Unhewn Throne 01 - The Emperor's Blades(129)

“Where are they?” he asked.

“They’re cleaning up now, but they’re coming to the refectory for dinner. All the monks are going to be there, and we can ask questions! Nin even said so!”

The small boy was practically jumping out of his skin as Kaden rose to his feet.

“You run ahead,” he said. “See if you can get a glimpse of them. I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes.”

Pater nodded and bolted out of the room all at once, leaving Kaden alone with his truncated letter. Merchants. The thought filled him with more excitement than he would have expected. It seemed he had almost forgotten what real excitement felt like. Still, these men would have news of the world, news of his family, Kaden realized as he doffed his mud-stained robe and started to pull a clean one over his head. It wasn’t often that the monks had visitors, and Nin would want to make a favorable impression on whoever had taken the trouble to trek all the way across Vash.

“Don’t bother,” said Rampuri Tan. He had entered the room without knocking, and stood just inside the door, his dark eyes hard. The naczal, as always, was in his hand, although why he would carry it inside the dormitory was anyone’s guess. Whatever had killed Serkhan surely wouldn’t be bold enough to enter one of Ashk’lan’s largest buildings.

Kaden hesitated.

“You won’t be going to the evening meal,” Tan continued. “You will not speak with the merchants. You will not approach the merchants. You will remain out of sight in the clay shed until they leave.”

The words landed like a slap.

“They could be here a week,” Kaden pointed out warily. “Longer.”

“Then you will stay in the clay shed for a week. Or longer.”

The older monk stared at him, then exited as abruptly as he had come, leaving Kaden with his rope belt halfway tied and a look of disbelief on his face.

Visitors to the monastery were such an unusual diversion that a large dinner was always prepared—two or three goats would be slaughtered, trenchers filled with turnips, potatoes, and carrots, and everyone would eat crusty loaves of warm bread. Even more enticing than the meal, however, would be the conversation. All the monks would have their chance to ask a question or two, to learn something of the world that continued to turn outside the walls of Ashk’lan. Bohumir Novalk would want to talk politics, of course, and so would Scial Nin. No doubt, fat Phirum Prumm would ask for news of Channary, which the merchants would have in abundance, and news of his mother, which they would not. Kaden couldn’t remember an acolyte being forbidden to a meal when there were visitors present.

“Ae only knows what I did to deserve this,” he muttered to himself, “but I hope Tan’s got Akiil scrubbing out the privy.”

He shrugged the clean robe back over his head and tossed it onto the bunk. No point sullying it with clay. He dressed quickly and then, just as he was leaving, walked directly into Pater’s headlong rush.

“Kaden!” the boy shouted, trying to disentangle himself and pull Kaden down the hallway all at the same time. “Some of the monks are in the refectory already. We have to hurry!”

Kaden picked the boy up by his armpits, set him on his feet, and dusted him off.

“I know,” he said, trying not to let his bitterness show. “But I can’t go. You remember to tell me what they say, what they look like. You remember everything, all right?”

Pater stared at him, his mouth hanging open. “Can’t go? Kaden, who even knows who they are? We have to go!”

It was just like Pater to shift from I to we, and Kaden smiled in spite of himself. “Tan sent me to the clay shed to polish bowls. He’ll notice right away if I’m anywhere near the refectory. You go ahead.”

Pater shook his head so vigorously it looked like it might rattle right off his shoulders. “We won’t go to the refectory.”

“But that’s where the merchants are.”

The boy beamed, obviously pleased with his chance to help. “We’ll go to the dovecote.”

Kaden smiled slowly. The dovecote. Leave it to Pater to remember that old hideout.

The granite of the high peaks was cold and hard, impossible to cut or quarry. The Shin were forced to scavenge their building stone—exfoliated flakes and small, uneven boulders. Given the labor involved, the monks made the most of their existing structures and so, countless years back, when some brother long dead decided to build a dovecote, he built it up against the rear of the refectory, saving himself the labor of constructing a fourth wall. In their early years at the monastery, Kaden and Akiil had discovered the dovecote’s true value: a hidden spot where they could escape the severe eyes of their umials. When they outgrew their childhood hideout, they had passed the secret on to Pater, and Kaden had to smile now at the idea of the younger boy reminding him of his own secret.