“Minta Varana!” said Giddon. “Our host at dinner last night!”
“And the sister of the cat lady we’re staying with,” said Hava, her face like ice. “Lovely.”
“I ate her food,” said Giddon, almost spitting. “I thanked her for her hospitality.”
“Yes,” said Perry, sounding regretful. “I’m afraid you did. What are you planning to do with these names? Are you hoping to sue them for dishonest business practices? You could, but it might be tricky. You would have to prove both that they knew the rock detritus contained zilfium and that they knew Queen Bitterblue didn’t know.”
Giddon considered Hava, who looked back at him with an uncertain expression. How much should they trust this man? “It surprised us,” he said carefully, “when our men drowned in the Brumal Sea. Mikka and Brek. Maybe you knew them?”
It was plain from Perry’s sudden bright eyes that he had. “They were my friends,” he said. “We foreigners get to know each other. In fact, we were together often. Mikka had an adventurous spirit; he’d talk Brek and me into overnight hikes, which I suffered through tolerably, I suppose. Then I would convince him to do something civilized, like try a new restaurant.”
“I’m sorry,” said Giddon.
“It has been a heartbreaking year for boat travel,” said Perry, touching his sleeve to his eyes. “But what do you mean? Surprised, how?”
“Was there anything unusual about the shipwreck?”
“Unusual?” said Perry. “The seas here aren’t like our seas at home. I understand ships often run into trouble. But”—and here he shifted in his seat, his confusion deepening—“do you mean foul play?”
For a moment, Giddon was silent. Perry touched his sleeve again to his eyes, anxious and unhappy. He wore gold rings on every finger, like every Lienid Giddon had ever known. Giddon had a vision suddenly of Bitterblue’s hands, glimmering with gold, on the floor of the Brumal Sea.
“Why would you think such a thing?” said Perry.
“Because Katu Cavenda apparently thought it,” said Giddon. “Do you know Katu?”
“I do. But Katu has gone traveling,” said Perry, a tone of protest in his voice, as if Katu’s absence could make the rest of it untrue.
“Do you know where he went?” said Giddon.
“Only rumors,” said Perry. “Kamassar, Borza.”
“We’re worried about Katu as well.”
“For what reason?” said Perry, in a voice of growing alarm. “Giddon, what are you saying? What’s going on?”
When Giddon glanced at Hava again, she shrugged, then said, “We may as well tell him. He’ll connect the dots himself even if we don’t.” She turned to Perry. “We think someone drowned Mikka and Brek,” she said. “Because they’d found out that Monsea had zilfium and that people were cheating Bitterblue out of it. We think they were silenced so the queen would never know.”
“Oh, no,” said Perry, straightening in his chair, speaking with certainty. “They would never have been killed for that.”
“We had word that before they died, there was something they wanted to tell Bitterblue about zilfium,” said Hava.
“And that may very well be the news they wanted to tell her,” said Perry, “but I assure you, they would not have died for that information. Everyone here knew that certain families were taking advantage of the queen’s ignorance to import Monsea’s zilfium at shocking prices. Mikka and Brek wouldn’t have been killed to prevent them telling her. It was no secret. Everyone knew the queen would figure it out eventually.”
Giddon couldn’t breathe around his indignation. “And why didn’t anyone else write to her? Did everyone here find her ignorance so entertaining? Why didn’t you write to her?”
“I did tell Mikka. Look, I understand your feelings,” Perry said quietly. “I share them. But I do think it was less that people were actively upholding the deception and more that people were busy, and forgot about it, and failed to care. There’s an attitude here that all’s fair in business.”
“That’s disgusting,” said Hava flatly.
“I agree,” said Perry. “But I assure you that it does not extend to murdering people to prevent them communicating information that everyone knows.”
Then why were they murdered? thought Giddon, suddenly, impossibly frustrated. Maybe they weren’t? Could Katu have been wrong? No. Katu was no fool; if he’d believed there was something suspicious about the drowning of the Seashell, believed it enough to start diving for the wreck, he was probably right. And his subsequent disappearance supported the theory.
But if the deaths of Mikka and Brek had nothing to do with zilfium or the zilfium importers, where did that put Giddon and Hava? Exactly nowhere, for the importers had been their best lead. Their only lead, really.
Giddon was suddenly afraid he was going to start crying in Perry’s office.
“Perry,” said Hava, “how did everyone in Winterkeep learn that Monsea had zilfium?”
“A woman from Monsea,” Perry said. “A Graceling named Trina. I understand she’s one of your Estillan refugees?”
And now Giddon had a new person to kill. We helped her. “She showed the Keepish how to trick the Monsean queen,” he said quietly, “and she’s talked openly about escaping Estill to Monsea?”
“She has a price,” said Perry, “and a reputation. In fact, her reputation has largely ruined her own business here, if the rumors are true. People want her help, but they don’t want to work with her.”
“Is that because she’s unethical,” said Hava, “or simply because she’s a Graceling?”
Perry seemed startled, then unhappy, deflated. “It’s probably both. Was the queen aware of the size of her zilfium stores?”
“No,” said Giddon. “She began a survey before we left, but there wasn’t much time.”
Perry’s eyes widened. “Perhaps I should tell you that Winterkeep believes Monsea’s zilfium stores to be truly massive,” he said. “More massive than any known Torlan source. The queen is sitting on a fortune that Torla can’t match.”
Before Giddon could respond to this, a knock sounded on the door. Flustered, Perry called, “Come in,” then remembered himself and repeated the words in Keepish.
The man who entered had pale skin and reddish hair and was dressed in the plain style of home, no scarves, no bold colors. He was also familiar; Giddon thought he’d been at dinner last night, though at the other end of the table.