Page 35 of Apple Boy

“Slaves, Uncle—Slaves. They were manacled to the strong boxes in the hold. The kings are dealing in slaves.”

“SLAVES?” Mr. Percheval leapt from his perch and onto the desk where he accidentally knocked a wing against his thimble of tea. The thimble toppled and the few drops of amber liquid remaining dashed across the polished oak.

“SLAVES!” He squawked as he flew at me and I thought for one moment that he believed me a liar and was readying to peck my eyes out. Alarmed, I jerked back, but Ivon interceded, putting out his hand and offering his finger as a perch.

“The treaty cannot be broken.” Mr. Percheval squawked. “The treaty cannot be broken.”

“Sir, I know what I saw with my own eyes. I saw no gold. I saw strong boxes and witnessed men originating from all over the Empire chained and cuffed to those boxes. They were dying—of fever, of thirst, of dysentery. What I saw was the doing of Kristoff and Fabian, and in standing up for those tortured souls, the Captain attempted to silence me. He ordered his men to murder my valet and attempted to do for me too.” I said my voice steely with determination.

“But…but…if it is proven that the Kings are dealing in flesh, there will be war…war…war!” Mr. Wrenfrey joined with a squawk of alarm.

“I am proof! I know not where the ship lies, but those men were captives, and they were part of the shipment sent to the Great Council, for what purpose I do not understand.”

“Ah, let us not jump to conclusions. It’s the Great Council we’re talking about here! They cannot have sanctioned this shipment.” Ivon insisted.

“We cannot condemn the Great Council without presenting them with this information and hearing their side of the story. There are facts in this sinister business that you are as yet unaware of, young Lord.” Mr. Wrenfrey offered.

“Agreed. I cannot believe that the Great Council sanctioned a shipment of slaves. It is unconscionable. It makes no sense whatsoever.”

Ivon slumped back into his chair and ran his fingers through his unruly white blonde mane.

“These slaves were sent as a threat—and not an approved shipment at all. It is the only sensible explanation.” Ivon decided.

“I concur. It pains me to say, but if evidence can be found of this ship and the contents of the cargo—it is an act of war.” Mr. Percheval concluded.

“I shall send a messenger to the Great Council and request that they assemble. We shall meet with them in the morning, and you can make your case, Winter.” Ivon suggested.

“Aye,” Mr. Percheval agreed. “And if the Great Council knows nothing of a shipment of slaves, I shall arrange a meeting of the first families, for there are difficult times ahead—I can feel it in my feathers.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

ERRAND

A powder blue and gold coach drawn by a black Palinka stallion arrived outside the depository. I recognized it immediately as the private carriage Ivon used to travel to and from Thorn. The coach door opened, and at once a man stepped out, paused in front of my uncle, and bowed low.

“Good day, my Lord. At your request rooms at Copperdall are being readied for your guests.”

“Thank you, Luca.” The man wore a black cloak, black boots with pointed toes, and a small tricorn hat of the type that seemed to be popular in Serein. He appeared to be in his middle years, and had a brawny set to him. His accent was not, as I expected, of Thorn, but a rough sounding but well-mannered voice, reminding me more of the common Sereinean hawkers I had heard calling out in the market square than of any servant to the gentry. I saw that on his belt he not only wore a sheathed short sword but there gleamed the silver of two further knives with wicked curved tips. This man was not what I would call a regular servant. I was sure he was Ivon’s man—someone who would do anything for his master. I would not have been surprised to find yet more concealed weaponry on his person.

“Boys, come along!” Ivon called and gestured for Adam and I to board the carriage. We did so and seated ourselves on the pushily upholstered banquette.

“Luca, come. I have an additional errand for you.” Ivon’s man joined us and closed the door.

“How can I be of assistance, my Lord?”

“Luca, this here is my nephew, Winter, Count of Skraedig.”

“Your missing nephew?” Ivon nodded, and the servant dipped his head to me respectfully.

“And, this young fellow here—” He said giving Adam a mighty slap on the thigh, “—is Master Adam Sewell of Mallowick. We are quite indebted to this young rascal, for he helped my nephew find his way back to us.” Ivon explained.

“Adam has come to Serein not only to ensure Winter found his kin, but he also seeks his brother,” Ivon informed.

“Adam’s brother is named Evan Sewell. He left the Pasturelands for Serein more than a year ago. Adam’s family has not received word from him since. Therefore, I have offered assistance in locating his whereabouts.” I interceded.

“Aye, and I am happy to help find this man, and so no expense is to be spared in locating him.” Ivon continued.