Most of the slaves working the ovens had stripped down to loincloths to cope with the heat, and the distinctive scarring of a Silent Hunter would have been visible.
The journeyman bakers, though…
Yes. That seemed likely. There was a man standing near the dais, speaking to one of the journeyman bakers in a low voice. He could have been Caerish or Cyrican or Saddaic or a member of a dozen other nations, and wore the nondescript clothing of a caravan guard or a prosperous mercenary.
He was exactly the sort of man Claudia would not have expected to find in an Istarish bakery.
She kept her face aloof, but cold satisfaction closed around her.
At last Dromio and Kassam finished their negotiation, with Dromio remaining polite and formal, and Kassam growing more and more animated. It would have been funny to watch, had Claudia not been sure someone was going to try and kill her in a few minutes. At last the seneschal and the baker reached an agreement, and Dromio counted out Kassam’s payment from his coin pouch. The money, at least, was not a problem. The Empire was fighting for its survival against the Order, and Martin’s embassy to the Padishah’s court had been well-funded.
Considering what might happen if that embassy failed, the coin was money well-spent.
“Thank you, my lady Claudia,” said Kassam, bowing again. “Truly, you are too generous to this humble baker.”
“Not at all,” said Claudia. The nondescript man, she noted, had slipped out the back. “You bake an excellent loaf, Master Kassam. It is a pleasure to purchase your wares.”
Kassam bobbed his head. “Thank you, my lady. Ah…concerning the matter of the delivery…”
“I will send my own wagons to pick up the bread tomorrow,” said Claudia. If the Umbarians decided to take offense at Kassam selling to the Lord Ambassador, they might arrange for his bakery to suffer an “accidental” fire, or for Kassam and his wives and his children to be murdered in their beds as a warning to anyone else.
Kassam smiled with relief. “Thank you, my lady.”
“I won’t even demand a discount for it,” said Claudia.
Kassam’s smile widened.
A few moments later Claudia and her escort left the bakery, heading through the streets towards the Emirs’ Quarter and the Lord Ambassador’s mansion. Dromio offered to hire a sedan chair for Claudia, and she wanted to take him up on it. Yet if she did, her quarry might decide to hold off. Claudia wanted to look helpless, wanted to look like an exhausted woman in the final stage of pregnancy, unable to pose a threat to anyone.
That was mostly the truth.
Mostly, because before Claudia had become the wife of the Emperor’s Lord Ambassador to Istarinmul, she had been a sister of the Imperial Magisterium. Claudia had left the Magisterium, but the skills of an Imperial magus had not left her, and as they walked she made small gestures with her hands, focusing her will and casting a minor spell. The spell let her sense the presence of other spells, of gathered arcane forces and enspelled objects. While she held the spell, she could not focus it with any degree of accuracy, but she could detect any active spells around her.
The attack came as they left the Cyrican Quarter and entered the Emirs’ Quarter. The Lord Ambassador’s mansion was large, but it seemed like a shack compared to some of the gleaming palaces that Istarinmul’s emirs had raised, sprawling, massive edifices of white marble and slender towers and rippling pools and gleaming domes, all of them maintained by armies of slaves. Little wonder that Callatas had begun his grim work in Istarinmul. Slaves filled Istarinmul, even more slaves than Claudia had seen while in Cyrioch. Callatas needed lives, expendable lives, to create his wraithblood and prepare his Apotheosis, and Istarinmul was full of expendable lives.
Claudia now understood why Caina had terrorized the Brotherhood of Slavers. She still was not convinced that had been
The journeyman bakers, though…
Yes. That seemed likely. There was a man standing near the dais, speaking to one of the journeyman bakers in a low voice. He could have been Caerish or Cyrican or Saddaic or a member of a dozen other nations, and wore the nondescript clothing of a caravan guard or a prosperous mercenary.
He was exactly the sort of man Claudia would not have expected to find in an Istarish bakery.
She kept her face aloof, but cold satisfaction closed around her.
At last Dromio and Kassam finished their negotiation, with Dromio remaining polite and formal, and Kassam growing more and more animated. It would have been funny to watch, had Claudia not been sure someone was going to try and kill her in a few minutes. At last the seneschal and the baker reached an agreement, and Dromio counted out Kassam’s payment from his coin pouch. The money, at least, was not a problem. The Empire was fighting for its survival against the Order, and Martin’s embassy to the Padishah’s court had been well-funded.
Considering what might happen if that embassy failed, the coin was money well-spent.
“Thank you, my lady Claudia,” said Kassam, bowing again. “Truly, you are too generous to this humble baker.”
“Not at all,” said Claudia. The nondescript man, she noted, had slipped out the back. “You bake an excellent loaf, Master Kassam. It is a pleasure to purchase your wares.”
Kassam bobbed his head. “Thank you, my lady. Ah…concerning the matter of the delivery…”
“I will send my own wagons to pick up the bread tomorrow,” said Claudia. If the Umbarians decided to take offense at Kassam selling to the Lord Ambassador, they might arrange for his bakery to suffer an “accidental” fire, or for Kassam and his wives and his children to be murdered in their beds as a warning to anyone else.
Kassam smiled with relief. “Thank you, my lady.”
“I won’t even demand a discount for it,” said Claudia.
Kassam’s smile widened.
A few moments later Claudia and her escort left the bakery, heading through the streets towards the Emirs’ Quarter and the Lord Ambassador’s mansion. Dromio offered to hire a sedan chair for Claudia, and she wanted to take him up on it. Yet if she did, her quarry might decide to hold off. Claudia wanted to look helpless, wanted to look like an exhausted woman in the final stage of pregnancy, unable to pose a threat to anyone.
That was mostly the truth.
Mostly, because before Claudia had become the wife of the Emperor’s Lord Ambassador to Istarinmul, she had been a sister of the Imperial Magisterium. Claudia had left the Magisterium, but the skills of an Imperial magus had not left her, and as they walked she made small gestures with her hands, focusing her will and casting a minor spell. The spell let her sense the presence of other spells, of gathered arcane forces and enspelled objects. While she held the spell, she could not focus it with any degree of accuracy, but she could detect any active spells around her.
The attack came as they left the Cyrican Quarter and entered the Emirs’ Quarter. The Lord Ambassador’s mansion was large, but it seemed like a shack compared to some of the gleaming palaces that Istarinmul’s emirs had raised, sprawling, massive edifices of white marble and slender towers and rippling pools and gleaming domes, all of them maintained by armies of slaves. Little wonder that Callatas had begun his grim work in Istarinmul. Slaves filled Istarinmul, even more slaves than Claudia had seen while in Cyrioch. Callatas needed lives, expendable lives, to create his wraithblood and prepare his Apotheosis, and Istarinmul was full of expendable lives.
Claudia now understood why Caina had terrorized the Brotherhood of Slavers. She still was not convinced that had been
Similar Books
