The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1)(90)

The captain glanced back at Ehiru and Nijiri, though he spoke aloud to the whole crew. “We’ve nothing to worry about,” he said. “Our cargo is strictly legal—this time.” This provoked uneasy laughter that Nijiri could not bring himself to share.

Their boat inched closer to the network of piers and bridges that made up the Gate. Soldiers wearing the gray loinskirts of the City Guard swarmed along the piers like ants, on both sides of the river. Nijiri’s dread grew as he glimpsed a fisherman standing rigid with fury, watching a soldier poke a spear butt through his day’s catch. As they finally reached a pier, a man wearing the indigo-trimmed headcloth of a tax assessor approached the boat, flanked by two soldiers. “Tie your boat for boarding,” he said brusquely, and the barge’s crew moved to comply. On the captain’s orders, Nijiri and Ehiru pushed the barge’s anchor stone over the side and then stood among the rest of the crew, watching.

The tax assessor stepped into the boat with the ease of long practice and began rummaging through the stacks of baskets and chests. The soldiers boarded less skillfully, but they moved with purpose as they came to where the crew stood. “State your name and business,” said one. While the other soldier took notes on a wide scroll, the crew members began to speak in turn. When Ehiru’s turn came he used the false name he’d given to Gehanu before the desert journey. Nijiri did the same.

“You don’t look Kisuati, boy,” the soldier said, narrowing his eyes.

“He was born in Gujaareh,” the captain interjected smoothly. “My sister slept with a northerner and moved here when the family put her out. I’ve hired him on for the time being, since he isn’t as lazy and shiftless as his father.”

The soldier snorted at this and moved on down the line. Nijiri exhaled in private relief; the captain winked at him.

Finally the soldiers finished interviewing the crew. “All right, then,” said the one taking notes. “Turn and raise your arms, and then we’ll be done.”

The captain started. “What is this? I have been riding the river between Kisua and Gujaareh for ten years and never—”

“New orders from Yanya-iyan,” the other soldier said. He spoke wearily, clearly having said the words many times before. “There have been problems lately with spies and smugglers. You could have contraband hidden on you.”

The captain’s eyes widened in genuine affront. “Are you mad? I—”

The soldier drew his sword and put it at the captain’s throat in a blur of motion; the captain fell silent immediately. “Orders from Yanya-iyan,” the soldier said again, speaking slowly and coldly now. “The Prince’s city obeys the Prince’s law.”

From the corner of his eye Nijiri saw Ehiru bristle at this perversion of Hetawa doctrine, but of course they could not take the man to task for it. The crew members tensed as well, angry on behalf of their captain, but there was little they could do without jeopardizing his life.

“This can be quick and simple,” said the soldier with the sword, with a hint of exasperation this time. “If you’ve done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear.”

One by one, the crew members obeyed. Nijiri did the same, sighing at the indignity, but Ehiru turned only slowly. His eyes met Nijiri’s as they turned, and Nijiri was startled to see that his mentor’s jaw was tight with tension.

But why is he afraid? We have no contraband and barely enough money to be worth stealing. Only—

And then he remembered. Their black loindrapes, hidden under their Kisuati clothing. Their Gatherer ornaments.

His heart began to pound as the soldiers moved down the line, patting each crew member and pulling out weapons, money-pouches, and the like. They were moving quickly, he noticed with the one part of his mind that could still function through rising fear. His ornaments were in a pouch tucked into the band of his Kisuati loinskirt. Let them miss it in their haste, he prayed silently. Perhaps they would feel them and dismiss them as dice or tehtet pieces or just a boy’s rock collection—

The soldier’s hands slapped roughly over his torso, and paused when they found the pouch. Through rising panic Nijiri felt the soldier tug the pouch out of his skirt; he heard the clatter of stones as the pouch was opened. When he heard the soldier’s murmured oath, he knew they were lost.

He glanced at Ehiru; there was only one chance. He mouthed the word fight?

Ehiru’s expression startled him, for the tension had been replaced by introspection. He shook his head minutely, then turned to face the soldiers. Swallowing, Nijiri turned as well, unsurprised to see a sword leveled at his own throat.

“Gatherer Ehiru,” said the soldier; his voice shook. “Gatherer-Apprentice Nijiri. We were told to watch for you, but that you’d probably left the city.”

“Obviously we have returned,” Ehiru said.

“You will come with us now!” said the other soldier, nearly trembling in his excitement.

“Obviously we shall,” replied Ehiru. He lowered his arms and gazed down at the sword pointed at him, unafraid. “To Yanya-iyan, I presume?”

That was when Nijiri understood. They had found a way into Yanya-iyan after all.





34





A Gatherer may serve for as long as he passes Her test. At the end of his service, he must offer up his soul’s blood for Her use. A Gatherer belongs wholly to Hananja, in life and in death.