The Broken Man Read online

  “Is Sefti like this?” Tori asked as they climbed out of the carriage, sounding overwhelmed. Akelle could empathize.

  “What?” Josen seemed surprised by the question. “Oh… No, Sefti is more flat. Some hills, and the Ulari Mountains in the distance, but nothing like this.” He spoke to the driver, though Akelle didn’t catch what he said. The driver nodded and smiled, thanking him before driving away.

  “No,” Tori said. “I mean the city. The people. It’s…” She seemed to search for the right word, but just shook her head, unable to describe what she was seeing. “I don’t know. It’s nothing like Ludon. Not even if you ignore the bad parts. Where are all the urchins and beggars?”

  “Not here,” Josen said, distracted.

  “I can see that, but even the wealthy parts of Ludon have some—”

  “No, I mean there aren’t any urchins or beggars in Ceralon.”

  “What?” Tori said.

  “Ceralon is a… unique place,” Josen said. He hesitated, as if considering whether he should say more, then shook his head. “Later. We should get cleaned up,” he said, motioning to the building they had stopped in front of.

  Akelle gaped up at the building, mouth hanging open. “We can’t go in there.” The building was a massive, four-story thing with a roof pitched sharp enough that Akelle wondered how they had shingled it. Huge glass windows decorated the front of the building, letting Akelle see dozens of tables inside, all covered with platters full of more food than he had ever seen in one place. A pair of well-dressed men stood to either side of a set of massive wooden doors, staring out into the darkness. They were the strangest looking pair of guards Akelle had ever seen. “Even if we had money to spare, there’s no way the guards would let us in, not the way we look.”

  Josen laughed, though it still sounded odd. “Those aren’t guards Akelle, they’re staff. They’re doormen. And we’re going in there to clean up.”

  “Doormen?”

  “To open the doors.”

  “Why?”

  Josen shrugged. “That’s their job.”

  Akelle and Tori stared at him in stunned silence.

  Josen laughed again. “Follow me.”

  * * *

  Akelle didn’t consider himself a stranger to baths at all—city baths were cheap in most of the Passbound cities, and it was a habit Josen insisted Akelle adopt—but the array of soaps and… He didn’t even know what to call the rest—tiny bottles of who knew what. Akelle wasn’t going to touch it—not only because he hadn’t the faintest idea of what to do with it, but because he was afraid he would have to pay for it. Akelle was pretty sure they had already spent far beyond the tiny amount in their emergency purse, but he wasn’t willing to push it.

  After navigating the strangest bathing experience of his life, Akelle returned to his room to find his clothes missing and a pair of new garments in their place. He eyed them, debating whether or not to put them on until he realized his other choice was to run naked through the building, demanding to know what had been done with his old clothes.

  New clothes it was.

  Half an hour later Akelle was led back downstairs by another well-dressed man whose job was, apparently, to lead other people from room to room. After a few twists and turns, Akelle found that he was grateful.

  “So…?” Tori said when Akelle took a seat across from her, drawing the word into a question. Josen was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t done with his bath yet, apparently.

  “Don’t ask me,” Akelle said.

  “Have you ever—”

  “Never,” Akelle said, not needing to even hear the question.

  When Josen showed up, he dodged their questions until food arrived. Then all of them were too busy to ask any questions. Red potatoes and carrots, fine bread made from Pomish wheat, a rich barley cheese soup, and ham. Not a grain of ceral in it anywhere. Josen and Akelle devoured it eagerly. Tori was hesitant at first but seemed to enjoy most everything but the bread.

  It wasn’t until after the meal was over, after he was full and clean and safe, that Akelle allowed his mind to return to the events of the day. The excitement of the Parose job and finding their apartment rigged to fall apart around them, the robe and the Protectors and Saul being carted off in chains. Even now, it was almost too much for him to wrap his mind around. He still had no idea what had really happened, and he’d been there for the whole starving thing.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever had an entire meal without ceral,” Tori said, breaking Akelle’s train of thought. She put her hands on her stomach, as if worried the food was going to do something unexpected inside of her.

  “The Church doesn’t sell ceral here,” Josen said. “At least, not subsidized. They send all the subsidized ceral through the Passes, to the people of the Passbound cities.”

  “You mean no one eats ceral here? Anywhere in Ceralon?” Tori asked.

  “No, we eat some. But not much. Without the Church subsidizing the grain, it costs as much as wheat or rice or barley.” Josen shrugged. “That’s part of the reason there aren’t beggars or footpads in Ceralon, not like in the rest of the Passbound. They can’t afford it.”

  “Wait,” Akelle said, head spinning at the implications. “We? Who is we?”

  Josen hesitated, looking from Akelle to Tori, then sighed. “I grew up here. In Ceralon.”

  Akelle felt his eyes grow wide, and Tori went still, but Josen pressed ahead, apparently wanting to get out as much as possible before the questions broke like a floodwall.

  “I ran away five years ago. Six now, actually. My family and I, we didn’t… we disagreed a lot—about almost everything. Except my grandfather. He was my best friend. He…” Josen paused and swallowed. “He died. I ran away a few weeks after the funeral.”

  “So,” Akelle asked, “when we met in Kendai—”

  “That was less than four months after I ran away. I went to Kendai thinking I survive as a pickpocket, then work myself up to bigger heists and cons. We—Grandpa Markise and I—talked about thieving all the time. He was … something of an expert on the topic. I knew all the theory, the kinds of mistakes that got thieves caught, the traits that made them elusive. I spent years practicing stealing at home—got pretty good, even. By the time Grandpa Markise died, I hadn’t been caught in over a year.” Josen smiled at the memory. “I had my family convinced I’d stopped entirely. How much harder could Kendai be, right? I would work my way into a thieving crew in a few weeks and be pulling off legendary heists in less than a year.” He chuckled to himself. “Didn’t work out quite like I planned.”

  “God’s tears, Josen, that’s beautiful,” Akelle said. “Really, very touching. But what in the bleeding hands of hell does that have to do with anything we are dealing with right now?”

  Josen opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it. “If you would listen for a second and trust me—”

  “You keep saying that! ‘Trust me, I know what I’m doing,’ and, ‘Just wait, I’ll tell you in a minute,’” Akelle said, mimicking Josen’s voice and eliciting a soft giggle from Tori, who might have had a little too much to drink. “What is all this?” Akelle asked, gesturing to the table and his new clothes. “Did I miss something? Are we on vacation?”

  “No, I—” Josen started.

  “I don’t know if you noticed, but Tori and I spent the last six hours running for our lives. Someone put Shep’s head in a bag! Our home was destroyed and our employer and only asset is being held prisoner by the Ladies of the Archon. Oh, and to top it all off, someone very clever and very powerful is suddenly very interested in us! And not in a good way!”

  Josen blinked, stunned, but Akelle wasn’t finished yet.

  “Look, Josen, I’m choosing to trust you. I am. But I’ve got to know you’re taking this serious. I need to know what you’re thinking and where Tori and I fit in to whatever crazy scheme you have running through your head.” Akelle sighed and rubbed at his head. “And then I probably need to fix your insane pl
an so it doesn’t get us all killed. First things first, I suppose. How are we going to get out of paying for all this?” Akelle asked, gesturing at the empty plates. “If prices here are anything like anywhere else we’ve lived, we just spent more than we earn in three or four months in Ludon.”

  “More,” Josen said. “But it’s already paid for.”

  “With what?” As far as Akelle was aware—and he liked to think he kept pretty good track of their money—their emergency money could cover roughly two glasses of whatever Tori was drinking.

  “My family. They keep a tab open here.”

  “You keep using words that don’t make any sense—”

  “Who is your family?” Tori asked, interjecting herself into the conversation for the first time. Akelle was impressed—she sounded far more sober than she looked.

  Josen hesitated, then said, “My father is Bosch Oak.”

  Akelle swore loudly, and Tori let out a low whistle.

  “You can’t be serious,” Akelle said, when he managed to find the words.

  “Not usually,” said Josen, “but I am telling the truth.”

  “So, your Reverence,” Tori said, “what’s the plan?”

  “I’m not a Reverate. I’m the runaway son of a Reverate—”

  “No, you’re the runaway son of one of The Reverates,” Akelle corrected. Reverate Oak was one of the four Reverate Stewards, one of four men who oversaw the ceral estates—one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in all of the Passbound cities. Religiously speaking, the Reverate Stewards didn’t have any more power than any other Reverate in the Church, but ceral made up well over half the food source of the Passbound cities, and the Stewards’ estates produced all of it. Only the Arch Reverates technically held more power than the Stewards. Technically.

  “Reverate Oak only had one son,” Tori said, pointing her glass at Josen, “which would make you the next Reverate when he dies.”

  Akelle swore again. He stared at Josen, wondering if he knew the man at all. He saw Josen’s casual, thrill seeking attitude in a whole new light. No wonder he didn’t take any of it seriously. He had never had anything to lose, not really. If everything went to hell, there was always a backup plan: come home.

  “Look, we’re here because we’re out of options. I’m not going to be the next Reverate or any Reverate,” Josen said. “We need somewhere to lay low for a while and figure things out, let whoever is chasing us—”

  “The psychopath killer-stalker with a pet redhand and mysterious agenda?” Akelle asked.

  “Yes,” Josen said.

  “Don’t forget the Protectors,” Tori chimed in.

  “And the Ladies,” Akelle added. “They’ll want to string us up too.”

  “I get it,” Josen said. “We’re up to our eyeballs in trouble. But no one is going to come looking for us at my family’s estate. We’ll ride it out until Saul—”

  “Josen, Saul is sitting in a cell in The Finger surrounded by horse thieves and murderers,” Tori said. “If the Ladies have any inkling of who he is, he’ll be in one of the Vaults, and the Church itself couldn’t throw enough coin to get him out.”

  “It won’t come to that,” Josen said. “He has people—he’ll be out in a day or two. Until then, we can stay with my family. Get some rest and wait for the dust to settle. We’ll be safe here.”

  “So, you’re going to show up and say what?” Akelle asked. “‘Hi, sorry I ran away and haven’t seen you in years, but do you mind if I have my old bedroom back? Oh, and my friends are going to stay her for a bit too.’”

  “I couldn’t possibly be more of a disappointment to my family,” Josen said. “They’ll complain, then criticize, then frown, then ignore me. It’ll be just like old times. And when we’re ready, we’ll disappear again.”

  Tori looked unconvinced. Akelle didn’t feel much better, but neither of them had better ideas.

  “So, when do we get to meet the family?” Tori said after a moment of silence.

  Josen grimaced, like he was trying to come up with a good reason to postpone a little longer and failed.

  Interlude: Alia, Vale

  Alia

  Oh God, what am I going to do?

  Alia wasn’t sure if she meant it as a prayer or a curse, or even which god she was invoking. Prayer or curse? The Faceless God of the People or Chessay’s native god, Arkea? She supposed it depended on what she chose.

  Feramos leveled his serious gaze at her, eyes glowing with the strength of his zeal. “Having someone I trust at the center of things will be invaluable.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “I need you in the Basin, Alia.”

  He had a kind face—fatherly and soft—until you met his eyes. The compassion, the resolve in those burned bright and hot. Men cringed when they met Feramos’ eyes. Today they made her feel braver and more terrified, both at once.

  Maybe not brave, exactly, but less helpless—Alia didn’t think there was anything brave about the way she felt.

  “I’ve inserted men among the workers, in the labor unions,” Feramos continued, “but you know how they watch them. This is a better opportunity than I could have hoped for.” He kept his hand on her shoulder as if to steady her, the other resting atop the sword at his hip.

  She suppressed a shudder. Real people didn’t carry swords. Heroes from old stories carried swords. She didn’t even know where he would have gotten such a thing. But then, Feramos hardly seemed like a real person sometimes. Feramos was the only person she had ever seen carry such a thing, but he carried it proudly, claiming it as a symbol of the revolution he would bring. Maybe he really was the hero he wanted people to believe he was. Alia wasn’t sure what to think.

  “What about my family?” she asked. Her father had pulled every string, called in every last favor he was owed and a few he wasn’t to get Alia a position on Lady Oak’s staff. It was an honor, and a great opportunity for both her and her family. The Ceral Basin was the center of everything—culture, politics, and most importantly, economics. Money and influence flowed through Ceral Basin like water through the Arathos River. Alia would be in an ideal position to make the kind of connections—both financial and social—her family needed to recover from the disastrous last several years. “My family needs this. If I succeed, if I help you bring down the Church, I’ll being working against their best interests.”

  Feramos was silent for a long moment, then shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. I wish I had a good answer, but I don’t. I understand your loyalty to your family. I do. You watch as they tear themselves apart, struggling and grasping at a cure always just out of reach.” He shook his head again and leaned back in his seat with a sigh, eyes far away.

  “I want to help—”

  “I know,” he sighed. “It’s not fair for me to ask, but I’m going to anyways, Alia. I feel it too, the desire to help, to fix, to do something. Anything. Except the family I am trying to save is everyone—all of the people of the Passbound Union. And instead of tearing each other apart in their struggle, my people are wasting away in apathy. The… Church,” Feramos’s mouth twisted in disgust like he had tasted something rotten, and he paused to compose himself. “The Church of the Faceless God. Even their god hides his face in shame of what they have become. The Church chokes the people on their precious ceral. They drown their spirits in the easiness of the way, glut themselves on simplicity until their spirits are stagnant and broken. And the people bless the Church for it. Hands open and eyes firmly shut, our people abandon the religion of their fathers, turn away from Arkea, our precious Goddess, for nothing more than a belly full of cheap grain. It’s such a beautiful, comfortable, sinister trap. I will open their eyes, Alia. I will break their dependence on that poisoned gift. I will see it done. Will you help me?”

  Oh God, what am I going to do?

  Alia nodded.

  Vale

  “You found him?” Vale asked the moment the door shut behind her, unable to keep the worried anxiety out of her voice. She felt ha
ggard and worn out and was desperate for some good news. She was drowning in the day-to-day upkeep of the family estate—a responsibility that rested solely on her shoulders since the accident rendering her father a shell of his former self at the end of last year’s ceral season. He wasn’t recovering from his latest shaking fit. He wouldn’t last more than a few days, according to Master Roetu.

  And Vale’s husband was missing. That was why she was here. It had been only a few days since she went to the First Prefect of the Archon, begging her help in finding Vale’s husband. Kalen had been missing for weeks, and Vale was desperate.

  Lady Arietta Stonelowe watched Vale from the edge of the surprisingly fine room in the Finger—the Ladies’ infamous tower prison in Ludon. “I did,” Lady Stonelowe said. She stood and opened a side door, gesturing inside.

  “Thank you,” Vale said. She hurried toward the door, then pulled up short at the sight of what lay inside. The little side room was sparse and dim, with no windows or doors aside from the door she stood in. Kalen lay inside the little room, huddled under a blanket. He faced away from her, so she couldn’t see his face, but his blond hair clung to his head, matted with grime and stained with blood in spots.

  “Kalen!” Vale cried. She rushed to him, falling to her knees at his side. Her husband groaned and shifted, but did not reply, did not even turn to look at her. Thank the Faceless, he was alive. “Are you okay? Is he okay?” Vale asked. She turned to Lady Stonelowe, who still stood in the door of the little room.

  “He is very sick,” said Lady Stonelowe. “A Chessian prison is a hard place.”

  “Prison? Why was he in prison?” Vale asked, emotions overwhelming her as she wrapped her arms around her husband. His skin was cold and clammy, and he was soaked with sweat. God’s tears, what happened to him? “Why?” Vale yelled.