He was discussing the new harbor wall. It was barely a few inches high and didn’t yet cover the length of the city’s shore. Nikolas, the king’s eldest son and heir, had pushed his father to erect it, but workers were expensive, as was stone.
Peithon turned to face the frowning overseer. ‘You will get your coin when I have it.’
‘Stopping work will set us back,’ the overseer persisted. ‘It takes time to assemble a crew and explain what needs doing to the team leaders.’
‘Then don’t stop work,’ Peithon stated, spreading his hands.
‘They are family men. They need to feed their children.’ The overseer changed tone, his voice now inquiring. ‘Perhaps, lord, you can provide some of your own silver, just until the king’s money arrives? I heard in the city that you’ve just paid a sizable sum for an extension to your villa . . .’
Peithon’s eyes narrowed. Heavyset but tall, he leaned forward and jutted a pudgy finger with a thick silver ring as he spoke to the overseer. ‘Who am I?’
The overseer stammered, remembering his station. ‘You are the king’s first adviser.’
‘And who are you?’
‘I am a master of stone.’
‘Well, I am master of stone, timber, food, wine, coin – the list goes on. There are many items that require my attention and that make demands on the treasury—’
Peithon’s speech was interrupted when he saw one of his servants leading a slim man with neatly combed hair to the balcony. Recognizing Alastor, the king’s chief steward, he decided to close the conversation.
‘Tell your men to keep working. They will get their money when the king is ready. If they decide to halt, I will inform the king, and he will make an appropriate response. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, First Adviser. But the queen said—’
‘You spoke to the queen, rather than come directly to me?’ Now Peithon was truly furious.
‘She asked me about the progress on the wall,’ the overseer protested.
‘Everything comes by me,’ Peithon spat. ‘Everything. If you circumvent my authority again I will have you thrown out of the city. Your wife and children will go with you, and you will find yourself without a home, looking for work in a place where you have no friends.’
‘Yes, First Adviser,’ the overseer said mournfully.
‘Good. Now get out.’
Peithon scowled at the overseer as he left, but then smoothed his expression and turned to face the king’s steward.
‘Alastor, my friend. What can I do for you?’
‘Lord, you said you wanted to know about all messages that arrive for the king?’
‘I do.’
‘The silver . . . ?’
Peithon’s smile tightened. ‘Is your news worth silver?’
‘It is.’
‘Follow me.’ He led the king’s steward into the villa’s interior and retrieved a single coin from the ornate wooden box on a side table. He offered it, but when the steward reached out he drew back his hand. ‘The news?’
‘The news is from Phalesia. It is old, but we are only getting it now. The Ilean warship that was damaged in the earthquake . . .’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘Prior to the quake, as part of a larger fleet, the Ileans sacked three towns on the isle of Orius. They burned the houses, looted the temples, and raped the women.’
Peithon rubbed his chin as he murmured. ‘Then, damaged in the tremor, they had the nerve to ask Phalesia for help.’
‘The reports have convinced the Assembly. Despite the peace faction, they are preparing for war.’
Peithon mused, pondering these events, thinking about how it affected Xanthos and himself.
‘The silver?’
‘Here.’ Peithon handed out the coin. ‘You have done well. Keep this up and I will see you prosper. My position as master of trade is a very lucrative one. I am sure you understand.’
The steward hesitated. ‘I have more news. But this is worth more than one silver. It involves you.’
Peithon frowned. ‘How much?’
‘Five silver.’
‘If it isn’t as important as you say . . .’
‘Trust me, you will find it so.’
Peithon returned to the moneybox and counted out five silver coins, each bearing the impression of the eagle of Phalesia.
‘Lord, I overheard the queen bringing up uncertainties regarding the payments from the king’s treasury to the workers on the new harbor wall.’
Peithon kept his face carefully smooth, hiding his emotions. ‘Go on.’
‘It was difficult to hear. She said she has a witness, a merchant, who will prove the validity of what she says.’
Fear clenched his stomach but all he did was murmur. ‘Who is the witness?’
‘I do not know. The king saw me nearby and asked me to leave.’
Peithon forced a smile. ‘Here is your silver. I am pleased you have brought this to my attention. Never fear, Alastor. This misunderstanding will be cleared up.’
‘Lord.’ The steward bowed and departed.
Peithon wondered if he had left any loose ends. He had carefully cultivated strong alliances with the merchants, who stood to benefit as much as he did from their arrangements. He murmured names and considered each man in turn. Who would betray him? Who would stand to benefit?
He decided it was time to see the king.