Page 49 of A Drop of Corruption

“I ask obvious questions, sir. Who are they?”

He narrowed his indigo-painted eyes at me. “Hm. A blue one. I’ve never seen a blue one.”

“What?”

“I have seen red imperials,” he continued. “And a few black. And white, far too often. But never blue. You are Iudex, you say? Is that a…an imperialphansi vala? Executioner?”

“I am not an executioner,” I said stiffly. “I deal in matters of justice.”

“Ah. As do I. These are fugitives. They have broken their oaths to their lords and fled their sworn vows. I return them to their rightful places now.”

“This is approved by the imperial powers, sir? They know of what you do here?”

He let a tiny, icy silence slide by. “I do not need their approval. Forwe are notinthe Empire. You stand on Yarrow soil. You have for many leagues. Did you not know?”

I looked him over, liking what I saw less and less. “May I have your name, sir?”

He thought about it. “No.”

“You won’t give me your name?”

“I do not give imperials anything I do not need to. And I need give you nothing, boy.”

Another tense moment. His eyes danced down to my sword at my side, then back up to my eyes. There was a greediness in his gaze, as if he wished me to draw, eager for the conflict, even though he himself was unarmed. A strange thing, I thought.

Then there was a creak and a crack to my left, and the rickety gates of the fortress opened. We both looked, and Prificto Kardas came striding out, biting his thumb as he so often did when worried. He was flanked by his many Treasury officers, their faces all flustered and downcast. Only Signum Gorthaus kept her face stoic and still, yet this was a common thing in engravers.

Kardas stopped when he saw me. A strange, shameful expression stole over him, as if he felt I’d caught him in some compromising act. “Kol?” he said. “What are you doing here?”

I bowed. “I had come to ask questions of a member of your delegation, sir,” I said.

The purple-faced man spoke up: “He seemed more interested in my carriages, Kardas. Too much so.”

“Ahh,” said Kardas slowly. “I see. Have you two come to know each other, then?”

I shot a glare at the purple-faced man. “No, sir.”

“Well. This is Thale Pavitar, Kol. He is the jari of the court of Yarrow—a role akin to a priest. He is often part of my negotiations.”

“You are a man of faith, sir?” I said tartly to this Pavitar.

“I keep many ancestral oaths,” the broad man said. “Without those, all is lost. True?” He grinned, his teeth flashing in his beard. I almost winced, for his teeth were misshapen and discolored: a sightquite unusual to me, for in the Empire we possessed calcious grafts that could easily amend any tooth or bone.

“Yes…” said Kardas uncertainly. “Well, Kol, I am sorry that you have made the trip here, for we cannot accommodate any interview at the moment.” He stepped between Pavitar and me in a transparent effort to defuse our conflict. “I’m afraid we must relocate to the High City to continue our discussions, and we must be quick about it, for we feel we make some progress now.”

A twitch to Pavitar’s beard, as if he thought this very unlikely.

“I shall be happy to contact you when we return to Yarrowdale, though,” said Kardas. “And we can conduct all interviews there.”

I bowed in return, my anger simmering under Pavitar’s smirk. Yet as I bade them goodbye and moved to mount my horse, more people exited the gates, and one figure in particular drew my gaze.

He was a short, pale man, thin and reedy and arrayed in fine silk clothes of a bright yellow-green color, with long locks of hair that hung well-coiffed about his neck. He was surrounded by soldiers clad in green and armored like the ones on the wall, but their helms and epaulets were of finer make, as if escorting this man was a special duty. Like Pavitar, this new man’s face was painted, yet his paints were not purple, but green: a flowery, curling design that coiled about the edges of his cheeks and gathered at his mouth.

Yet it was his eyes that struck me most. They locked on me immediately and glittered with intelligence, yet it was a very cold sort: he studied me as if he were a butcher and I a sow, and he was imagining how he’d part my joints to yield the best cuts.

“Kardas,” said the green-faced man, his voice soft and wary. “Who is that?”

“Ah—this is an imperial officer, sir,” said Kardas, sounding uncharacteristically anxious, “sent here to look into the death of my delegation member. He shall be going shortly.”