Still inspecting the chamber, Arnem finds one thing glaringly absent: “And water?” he asks. “I see no cistern.”
Baster-kin nods. “It has never been a consideration — we have always had an abundance of water, from the various spring-fed wells throughout the city, many of which are connected through fissures in the stone summit of the mountain, out of which Broken’s walls were carved. That is why we take this matter of the poisoned well so seriously: I’ve long had a suspicion that the Bane knew how much we would depend on the resources that lie within the city walls, during a crisis, and that they might send Outragers to make some brazen attempt to pollute them — as they now have. I can’t even be sure that killing the God-King was their primary purpose — it might have been merely a fortunate secondary result. As it turns out, since the damage seems confined to the one well, it suits our purposes more than theirs …” The Merchant Lord thrusts his hands into a grain sack, examining its contents carefully, as he continues to speak contemplatively: “I’m having every other well watched, as we speak, of course, in the event that they try again — or, worse yet, that the poison should find its way into other reserves at some future date. But for now …”
Baster-kin becomes even more inscrutable, for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he examines his handful of grain; and Arnem finds himself, while impressed, a little confused. “My lord?” he says. “You seem perturbed, rather than relieved. If I may say so. Do you fear the grain stores have also been tampered with?”
“Not yet,” Baster-kin replies, his mind clearly wrestling with the thought. “But we must be ever-vigilant …” Shaking himself, he turns to the sentek once again. “You and I, however, are not farmers, to vex ourselves with such matters — and yet now it is you who look uncertain.”
“Well — perhaps not uncertain,” Arnem answers quickly. “But — in the Sacristy, earlier, you did make it sound as though the Bane’s sole purpose was to assassinate—”
“Oh, yes, yes,” Baster-kin replies, waving the fact off with one hand as he replaces the grain. “As I say, the event has as yet served our purposes far more than theirs: particularly yours and mine. The Layzin’s energies are—overtaxed, as you saw; and the version of events I relayed to him, and thus to the God-King, was not incorrect. I merely laid emphasis on certain details over others, in order to make the case as simple to comprehend as possible. I trust you can see that?”
Arnem knows that much depends upon the nature of his answer to this seemingly harmless question: he is being invited into a conspiracy, of sorts — one with a noble purpose, perhaps, but with consequences that belie its innocent tone. And so he accepts without detailing his complete opinions: “Yes, my lord,” he says simply.
“Good. Fine.” The Merchant Lord is clearly pleased. “But come — I am expected at the Merchants’ Hall. Or rather, beneath it …”
Arnem studies Lord Baster-kin’s face as they begin to move quickly along one of the many tunnels out of the storage area, soon passing into and out of another identical vaulted stone chamber. The sentek can see that the Merchant Lord’s evident concern for the city, which so often seems obnoxiously zealous in the company of others, somehow assumes a vastly different and more appealing quality, when one is allowed to view its private, even secret, manifestations: its careful inspections and judgments of the materials necessary for the public good in a time of crisis.
“Was Yantek Korsar aware of all this?” Arnem asks, still quite amazed at the extent, not only of the underground maze of expertly carved chambers and tunnels, but of the amount of supplies that are hoarded away in them, and kept replenished for use at any time.
“He was,” Baster-kin replies, laughing in an odd manner: without harshness or rancor, but rather something oddly like sad admiration. “But we were under the impression that you knew he was …”
Arnem needs no explanation of this statement: Baster-kin is plainly referring to Niksar’s role as a spy. But he does not say so at once: “No, my lord — the yantek never shared such knowledge with me,” he says. “In addition, another commander might wonder at how you can be so knowledgeable about what confidences the—” He is on the verge of saying “the yantek” again, but catches himself, remembering the Merchant Lord’s admonition against such in the Sacristy, “—what confidences Herwald Korsar and I exchanged.”
Baster-kin nods, appreciating the gesture. “Another commander would have done a great many things far differently than you have, Sentek. For instance, you’re aware that Linnet Niksar spies for us; you’ve been aware of it for some time. I know it, the Layzin knows it, and the God-King knows it. Yet you have made no protest.” When Baster-kin glances back to find Arnem still more dumbfounded, he laughs once sharply — a rare and remarkable event. It produces a sound that is too sudden, too ill practiced to be pleasant: how much worse would the effect be, Arnem wonders, if it happened in a roomful of dignitaries? Yet here, in private, the awkwardness of the laughter can be overlooked, and the sentiment behind it valued. “You needn’t look so shocked, Sentek,” says Baster-kin, his voice becoming businesslike once more. “We knew you were aware of Linnet Niksar’s role, as I say, but we also knew that you neither held it as a mark against your aide, nor ceased to place your full trust in him. Thus we, in turn, were given additional reason to trust you. That counted for a great deal, I don’t mind telling you, with both the God-King and the Grand Layzin. You’re an exceptional man, Arnem, and an even more exceptional commander. I’m sorry for Korsar, I truly am — but his time had long since passed, even before he gave voice to heresy and treason. No, this moment belongs to you, Sentek — make the most of it. Continued trustworthiness would be a fine first step, along those lines, and if eliminating the pretense with Niksar will help, we can easily arrange it.”
Still unaccustomed to this side of his companion, Arnem simply says, “It will help both Niksar and myself, Lord Baster-kin; I thank you.”
The sentek’s attitude toward Baster-kin is transforming. Arnem has always respected the Merchant Lord; but now, to walk with him in these secret passageways and learn their equally secret purpose, to talk to him as an equal about the inner workings of the kingdom, and to gain deeper insight into how this man, who is the very embodiment of Broken power, thinks, as well as into how he manipulates even the supreme authorities of the great kingdom for their own good and preservation … It is enough to deeply humble anyone, much less a man who was once a troublesome youth from the Fifth District — and Arnem is humbled, indeed: where there had been only sadness for his old friend Korsar not so very much earlier, there is now a profound sense, not only of humility, but of Fate. Fate, which has chosen Arnem to lead the mighty army of Broken in a cause that will bring greater security to the subjects of Broken, and greater safety to the God-King. Yes, humility and Fate: these are the forces driving Arnem’s actions.
Or so he finds it comfortable to believe, for the moment …
In this way, he soon grows to feel that he can presume — humbly, of course — to voice the most critical question of alclass="underline" “My lord, if I may ask — you have said that this campaign will have a goal far greater than the destruction of the Bane. What might that goal be?”
As he begins to answer this question, Baster-kin guides the way from the tunnel through which they have been traveling into a secondary, steadily widening passageway, one that soon opens out onto a large staircase leading up to a formal doorway, into which is set a series of stout oak boards, banded to form a door by thick straps of iron.