Finally my head broke the surface, and I sucked in burning air that hurt going in almost as much as not breathing. Gulping, forehead pressed against the bars, water slurping in and out of my open mouth, I hung there, steadying myself with desperate, grateful breaths.
The river slapped and bubbled through the gate, ferociously loud. Light from the top of the tower spilled over the ramparts and lit part of the wall, but left the river inky dark. Lights flickered from afar on the east shore: a small encampment of rebels, guarding the south wall of the upper city. The opposite shore was an endless field of black. I eased my way west, toward the lower city, with numb hands and a thumping heart, watching the lights. If anyone saw me now, friend or foe, they would shoot to kill.
The moon was still shielded by clouds. With another deep breath, I pushed off the grate, half swimming, half scrambling against the slick wall until the water turned thicker. My toes brushed mud. A surge of relief propelled me out of the last of the current and up to my ankles in the gooey riverbed. I scanned the shores again, searching for movement. Though my impulse was to get out of the water and onto dry land, I stood the least chance of being seen while in the water, for the moment, at least.
The current still worked against me, but in these shallower parts of the river it was possible to walk against it. Moving along the bank at a crouch, progress seemed glacial, but speed could wait until I was safer. So I swam-crawled, counting steps like my brother to avoid obsessing about what came next. Once, something cold brushed against my thigh, causing an involuntary gasp and a mouthful of water. Another time, the clouds masking the moon shifted and everything around me was so clearly illuminated that it was necessary to submerge completely and trawl under the water, surfacing only to breathe, until the clouds moved again and the light dimmed.
Eventually, at a decent distance from the lower city walls, I pulled up on the rocky embankment and slipped out. The air on my soaked, exhausted limbs felt icy, though it wasn’t a cold night. I moved silently through the medley of plants and rocks on the bank until I found a suitable pile of boulders and slipped in between them. Panting, I rested my back on the stone to recover my breath.
I fumbled open the packet on my back and found with a warm rush of relief that the greased leather had done its job. Though the towel was a little damp, everything underneath seemed dry. I could have wept as I rubbed my limbs free of the last of the river water and donned the dry traveling clothes. My feet felt swollen and puffy in my shoes, and the clothes, pilfered from Salvea, didn’t fit properly, but for those few moments, leaning against the rock with my eyes shut and my body feeling warmer at last, I had never felt so comfortable.
Okubane
DESCRIPTION: Fleshy shrub common in agricultural areas, with silvery green leaves. Leaves are toxic to oku, lutra, and other ranging beasts and humans in large doses.
SYMPTOMS: Twitching, itching skin, restless sleep from which it is difficult to wake.
PROOFING CUES: Tingling in mouth and tongue, mild bitterness. No discernible smell.
19
Jovan
Shit.
When Hadrea came back to me a few hours later, I’d assumed she had managed to find some information about Batbayer’s whereabouts. I certainly hadn’t anticipated the scene that greeted me.
The Doranite was tied to a chair, his mouth gagged with a colored cloth that looked suspiciously like one of Hadrea’s scarves. Her stride was broad and relaxed as she approached him and lifted the wicked knife swinging from her hip, half-masked by the folds of her Silastian-style dress. She felt its weight in her hand, her expression measuring, and looked between Batbayer and me.
“Credo Jovan would like to speak to you,” she said to him, gesturing casually with the knife.
I stared at her, torn between admiration that she had managed to do in hours what we had not managed in days, and frustration that she had forced us into an adversarial position with the man. I cleared my throat.
“You sell narcotics,” I said, pulling up a chair in front of him. Hadrea jerked her head to the side; I took the message and set the chair behind him instead. He tried to crane his head around to follow me, but Hadrea was there, pushing his face back straight again.
“You had best keep eyes on me,” she told him, her tone somehow all the more menacing for her lilting, seductive voice. His frame stiffened, then he nodded. Honor-down, how much has she already scared him? This was the Hadrea I’d seen first, the easy predator. She was a farmer. Where, and why, had she learned this side of her?
I repeated my statement. “You sell narcotics.”
“Mmph.”
Hadrea leaned in close to Batbayer’s face, slid the knife under the scarf, against his cheek, then turned the edge into the cloth and sawed through. He spat out the rest of the scarf as she stepped back with a cold smile. Batbayer panted, craning around to look for me again. “Crazy bitch,” he said, but a tremor belied his apparent rebellion.
“Credo Jovan is speaking,” she told him, as though she’d not even noticed his insult.
“I don’t have to say a thing,” Batbayer said. His accent was faint; I guessed he’d spent most of his life in Sjon. “You untie me, do you hear? Untie me, you fucking—”
Before he finished that sentence, she drove her elbow into the center of his body. He gasped as most of the air in his lungs was forced elsewhere. I winced, half-stood, then dropped again at the look she shot me. Batbayer wheezed pitifully. The memory of Tain lying in his bed, my sister hovering by his side, drained Batbayer’s spluttering of potency. I’d do what it took to get the answers to save the people I cared about, even if it meant resorting to unsavory techniques.
Hadrea smiled again. “We are short of time, Doranite. We will need some more civilized words from you.”
I cleared my throat again. “You do sell narcotics, because we’ve got some of them, Varina and Hasan admitted you sold to them. That’s against the law in this city.”
He said nothing.
“Here’s the thing. Keeping someone in jail at the moment is impractical. But we have excellent jobs for criminals. Clearing out the sewage system—it’s not just disgusting, but dangerous, because the tunnel entrances are exposed to the outside of the walls. Wall repairs—we dangle you down on a harness and you patch weak spots in the wall. You’re a target, but it’s a noble job. Keeping watch on Trickster’s Bridge to see if the rebels move within arrow range.…”
Batbayer remained silent, but his shoulders rose and the muscles in his neck tightened. I’d gambled that he led a soft life, and the more dangerous and disgusting the task he was forced into, the more it would pressure him to cooperate. I plowed on.
“But I don’t need to have you arrested, because lucky for you, I want something you have.”
“For someone who’s so scornful of narcotics, you’re willing to bargain to get some?” His cold trill of a laugh broke off when Hadrea stepped closer again, knife raised.
“I don’t want your product,” I said. “I want your knowledge.”
Batbayer tightened his arms against the bonds, but she’d done an excellent job on the knots.
“I don’t know how you make the narcotics. It’s possible the Chancellor could have been poisoned by an ingredient we’ve never heard of.”