made a slight, almost musical chime as he set it down on its saucer. “No other price is acceptable.”
Erlin turned to Vaelin, speaking in Seordah, a language Vaelin knew well enough for only basic communication. However, from Pao Len’s frown it appeared he knew it not at all.
“Refuse,” Erlin said. There was a weight to his gaze that left no room for doubt as to the gravity of the moment. “This is no small thing.”
“You said there is no other way.”
Erlin gave a helpless shrug. “Hire another ship. Find a secluded cove to put ashore . . .” He trailed off, shoulders slumping in resigned defeat. “No. This is the only way.”
“I have to find her,” Vaelin said. “But your concern is appreciated.”
He turned to Pao Len, dipping his head in a brief bow. “My word is given to the Crimson Band.”
Pao Len inclined his head and raised a hand in a beckoning gesture. The woman who had led them here emerged from the shadows at his back, head once again lowered in servile respect. Vaelin found himself both chilled and impressed that he had failed to discern her presence in the room until now.
“Chien will be your guide,” Pao said. “She speaks your language well and possesses the most current knowledge of the patrol routes favoured by the Dien-Ven.”
“Dien-Ven?” Vaelin asked.
“The ‘Coin Guards,’” Erlin translated. “They oversee all internal travel in the Venerable Kingdom. All roads in the Far West carry a toll, and all travellers must give their name and destination at each gate. The Merchant Kings are ever keen to track the movements of their populace. Hence our need for a guide.”
Pao glanced at the woman and spoke two words in Chu-Shin: “Black knot.”
She moved her head in a swift nod and the tea maker grunted in satisfaction before getting to his feet. “You leave tonight. There is a cellar below where you and your companions can rest. Food will be provided.”
He sketched a brief bow and left the room, the woman coming forward to clear the teapot and cups from the table. “Black knot?” Vaelin asked, making her pause and regard him with a gaze that betrayed the only emotion he had yet seen in her, hard bitter resentment.
“I’ll fetch the other foreigners,” she said in Realm Tongue that was well spoken but lacked the accentless precision of Pao Len. It also lacked any note of respect. “Remain here.” With that she exited the room leaving his question unanswered.
“It means a mission that cannot fail,” Erlin said. “If she doesn’t guide us safely to the High Temple, she is required to kill herself.” He grimaced, shaking his head. “Pao Len must put a great deal of stock in your word if he’s prepared to risk his daughter’s life to secure it.”
CHAPTER TEN
They spent several hours in the vault-like cellar beneath Pao Len’s teashop. The space was musty with the scent of tea piled in sacks all around. A meal was duly provided, consisting of boiled rice and chicken stewed in a thick peppery sauce. Much to Nortah’s evident annoyance the silent, expressionless men who served the meal seemed content to ignore his clumsily phrased requests for wine. Chien returned after several hours when night had descended on the streets above. She wore a leather pack on her back and carried a plain staff. Her loose cotton garb had been exchanged for sturdier quilted trews and jacket.
“Put these on,” she told them as the silent men returned carrying bundles of similar clothing. “And these,” she added, tossing a broad conical straw hat to Vaelin. “Keep your face lowered when we get above ground.”
Rolled blankets were also provided to conceal their weapons and other non-Western accoutrements. Once they had dressed she surveyed them all with a glance possessing none of the placidity from before. Muttering a disdainful “foreigners look like mules and stink like oxen” under her breath, she turned and strode towards an apparently bare wall at the rear of the cellar.
“No talking,” she instructed, pressing her hands against two separate bricks, one high and one low. There was a loud click within the wall, and Chien began to push against it, grunting with the effort as it slid back on an unseen hinge, unleashing a wave of foul-smelling air in the process.
“By the Father’s arse!” Ellese said, voice muffled as she pressed her sleeve against her face. “What a stench!”
“Sewer,” Sehmon said. His features wrinkled with disgusted familiarity as he squinted at the damp tunnel beyond