The Broken Man Read online

  “Not to talk our way out of such an opportunity,” Dilek said. She was the shortest of the three, but only slightly, with soft features and a soft, pleasant voice. “But isn’t ceral only planted in land blessed by the Faceless God, the land covered in the spring flood?”

  “Traditionally, yes,” Josen said. “But there is no actual prohibition against conditioning the soil—with manure, in this case.”

  “And you’re comfortable spreading sheep dung across your holy land?” Dilek pressed. “You don’t feel as if you might be working contrary to the will of the Faceless God by doing such a thing?”

  “I’m working to get his people fed. If the Faceless isn’t pleased, then he shouldn’t have stuck me with this job. Of course, that assumes the dung does what Sam says.”

  “You do take some chance there,” Hafsa said. Abbahim said nothing, but his eyes never left Josen as his wives asked and answered questions. “We have used this method to condition the soil of the farms of Pomay for generations, but we do not grow ceral. Some crops react poorly to sheep manure. There is no way to tell how your ceral will fare until you have tried to grow it.”

  Josen nodded. Of course, there was a catch, but he didn’t seem to have an abundance of options.

  “How much do you think you will need?” asked Dilek.

  “How much do you have?” Josen asked.

  “A great deal,” Hafsa said, an amused smile on her face.

  “Good. I need a great deal. Fifteen thousand acres worth.”

  Hafsa and Dilek laughed. They stopped when Josen did not join them. Abbahim’s eyebrows slowly rose as he saw that Josen was in earnest. Even Riesa watched Josen closely now. Hafsa and Dilek gave each other a look Josen couldn’t read but didn’t look particularly promising.

  “I have just short of thirty thousand acres total that need to be conditioned. My fieldmaster estimates we can cover half with the manure from my own livestock. I need to buy enough to cover the remaining portion of land.”

  “And the other Stewards?” Dilek asked. “Would it not be simpler to purchase manure from them?”

  Josen grimaced. “I’ve tried. They won’t sell. They think the whole idea ranges from ridiculous to blasphemous and want no part of it at any cost.”

  “And why, then, do you think we would want to be a part of the kind of deal that most powerful businessmen in the Passbound Cities turn their backs on?” Dilek asked. She glanced at the two other women and then Abbahim, then sighed deeply. “We will have to consider your proposal before we could agree to anything.”

  “Consider what?” Josen asked, irritated and desperate and trying to keep both emotions out of his voice. “We haven’t even begun to discuss a price, let alone come to any kind of—”

  “Let me be frank for us all,” Abbahim said, speaking for the first time since coming to the balcony. “We are not sure that it would be… prudent to do business with you, particularly because the stakes seem to be so high.”

  Josen’s heart dropped, settling like a hollow stone somewhere below his stomach, but Abbahim was not done.

  “There is no way for us to meet your needs entirely—we simply do not have manure to cover fifteen thousand acres of your land. To come even close would stretch our resources beyond what we are comfortable risking. If we were unlucky, such a venture could end in disaster for our current enterprises.”

  “I thought that might be the case,” Josen said, seizing on a slim hope, a mad idea he had entertained for the last few days. “But you could bring some of the actual sheep through, let them roam some of the furthest edges of my land for a month or more. Surely that would be enough time for them to—”

  Abbahim shook his head. “You don’t know what it is you are asking. I am a wool merchant, first and foremost. Manure is tangential to that endeavor—even if it is a profitable tangent. The number of sheep you would need in order to achieve the results you suggest would require nearly a tenth of my entire flock—a tenth of my flock that I am unsure as to how they would react to their new environment. With a small number, I might be willing to take such a risk, but with so many?” Abbahim shook his head, clucking his tongue softly. “I cannot.”

  “But we’re not talking about a onetime return,” Josen said. He had to make this work, had to convince Abbahim and his wives to aid him in this, or the financial disaster he and his family suffered might be irreparable. The livelihoods, the life work of his friends and family were at stake in this conversation. “If this works, if a simple application of manure is all it takes to make ceral grow in the drylands, we are talking about a revolution in the way ceral is farmed. We’re talking about an annual business relationship with the largest landowner in the Ceral Basin. And the other Stewards will no doubt want to expand to include—”

  “Your pardon, Reverate Oak,” Dilek said, interrupting Josen. “But as we understand it, a business alliance with the Oak family is not as sure as once it was. Choosing to sail on even the largest barge does one little good if that barge is filling with water faster than it can be bailed.”

  Josen was stunned. He hadn’t imagined that Abbahim would choose not to do business with him. “We have experienced a series of misunderstandings and poor luck,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. What would he do if no was their final decision? What more could he do? “But these setbacks are temporary—”

  “The waters do not care how the barge came by a hole in the first place. They will sink it regardless,” said Hafsa.

  “As my husband has said,” Dilek continued, “considering the current state of the Oak household, we are hesitant to do business with you at all, let alone on the kind of scale you are suggesting. There is simply too much to lose set against such a slim chance of success, profitable though—”

  “Josen! Josen, you need to come right now!” Akelle yelled as he ran up the stairs.

  Josen turned, startled by the urgency in Akelle’s voice, and by the interruption itself. Akelle knew how important this meeting was. If he was interrupting it, it was for a very good reason.

  “What is it?” Josen asked, already standing.

  “Master Montiel, he said to come get you,” Akelle said, slightly out of breath. “The rain… One of our herders just showed up, soaked and panicked. The main canal is flooding. It’s washing the temporary horse corral into the Blackwater.”

  Chapter 27

  The pounding rain soaked through Josen’s fine formal clothing the moment he stepped out of the carriage. The downpour was surprisingly cold, considering the time of year, but he barely noticed.

  “Reverate Oak!” someone yelled over the pounding rain. It was Barret, one of Master Montiel’s senior assistants. “You should get back home, sir, where it’s safe. There’s nothing you can do. Not much any of us can do.”

  Josen stepped forward, ignoring the man, staring dumbstruck at the scene before him. The corral only needed to work for a few short days, so Josen had ordered it placed at the intersection of the main canal and the Blackwater River. Using the waterways as natural barriers on two sides had saved both time and money. Josen knew he would lose a few livestock to the water dragons and ceral asps that preferred the marshy land along the water’s edge, but it had seemed a worthwhile tradeoff. He hadn’t imagined anything like this.

  A mad rush of water roared over the broken canal wall at the eastern edge of the makeshift corral—what was left of it, at least. The wooden fencing—and no doubt dozens of draft horses and oxen—had been obliterated, washed away in the torrent of unrestrained water running diagonally across the corral and into a brief, steep gorge that dropped into the swollen Blackwater. The livestock that survived the initial wave of water had made their way onto the few slightly higher pieces of ground, little islands of temporary safety that were shrinking quickly.

  The animals screamed and roiled in fear as they tried desperately to move farther away from the swift water pressing at their heels, but there was nowhere for them to go. The animals at the center of the ma
ss were pressed and harassed on all sides, while those at the edge tried in vain to push inward. An ox at the edge of one of the little islands slipped and rolled into the raging watery death at its heels. The beast was carried swiftly downstream a dozen yards before somehow managing to turn over and plant its feet, slipping and sliding to a halt. The big ox stood proud, desperate in the mighty torrent, water parting and spraying around its broad, muscular chest as it faced the rush of water head on. It took a single laborious step forward, then another, imposing its will upon the water threatening to sweep him a way.

  The ox was only a few steps from safety when a thrashing draft horse crashed into it. Josen watched as both animals were swept away, struggling and screaming into the darkness.

  Josen watched as all of his efforts, all of the time and the ludicrous amounts of money, all of the hours he had spent trying to do what he thought was the right thing and his best laid plans, all of it washed away in front of him. Washed away into darkness. Into nothing. Into utter meaninglessness. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  “Reverate!” came another voice—Vale this time. “Let’s go. There’s nothing we can do.” Someone draped a heavy oiled jacket over Josen’s shoulders and pulled gently on his arm. He watched a ten-foot section of island crumbled into the water and half a dozen animals were swept away in a matter of seconds. “We should get back to the estate… Get dried off and decide what to do…”

  What could he do? Every time he helped, every time he came up with some kind of bright idea to get everything back to the way it was supposed to be, he only made things worse, until the fires he was putting out were indistinguishable from the ones he had accidentally started. At some point, Josen had to admit that he was doing more harm than good, that it might be better for everyone if he just disappeared again.

  Feeling more tired than he ever remembered, Josen turned back toward the carriage that had brought him, tugging the hood of his jacket up over his head as he did. He was surprised at how insignificant the moment felt. He had spent so much of his life running from one place to the next. He really thought this time would be different for some reason—thought that by staying he could make some kind of a positive difference.

  But he couldn’t. What was one more failure, one more broken promise to himself?

  “Get out my way. Move,” a gruff voice said somewhere behind Josen. Surprised out of his stupor, Josen turned to see Fieldmaster Montiel push his way past one of his assistants, a man not much younger than Montiel who was clearly trying to dissuade Montiel from something. Montiel slung something across his shoulders and took off at a jog—toward the raging water. After a few steps, he broke into a full sprint, charging the water at full speed.

  Shocked, Josen watched him pass and then instinctively began to run after him. “Montiel!” he called, his voice joining a half dozen others. “Stop! What are you—”

  Josen was still a dozen strides behind Montiel when the old farmer, thick coil of rope slung across his chest, crashed into the water without even slowing. He had chosen a relatively shallow place to cross the raging muddy current, but the fast-running water still nearly swept him away. Only a few steps into the water, Montiel’s run had become a slow walk, then a laborious wade, water streaming around his thighs as he forced his way forward, step by short step. There was nothing Josen, Vale, and the others could do but watch as Montiel made is way toward one of the larger islands with dozens of thrashing livestock, holding their breath as he slipped just a little more downstream with every step.

  Barret was the first to burst into motion. After a moment of yelling directions to the workers around him, the chaos resolved into a handful of men running to fetch more rope and workers.

  “What does he think he’s going to do?” Josen had to yell to be heard, still stunned at the sight of Master Montiel fighting alone against the raging water.

  “The animals should be able to make the swim,” Barret said, pointing toward the island Montiel was making his way toward. “They just don’t realize it. If he can get the rope secured, we help pull them across.”

  “One at a time?” Josen asked. “What good will that do? There are hundreds of animals over there.”

  “No one’s making you stay,” Barret said, turning without waiting for Josen’s reply. Barret took a coil of rope from a young man, soaked to the bone from the rain, and began tying what looked like a horse bridle to the end of it as he walked toward the water’s edge, handed the other end of the rope back to the young man and jumped into the current.

  The river swept him downstream as he swam, but Barret was a strong swimmer and had gone in well upstream of the island he was aiming for. Josen watched the man pull himself up onto the island seconds after Montiel made it to his. The animals had churned the already wet ground into a sloppy, treacherous mess, making it almost impossible for the men to keep their footing, let alone make progress. It was a struggle for both of them to keep from getting stepped on or thrown back into the water by the panicked animals they were trying to save, and Montiel slipped and nearly fell into the water twice while Josen watched.

  Barret managed to get the bridle secured to one of the horses first. Josen stepped up next to the young man holding the other end of the rope, his apathy from a moment ago forgotten. He wrapped his hands around the rough rope and the pair of them began to pull, forcing the big plow horse’s head around and towards the water.

  “Pull!” someone yelled from behind as Josen and the boy struggled. Josen wanted to turn and tell whoever was shouting to stop yelling and come help, but he couldn’t spare the focus. The wet, sparse grass and sage at his own feet made for poor footing, and it was all Josen could do to keep from tripping as he and the boy pulled on the rope. Josen’s shoulders and arms began to burn immediately at the strain of fighting the huge horse. The rope bit his hand and tore the skin as the beast locked its legs, fighting to pull away. A third person added their weight behind Josen, and the slick, loose mud on the island gave way beneath the horse. Once the horse was in the water, it swam eagerly toward safety while the three of them hauled on the rope even as they were pulled downriver with the horse, struggling to keep it from being swept into the Blackwater.

  The three of them collapsed when the horse finally stumbled up out of the raging current and someone else rushed forward to unbridle and lead it away. Josen lay back in the mud to catch his breath as the young man in front of him gathered up the rope and trotted back upriver, toward the island where Barret waited for them to throw it back while he tried not to get trampled.

  “Reverate Oak.” Josen opened his eyes to see Abbahim Binovine standing over him, hand extended down to help him up. Josen accepted the hand, noticing that it was red and rope burned just like his own.

  “Master Binovine,” Josen said, “thank you, but what are you—”

  Abbahim turned in the direction the boy with the rope had just gone, gesturing for Josen to follow. “This help, at least, I can offer. Come. It appears they have another rope ready for us.”

  Indeed, Barret already had the rope back and another horse bridled. Fifty paces upstream, half a dozen people, including Vale and Sam, were hauling on a rope with one end looped around the horns of a desperately swimming ox from Montiel’s island. Barret’s rope was being manned by the boy and two newcomers. The three of them had already managed to get the horse to the water’s edge. Josen and Abbahim joined them on the rope and helped work the next animal across.

  They heaved, and the rain kept coming, pouring down in sheets and waves. The raging, rushing water coursing around the few remaining islands of safety only swelled and grew more angry. More people arrived with more ropes, more people made brave and dangerous swims out to more and more distant islands, and soon there was a whole network of ropes and pull teams helping move the animals from island to island and eventually to safety. Another team was busy erecting a set of makeshift fences and picket lines to hold the animals, just enough to hold the animals until morning, un
til the storm was over and they could be moved to the outer farms.

  But Josen barely noticed any of it. His world was the exertion, the focus and pain of hauling on his rope. His whole body shook and burned with each step, from his shoulders to his legs. Someone had brought him a pair of gloves, but not before his hands were torn and bloody. The gloves were soaked now, with blood and rain, and his hands were stiff and numb. People offered to let him rest several times, tried to pull him to the side for a drink or a moment to catch his breath, but Josen shook them off each time, afraid that if he stopped for even a moment, he wouldn’t be able to get up again, let alone pull a rope.

  Something in the back of his head told him it was important that he keep pulling that rope.

  It was a thought he couldn’t ignore or push aside. That rope was a lifeline to something important, something besides the animals on the other side of the water, or even the investment or potential they represented. It was a lifeline to something inside Josen he hadn’t even realized he was in danger of losing. He wasn’t sure what to call it, but if he gave up now before he was finished, he would lose that part of him that cared about finishing, and he might never get it back.

  Impossibly, the rain seemed to intensify, and the ground at Josen’s feet began to run with small but growing streams of water. He, Abbahim, and the others on their rope managed to help clear the little island Barret was working, the ten or so animals now safely across gathered on the less treacherous side of the river. The rope Josen was now holding was one of the several leading to the island where Master Montiel had nearly finished rescuing twice as many animals. Josen resisted the urge to collapse onto the mud sucking at his boots. He held the rope loosely, waiting for Montiel to finish securing the other end around the final animal on the island. The ox, like all of its fellows, was huge and well-muscled, bred for pulling a plow. The animal stood calmly, letting the Fieldmaster loop the rope around its thick, formidable-looking horns without protest. The rope secure, Montiel waved across to signal that he was ready.