Imenja moved to the side facing the city.
“We shouldn’t be overheard here,” she murmured. She turned to face Reivan. “Nekaun left early this morning.”
“Left?” Reivan repeated. “To go where?”
“I don’t know,” Imenja replied. “Nobody does. I was hoping you would.”
Reivan shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since the night before last.”
The Second Voice smiled and turned to regard the view.
“Well then. He’s gone and left us all wondering.”
“The other Voices?”
Imenja shook her head. “They’re just as perplexed as I am.”
Reivan looked away. “He was a bit distracted the night before last.” As she said it, she felt her face warming. “He didn’t tell me he was planning to leave.” She felt a stab of hurt. Surely he could have confided in her. Didn’t he know he could trust her?
But he couldn’t tell her anything he didn’t want the other Voices to read from her mind.
Imenja sighed. “I guess we’ll find out what this is about when he’s ready to tell us.” She shrugged and moved away from the arches. “I have to go, but I’ll see you this afternoon.”
“Yes.” Reivan managed a smile. “Hopefully I won’t have too many matters to bother you with.”
Imenja’s nose wrinkled. “I think that’s what annoys me most. He’s off having some adventure while we’re stuck here doing the boring work.” She started to descend the stairs.
When she had gone, Reivan looked out over the city.
She sighed and turned away from the view. Nothing but the return of Nekaun was going to make her feel better, so she may as well lose herself in work.
Spice Merchant Chem, also known as Servant Chemalya, counted up the tally on his clay tablet and marked in the total. Sitting back in his chair, he smiled. Business was good. Dunwayans had taken to the hotter spices of his homeland like all competitive, pain-loving warriors should. His spiced version of the local brew, fwa, had brought him profits far higher than his expectations. Every day the door of his shop squeaked continually with clan servants come to buy more wares.
It had taken a while for the Dunwayans to take to the spices. Chemalya had made no secret of the fact they were from Southern Ithania. That made them “Pentadrian” goods, which gave them the taint of the enemy. It was said Dunwayan warriors loved their god, Lore, more than their own fathers. This was not surprising, since the god had apparently arranged for every aspect of Dunwayan life to favor them. They would not touch anything associated with the enemy.
At least, they didn’t at first. Then the allure of exotic goods with dangerous associations brought the first customers. The heat of the spices took those first young Dunwayans by surprise. Soon they were daring their friends to try it. When one spiked a mug of fwa with the spice, they discovered that the two substances complemented each other perfectly.
So Chemalya began selling pre-spiced fwa. It gained popularity so quickly he began to run out of spice. He ordered more and raised his prices. When two servants had bid on the last jar of his first shipment, the loser had looked so dismayed at his defeat Chemalya had offered the man a consolatory drink. Soon he was regaled with tales of the brutal treatment of servants.
Listening patiently, he realized his secret task was going to be easier than he had first thought. His future converts were all around him, and their masters had prepared them for their new faith better than any Pentadrian could have.
He had sent the servant away with a small jar of spice he’d been keeping for himself in the hope this would fend off the beating the man was expecting. From then on, he was generous to all the servants who came to buy wares. He told them the tale of half-truths that had allowed him to set up shop in Dunway - that his mother had been a Dunwayan servant woman who had run away to Sennon (true) and married a Murian trader (false - she’d become a whore), who had employed their son as an assistant (delivery boy). Taking over the business when the Murian died (true - but it had been arranged by the Pentadrians), Chemalya had come to Dunway out of a curiosity to see his mother’s homeland (false - his mother’s hatred for her people had killed all curiosity years ago).
To his surprise, he had enjoyed his time in Dunway so far. Not all warriors were cruel and stupid. Some treated their servants as if they were family. There was a tradition of poetry of surprising beauty and their honest and open attitude toward physical lust was refreshing compared to the coyness and embarrassment of Southern Ithanians.
He wasn’t going to be as glad to leave as he’d thought he’d be, and now that one of the White was here he was expecting that moment to arrive any day now. The thought filled him with sadness and a little resentment.
He looked down at the tablet.
The door creaked. Chemalya looked up and smiled as he saw it was one of his latest recruits: Ton, a servant of the Nimler clan. It would not be long before he helped this one “escape” to the south.
Chemalya put his tablet under the bench, out of sight. Ton stepped forward hesitantly, wringing his hands.
“That arrangement you talked about,” the man said, his voice quivering. “Can it happen today?”
Surprised, Chemalya looked at the man closely. Ton always looked a little strained and anxious. Had he finally been pushed too far by his master, or was it something more serious?
“It can,” Chemalya told the man. “What has happened?”
“The White. She was at dinner last night. Said there were spies in the household and that Gim should set a trap.” He reached across the bench and gripped Chemalya’s arm. “If I go back he’ll find me. He’ll kill me. I have to go.”
Chemalya patted the man’s shoulder. “And you will. What did you come here for, and what else are you buying today?”
“Spiced fwa. Grain. Oil.” The man let go of Chemalya’s arm and drew a pouch of coins out of his shirt.
“Good. Tell me the names of the shops and I’ll send someone to meet you. He will take you out of the city.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. My friends and I took the precaution of knowing only as much as we needed, in case our minds were read. You have to trust me.”
Ton nodded and shrugged. “It’s a risk. I have to take it.”
“You will be the last for a while,” Chemalya told him.
The man looked stricken. “But... my wife and children? You said they—”
“Will escape later. They will, once the White has left and we can set things up again.” He paused. “I may need your help with that.”
Ton straightened. “You’ll have it.”
“Thank you. Now you had better tell me which shops you plan to visit.”
After Ton had left, Chemalya called one of the street boys into the shop and paid him a coin to deliver an order for five and a half barrels of fwa. He scratched Ton’s name and the shops he planned to visit onto a scrap of parchment and gave it to the boy.
Then he locked the shop door and sat down behind the bench. Closing his eyes, he pressed a hand to the
