The panic that had erupted the day Callah's water turned inexplicably into "blood" had died down. For that day, though, a great unease had come over the city's inhabitants, native and Felk alike. Some people called it a sign from the gods, though exactly what the sign meant varied from individual to individual.
Colonel Jesile had grudgingly set his mages onto the problem. They had determined, using the same divining magic that had uncovered the counterfeiting ring, that the water was perfectly safe to drink, despite its unwholesome appearance.
The water supplies had since been refreshed and guards put around the reservoirs, but during those first days it had taken some courage to swallow that thick, red water. Aquint had stuck mostly to wine.
The sights and sounds and ambience of Callah were still a great pleasure to him. This grand city held memories for him in almost every quarter. As a youth, younger even than Cat, he had spent his days running errands for his father. Aquint's father had been a man given to extremes of behavior. When he was happy, which was usually when he had money, he could make everyone around him deliriously happy as well. When he was angry, he was a great storm of rage, fearsome and dangerous.
Aquint had started in the freight-hauling business as just another strong back moving cargo on and off wagons. He wasn't as big as some of the other workers, but he never shirked, never missed a day of work for any reason. That fact impressed the owners of the business. They gave him a little more responsibility, and he proved himself able to handle it.
Actually, he demonstrated that he was quite intelligent, in a shrewd sort of way. With no formal tutelage, Aquint was good with numbers—especially when it came to ledgers and invoices. He had a knack, which his employers soon discovered to their delight, for hiding overages and shortages. These were discrepancies that wouldn't be appreciated by the governmental agencies that handled levies and special export fees.
It got Aquint out of the heavy lifting tasks and drew him ever deeper into the managerial ranks of the enterprise. Soon he was keeping the books for the whole company and also drawing better wages.
Unbeknownst to his employers, he was also paying himself a second equally healthy wage. In all honesty, Aquint judged that he deserved it. He was also in a position to route the monies invisibly to himself. He wasn't greedy in his embezzling, recognizing that such behavior led inevitably to disaster. He kept things fair, accumulated his brasses and bronzes, and bided his time.
Eventually, he had secured enough capital to go into business for himself. He had advantages that others new to such undertakings didn't. He understood the basic deceit of employees, even the most seemingly loyal, the smilingest, the most dependable of the bunch... they could well be the ones shafting you worse than any of the others.
Aquint's personal business philosophy allowed for his workers to help themselves, here and there, now and then, to a little extra something for their troubles. Sometimes merchandise "fell off the wagon" and sometimes payroll was slightly inflated. But as long as none of it got too far out of hand, Aquint had always been willing to turn a blind eye.
He was also equally sincere about punishing those who abused that rare and special privilege.
He'd had a fine business, hauling freight and moving smuggled goods on the side. Sometimes one line did better than the other, but on the whole he probably made as much money doing legitimate business as he did in criminal ventures, though he was loath to admit it.
And then, one day, the Felk had decided they wanted to rule the entire Isthmus, and they came and conquered Callah just to get things started, and that was that for Aquint's business, his personal life, and the sovereignty of his city-state, which hadn't been compromised in many tenwinters.
These people had all suffered the same fates, he thought as he continued through the streets, eyeing merchants and workers. Many still had the same livelihoods as before the Felk had come, true, but whatever monies they'd saved up had been confiscated and replaced by what had turned out to be truly worthless pieces of colored paper. The real money had gone into the Felk war chest.
Callah was conquered... and it felt conquered. Aquint tried not to dwell on it, but it was almost impossible.
He turned in at one of the smaller marketplaces. He sought out a particular stall. He knew the man's goods by reputation, but not the man himself.
"You honestly dare to sell such an indecent implement?" Aquint asked.
"At the price I'm giving you, I will probably have to starve myself for a quarter-lune," the dealer said. "Don't you have eyes to recognize a bargain?"
Aquint held the instrument and fingered its strings, trying to appear knowledgeable. It certainly seemed serviceable. He and the dealer haggled awhile more. The price the man was quoting really was quite high, but Aquint worked him down a little, mostly for the sport of it.
Finally Aquint handed over a fistful of notes and carried away his purchase. The dealer had never questioned how Aquint planned to play the thing with one arm in a sling.
Aquint crossed over several winding, disorganized streets into a shabbier district of Callah. Even these environs, however, were a pleasure to him. He had spent many happy times as a boy capering on these particular streets.
So many familiar faces were gone, sucked away by the war, but here and there he still saw people he recognized. He entered old lady Laina's hostel. She was among those people he knew.
Aquint climbed to the third floor. It had been somewhat whimsical to lodge his two new recruits in the room the Minstrel had occupied. But maybe it did have some purpose. It was nonsense, that old saw about the thief returning to the location of the crime. A thief treated his occupation professionally. Fools who committed crimes impulsively, or for reasons other than profit, however, might return.
Who knew? Maybe the Minstrel would return to this room someday.
Aquint knocked on the door. He had gotten the impression that his two new agents were something more than mere comrades to each other. He didn't want to walk in on them if they were frisking about on that bed in there.
While he waited for someone to answer his knock, Aquint acknowledged that the pair might have fled since he'd installed them here yesterday. He had recognized this risk from the start. They would find it difficult to get out of Callah though.
But the female, Radstac, answered the door. She was, in her way, a very striking woman, even with those scars on her face and her short, choppy hair. She was alluring in the way that snakes were, with their sleek shapes and gliding movements.
"Ah, Radstac." Aquint smiled. "You're finding the room comfortable?"
"I've slept in far worse places," she said. There was some trace of an accent there that Aquint couldn't quite place.
"And you, Deo," Aquint said, looking past her shoulder, "did you get a good night's sleep?"
He nodded. "I did."
"Fine. Now that the pleasantries are done, does anybody know what this is?" Aquint held up the instrument he had purchased at the market.
Deo shrugged. "Looks like a stringbox."
"And so it is," Aquint said. "Do either of you know how to play it?"
Radstac just gazed flatly, but Deo said, "I had a court tutor—uh, I've had some training."
"Then take this."
Aquint held it out, and Deo came forward and took the instrument into his arms. He examined it, flicked a few strings, turned the knob at one end, and nodded.
"Well," Aquint said, a bit impatiently, "let's hear a little something."
Deo took a seat, wedged the vox-mellifluous against his fit body, and rang out a ditty. He faltered a couple times but recovered quickly, picking out a fast tempo. He got more confident with it as Aquint watched.