a cursory search of the tunnels did not reveal the Cymvelan treasure, but gold and goods belonging to the slavers were discovered, including copies of the slave-brands used by all the major and minor municipalities of the Midlands.
Diastor gave orders to have them taken at once to the smithy and destroyed.
“It’s not lawful for anyone but the City Magistrates to possess them.”
“I repent that I doubted Aunt Mesthelde,” said Raphe grimly. “Small wonder if screams have been heard at the temple.”
For the time, the Liruvathid captives were quartered in an encampment of their own, provided with tents and clothing and food. Nyctasia was surprised at first to find that all of them were in sound health, suffering neither from starvation nor ill-treatment. But she soon realized that this was simple common sense on the part of the slave-traders; weakness or injury would only have lowered the value of their merchandise.
“I must take this opportunity to learn how Liruvathe is really spoken,” she said to the others, after the new guests had been settled. “The rift between theory and practice has been the undoing of more than one scholar.”
“If that means that you don’t know anything useful, it’s the truth,” said Corson. “I’ve told you as much myself.”
“That’s what it means,” Nyctasia admitted.
“It’s well for us that you’re here, Corson,” said Diastor. “My wife and her brother know enough Liruvathe to deal with the eastern traders at Amron Therain, but they won’t be back from Osela for a fortnight.”
“Do you ever travel to the imperial markets yourselves?” asked Nyctasia.
He shook his head. “It would be quite an undertaking to transport the casks so far as that. We can’t spare that many people for so long.”
“It might be a saving, though, in the end,” said Mesthelde thoughtfully. “We’d get a better price from purchasers than we do from other merchants. We should give some thought to it, perhaps.”
“A splendid idea!” urged Jenisorn. “Now if you sent me to the Imperial University, I could find out all about the markets at the capital-”
“Or me!” said Tepicacia, who was a year or two older than Jenisorn.
“We should send you both back to the nursery,” said Mesthelde. “Get along with you!”
Nyctasia smiled. “I wanted to go to the university too, when I was a girl, and my family wouldn’t hear of it either. Perhaps it’s not too late.” In truth, the idea appealed to her a good deal, and she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. She would be sorry to leave her new kin, but the pursuit of her studies would be work far more satisfying to her than grape-farming and winemaking.
“You won’t learn anything useful there either,” Corson scoffed. “Of all the feckless good-for-nothings born of woman, students are the worst of the lot.”
“There’s good sense speaking,” said Diastor warmly, and even Mesthelde looked at Corson with approval. “Don’t be stirring up the youngsters to long for Liruvath, Nyctasia,” he cautioned. “It’s only the tidings of Rhostshyl that’s turned their thoughts from running off across the mountains to study a lot of nonsense-”
“And live like wild swine,” put in Mesthelde. “Students! As if philosophy ever put bread on the table!”
Nyctasia winked at Jenisorn. “Admittedly, scholarship is a luxury for the few,” she said mildly, “but consider what valuable connections your young folk could make at the university. Children of wealthy and noble families-the very patrons for fine and costly wines.”
This possibility had not occurred to Mesthelde, and for a moment she weighed the commercial advantages of a university education, but they were not sufficiently tempting to change her mind. “More likely they’d fall in with a lot of tosspots and troublemakers, and take to gambling and Hlann knows what mischief. Even if they did mix with scholars of good family, they’d only pick up extravagant ways and come home in debt-if they came home at all.”
’Deisha resented her elders’ remarks, on Nyctasia’s behalf, far more than Nyctasia did herself. “Well then,” she snapped, “why not send Jen and ’Cacia and
’Corin into the Imperial Army instead? They could have a practical education like Corson’s, all at the crown’s expense. Only think of the savings!”
Diastor began to remonstrate with her, but Mesthelde cut his words short. If she was perturbed by her niece’s insolence, she nevertheless had the grace to laugh.
“That’s a very good idea, my dear-it would satisfy their restlessness and teach them some discipline into the bargain. And now that we’ve settled what’s to be done with them, it’s time we decided what to do about our unfortunate guests.
What’s to become of them?”
It did not occur to any of the Edonaris that they were not responsible for the welfare of the hapless foreigners. Their position clearly made it their duty to assist the victims of the slavers. “I don’t see any great difficulty,” said Diastor. “The money that was found probably belonged to them-the vahn knows they’ve a right to it. Divided among them, it will be enough to see them home.”
Nesanye nodded. “They can travel with Leclairin and Aldri-chas as far as Amron Therain, after Harvest Festival, and they’re sure to find their own people there. There’s always a party of merchants bound for the Spine.”
“I’ll be going to Amron Therain soon, to take a riverboat,” Corson said. “I can see them safe that far.”
“But you’re not leaving yet,” said Raphe, dismayed. “Not before harvest-fest, surely!”
The others laughed. “Well, not before I’ve had a chance to explore those tunnels more carefully,” Corson assured him. “We’ve not yet found a lock to fit that Cymvelan key, you know.”
The fair-haired man among the prisoners was himself a Midlander, who introduced himself as Garast brenn Vale. “I’ve lived most of my life downriver, but I was born in these parts,” he explained. “My people deal in silk and Igkosian tapestry. We were on the way back from Osela fair, and when we passed through Vale I left the others, to have a look at the ruins. I had some schooling among the Cymvelans as a child, and I-”
“You must understand Liruvathe well, then, if you trade in imperial goods,” said Raphe, who’d been talking to Corson.
“Well, no, not really, but my wife…”
“It’s strange your folk didn’t make inquiry for you when you failed to return,”
Mesthelde interrupted.
“Didn’t they? But they must have,” said Garast uneasily.
“We’d have heard about any disappearances from hereabout.”
“You don’t understand,” said Garast, but he made no attempt to explain.
“We understand well enough,” said Raphe. “You’re not the first treasure-seeker to come sneaking about here.”
“The dogs catch them betimes,” ’Deisha put in. “I wonder how many others have fallen into the hands of those slavers, though, and we none the wiser.”
“They’d only themselves to blame if they did, for not seeking our leave in the first place,” said Mesthelde. “If we’d known they were there, we’d have known they were missing.”
Raphe frowned. “It must have been you stealing food from my harvesters, scaring folk away from the temple.”
Garast protested his innocence with some indignation, but Diastor silenced him with a wave of his hand. “We don’t much mind if every fool in the valley wants to waste time looking for that treasure-begging your pardon, my dear Corson-but we do object to prowlers who don’t make themselves known, thief or no.”
“I-I couldn’t make myself known. I have enemies in these parts.”
“I daresay,” said Mesthelde, folding her arms.
“Garast, you really may as well speak the truth,” suggested Nyctasia. “The Edonaris were always friends to the Circle. There’s nothing to fear.”
The others turned to her in surprise. “The Circle-?”
“It’s not true, I’m no Cymvelan!”
“No, of course not. But you were as a child, no? You see, I think I have something that belongs to you,” said Nyctasia, handing him the page of Cymvelan rhymes and riddles.