I’m not prepared to see Nicoleta cry. Nicoleta rarely cries, and if she breaks down, I might, too. My heart still hasn’t slowed since running from the officials in Cartona earlier today as they began to cleanse the city of sin. She’s right. They don’t want us here.
“Do you need any help?” I ask her, hoping she’ll say no. She always says no.
“No,” she snaps, though not unkindly. She needs to be left alone.
I squeeze the pouch of coins in my hands and return to my room. It doesn’t make sense that both Nicoleta and myself wouldn’t remember Jiafu giving me the money after Blister’s funeral. But where did the money come from? No one would simply leave coins in my room. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve lost things within my pillows, but it would be the first time I’ve ever forgotten an entire interaction.
Jiafu is probably still lying. The coins must be from a while ago.
And after yesterday’s incident with the venomous moths, I doubt he’ll want me to work with him again. But I don’t know of any other way to pay for Kahina’s medicine. Stealing from him was foolish. He’ll never take me back now.
Maybe if I give him time to cool down, he’ll change his mind. I’ve never lost him a deal. I’ll ask him when we get to Gentoa, where he’ll be excited about new visitors and new victims. He’ll change his mind.
I need him to.
* * *
Villiam’s door is open, and Agni sits outside on the caravan’s ledge, smoking a cigarette. Earlier, there were dozens of guards. Now only two pace around the caravan as it moves. “Hello, Sorina,” he whispers. “How are you?”
“I’m well. How are you? How’s your wife?”
“Well enough.” He stares at the sunset. It was this time of summer nine years ago when his son was kidnapped by slavers. It’s a sad story that everyone in Gomorrah has heard—Agni, being Villiam’s assistant, is well-known throughout the Festival. Sometimes, when I look at him, I can only see his story. His loss follows him like an extra shadow.
I say something pleasant but meaningless and step into the caravan. With his leg propped up on the seat next to him, Villiam smiles as I empty out the books from my messenger bag. Though he seems cheerful, it’s obvious from the dark under his eyes that he hasn’t slept.
“I’m impressed,” he says. “Have you read them all?”
“Yes,” I say, because I finished the last one before I slept earlier. “Does this mean I pass? Am I allowed to learn why my father was attacked? About how the man who did it is connected to the man who killed my brother and uncle? Or do I need to read a few more books before I’m qualified to hear some answers?”
He doesn’t grace my fury with a proper response.
“What I’m about to share with you is strictly between the people in this room.” Behind me, Agni closes the door and snuffs out his cigarette in the ashtray. “For now, I’d like for you not to share this with your family.”
Finally, answers. Not entirely appeased—I wish I was given these answers earlier—I take a seat across from him and cross my arms.
“After our discussion and your reading, you understand more about the role of the Gomorrah proprietors, of Gomorrah in general. Now you need to understand who we are up against, and who I am certain is responsible for the deaths of Gill and Blister, who sent the man who attacked me earlier.”
He turns to the map over his desk and points out several northern city-states along the thumb of the Up-Mountains. First, Frice, known for its powerful colonies in the Forty Deserts. Ukarce, the navy stronghold. Cartona, the holy city of Ovren. Gentoa, the capital of a trading empire. Then Sapris and Leonita, who I already know are responsible for most of the evils that Down-Mountainers face in our homelands. Last are Teochtia and Ximia, the two largest cities in the faraway Yucatoa Region, whose zealous armies patrol the world searching for relics and hunting demons.
“These are the Up-Mountains’ most powerful city-states,” Villiam says. “Do you know why that is?”
“Wealth?” I say.
“Unity. Several hundred years ago, these city-states united themselves, both under Ovren and under a major, secret political alliance.” He nods to Agni. “Why don’t you explain to Sorina the exact history of it? I want to get our files.” He reaches for the two crutches beside him.
“Let me get them, sir,” he says.
“No, no. I am perfectly capable.” He grunts as he hoists himself up and balances on one leg. “I’m big-boned. The fracture...it’s merely a chip. My great-great-grandfather lost his leg and still managed to fight in the Seventh Trade War.”
I smirk. “He was a powerful mind-worker. He didn’t even have to leave Gomorrah to fight.”
“Very good, my dear. There’s no more hoodwinking you, it seems.” On the crutches, he hobbles to the door and manages to climb to the ground without injuring himself. “Just a jiffy.” He closes the door.
“He thinks he’s a warrior,” Agni says, “but I don’t know of any warrior who eats quite so much and sleeps with so many pillows.”
We both laugh. Agni stands and points to various cities on the map.
“There was a prophetess born in Cartona, where we are now, almost four hundred years ago. At this point in history, the Up-Mountain cities all had colonies in the Down-Mountains, but they were sparser and less terrorizing. This prophetess foretold the First Trade War.”
He points to Leonita in the far north and Cartona in the central thumb region. “The lord of Leonita at the time, who was a cousin to the lord of Gentoa, decided to arrange a marriage between this prophetess and his cousin. It would solidify the many friendships that were already blooming in the city-states.”
“So that’s it? We’re up against...friends?” I ask.
“No, there’s more. On the eve of the wedding—the prophetess, by the way, was likely a fortune-worker—the Gomorrah proprietor at the time arranged for her to be murdered. The proprietor is now known as the Beheaded Dame.”
“Like Unu’s lucky coin. She was executed in Cartona, wasn’t she?”
“Exactly. Found guilty of the future princess’s murder, she was beheaded in the public square. However, rather than preventing major war, this resulted in the Up-Mountains fashioning their dead princess into a martyr. The alliance, no longer a public marriage, became private: the Alliance of Cyrille, named after the prophetess. After that, the Up-Mountains launched their expansions south, disrupting the peace the Down-Mountains had so long enjoyed and devastating our people.”
So the decisions of Gomorrah’s proprietor can affect the course of history for generations. I don’t think I’m capable of that sort of responsibility. It should be someone smarter than me. Like Venera. Or Luca. Villiam may see me as a warrior, but I’m only a performer. However, like Agni said, Villiam isn’t much of a warrior himself.
Agni continues. “The Alliance of Cyrille is still an active collection of powerful individuals among these city-states who work to ensure the Up-Mountains’ continued dominance.”
“And you and Villiam think the Alliance is responsible for the murders?” I ask. “And for the man who attacked Villiam?”
“We’ve been distrustful of them ever since they invited us to return to their cities. We thought they were planning something.”
“And why don’t you think the man who attacked Villiam is the same who went after Gill and Blister?”
“Because, since Gill’s death, we’ve been monitoring the patrons in Gomorrah more closely. We know that he entered yesterday, three days after Blister’s murder. We also have intelligence on him before then, placing him in the city. He wasn’t here to commit those crimes.”
I collapse into a chair at the table. Villiam and Agni thought the Alliance would strike at them? If they knew they were planning something, they should have prepared better. Even now, they only keep two guards outside their caravan. The Festival can be confusing when moving, but with all the chaos, wouldn’t this be an easier time for someone to sneak inside?