unjust, not unlike the Lion-King whose wall-bound portraits beckoned him home.
His former peers in the civil bureau were waiting for Pavek at the southern gate. They remembered his name. At least a few of them would have cheerfully sold him to Escrissar, had the opportunity presented itself, to collect that forty-gold-piece reward. Now they claimed him as one of their own, bullying the Modekaners in ways both subtle and physical, until the four visitors were secure inside the city walls.
“The Mighty Lord expects you, Great One,” the instigator in charge of the southern gatehouse informed Pavek. “We sent word to the palace after the Modekan messengers arrived. Manip”—the instigator indicated a tow-headed youth wearing the regulator’s bands that Pavek knew best—“lingered in the corridor. He saw messengers dispatched to the quarter with the keys to your house.”
The instigator paused, as if he had more to say, as if it were pure happenstance that his hand was palm-up between them. Gatekeeping templars couldn’t demand anything from a high templar, but Manip had taken no small risk eavesdropping in the palace. Pavek fished carefully through his cluttered belt-pouch; it was useful to know that they had a place to sleep, albeit an ill-omened one. He put an uncut ceramic coin in the instigator’s hand. It disappeared immediately into the instigator’s sleeve, but no more information was forthcoming, and Pavek had no assurance that Manip would receive a fair share of the reward.
“Shall I escort you to the palace, Great One?” the instigator asked.
Pavek understood that the man would expect another gratuity when they reached the palace gate. He needed another moment to remember that he was a high templar now and that there was no need for him to reward this man, or anyone. Nor was he compelled to accept services he didn’t want.
“I know the way, Instigator,” he said firmly, liking the sound. “Your place is here. I would not take you from it. Let Manip, there, haul our cart to my house.” That was a way to reward the templar who’d actually taken the eavesdropping risk, and rid themselves of a bulky pile in the bargain. The other cart, Mahtra’s cart with the abundance of pillows, was already on its way back to Modekan.
“Great One, the palace?” The instigator’s tone was less bold. “The Mighty Lord was informed of your imminent arrival, Great One. He expects you and your companions.”
“That is not your concern, Instigator.” Pavek made his voice cold. He smiled his practiced templar smile and felt his scar twitch.
The tricks of a high templar’s trade came easily. He could grow accustomed to the power, if he weren’t careful. Corruption grew out of the bribes he was offered, the bribes he accepted, which was no surprise, but also out of those he refused, and that was a surprise.
He set Manip, the cart, and three ceramic bits on their way toward the templar quarter, then herded his companions deeper into the city, where they could almost disappear into the afternoon crowds.
“Didn’t you hear what he said?” Zvain demanded when they were sheltered in the courtyard of an empty shop. “Wheels of fate, Pavek—King Hamanu’s got his eye out for us. We’re goners if we don’t hie ourselves to the palace!”
“And do what when we get there?” Pavek countered. “Slide across the floor on our bellies until he tells us what to do next?”
Zvain said nothing, but his expression hinted that he had expected to slither.
“Mahtra, can you take us to the reservoir now?” Pavek turned to her. “I want to see it with my own eyes before we go to the palace.”
She pulled back, shaking her head like a startled animal.
“If we’re going to hunt for Kakzim, we have to start where he was last seen.”
“My Lord Hamanu—” Mahtra began to protest.
But Pavek cut her off. “Doesn’t know everything there is to know in Urik.” The words were heresy, but also the truth, or Laq would never have gotten loose in the city. “Can you lead us there? I don’t want to go to the palace with an empty head.”
“There was death everywhere. Blood and bodies. I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t go back. Father, Mika, they’re still there.”
A child, Pavek reminded himself. A seven-year-old who’d come home one morning and found her family slaughtered. “You don’t have to go all the way, Mahtra. Just far enough so we know where we’re going. Zvain will stay with you—”
“No way!” the boy protested. “I’m going with you. I’m not