Kip was out of his depth. Playing his wits against Andross Guile was like playing Nine Kings with only two cards against an expert with a full deck. Kip’s cards were Ignorance and Stupidity. Not winners.
“I’ll see you in a week,” Kip said. “Have Teia’s papers ready. I intend to win.”
Chapter 50
As soon as Kip got out of sight, he ran. He took the stairs down to his level and ran until he was within sight of his barracks.
There was a man standing outside the barracks. “Hello, sir,” he said as Kip approached.
“Uh.”
“I’ve been told to tell you that Lord Andross Guile wishes to reward you for your fine play. You’ve been given your own room. Your things have already been moved. Would you like to follow me?”
That old, decrepit, infuriating spider. He was magnificent. He’d just played a Scry and looked at Kip’s hand. For one moment, Kip couldn’t help but admire how well played it was. How better to go through all of Kip’s possessions than by helping him move? And how could Kip object? He was getting a better room, for nothing.
So Kip did the smartest thing he’d done all day. He went upstairs-without making some excuse to first go into the barracks and check to see if the dagger was still in the chest five beds down. If they’d stolen it, it was already gone. If it was still there, he’d only be tipping them off. He’d come back later.
His new room wasn’t large, but it did have a bed with new sheets and a warm blanket, a desk, a couple of chairs, and a small window to the outside. There was a lock on the door. The servant handed him a key. Nice touch.
The people most likely to steal from him doubtless already had a copy.
“Thank you,” Kip said. “Tell Luxlord Guile I was left speechless by his generosity. Tell him nice Scry.”
“Nice… try, sir?”
“Nice Scry.”
“Scry. Very well, sir.”
The man waited near the door, and Kip realized he was supposed to give him a tip. “I’m terribly sorry,” Kip said, “but I don’t have any money.”
The man glanced around the room, as if to say, Awfully nice room and situation you’ve got here for a pauper. As if to say, Liar.
Kip flushed. “Thank you, now goodbye.” He nearly slammed the door on the man’s face, suddenly angry, deeply embarrassed.
But as the door closed, he realized that Lord Guile had done this, too. He had plenty of slaves who could have brought Kip to his new room. Slaves weren’t tipped, and the use of slaves so that your guests didn’t have to worry about tipping was a courtesy often shown between the rich. Lord Guile was reminding Kip of his poverty, of his tenuous position. Rubbing his nose in it. Reminding him how badly Kip needed Teia.
Kip didn’t know much about the economics of it, but he did know that some drafters never pledged themselves to any satrapy, instead being supported privately. Those lords or merchants then sometimes rented out the services of their drafters to whoever needed them-mercenaries. For those who couldn’t afford the time and money it took to invest in developing a drafter, it was a bargain.
But… Teia’s talent was worthless, wasn’t it?
Or priceless, in the right quarters.
Gavin, Father, would you please come back? I’m afraid I’m going to do something awful here.
It was too late to go find Teia. She’d probably be done with her shift by now, but Kip couldn’t stay here. He wasn’t tired anyway. And he had four hours before his midnight training time with her and Ironfist.
He left the Prism’s Tower and walked into Big Jasper. As he crossed through a market, he swore that for a few steps everyone’s gait was synchronized, one, two, three steps all simultaneous-then it passed. He must have imagined it. A few people looked at each other, then went back to their business. In half an hour, he was back in front of Janus Borig’s door. He knocked and waited patiently. He saw shadows shift on the rooftops nearby. Guards? The traps slid open, and he saw her peer out.
“Where can I get a deck of black cards?” Kip asked.
She laughed. “Back so soon. You see? I told you you’re smarter than you thought. Come in. Come in.”
Brent Weeks
The Blinding Knife
Chapter 51
“You know I don’t like to start fights,” Karris said.
Gavin froze with a bit of rabbit stew on its way to his mouth. Clearly not an opening that boded well. He made a noncommittal noise. He and Karris were eating alone tonight in their little tent not far from the beach.
The weeks had passed in a blur of meaningful work and renewed friendship and fruitless searching and quietly growing dread. The Tyreans had landed in wonder and tears. The Third Eye’s people had provided an enormous feast-and Gavin had put the Tyreans to work immediately. Within days, he had a plan and a routine. As much as possible, he handed over power to Corvan Danavis, supporting his decisions, deferring to him publicly, and bolstering the man until the Tyreans were almost as likely to turn to Corvan to settle disputes and give guidance when Gavin was there as when he was gone.
And Gavin was gone almost every day, scouring the seas for the blue bane with Karris. He’d sat with his abacus and his map, checked and double-checked his calculations and his assumptions-and then checked and double-checked the seas. The bane wasn’t there. Wherever the two hours east and two and a half hours south started from, it wasn’t from his beach on Seers Island. Nor, running it backward, was it simply two hours west and two and a half hours north of White Mist Reef, though that had taken him some time to figure out, too, because the reef wasn’t simply one point on the map, it was an entire zone in the sea, five times larger than Seers Island. So did he measure that distance from the presumed center of the reef, or from some particular point therein, or from every possible point in a circle?
And it wasn’t like his skimmer’s speed was a simple constant either. Some days he was tired and he’d cover leagues less, though he thought he’d been traveling at the same rate.
“It’s about Kip,” Karris said.
That seemed safe enough. “Yes?” he ventured.
“What are you doing to that boy?”
“Pardon?” He hadn’t even seen Kip in weeks.
“He’s a boy, Gavin.”
“I was under the impression he was a ptarmigan.”
“Don’t give me that,” Karris said, flushing. She shifted on her stool and winced. Training with amateurs meant collecting bruises from where people weren’t in control enough of their own bodies to pull blows short consistently.
“I have no idea what we’re even talking about,” Gavin said.
“You’ve given him some impossible task, haven’t you?” Karris asked.
Gavin scowled. “How’d you know-”
“I know you!”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Gavin said lightly, grinning, trying to defuse.
But Karris obviously wasn’t in the mood to make peace. “He’s a boy, not a weapon. You’ve loosed him like an arrow at some target. I don’t know who. I don’t even care. You’re using him to advance some agenda.”
Gavin absorbed that, pursed his lips, set his spoon down into his stew. “That’s right. We all serve.”
“It’s not right. He’s a good kid, and he deserves better. You’ve acknowledged him as your son-now be a father.”
“What? What did you just say?” Gavin demanded.
“He’s a child! You’re treating him like he’s another soldier. He needs your time, Gavin. He needs you to put him first.”
“I don’t put him first,” Gavin said frankly.
“Exactly!”
“Exactly. And what exactly would you have me abandon so I can go have playtime with Junior? Clothing and housing fifty thousand refugees? Not important. Destroying a bane? Not important. Saving all seven satrapies? Not-”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it! You’ve said Kip is your son. Are you going to treat him like he’s your son or not?”
“Kip is not important!” Gavin shouted.