Page 3 of A Trade of Blood

“And, I am unsure if the locals would appreciate us driving across their crops in this manner, ma’am.”

“Tell them I’ll pay for it myself!” she snarled. “It’s fucking beans, correct? Cow feed! How much could it possibly cost? I wish to get this over with, damn it all!”

I climbed back out of the carriage and rejoined the pilot atop it. “My superior has asked us to drive across the crops,” I said to him.

He stared. “She what, sir?”

“Is there a short path we could take about the town?” I asked. “Some back way toward an alley?”

“You drive a cart across someone’s crops, they’re liable to take you to court.”

“Well, as officers of the high court, we shall be well familiar with that,” I said, defeated. “But there is a murdered girl in town, and we must get there speedily. We’ll pay for whatever damages we cause.”

Still he hesitated. “I’m not sure if I could get more work here if folk knew I did such a thing.”

“You can blame it on her. They’ll quickly learn her nature and believe you. You can blame more on her if you wish. Crop failures. Pestilence. They’ll believe that, too, soon enough.”

The pilot took a breath. Then, with a flick of the reins, he nudged the horses off the road and into the bean fields. The other carters and drovers and riders caterwauled and hollered mightily as we churned through the crops, and though our pilot grew pale as a pasture moth’s wing, soon we left them behind and approached the city directly.

Then we saw what had blocked the roads, and I likely grew just as pale as our pilot.

The lane ahead was blockaded with a dozen men, all of them armed and clad in various shades of yellow from head to toe. Many were armored, though not with the plate or mail of the Legion, but some manner of algaeoil leather—and each leather cuirass bore a crest upon the chest.

I could not make out the crest from this distance. Yet I knew what it was, for I had read my briefing carefully. It was surely a crest of a bull, set upon a field of saffron: the family crest of the Armenta gentryclan.

Their presence made a dreadful sense to me—for the current suspect of the murder, a young man named Castus Armenta, was a prime son of that family. What these armed folk wished to accomplish by being here, I did not know, but I felt sure the answer was a foul one.

I called down to Ana: “Appears we might be late, ma’am. Armenta forces fill the city ahead.”

The carriage shutter cracked open the tiniest bit—even when blindfolded, Ana disdained exposure to the exterior world—and her voice came ringing out: “Oh? Any sign of the other clan?”

“Not yet.”

A reflective pause.

“Then either they all lie dead,” pronounced Ana’s voice, “or, more likely, there is a standoff in the city.”

“What makes you think so, ma’am?”

“Well, the local peacekeepers have locked up Castus Armenta for the murder, yes? And I am sure the family of the slain girl would very much like to break him out of jail to hang the little bastard for killing her. Which means the Armentas, if given the chance, would like to breakinand spirit him away before they can do so! The fact that the Armentas are still here suggests they have not yet achieved this—probably because the other family is preventing them.” A rough cackle came from the carriage window. “A stalemate, then! Each family would like to chop the other to bits—but none can strike the first blow, for that would be dishonorable. We shall have our work cut out for us, boy.”

The carriage shutter closed with a snap.

Chapter 2

I had expected the Armentaforces to part as we approached. Instead, they stood in a line, gazing at us with truculent indifference. Our pilot nervously tugged the reins when we could go no farther, and pulled the carriage to a halt.

“Make way, please,” I called to the Armenta men.

None of them even glanced atme.

“Make way!” I called louder. “I am Iudex and bound for the murder in the city.”

“The custodi have young Castus,” one of the Armenta men said. “We’ll not depart until he is safe.” He looked at my heralds as if they were but blots of bird shit upon my uniform. “Nor will we allow any authority to force us away.”

“I am not asking you to leave,” I said. “I am asking you to stand aside! A slight shuffling, as opposed to a grand retreat.”

“Why should we?” called another man, this one wielding a great lance. “The custodi wish to hang Castus straightaway, and we shall not let that happen.”