“The junk dealer I spoke to in the Maze told me it had been purchased by a ‘discerning individual,’” said Lin. “Perhaps this individual has put it about that they have this item to sell, and thus we are seeing evidence of interest in buying the book beginning to make itself known . . .”
“Perhaps,” said Andreyen. “I admit I have not fully educated myself as regards the dark underground of antique book dealing. Vicious folk, I’ve heard.” He pushed open the door to what she now knew was called the Great Room, with its massive stone fireplace and comfortable furniture. It was clearly an often-used room; someone had left a book facedown on the arm of a chair, and a plate of half-eaten biscuits balanced on a tabletop. “Usually, though, I get word of it when someone in Castellane has something interesting or illegal to sell. This time, I heard only of the person looking to buy.”
“But no word who they are?”
The Ragpicker King shook his head.
“I could ask for permission to seek the book in the Shulamat again, but the Maharam made his position fairly clear,” Lin said.
The Ragpicker King picked up the silver incantation bowl on the shelf near the fireplace. Lin felt a sort of itch when he touched it, a desire to tell him to put it down, that it was a precious thing to her people. But she would only be a hypocrite if she did; it was not as if her current connection to the Ragpicker King, with everything he stood for, would not have horrified the Maharam and the Sanhedrin far more. She wondered if he had ever employed someone Ashkari before. He seemed as if he knew more about what went on inside the walls of the Sault than most. But then it was in his interest to know things, and any one of her people who worked with him in secret risked their place in the community. As she was doing.
“There are certain men,” said Andreyen, gazing into the bowl, “who, when in positions of power, err on the side of inflexibility.”
“You are in a position of power,” said Lin.
The Ragpicker King set the bowl down and grinned. “But I am very flexible. Mostly morally.”
Before Lin could reply, there was a stir outside the room. She heard Ji-An protest, and then the doors burst open and a familiar-looking man stalked in, glowering. Dark-red hair, black eyes, dressed like a merchant’s son. Lin remembered him now: the man who had been here the first time she came to the mansion. He had wanted—
“My black powder,” the man snarled. “It was supposed to arrive two days ago. I’ve been patient—”
“Bursting into my home, pushing past my guard?” Andreyen said, green eyes narrowing. “You call that patience?”
“My apologies,” said Ji-An, who had followed the young man into the room and stood at alert, her hand halfway inside her jacket. “I couldn’t stop him without killing him, and I wasn’t sure that was what you wanted.”
“Unnecessary, Ji-An,” said Andreyen. “He is rude but overall harmless. Ciprian Cabrol, if you want to talk with me, I suggest you make an appointment.”
“I haven’t got the time,” Ciprian protested. “Ascension Day is in four days.”
“Astonishing news,” said the Ragpicker King. “I’ve always said I should keep better track of major holidays.” He crossed his arms. “I’ve a meeting going on, in case you can’t tell.”
Ciprian Cabrol shot a single glance at Lin. “Irrelevant. She’s Ashkar, who will she tell? My powder—”
Andreyen rolled his eyes. “Ciprian, this is Shenzan black powder we’re discussing. Surely you understand the importance of transporting it carefully. Besides. The Roverge ships will be in the harbor for another two weeks.”
Roverge ships? Lin felt her eyes widen. The Roverges were a Charter Family, dangerous to be at odds with.
“But it needs to happen soon—on Ascension Day,” Cabrol insisted. “At the stroke of midnight. All the nobles will be gathered for that banquet. Roverge and his rotten son will be there. I need them to see my vengeance written in fire across the sky. The harbor will shine as though the lights of the Gods have returned. As though their magic still burns across the waters.”
“That was surprisingly poetic,” murmured Ji-An.
“You are being very theatrical about all of this,” said Andreyen disapprovingly.
“Says the man who goes about in a black carriage with wheels painted the color of blood,” said Ciprian. “Theatricality has its purpose. After what they did to us—driving a family from their home for daring to own a small business selling ink—”
“It wasn’t that small a business,” said Andreyen. “Honestly, I’m surprised, after what’s happened, that you and your family are still in Castellane. The Vigilants—”
“My family is in Valderan for now,” said Ciprian. “Only I am here. And I’m safe enough.” He glowered. “I expect that powder tomorrow morning,” he said, and stalked out of the room. After a moment, Ji-An followed him, no doubt to make sure he made directly for the exit.
“This business with Cabrol and the Roverge fleet,” said the Ragpicker King. He looked down at Lin, eyes unreadable. “It is not information you can share. Do you understand? Not with anyone in the Sault. Not with Mayesh Bensimon. Cabrol is rude and careless, but he is a customer. And I have a certain interest in him getting his way.”
“One question,” said Lin. “Will there be people aboard those ships? The ones Cabrol wants to blow up?”
“No,” Andreyen said. “Everyone will be in the city, celebrating Ascension Day. And they’re moored halfway out to Tyndaris. Besides, that night is your Tevath, isn’t it—your Goddess Festival? You and yours will be safe in the Sault.”
“I am a healer,” said Lin. “I would have difficulty keeping a secret that I knew would lead to injury or death, whether the victims were Ashkar or not. But the fleets of the Castellani nobility are not my concern. Besides,” she added, thinking aloud. “If I were to tell anyone, how would I explain how I had come by the information without revealing things I do not want to reveal?”
“Like your association with me.”
“You must know a great number of people who do not wish to reveal their association with you,” said Lin.
“Indeed, and I find we all get along handily. In the meantime . . .”
“I know,” Lin said. “Keep looking for the book.”
Later, after she had left the mansion and was on her way back to the Sault, she glanced over at the harbor, a strip of blue in the distance. How odd it would be if Ciprian Cabrol succeeded in his mad plan, and sometime during the Goddess Festival the gold light of his explosions illuminated the sky over the harbor.
But that was what it was to be Ashkar. Whatever happened inside the Sault, they would always be surrounded by malbushim, by their machinations and their madness. If Cabrol managed to enact his plan—and Lin had her doubts—it would be the most exciting thing that had happened at a Tevath in some two hundred years.
Kel had returned to Marivent to find that Conor and Lilibet, Bensimon and Jolivet, were locked away in the Shining Gallery with the delegates from Sarthe. He could hear shouting from behind the doors. He tried to get close but was shooed away by Benaset. “Not your place, Anjuman,” he said. “Jolivet told me expressly to make sure you stayed away. Go amuse yourself elsewhere.”