Page 26 of City of Stone and Silence

“There are many monastic orders in Jyashtan, and their traditions vary widely. His is called the gara-tseni, which is something like ‘those who carefully watch,’ or—”

“The Minders.”

“Right,” Zarun says. “Garash is the head of the order. He says anyone who wants to join them is welcome.” He scratches the side of his head. “I think. He gets a little flowery there.”

“Well.” I pause for a moment, considering. “Tell him…”

I’m saved from having to continue that statement—since I have no rotting idea what to tell him—by the arrival of yet another out-of-breath messenger, this one a boy with a peach-fuzz beard.

“Deepwalker!” he says. “There’s—”

“Let me guess,” I say. “More visitors.”

He gulps and nods. “Veldi’s here, but there’s a whole group with him. And they brought a bunch of stuff. They say there’s food!”

That would at least be something to get excited about. I’ve been steadfastly ignoring the rumbles from my stomach since morning.

“Okay.” I beckon to the leader of the door guards and nod at Harak. “Take him somewhere out of the way, politely, and tell him I’ll be back as soon as I can. Zarun, stick with me, let’s see what Veldi’s friends have to say.”

We follow the boy back through the central chambers. People are talking in small, excited groups, and I can almost see rumors winging their way through the air. If Veldi hasn’t brought food after all, there’s going to be a rotting riot.

“It looks good on you,” Zarun says in my ear.

I frown at him. “What does?”

“Command.”

“Please. You know I’m making this rot up as I go along.”

“Of course. But you don’t let it show.” He gives me that brilliant smile, and I shake my head.

This time, our guards have already escorted the visitors to a small chamber inside the ziggurat. There are, as the messenger warned, quite a few of them. I count a dozen armed Imperials, including Veldi, all young men wearing old-fashioned swords, dark robes, and with their hair done up in the same strange, elaborate style. Four of them stand in a square around a young woman in a long, voluminous kizen, with a silk veil drawn in front of her face.

To one side of these dignitaries, there are another dozen people in less elaborate costumes. They’re evenly split between dark-skinned southerners and pale, blond icelings dressed for labor in rough vests and trousers. Beside them is a pile of heavy canvas sacks, and barrels that seem to be mostly full of silver-skinned fish. Just the sight of it makes my mouth water.

Meroe and Shiara arrive only moments after we do. I’d badly like some time to consult with Meroe, actually, but that doesn’t seem to be an option. As soon as they notice us, the Imperials stand and bow, and I respond automatically. The young woman steps forward, her four retainers following. Her bow is shallower, carefully precise.

“Isoka Deepwalker,” one of the men says. “You represent the new arrivals?”

“In a manner of speaking,” I say.

“My lady of Cresos, ruler of the Harbor, bids you welcome,” he says. “She brings you these gifts as a token of her generosity.”

“She has our thanks,” I say.

The veiled figure beckons, and the man speaking leans closer so she can whisper. He straightens again and says, “My lady wishes to meet with you in private, if that is acceptable.”

I glance at the others. “If what she has to say concerns our crew, then the whole Council should be there.”

Another whisper.

“The southerner may attend,” the man says. “But not the Jyashtani. My lady has suffered enough at the hands of his kind.”

I go tense. Zarun’s face is smooth, unreadable. I glare at the veiled woman.

“Give us a moment?” I ask, and step back with the others. “Any idea what’s going on?”

“Imperials hate Jyashtani,” Zarun says, with a shrug. “It’s not exactly news.”