Page 6 of Saint
“Your luck never ceases to amaze me, Saint.” He grunted. “Just missed a hell of a storm.”
I smirked to myself. We hadn’t missed it. And luck had nothing to do with it. “Our room ready?”
He gave me a nod and I lifted the map case from my shoulder, handing it to him. One of the kitchen maids was already climbing the stairs with it when I picked up the bottle and the glasses, heading for the row of wooden booths that lined the wall.
The toe of a shined leather boot stuck out from under one of the tables and when I rounded the high back of the seat, Henrik Roth didn’t even bother looking up from his ledger.
His mouth moved silently around the numbers he was writing along the right-hand column of the open page as I slid into the seat across from him. His pocket watch was open on the table, the second hand quietly ticking around the face. I waited for him to finish before I set the two glasses between us.
Henrik dropped the quill, looking up. He was only four or five years older than me, but something about the look in his eyes always made me forget that. His light brown hair had the slightest tinge of red and it was somehow always freshly cut and expertly combed, as if whatever ship he came in on had a barber on board. His tailored jacket and spotless white shirt made him stand out among the grimy traders that filled the tavern, but I’d always gotten the impression that he liked it that way. He was the most smartly dressed criminal I’d ever met.
“Could smell you as soon as you came through the door.” He sat back, giving me a wry grin. “You’re more fish guts than human these days.”
I unstopped the bottle, pouring his rye before I pouredmy own. “You’re probably right about that.” I set it down and picked up my glass.
Henrik followed, lifting his to meet mine at the center of the table, and they clinked before we shot them back in one swallow. The taste burned in the back of my throat, warming my belly as Henrik took it upon himself to pour the second round.
“When are you going to tell me where you get this stuff?” He lifted one eyebrow.
I swirled the rye in my glass. The bottles Clove and I sold illegally at each port had no maker’s mark, and that was intentional. If we were caught selling it, I didn’t want it falling back on the crofter who made it. But I also didn’t want anyone knowing where it came from because when we finally had our license, we’d be the only ones trading the stuff.
“I’ll tell you where the rye comes from if you tell me how you get those gem fakes to weigh out,” I said.
Henrik smiled at that, his brown eyes sparkling. The Roths had built their business on gem fakes that were more than convincing, but the real mystery was how they’d been able to get their stones to pass the scales. According to the accounts I’d heard in the Narrows taverns, it had been more than thirty years since the Roths’ fakes had first started appearing in the merchant’s houses, and no one had been able to crack it. Not even the few gem sages who were left.
Between our rye and Henrik’s stones, we’d started a risky but mutually beneficial enterprise in the Narrows. Almost two years in, Clove and I had finally been able to fund the build of theAsterand our petition for a license in one sweep.
Henrik reached into his vest, producing a small blue velvet pouch and setting it down in front of me. I finished my glass before opening it and pouring the faceted crimson pieces into my palm. Their faces caught the lantern light, sparkling, and the sight made me swallow hard. It was the largest haul we’d ever traded for him, and if I played it right, it could be the last. Now that theAsterand our trade license was paid for, the coin we cut from this deal would go to launch our first official route through the Narrows. It was the kind of coin that spilled blood. Ours, if we weren’t careful.
“Red beryl, ranging from about a quarter to a third of a carat each. The cuts are clean and the color is some of the best I’ve done. These’ll pass anyone’s inspection as long as you steer clear of a gem sage.”
“Lucky for you those aren’t so easy to find these days,” I said, holding one of the stones up to the light.
The ratio of real to fake was at least one to three, but I wouldn’t be able tell them apart if my life depended on it. Even the gem merchants’ most sophisticated gem lamps rarely detected them.
“I’m definitely not complaining.”
I poured the stones back into the pouch, cinching it closed and tucking it into my jacket before I pulled my final purse of coin free. Henrik didn’t even bother counting it. We’d traded enough times for him to know I was good for it, and I knew him well enough now to understand that if I crossed the Roths, I’d pay with my life.
“Happy to be rid of them. Most of the gem sages in Bastian are gone. Sagsay Holm too.”
“Where are they headed?”
Henrik shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care. But my job is getting a lot easier without them.”
There was a time when gem sages had been in high demand in both Bastian and Ceros for their unparalleled skills with the gems. But when they started out-earning the merchants who relied upon them, there were bounties put out and no shortage of people who were willing to collect that coin. People like the Roths, whose business relied on the production and trade of fakes, had benefited.
“I’ve heard there are merchants in the Narrows paying top dollar to have a gem sage smuggled in. I’d be careful,” he said.
That didn’t surprise me. Now that the Narrows had a Trade Council, there wasn’t a single guild member who wasn’t trying to climb up in the world to try their hand at beating out the merchants of the Unnamed Sea. If they had to buy gem sages to do it, they would.
“Thanks for the tip.”
Henrik leaned on the table with both elbows. “You lose business, I lose business.”
He met my eyes, making sure I understood that it wasn’t charity. It was a warning. If he didn’t bring in the coin he was supposed to, his father, Felix Roth, would deal with him. That was what made getting mixed up with the Roths so dangerous. Everyone had something to lose.
Henrik was the only one involved in this arrangement who knew where the gems were going. I sold them in Sowan to a merchant named Lander who collected a percentage forbleeding them into the gem trade in Bastian, but he had no idea where they came from or how they’d gotten into the Narrows in the first place. I was just the first link in the chain.
