There. She’d shaken him.
Able to hurry for the first time, Carla headed down to the harbor as the sun set and evening turned to night. Arriving at the docks, she looked out at the strange tower-like shape of the walled Sentinel, covered from base to top. She’d asked Killian about it, but he’d been evasive. Carla hadn’t pressed him, and she didn’t really care; her purpose had nothing to do with whatever his reasons were for walling up the majestic statue.
Carla followed the wharves to the farthest end. She reached back and pulled her hood over her head so that her face was shadowed. It was quiet here and dark. Carla waited and hoped she wasn’t late.
Sensing movement behind her, Carla started to turn, but rough hands grabbed her arms, pinning them at her sides. Before she could cry out, someone stuffed a gag in her mouth and placed a blindfold over her eyes, tied over her hood.
“Move,” a low voice said, putting pressure on her back.
Carla took a hesitant step forward and felt the pressure increase. She nearly stumbled, but her captor guided her and she heard the splash of water. She fought down her panic, and then she was physically lifted and felt rocking beneath her feet as she was set down in a boat.
Soon the sound of wood scraping on wood, followed by a regular splash, told Carla she was moving. She tried to count the minutes, but it was difficult, for she struggled to breathe through the gag, and her senses were heightened, her hearing conjuring up images of impending death by drowning or a blade in the chest.
The rowing ceased and the boat coasted forward for a time before hitting wood with a clunk, nearly propelling Carla out of her seat. She was again picked up and set down, and she felt solid planking beneath her feet. Wherever she was, it must be close to the docks. She speculated about her location. Perhaps one of the shipyards? One of the houses of the rich merchant families who could afford their own pier?
“Keep walking—don’t stop,” the voice said again.
Carla took several steps forward.
“Stairs ahead.”
Carla lifted one foot and placed it down, then tested the next step. Getting their measure, she reached the top of a stone stairway and continued ahead. She heard the creaking of a door, and then she was seated in a chair.
Carla felt hands fumbling at the knots of her blindfold, and then with a sense of relief, she felt it removed. Her hood stayed in place, hanging low over her face.
Carla was in a low-ceilinged room with very little light. She sat at a long table with several other figures, all with hoods over their faces like her. It was impossible to see anyone’s features.
Carla was ranked high in the Melin Tortho, the most powerful of the streetclans, but even she didn’t know where she was, nor did she know the identity of the man who sat at the head of the table, carefully placed where the shadows were deepest.
Scanning the other figures, Carla did have an idea who one of them was. She recognized the hunched build and lanky frame of the emperor’s steward. Neither Carla nor Lord Osker acknowledged each other, but she’d made the sign in the Imperial Palace and seen him return the countersign.
In addition to Carla, Osker, and the man at the table’s head, three other figures sat at the table. Whoever they were, their faces were shadowed, but they must be powerful to be seated at the same table as the man at the head.
Carla pricked her ears as the man at the head now spoke. She tried to pick up the cadence of his speech or the timbre of his voice—she was good at such things—but a man in his position must be cunning indeed, and a voice could be disguised. Still, knowing the identity of the Tortho himself would be a valuable secret to possess. Carla planned to supplant him one day.
“Those here are united by a common purpose,” the Tortho said. “We work together to increase Tingara’s power and keep our city safe from our enemies. Some of you are from the streetclans, and some are not. Speaking for the Melin Tortho, we wish neither to depose the emperor, nor to be the cause of conflict in the city. We like things just the way they are. We also have no wish to see the city fall to invaders, something the high lord of Altura warns us about. What do the nobles say?”
One of the men opposite Carla spoke. “We wish to keep Tingara safe. We wish to protect our lands and resources from those who would take them, whether from inside the Empire or without. We don’t want the houses taking the protection that is rightfully ours.”
“And the merchants?” the Tortho asked.