuals. But there seems was more than one wagon, sold to the same buyer, and they always wanted the older children.”
“The ones who are strong,” Yvonne commented, feeling the food inside her churn a little.
“Matters for tomorrow,” Guy said firmly. “Today’s children are safely away. If you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to.” He rose to his feet, inclined his head with the manners ingrained in him, and left.
As he left, Yvonne realised that she was warm, fully fed, and safe, and with nothing to do and no demands on her time. The children were safe, as Guise had said. Her limbs were weighted, pleasantly tired. There was also a bed upstairs for her use, and it seemed like an excellent idea to see just how comfortable it was.
~
By the time they got back to the scene the next day, fuelled by what Modig had termed a casual breakfast but which rivalled the meal from the night before in variety and taste, the warehouse been completely emptied. It was frustrating, but neither were surprised. Whoever had done the cleaning had done a reasonably thorough job, removing the cages and making a cursory effort to sweep the floor, replacing the shattered doors. They had not managed to get rid of the smell, though, and Yvonne’s nose wrinkled as she walked with Guise through the large, empty space.
“This had not been their base for long,” she commented, rubbing a toe along one of the marks on the floor. The cages had simply been set on the floor, weighted down and pinned at each corner. A more permanent arrangement would have been more secure. “How long ago do we think Ubel was here?”
Guise tilted his head, considering. “I lost track of him maybe ten days ago. So perhaps around then?”
“Not as long, I think,” Yvonne said, her eyes on the scuff marks. Barely worn. Ten days at the absolute most. She opened her mouth to ask Guise how he had been keeping track of his associate, but he had other things on his mind.
“They would not want to stay in one place for long. Slavery is illegal, even here,” Guise commented, lip curling in disgust.
“If there’s anyone to enforce it,” Yvonne countered. She suspected there might well be law keepers somewhere in the city. She had never seen them, or any evidence that crimes were, in fact, punished. With such liberal laws as the city had, she was not sure how busy a law keeper would be.
“There isn’t,” Guise acknowledged. “The city does have some official law keepers, but they are poorly paid and vulnerable to incentives,” he added. It sounded to Yvonne like he had personal experience of delivering those incentives. She did not enquire further.
“Those ledgers were vast. More than ten days old. There was somewhere before this. And they probably have someone else set up again.” Disgust was fast being replaced by anger. She remembered the sea of faces from the day before, behind bars. Small children, utterly bewildered and terrified. Older children, who may have a good idea of what could happen to them when they were taken out of the cages. None of them deserved it.
And they had been gathered from so many different places. This was not a simple kidnapping operation, taking targets of opportunity. This was organised and planned. Widespread, with surprisingly few rumours about it, the little she had heard. And that meant that there was a mastermind somewhere. Someone had put this plan in motion. Someone was deliberately, systematically, cynically, gathering in children and young people and selling them on. Slavery might be technically illegal in this city, but it was lawful in other places and, once sold, slaves were usually subject to such harsh treatment that they did not speak out against their owners, even when a Hunar asked them if they were all right.
She could not breathe for a moment, throat tightening, memories rising to the surface. She had far too many bad memories.
“The handwriting on the ledgers belongs to three different people,” Guise said unexpectedly. He was standing more or less in the centre of the warehouse, hands folded behind him as he looked around, a shaft of sunlight from a gap in the roof overhead catching his hair, turning it to shimmering obsidian. Today’s coat was the same deep blue greatcoat that Mariah had mended, she noted.
“It’s unlikely that they would hire clerks in for the work,” Yvonne said, catching the line of his thinking. She thought back to the ledger she had reviewed the day before. The writing had been uneven, with the occasional spelling mistake. Mistakes that a clerk would not make. She had seen many merchants’ ledgers properly prepared, with the handwriting perfectly even and not one mistake or smudge on pages and pages of detailed notes. “Not a trained clerk. Someone educated, though, and used to writing.”
“I agree.”
Most people in the city were virtually illiterate. They did not need to read and write to go about their daily lives. Even quite a few of the mercenaries could not read or write. Yvonne frowned, trying to think of what sort of person might keep the ledgers for a slave trading operation. Even in this city, there might be some punishment if they were caught, and punishment tended to be severe.
“Do we inspect all the warehouses in the city and look for people going in and out with ink on their fingers?” she speculated. It was not the most ridiculous idea that she had thought of.
“That will take a long time,” Guise said. He was not dismissing the idea, though. In a city this big, and with limited information available, it would take a long time no matter how they managed their search.
A soft sound outside the warehouse drew their attention.
“Or, we can wait for someone to turn up here, and question them,” Yvonne said, voice as soft as she could make it. They had left their horses at the hotel, so there was no sign outside the building that it was occupied.
Moving as silently as she could, she followed Guise to the wall, nearest the sound, and held her breath for a moment as someone fiddled with the lock of the door before opening it, stepping quickly inside from daylight to the comparative gloom of the warehouse’s interior, and shutting the door behind them.
Guise was on the newcomer before they could take a step into the building, pushing them back against the wall, one hand over their mouth, to stop them from crying out.
The newcomer wriggled and let out a muffled squeal that drew Yvonne’s sharp attention. For some reason, she had not expected there to be any women involved in the operation. She was annoyed with herself immediately for that assumption.
Guise, who had surely been brought up to treat women with respect in the Karoan’shae, apparently had no difficulty in forgetting his manners when it came to somebody potentially involved in slavery. There was a red tinge to his eyes, again, and the faintest tips of fangs showing at his mouth.
The woman that he had held up against the wall was wide-eyed, face pale. She had also stopped struggling, completely still underneath his hand across her mouth.
“I’m going to take my hand away. You’re going to be silent. Then you are going to answer our questions. Fully, completely, and quickly. Do you understand?”
The woman nodded her head, as much as she was able to under Guise’s grip.
“A moment,” Yvonne requested, and said a quick spell, sending a shower of white sparks into the air around them. The woman’s eyes grew wider still. “We won’t be overheard within the spell, but we can still hear other sounds,” she told Guise.
“Good.” He measured the extent of the white sparks before he released the woman.
“They made me do it,” she said in a high, rapid voice. “I didn’t want to. They made me. I just kept the books.”
Guise and Yvonne exchanged glances. One of the clerks who had recorded the goods and sales so meticulously in the ledgers.
“What’s your name?” Yvonne asked. Guise would not care, but it would help settle the woman.
“Rebecca,” the woman answered, voice steadying a fraction. “Rebecca of Hogsmarthen.”
Yvonne’s eyes narrowed. Hogsmarthen was known for its law-abiding citizens, and its utter disgust of slavery.
“How did you come to be here?” Guise asked, clearly thinking along the same lines as Yvonne.
“I came looking for my brother,” she said, a catch in her voice. “They said they would let him go. If I paid off his price by working for them. Too old for one of the brothels, they said. But I can read and write, so they made me do this,” Rebecca’s voice was choked and bitter by the time she finished, and her eyes travelled around the room. “They didn’t tell me they were moving, though.”
“They didn’t know they were moving,” Guise told her, hint of satisfaction in his voice.
“Where is your brother?” Yvonne asked. The woman was, she thought, somewhere in her late twenties, possibly early thirties. That meant her brother was likely a few years younger. Too old to be one of the children that they had seen in the slave pens here, and very few slave owners had much use for mature men. They preferred them young, while they were still vulnerable.
“He’s not here,” Rebecca said, voice full of pain and frustration. “It was months before they told me. But by then, I knew too much. They weren’t going to let me go. Said I was too useful for them.”
“You keep saying they,” Guise said. “We need descriptions.”
“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head, her eyes going wide with fear again. “They’ll kill me.”
“Rebecca,” Yvonne said, voice firm, “they didn’t tell you they had moved. You turned up here for work as normal. They don’t care about you any more. If you go and find them again, you’re probably dead anyway. Tell us what we need to know, and we can get you out of the city.”
“And what about my brother?”
“I will help him if I can. If you ask me to,” Yvonne said, feeling the weight of more expectation on her shoulders. There was another missing girl to find. And she wanted to find the people behind this slave trade as much as Guise did.
“I think he might be dead,” Rebecca said, her voice catching. “I looked for him, when I had some free time. No one has seen him. Nobody knew his name, or where he might be.”
“Tell him what he wants to know,” Yvonne said, tilting her head to Guise, “and then tell me about your brother.”
Rebecca drew a breath and her shoulders eased back, strain lifting from her face. It made her look younger, all at once, and Yvonne wondered if her estimate of age had been off. Grief and strain could add years to someone’s appearance.
“You are Hunar,” Rebecca said, voice cracking. “I thought they were just legends.” She stared at the Firebird’s symbol, biting her lip, before a question rushed out of her, words tumbling over each other. “Is it true that the first Hunar died to save the world by killing his own brother?”
“So the legends tell us,” Yvonne answered. It was the story told to children. That the first Hunar, and his hundred followers, had battled his brother, and that they had both died, the first Hunar’s followers forming the Hundred in his name. Like all good stories, there was some truth in it.
“I thought it was all just stories,” Rebecca said, voice shaking.
“The Hundred are quite real,” Guise said, shifting his weight slightly to draw Rebecca’s attention, “and you will have the Hunar’s full attention when you have told me what I need to know.”
Once the original shock and strain had worn off, Rebecca proved highly informative. She had a quick mind to go with a keen eye, and was able to give descriptions of everyone she had interacted with in the slave trading operation, her descriptions carrying enough emotion that Yvonne was able to pick up faint traces to follow from her words, and her reactions. She was also able to tell them which warehouses around the city had already been used to house the cages, and give them three options for the next place, that she had overheard being discussed.
It was only when Guise commented how much she knew about the operation that she stopped talking, going chalk white, her eyes wide again. Yvonne thought that was probably the first time she had really, truly, realised just how deeply embedded she had become. She knew far too much. The slavers had been overconfident in their hold on her, that she would be too frightened to say anything against them. But then, Yvonne thought, the slavers probably believed Hunar were legends as well, and the last thing anyone would expect would be a lord of the Karoan’shae working with a Hunar.
