Chapter Three

  A Black Price To Pay

  The market of Kanmak was a packed warren of alleys, tiny shops, tea houses, and backroom gris dens. Two and three-story stone buildings loomed up and over the narrow alleys. Small hidden shrines with statues of gods surrounded by offerings peeked out of dark corners. The narrow streets were crowded with a press of bodies. Small groups of crippled beggars sat along the edge of the chaos with plates of dry rice. Mar pressed himself along with the flow of people, taking in the smells and sights of the market, looking for a shop where he could buy catalysts. He was dangerously low on aethium. Since the burning of Vurun, finding the indigo powder was increasingly difficult. Behind him, his Dravani servant Rathma followed silently, eyes watching for pickpockets or danger.

  He felt someone grab his hand as he walked through the crowd of bodies. He looked down. One of the many orphans in the market was tugging on his hand. Small eyes looked up at him, a mischievous grin on the dark face. “You pay?” the child asked.

  Mar smiled, “Pay for what?” He asked. He continued to push through the crowd.

  The child followed him. Then a second appeared, and a third and a fourth. “Coin?” One of the children asked.

  He shook his head and continued on.

  They persisted, and the small growing gaggle of children followed him onward.

  “Please, sahib.” One of the children said, tugging at his hand.

  “What do you need money for, exactly?” He said, turning and looking down at the dirty faces looking up at him.

  “Food.” One of them said, looking sad.

  “Oh?” Mar said, “Do they not feed you at the orphanage?” He asked. He knew there was a nearby orphanage and that they did feed the street urchins.

  “We are hungry!” One of the children insisted.

  Mar smirked and looked around at the little faces. They were adorable. He knew he ought not to produce his coin purse, that doing so might attract unwanted attention from thieves. However, he did not see the harm in giving to the children. He kept a few coins in his sleeve. “Fine. For food.” He said, grinning at the children. He slipped a down from his sleeve and palmed it, then with a flourish, he flipped the coin into his fingers. The children squealed with delight. He held up his other hand, “Tell me where I can find aethium.”

  The children had a look of confusion upon their faces.

  “Rathma, what do they call it here?”

  “Irja.” The servant replied softly.

  “Where can I find irja?” He asked.

  One of the children pointed down a side alley, “irja shop.”

  He produced a few more coins and handed each of the children one of the small copper coins. The coins were not worth much, enough perhaps for a good meal or two. The little ones gave no thanks but ran off again through the market, laughing and chattering as they went.

  “You should not, sahib,” Rathma said softly once the children were gone.

  “What, encourage them? It’s just a small thing. They looked hungry.” Mar raised his eyebrow, surprised to hear such an attitude from a local.

  “They are fed,” Rathma replied.

  “They’ll be fed better with the coin.”

  “Their owner will not permit them to keep the money.”

  “Beg pardon, their owner?”

  “Yes.”

  “Slavery is not permitted in Vastrum or her colonies.”

  “You cannot forbid what you do not know of,” Rathma replied.

  “I will send the magistrate to sort this out,” Mar said, turning towards the alleyway that the children had gone down.

  “You must not, sahib,” Rathma said, standing their ground. The servant’s tone was biting as they said it.

  “Oh?” Mar rounded on his servant, “Is that up to you? I remind you that you are my servant, and not the reverse, yes? It is not your place to permit me anything. I enjoy your candour, but that is a step too far.”

  Rathma bowed their head, “Sahib, I did not intend… It will be worse for the children if you call the magistrate. If the magistrate is unsuccessful, the children will be beaten by their master. If the magistrate is successful, they will not have protection.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “So, I cannot give them coin. I cannot free them from bondage. Is there nothing that can be done?”

  “You could buy them, take them far from here, provide for them from your own pocket until they come of age, treat them as your own children.” The Dravani’s tone was biting.

  Mar scowled at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. The cost of saving the children seemed too ludicrous when Rathma put the problem like that. It was not his problem to solve. He turned again down the alley the children had directed him towards. The way was less crowded, and it did not take long before he saw a sign above the shop. It was a simple apothecary. He opened the door and walked inside.

  The shop was dim and smelled of herbs and incense. There was a short table in the middle of the room where two old men sat drinking tea. One of the men was thin and missing his teeth, so his lips curved into his mouth and looked puckered. The other man was the younger of the two and slightly overweight. Both of them were dark-haired, with brown skin and dark brown eyes. The older man was balding with white hair and a wispy long beard. The younger had short-cropped hair that was just greying and a thick, broad moustache.

  The younger of the two stood up when Mar and Rathma entered and gave Mar a wide plastered-on smile. “I welcome you to my shop, Sahib!" he said, bobbing his head as he stood. He gave a small bow, took Mar’s hand, and shook it vigorously. “Come, come. You see, we have the best, the very best!”

  The man guided Mar over to a wall of jars. Mar had not yet told him what he wanted.

  “You see, I have many things, many medicines. You see, sahib!” He took a jar from the wall, “Dragon scales from Rhakan, from the jungles. The very best. Green scales, good for tea, make you…” The man pointed down at Mar’s crotch, then whistled and turned his finger up, “Very good, yes, you want? You have lady friend? I make you good price, sahib, very good price!”

  “No, thank you. I’m here for…” Mar began. The man did not let him get more than a word in before he was selling the next thing.

  “I see you have lost an eye,” the man said, pointing to Mar’s eye patch. “I have demon eye. You want demon eye?” The man pointed to another jar. “Three sterlings for demon eye, very good price!”

  Mar raised his eyebrow, “I’m looking for aethium, irja, good sir.” He blurted out.

  The man went silent. “Very bad price right now, irja. Vurun, all ash.” He made a sharp gesture with his hand to indicate the significance of the destruction. “Hard to find. I find for right price. Good quality.”

  “You don’t have it?” Mar asked.

  “Not today. You come tomorrow, I will have, sahib.”

  “I need it today,” Mar said, turning to go. He did not, in fact, need it immediately, but he wanted a supplier who would actually have it themselves and not mark the price up further.

  “You stay, you stay.” The man said, wedging himself between Mar and the door. “Today? I get today. Expensive, but best price in Kanmak. I get for you. You stay. Drink tea with my uncle.” He gestured to where the elderly man was sitting quietly at the floor-height table in the middle of the shop. “You sit. Very good tea, the best!” The man said and went from the shop with a flourish.

  The shop was abruptly filled with silence, like the quiet morning after a storm passes. Mar sighed and sat. Rathma stood near the door, an expression of sheer amusement on their face. The old man slid over a small cup and poured some steaming tea. It was not the kind of tea that Mar was accustomed to. It was milky and heavily spiced with what tasted like cardamom. It was good, though Mar disagreed with his assessment that it was “the best”.

  “Would you care to join us?” Mar asked Rathma.

  The servant looked surprised at the offer but sat and took a cup.

  They sipped in silence for a time. The man apparently spoke no Vastrum, and Mar spoke no Ayodhi. Rathma spoke a few words of the local tongue, enough to get around but not for conversation. In the silence, Mar looked around the shop. There was a small door with a curtain of beads that went to a back room and walls of shelves, each filled with jars of different sizes. Some were opaque, while others were glass. Many of the glass jars were filled with small objects swimming in liquid.

  It was not long before the shop owner returned. He burst through the door in an energetic maelstrom, “Sahib! It is good to see you! Very good! I have the atium!” He said proudly.

  “Aethium.” Mar corrected.

  “Yes, the atrium,” the man tried to say again, “the irja! I find it very good quality, best quality for you, my friend!” He sat at the table next to Mar. “You see. You need sample? I give sample.”

  The Ayodhi shop owner opened the pouch, took a small knife, and scooped a bit out on the tip of it. It was a dark indigo, darker than Mar was accustomed to seeing. The men held out the knife to Mar, who took it. He licked his finger, dabbed the powder, and tasted just a bit. The stuff was strong. Immediately, he felt a wave of euphoria come over him. It was identical to the aethium he was accustomed to and yet completely different in intensity. He could already see the lines of energy the catalysts revealed, yet he had only taken the tiniest amount of the powder. Waves of memory welled up from his subconscious. He reached out with his mind and plucked one like a musician might pick at a guitar string. Deep notes filled the room. The jars on the shelves rattled. The shopkeeper looked around in fear. He released his hold on the catalyst. Mar’s focus snapped back to reality. He felt deeply unsettled by the power of what he had taken.

  “Where did you get this?” He asked.

  “A cousin! He supplies things to me. He finds what no man can find. He has your gift.” He gestured to Mar’s single golden eye.

  “He’s a sorcerer?”

  “Yes, sahib.”

  “Where does he get this aethium from?” Only Vurun had ever been able to grow aethium. Only soil fertilized with the blood of dying gods could grow it. With the utter devastation of that land, it was thought that new aethium could not be produced. If there was a new source, it would change much.

  “The east, sahib! The east has everything!”

  “How far east?”

  “Rhakan, sahib, in the jungles. My cousin, he knows men who cross the jungles. There are paths that some men know.”

  Was that truly where this came from, Mar wondered. If there were a new source in Rhakan, it would place that empire among the great powers in the world. Mar had to know more, Vastrum had to know more, perhaps someone in the company already did. “Rhakan is a big place. Where in Rhakan, surely you must know that much?” He wondered too, if there were aethium, did that mean there was another dead or dying god rotting upon the land there? Thoughts of the black city Dau swirled about his mind. Might there be another such place? What new horrors might have awoken in the shadow of such a god?

  “Tell me of your cousin. If you do not know yourself, introduce me, or tell me where I can find him, at least.”

  The man grinned wide and wickedly beneath his broad moustache, “I can tell you, sahib, for a price.”

  There was always a price. Mar knew the cost would be dear, and this was one he would have to pay.