Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Alek
The midday sun beats down on me from the cloudless sky. It’s warmer than I expected for an autumn day, or I’d have dressed in a lighter shirt.
I wipe the sweat from the back of my neck and restrain a grimace at the prickling of perspiration beneath my mask.
Ivy would point out that I could simply take it off. The memory of her hand against my cheek, the affection shining in her eyes when she took me in as I am, still sends a giddy thrill through my chest.
But I’ve faced enough looks of horror and disgust from other people that I’d rather not risk it. I don’t want to give the employees of this clay quarry any reason to hesitate about welcoming my visit.
The sprawling building I’m approaching is appropriately covered with glazed clay tiles to form a mosaic: an image of Creaden, the godlen who presides over construction as well as leadership and justice, raising a temple from the ground with a sweep of his hands while the first king of Silana applauds.
To the left of the main office entrance is a doorway to the on-site shop, a feature I’ve discovered is common at the clay quarries. The businesses ship most of the materials they dig up elsewhere for craftspeople to work with, but they also like to show off the end product that can be created.
To the right, I note a few wagons of varying sizes around the side of the building. I’d imagine there are storage and equipment rooms at that end.
This is the fourth quarry I’ve visited in the past week, a little farther from the capital than the others but still close enough to make a day trip of it. I’ve developed a pattern of investigation that seems to serve me well.
First, I step into the shop room. The woman supervising it bobs her head to me, her gaze lingering on my mask for a few moments with obvious curiosity. “Welcome to the Earthshine Quarry. I hope you find much to enjoy in our wares.”
I nod to her in turn, pushing my mouth into a smile despite my self-consciousness. “I can already see the clay produced here is of excellent quality.”
I turn toward the display shelves, taking in the variety of dishes, vases, and figurines, some fired plain, others glazed or painted. “Were all of these made on site?”
“Yes, our master potter likes to show off all the many styles that can be applied to our clay.”
As I meander along the shelves as if browsing, I draw a small piece of broken pottery from my carry pouch. It’s a shard from the snake Ivy captured and Stavros killed.
I’ve studied the color and texture of it so closely that I can see it when I close my eyes, but I examine it again to compare it to the examples of plain fired clay before me. My heart starts to beat a little faster.
My sample has the same ruddy brown hue as the clay produced here, with an equally fine grain. I rub my thumb over the shard and then touch one of the bowls.
They feel much the same too.
At all of the past quarries, my hopes dwindled at this point as I saw the differences in the materials. But this—this could be the clay that the scourge sorcerers used to make their conjured creatures.
And conjured men too, if Ivy’s observations are correct. Knowing her, I’m inclined to think they are.
Suppressing the nausea that pools in my gut at that thought, I tuck the shard away.
“Can I help you with anything or make any suggestions, good sir?” the shopkeeper asks.
I shake my head. “Not at the moment, thank you. I’ve actually come from Sovereign College with an academic purpose rather than to buy. But it’s been helpful seeing the finished product. I’ll be sure to recommend this quarry to the artists at the college.”
The last comment appears to please her even though I’m not a paying customer. She smiles brightly as I head out again.
I amble over to the office area as casually as I can, attempting to give every impression of a diligent but not overly invested scholar. If this is the source of the conspirators’ clay, I don’t know how tangled up the employees might be in their schemes.
They could know nothing about what purpose their materials are being put to… or they could answer to Ster. Torstem and the others. I can’t give them any reason to suspect that I have an ulterior motive for being here.
As I reach the door, I give my hands a furtive wipe against my trousers, drying the sweat that isn’t only because of the day’s heat. My heart is still thumping twice as fast as it ought to.
I have no idea how Ivy manages to stay so cool under pressure, dealing with the unnerving trials the conspirators have forced on her. I’m nervous enough just having a chat with a quarry manager.
But maybe if I can handle this conversation well, she won’t have to endure any more of those trials. The evidence of the scourge sorcerers’ ultimate plans could be right here.
I knock on the door. After a moment, a burly man with a face nearly as ruddy as his clay opens it. His expression flickers between respect for my refined clothes, wariness at the sight of my mask, and a general air of confusion.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your work,” I say quickly but smoothly, willing any sign of my nerves out of my voice.
“I’m Aleksi Antoniek of Dovia, a scholar from Sovereign College, and I’m conducting a study of mining activities in Silana now compared to under Darium rule.
I’d simply like to ask a few questions and take a quick look around—I won’t interfere.
I have a letter from my supervising professor if you’d like confirmation. ”
I fish out the small scroll and hold it out to the man. He takes it and scans the contents.
His gaze sweeps over me again, and my skin itches with the sense that he’s assessing me as not much of a threat. He rubs his jaw, his eyebrows lifting slightly. “Our operation could be part of a royal study? That’s pretty impressive. Come on in. I can give you a few minutes.”
He motions for me to follow him into the building. Just beyond a small fore-room, he steps into a large office with a boxy wooden desk. The papers scattering its surface in apparent disarray have my fingers curling against the urge to straighten them out.
The rest of the space is filled by several shelves of paper records, a few books, and various odds and ends that I can now recognize are parts of mining equipment. Probably saved as mementos to mark significant milestones of the business.
There’s only one chair, behind the desk, where the burly man promptly sits.
Even though he’s now much lower than me, he gazes up at me with an imperious air.
“My name is Nomar Pavelek, and I’m the manager of the Earthshine Quarry.
Worked here for nearly three decades now, manager for two of those. What do you need to know?”
“I’d love to take a look at a few months of sales records to get an idea of where most of your materials end up,” I say, with not a little relief at the idea of being able to dive into written accounts rather than trying to cajole information out of a person.
“And it’d be helpful to know if there have been any particularly notable transactions or incidents during your time here. ”
Like, say, a new client suddenly demanding huge amounts of clay materials for some mysterious business they haven’t clarified.
I can’t say that last part out loud without potentially raising his suspicions, though.
Nomar leans back in his chair, his eyes going distant.
After several seconds, he shakes his head.
“I can’t think of any ‘incidents’ that’d be of scholarly interest. It’s a pretty steady business, not much in the way of dramatics.
But I don’t mind you taking a look at our books.
We don’t keep sensitive information in the ledgers, only names and amounts. ”
I offer an ingratiating smile. “That’s all I’d need.”
The manager propels himself out of his chair again and strides across the room. He pulls a sheaf of loose papers off one of the shelves and hands it to me. “That covers the first three months of this year. I’d prefer it stayed in this room.”
“That’s totally fine,” I assure him. “I’ll look through it and take whatever notes I need to right here.”
I retrieve a paper, a small quill, and a tiny pot of ink from my carry pouch to look appropriately scholarly and sit on the floor with my back against the wall as if it wouldn’t have occurred to me that I’d need a desk.
Nomar goes back to whatever work he was taking care of in his own seat, shooting occasional evaluating glances my way.
Unfortunately, for all my hopes, the ledger papers don’t reveal anything particularly enlightening.
There are regular shipments of various amounts to the craftsmen’s guilds in a few different cities, to a couple of townships presumably for building materials, and to an assortment of smaller clients.
Nothing jumps out at me as reason for concern, although I jot down all the names to look into later. But as I tabulate the figures in my head, my forehead furrows.
I wouldn’t call myself an expert after seeing a grand total of three previous quarries, but I’ve noted certain patterns. This particular operation—the size of the building, the number of vehicles, and the sprawl of the quarry itself—gave the impression of being larger than the other three.
And yet it appears they’ve been sending out significantly less clay than those others, at least in the past few months. Strange.
I look up from my reading. “Would it be possible for me to examine a ledger from, say, ten years ago?”
Am I being paranoid, or does the manager hesitate for a second before answering. “I don’t see why not. Let me find it…”
He skims through the records and offers me another sheaf after I return the first to him. When I scan the new set of figures, certainty congeals in my gut.