Chapter Twenty-Seven The Way of the Merchant
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE WAY OF THE MERCHANT
A LL FIVE OF them left the attic behind, every one of them deep in thought.
Desil’s hand remained on her shoulder, squeezing tight.
At the foot of the long marble staircase, Naya turned and said, “I’m going to speak with the leader of this safehaven about this golden rot business right away.
We need to spread word as quickly as possible. ”
Lythlet nodded quietly.
“But not all unregistereds belong to a safehouse, and we haven’t a way to reach those who don’t,” Ilden said with a troubled face. “Lythlet’s father may refuse to return to the site, but there are hundreds waiting for the chance to replace him and receive his salary instead.”
“As long as there remains a bold promise, there will be plenty desperate enough to fall for the master-builder’s ploy. The effects of golden rot are slow enough that they’ll only regret it when it’s too late,” Shunvi agreed, dissatisfied.
“Wait!” a voice called out, and Lythlet raised her head to see her father leaning over the banister from above. He waved at her, hobbling around the rim of the railing toward her. “Come back. I want to talk.”
She took the steps two at a time to meet him in the middle, a dusty mezzanine outfitted with settees that had long had their stuffing ripped out of them, the others tailing after her. “What about?”
Anger gave Father’s voice a rare strain of energy. “Master-Builder Asa. You say the man’s been poisoning me as I work for him. I want to stop men like him from ever committing such crimes against the unregistered again. We may be lowborn, but we are people, nonetheless. What can be done about him?”
Lythlet sobered as she sat on the stiff-backed settee.
“I fear very little, Father. Even if a miracle were to happen, and we were able to bring the case all the way up to the Einveldi Court, there’s little point.
You’re unregistered, stateless in the eyes of the city, and any damages resulting from the Court will not find its way into your pockets. ”
“That’s fine,” he said.
“Will you not grieve the coin you cannot keep?” she asked, surprised.
“It matters more to me that we prevent these highborn from causing any more pain than I be rewarded.”
She smiled at him, admiring his honor. As strangled as their relationship was, she knew then with iron-wrought certainty she loved him.
He coughed again, a painful hacking into his sleeve, and he sat hunched over with an unnatural weariness. A weariness he would have attributed to the long, hard hours he worked at the flats, or the ekelenzi, or to a myriad of external factors had Lythlet not told him the truth.
Mercy serves others , she reminded herself. “I can promise you nothing, Father—but I will help you seek the justice you deserve.”
Father breathed a sigh of grateful relief.
“But it goes without saying that reporting this scheme to the watchmen would be in vain,” she said slowly, thoughts spurring her to fidget in her seat.
Father nodded. “However we may be wronged, the watchmen do not serve us unregistereds. Never have, never will.”
“And if rumors of the master-builder having political ties are true, then they’ll easily smother any movement stirring within the watchmen.”
Father nodded. “There’s always talk of Master Asa meeting some bigwig to update them on the construction’s progress.”
She drummed her fingers on the scratched-up table between them, letting her thoughts unspool. “Then we’ll simply have to destroy their whole business another way.”
“Destroy?” said Father hesitantly.
“Not with violence,” she assured. “Provoke them with even a single instance of aggression, and they’ll loudly smear all the unregistered as violent, uncivilized animals who deserve to be culled, and you will garner little sympathy from the rest of the city. No, there is a simpler way.”
“What?”
The little cogs of her mind were spinning into action, her tongue unbridling in turn.
“The way I know best: the way of the merchant. Investors bankrolled this scheme hoping to make a mountain of profit off these flats—so what if we cut short their road to fortune and devastate them financially? I have worked with grifting folk like them my whole life, and the fragility of their egos cannot be overstated. Scars and bruises bother them momentarily, but the pain and frustration of lost profits, wasted investments, and failed plans will haunt them to their graves. We’ll outsmart them at a game they created by utilizing their merchant sensibilities against them and disrupting the supply-demand continuum.
Crush all demand for the flats, so that the master-builder will be forced to halt the construction, preventing any unregistered from falling for this scheme again. ”
“But,” said Ilden, perplexed, “how exactly are we going to do that?”
Lythlet leaned back in her seat and covered her face with her hands, wanting to think in darkness.
In time, she peeked through her fingers at them.
“As always, the easiest way is to prey upon ignorance and ego. These are fancy things built for the highborn in Central, which makes things easier for us. They’re folk whose words catch fire quickly.
If the highborn hear the flats are constructed with golden rot, they will surely tighten their purse strings in fear and disabuse each other of the notion of purchasing a flat. ”
Father frowned. “But you said that once hardened into mortar, golden rot’s harmless. Why would they care?”
She smiled wryly. “ I know it’s harmless.
But few others do, save those in the hive-keeping and architectural trade.
The vast majority of the highborn won’t know any better.
Simply preying upon their ignorance and associating the riverside flats with poisonous hive-rot that’s been left to fester will sharply drive down demand.
And the next strike will be the most devastating. ”
“That being?” Shunvi gazed at her keenly, black eyes shining bright.
“We must ensure their pride is thoroughly offended. Educate them not only on the harmful effects of the golden rot, but also its cheapness, and emphasize the absurdity of paying so much coin for a flat built with such poor-quality materials. These elites living above us would never want their names associated with a fool’s bargain, and they’d be outraged at the whole thing, that they were about to be taken for halfwits.
With us manipulating their ignorance and ego in a two-pronged attack, Master-Builder Asa and his investors will be destroyed, their names publicly shamed for all to see. ”
“But how exactly will we tell them these things?” Father said. “I must keep low, as must all the unregistered. We cannot simply go into the streets of Central and demand their attention. They’ll think we’re a nuisance, they always do.”
“We need an advocate,” she said thoughtfully, then turned glum. “And I regret to say none of us here are suited for it.”
“Come now,” said Ilden, “Shunvi and I could do it. I’m no longer unregistered, and seeing how Shunvi’s the teahouse-master of two reputable establishments, he does have a growing degree of clout in the highborn circles.”
“I’m afraid that won’t work,” said Lythlet regretfully.
“We must remember, the master-builder is supported by political investors. Anyone publicly disgracing them would immediately become a target for their wrath, and I fear putting anyone in such danger. The four of us are tied to conquessing, whether past or present, and although bloodsports may be tacitly allowed, it’s outlawed on paper.
It would be much too easy for any claims we make to be discredited, our reputations smeared, and us thrown into gaol.
Shunvi, in particular, I would not advocate raising your voice.
They will rip all you’ve worked for from your hands. ”
“I can rebuild whatever they destroy,” said Shunvi determinedly. “My ego is the least of my concerns.”
“But you must think of your teahouse workers. Many of them were unregistered before and have only recently settled into proper lives thanks to you—they will not be left unharmed should you be thrown into gaol,” she said, and he reluctantly nodded as he considered her words.
“Besides, I think it would be better if we found someone with the expertise and clout to confirm that golden rot is being used at the flats, someone the masses would find truly credible.”
“Then bring in the fellow who taught you,” Shunvi suggested. “The hive-master.”
She shifted uncomfortably. “I must decline. The man used to beat me and fling glass bottles at me in rage, and I robbed him in farewell.”
He flushed. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”
“No, you couldn’t have,” she assured.
Father stared at her. “Did he really?” he asked quietly. Not out of doubt, she intuited—out of concern.
She nodded reluctantly.
He said nothing, face falling. He reached over to lay a hand on hers, awkward, yet warm.
A silence fell upon the group as each ransacked their own mind for a potential alternative.
After a moment, Ilden tentatively said, “But suppose you tried—”
“Ilden Highvind, if you’re about to ask Lythlet to go back to a man who used to beat her, I’ll never forgive you,” Naya cried.
“I wasn’t,” said Ilden with a guilty expression strongly suggesting he had been.
“Absolutely not,” Desil said. “The man was awful. He’s not someone we can reason with anyway. He’s your typical old-fashioned Setgadian merchant obsessed with social standing above all, and the last thing he’d ever consider is working with someone he deems beneath him.”
“And in his eyes, I don’t even rank,” Lythlet said quietly.
“But the fact remains Hive-Master Winaro is reputable. A mid-tier merchant who is genuinely an expert in his trade and honest in his business practices, commissioned by the government to service the southern sectors. I did the books for him, and he’s never cheated even a single penny—his reputation is spotless.
A plot to knowingly exploit and murder unwitting workers would be heinous even to him.
His one flaw is his temper, and mistreatment of subordinates may be frowned upon, but it’s hardly illegal in Setgad.
You couldn’t throw a stone without hitting an ill-tempered employer down here. ”
“Lythlet, don’t open up old wounds,” Shunvi said. “We’ll come up with someone else.”
But she shook her head. “I know Master Winaro better than anyone. His business, his desires, and his weaknesses. If I play my cards right, he may truly be our best bet.”
“But will you be all right seeing him again?” he said in a quiet voice, concerned.
Here, Lythlet kept quiet, struggling under the weight of memories. She reached up to feel the scar on her forehead, Master Winaro’s parting gift from last winter.
“We’ll let Lythlet handle this however she’s comfortable,” Desil said after a pause. “Perhaps we should consider retrieving a sample of the golden rot from the flats to begin with? We’ll need one regardless of who we ask for help.”
Father opened his mouth, but Lythlet cut him off.
“I don’t want you returning there, ever,” she said plainly. “Not for a single moment. You’ve already inhaled enough of the poison into your lungs.”
“But the sites are heavily regulated,” Father argued. “Only workers are permitted to enter, and even then, only in the strictest capacity.”
Ilden, who had shrunk into the deflated settee cushions out of shame from his earlier castigation, popped back to life with a dramatic flair, an eager glint entering his eyes. “Say no more! I think it’s time I brought my old friend Marcielot Perryweather back into the game.”
All stared blankly at him—all besides Shunvi, who rolled his eyes in full knowledge of what was to come.
· · ·
T HAT EVENING , L YTHLET wandered out to the ledge of their kataka flat and leaned against the wooden railing.
Deep in thought, she stared at the city stretched out before her like a map laid flat on a surface.
It was the same city as ever, wickedness running through every nook and cranny, but somehow it did not seem as impenetrable as before, not with Desil back by her side.
Before they’d left the safehaven, Father had tugged on Lythlet’s sleeve, pulling her away from the others for a moment. “Thank you,” he had muttered.
The memory made her smile, as short and simple as it had been.
A chill wind picked up. It was getting dark, the sky turning that rare shade of pink seen only for scant minutes before the sun disappeared.
“Don’t stay out too long, Lytha,” Desil called, peeping out through the open door. “It’s cold tonight. Where’s the hive, by the way?”
“Right here.” She glanced down at the hive by her feet.
“Here we go,” he said, plucking it up. “Looks like Rentavos and the rest are waking up right on time. Come on, fellows, time to lend a little light. How come the lid’s been left up?”
She stared at him for a moment, reluctant to answer. “Because I thought I wouldn’t be returning home after the match,” she finally said, softly.
He lowered the hive-lantern, her words sinking in deep. Lost in silence, his eyes watered. Then he stepped up to her. “Put it down.”
“What?”
He held the hive-lantern before her, the light within it slowly growing as bee after bee awoke. “I want you to put it down,” he urged.
With a small smile and a brisk flick of her wrist, she set the lid right, covering the bees safely. “There.”
Heaving a sigh of relief, he threw his arms around her.