Angel of Storms (Millennium's Rule, #2)(55)

It had happened so fast last time, but then, they had been there to entertain themselves in other ways. Now, with nothing to do but watch, hours seemed to pass with no sign of growth. He sipped some of the remaining water and waited.

When the ground did finally move it was not to allow a shoot to appear. Instead, the sand bulged, then cascaded away to reveal a hard surface. He moved closer and swept more sand away. Beneath it was a fragment of the stone arch. He lifted it to reveal the growing shoot, bent from where it had struggled against the stone’s weight. He was about to throw the stone away when he noticed the underside was glowing.

Turning it over, he exhaled in relief and appreciation of her cleverness. A symbol had been painted there with the juice of a flower that had bloomed earlier, fading slowly as he exposed it to the moonlight. It was a circle with a glyph inside, the symbol of Worweau, one of the largest markets in the worlds.

He’d never seen the Worweau Market. It’s time I did.

The symbol had vanished. He set the stone down, stood and pushed away from the world of twelve moons. A weariness began to steal over him, his body reminding him it needed sleep. His stomach growled. He ought to stop in a world where evening was about to begin to buy a meal and bed for the night, but he pushed on.

As he neared the market he had many routes and well-worn paths to choose from, though some had not been used for days. He chose one that had been travelled in the last few hours. The arrival place was a paved circle, the glyph symbol of the market inlaid with darker tiles at the centre. Rows of market stalls radiated outwards from it, and they looked as crowded with goods and customers as he had been told to expect, despite the Raen’s return heralding the end of inter-world trade.

A man strode onto the arrival place. He wore a plain belted robe stretched over his generous belly and the market symbol as a large gold pendant. Looking down his nose at Tyen, he lifted a board on which sheaves of paper had been clipped.

“Name?” he demanded in the Traveller tongue.

Tyen eyed the stranger. From his manner and the pendant he guessed this was an official of some sort. “Tyen Ironsmelter.”

“Tyen Ironsmelter.” The man scrawled this down. “Buying or selling? Or both?”

“Buying,” Tyen decided. To say neither would draw attention, and the man might want to inspect goods if he claimed to have some.

“How will you be paying the fee?”

“Fee?”

“For using the arrival place.”

Nobody had ever mentioned a fee, as far as Tyen could remember. He looked into the man’s mind. He saw that the official was a sorcerer, and considered himself strong enough to deal with most visitors. His job had been easy before, mostly directing visitors to the area of the market they wanted to find, but since the Raen had ordered that all visitors’ names and purpose be recorded, his workload had doubled. Yet the number of arrivals had shrunk, as had the income from tips and bribes, so he was hoping to trick Tyen into thinking the fee was a lot higher than usual.

“I have a green stone.” Tyen said. “The one you call ‘aemera’ in your native tongue.”

The man paused as he realised Tyen had read his mind. He looked up, licked his lips then nodded. “Ah… let me see?”

Taking his pouch of semi-precious stones from his pocket, Tyen selected the smallest green ones and placed them on his palm. The official nodded. “One will do,” he said honestly. Tyen dropped it into the man’s palm. “And I wouldn’t keep them in your pocket, if I were you. Not without protecting them with magic, at least. We would like to keep the market free of thieves, but with so many people coming and going it is impossible.”

“Thank you for the warning.”

Tyen stepped off the arrival platform and moved into the crowded street. A mix of smells both appealing and repellent teased his nose, the better ones reminding him he hadn’t eaten in some time. He bought some meat and vegetables grilled on a stick, and had just finished eating when a child stepped into his path, looked up at him with an intent expression, then tapped her forehead. He sought an explanation from her mind.

Go north, to the ice, she told him. He understood that she was deaf, and could read lips. She’d been hired to watch the arrivals for people on a list of names she’d been given, then deliver the message. He nodded and she quickly slipped back into the crowd.

Once out of sight of the arrival platform, he pushed far enough into the place between that he wouldn’t be easily seen by anyone in the market. So many others had done this recently it was impossible to tell if one path was used more than another. As he moved northward, he noticed other arrival places within the market. From each, several streets radiated, forming a beautiful pattern of interconnecting lines. On one was a circle of wagons pulled by pairs of huge beasts, the line slowly uncurling as they trundled into a market aisle. The rest of them were empty, and as he passed the furthest reaches of the market he noticed aisle after aisle of empty stalls.

The Raen’s return was already having an effect. How long before the entire market was abandoned? Or would it be? The Raen had ordered that all visitors’ names and purposes be recorded. He had not left orders for the market to be closed, or the official would have been worrying about losing his job–or not be there at all.

Perhaps the Raen knew the group of potential rebels was here and did not want to frighten them into relocating somewhere he couldn’t find them.