The Ambassador's Mission: Book One of th - By Trudi Canavan Page 0,69

moved into the shadow of the opposite buildings. Then he stopped and looked back.

“What are you thinking?” Gol asked. “You have that look.”

“I’m thinking that Makkin and his shop might be a good location for our trap.”

“So do we arrange for something special to fall into his hands and see who comes to get it, or do we wait until something real comes in?”

“I doubt he’d tell us first, if he got real books. We need to be in control of the transaction as much as possible, and by arranging for the fakes to reach him we can time it to our plans. Though … we have to give our quarry reason to use magic to get hold of it. I wonder … he said he keeps them out of sight. A safebox, perhaps?”

“I’ll find out. It would make it easier to be sure Makkin doesn’t sell the books to anyone else. Hopefully that’ll force the Hunter to break in to get it.”

“And use magic.” Cery nodded. “We’ll need a safe place to watch from. And make sure we can get away if things go wrong or Makkin works out what’s going on.”

Gol nodded. “I’ll look into it.”

It was late when Dannyl finally walked through the door to his rooms at the Guild House. He’d spent the evening visiting an old Ashaki who insisted on filling Dannyl in on the trading exploits of all his ancestors, and was overly gleeful at their success at cheating other traders to the point of ruin.

He glanced into the side room he and past Ambassadors used as an office and, seeing something new on the desk, stopped and looked closer. A notebook lay there. He walked into the room and picked it up. Opening the pages, he recognised Lorkin’s handwriting and suddenly the weariness he’d felt these last few hours lifted.

At some point a previous Ambassador had purchased or had made for the office an ordinary chair with a back. Dannyl sat down with an appreciative sigh and began to read. The first passages Lorkin had copied out were from the record that Dannyl had skimmed through. There weren’t many entries, he noted, and he felt a pang of worry as he realised the young man hadn’t copied out the entry about the house in Imardin. Dannyl hadn’t mentioned it, curious to see if Lorkin would notice.

But it wasn’t an obvious clue. Lorkin will, no doubt, see different things. While he won’t pick up everything I would have, he may find things I wouldn’t.

Sending Lorkin in Dannyl’s place had been a brilliant solution to the problem of being unable to visit important Sachakans twice in a row for fear of showing undue political favour. Nothing would be the same as doing the research personally, but having Lorkin do it for him at least gave him some material to examine and consider until he was free to do it himself.

Reading on, he felt his excitement at having new information slowly ebb. There was little more here of use. Then Lorkin’s handwriting suddenly became bolder and angular, with one word repeatedly underlined. Dannyl read and then reread the copied-out record, and Lorkin’s speculations, and felt his mood lift again.

Lorkin is right. This “storestone” is clearly important. Though he is assuming it is a magical object. It might be something with political value – an object that states the possessor is important, like a king’s band or a religious leader’s treasure.

The name “Narvelan” was familiar, but he could not remember why. He rubbed his forehead and realised he had a growing headache and was thirsty. The meal had been excessively salty, and the only drink offered had been wine. Looking through the doorway into the main room, he saw that there was a slave standing against the far wall.

“Fetch me some water, will you?” he called.

The young man hurried away. Dannyl turned back to Lorkin’s notes, rereading and trying to remember where he’d heard the name “Narvelan” before. Hearing the slave return, he looked up. Instead of the previous young man, a boy stood there, holding out a jug and a glass.

Dannyl hesitated, then took them, wondering why he was now being served by a different slave. The boy looked down, avoiding his eyes. Not for the first time, he wondered who decided which slaves did what. Probably the slave master, who had introduced himself on the first day. Lord Maron had explained that the slaves actually belonged to the king, but were “on loan” to the