“A worthy cause,” Deniz said, “perhaps much more so than revenge. Tell me, are you ready to die?”
Miro paused. “I am,” he finally said.
Deniz nodded as he gazed at the dark seas.
“But I’ll try not to.”
14
The Poloplats market in Sarostar was a place where items both ordinary and strange could be found. It was never the same from one day to the next, and scouring the market day after day could yield results, if one knew where to look.
Ella had once worked in the market selling flowers. She still recognized many of the merchants, and this morning she’d already enjoyed startling Harry Maloney, an unscrupulous buyer she’d once had to work with, with a cheery greeting. He’d sputtered hot cherl all over his jerkin. Ella didn’t feel bad: his clothes were always filthy.
Just like the other merchants and buyers, Ella asked Harry about the things she needed—sometimes people without scruples could get hold of goods that others couldn’t—but so far she hadn’t had any luck. She needed more of everything: beakers and vials, bars of iron, and any swords she could lay her hands on. She needed things she didn’t even know she needed. Already Ella had found slow-burning oil, and flicking through the alchemist’s book, she found a formula for naphtha. She bought all the merchant had and instructed him to send the flasks to the Academy.
Ella would have liked to send someone else to the market, but she knew she had to come herself. She wasn’t paying with gilden; she paid using the letters of credit Miro had given her. The merchants always hesitated when she presented them, but Ella wouldn’t accept their refusal. They knew who she was and didn’t dare say no to her face, especially when she gave them a certain stare.
Tungawa’s book contained formulas for poisonous fumes and fiery liquids, and Ella kept an eye out for anything interesting. The book always made her think of the alchemist’s dying words, words Ella thought were intended for her. It is the dose that makes a thing a poison. What had he meant?
The lore Evrin had taught Killian didn’t give Ella any hint at the truth, as fascinating as it was. When Sentar came, how could they ever hope to defeat him? Would Killian come to their aid if Altura called?
Walking along the aisles, Ella scanned the low tables. She emerged back onto the road, and as she was about to re-enter the next aisle of stalls, she overheard two merchants talking.
“Look who it is,” a vendor with a jewelry display said to the fat man next to him, a seller of pots and pans. “You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but he’s probably wealthier than the emperor himself. What do you do with that much gilden?”
“What do you think you’d do?” said the fat man. “You’d get out of here and head east, or maybe south. Anywhere but here. Any fool can tell this isn’t a place to stay.”
“What are you going to do if you have to flee?”
“Where would I flee to? This is my home.”
Ella scanned the road in the direction the two men were looking, curious to see the subject of their attention. A convoy of three wagons stood pulled up at the side of the main road, near the section where stores and supplies were sold. Surrounded by a cluster of guards, the driver of the foremost wagon stood negotiating with a seller of vegetables.
Ella squinted but a group of soldiers passed by, obscuring her vision. When they’d passed, she quickly crossed the busy road, speeding up as she recognized the squat figure with broad shoulders and close-cropped hair.
“Hermen!” Ella called. “Hermen Tosch!”
Hermen turned at the sound of his name, revealing a round face and deep-set eyes. The free cities trader, who turned up in the most unlikely places, looked uncomfortable, as if he didn’t want to see her. Ella had first met Hermen when she’d helped the Hazarans rediscover their lore. She’d last seen him in the ice city, Ku Kara, and though they weren’t close, she now considered him a friend.
As Ella passed the wagons, she saw two young men, one in each of the driving seats of the two other carts. A woman sat next to the youngest, and both of the young men had Hermen’s features.
“Enchantress.” Hermen nodded. He rarely smiled, but Ella had learned he possessed an acerbic wit. “No surprise to find you here,” he said in his thick, guttural accent.
“Where are you going?” Ella asked.
Hermen sighed. “East, Ella. East and north. There’s virgin land north of Loua Louna. I’m taking my family and making a fresh start.”
“I didn’t know you had a family.” Ella turned and smiled at the woman and the two young men.
“That’s my wife, Greta, and my two sons, Thorsten and Rolf,” Hermen said.
“Pleased to meet you,” Ella called to Greta.
“And you,” Greta replied, but she didn’t smile. “Hermen, we must go.”
“What’s in the wagons?” Ella asked.
Hermen hesitated. “My life’s work,” he said.