I have followed the life of the man who calls himself the Warden of Crime. I watched him navigate the crime lords across the empire to become their leader. Yesterday, I held an audience with him. My officers will not arrest those that wear his symbol. In turn we take a share of his profits from his smuggling ventures, including the distribution of joba seeds and firerum.
It is important that the Nowerks believe that there is a resistance to our rule. The belief that someone else is opposing our law has lessened uprisings within the plantations. Hope is an important driver in productivity.
—Yona Elsari, Warden of Strength, year 403
Anoor had made it a third of the distance Sylah wanted her to run.
“I can’t do it.” The words burst out with the last of her breath. She collapsed onto the ground. Sylah stood over her, looking down at Anoor’s heaving body in distaste.
“Get up.”
“I can’t,” she whined.
“Now,” Sylah barked. Anoor simply flinched and curled up in a ball. Sylah growled and rolled her eyes to the sky. The clockmaster called sixth bell, the sun having risen over a strike ago. The Keep was already waking from its slumber.
Sylah tried a different tack. She crouched down and laid a hand stiffly on Anoor’s shoulder.
“It will get easier, but you can’t give up. Each step you take today is one you’ll be thankful of tomorrow.”
Anoor uncurled slightly.
“Does it really get easier?”
Sylah had to stop herself from spitting on her. As if everything in her life hadn’t been easy already. “Yes, it does.” Sylah held out a hand for her. After some hesitation Anoor grasped it and pulled herself up.
When they got back to her chambers, Anoor had to get ready for class, leaving Sylah in the hands of Gorn.
“I’ll be with Anoor all day, but I’ve taken the liberty of putting together a shopping list of items you need to buy from the Ember Market.” Gorn handed her a scroll. It was so long it unraveled to halfway down Sylah’s shin.
“Oh.” Sylah wanted to claw the smug look off Gorn’s face. “I had some errands to run in the city myself today.”
“How fortunate. Now you can do both.”
“Yes, how fortunate.” Sylah’s smile was as sickly as honey. Her eyes scanned the list. It varied from the practical to the outright ridiculous. There was no way Anoor needed three different types of salt.
“Where can I find these things?”
“I’m sure you can figure it out.” Gorn’s grin was toothy. “Ah, Anoor, there you are. Don’t want to be late for class.” Anoor’s eyes flickered to the scroll and then to the floor.
“See you later, Sylah.”
As soon as the door shut, Sylah screamed curses.
“Stupid rich girl with her stupid face, and her stupid servant. Argh!” She tore the scroll in two. Then into three. It would have been into four if her hands hadn’t begun to weaken.
She then spent the next half a strike putting the scroll back together again with tree gum, the curses now directed at herself.
—
Someone was following her. They were doing a good job of it too, but Sylah could see their shadow hop along the rooftops alongside her. She rearranged her headscarf, feigning vanity in a window, while scanning the surrounding buildings in the reflection. The Tongue wasn’t far; she’d feel much safer on the Duster side of town. She pulled the shawl she had borrowed from Anoor tighter around her shoulders. It draped over her crimson pinafore, hiding more of her servants’ garb.
The uniform allowed her to blend in throughout the Keep but would be a target on the other side of the river. She’d like to avoid being spat on before she reached her mama’s.
Sylah’s skin prickled as she heard the telltale sound of officers’ boots. A platoon was walking toward her. She pressed her back against the glass in the hope of making herself invisible. Their voices reached her first.
“My shift ends in two strikes, do you fancy heading for a drink later? The Sphinx Tavern has just had a cask of red wine in from Jin-Eynab.”
“Yeah? That sounds good. Got to get home before the children finish school, though.”