“And then it would be too late,” Emily said.
She frowned, thinking hard. Vesperian had definitely overreached himself. That much was certain. But…had someone else backed him? Had someone offered to pick up the tab, then defaulted. Who would benefit? King Randor was the most likely suspect, but the economic shockwaves would wash over Zangaria too. Alassa’s father had grown increasingly paranoid over the last couple of years, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d know better…wouldn’t he?
Or was she over-thinking it? It wasn’t as if any outside player was necessary. Vesperian might have created the disaster without any outside help at all. And then…
She met Markus’s eyes. “Who’s the richest person in the city?”
Markus smiled. “The richest person that I know about is you.”
Frieda giggled.
“If one believes rumors,” Markus continued, “Vesperian and Grand Guildmaster Jalil are worth thousands of crowns apiece. Below them, there’s a boatload of other wealthy men…why?”
Emily looked down at her hands. “If I was feeling cunning,” she said, “I’d wait until the crash came, then buy up everything Vesperian has for a song. The railway and its rolling stock would be mine. I’d cut back on the planned expansion and concentrate on milking everything I could out of the existing infrastructure.”
“And possibly do more expansion later,” Markus said. “Once you had everything on solid ground again.”
He made a face. “Do you think someone is waiting to do just that?”
Emily shrugged. “We can’t be the only ones who see impending trouble,” she mused. “And who knows what Vesperian will do, if he is truly desperate.”
“It could take years to unravel the mess,” Markus said. “Emily…do you want to attend the meeting? You are a major shareholder in the bank.”
“I think the bankers would prefer to deal with you,” Emily said. She didn’t enjoy big meetings. Working with people one on one was much less stressful. “And I have to discuss the matter with others.”
“You might need to mention it to King Randor,” Markus said. “You are one of his aristocrats, even if you’re technically in exile. He probably needs to be warned.”
“And Imaiqah,” Emily said. She could send a letter to Randor. It would give him time to think before he wrote a reply. “Cockatrice is right next door.”
“Close enough for trouble to spill over.” Markus stood and paced over to the window. “I wonder if any of us will have a pot to piss in when all of this is over.”
“I wish I knew.” Emily finished her drink, then rose. Frieda followed her. “Be careful, all right?”
“You too.” Markus turned to face her. “And if anyone asks about those rumors, what should I say?”
Emily made a face. On one hand, the thought of allowing Vesperian to keep spreading lies was unappealing. If, of course, it was Vesperian spreading lies. But on the other hand, an outright denial might make matters worse. Anyone who thought the railway was about to collapse, dragging half the city down with it, would do everything in their power to get their money out before it was too late. And, in doing so, they’d start the collapse.
“Tell the general public that you’re not allowed to comment,” she said, slowly. It was true enough. The Bank of Silence prided itself on not sharing information with anyone. “And tell the bankers that I won’t be putting any money into the railway.”
“As you wish,” Markus said. He glanced back out the window. “Do you want to use the tunnel to leave?”
“I think we’d better,” Emily said. “I don’t want to be noticed.”
“That might be too late,” Markus said. “But try and stay out of sight as much as possible.”
Emily cast a glamour over herself as she followed the secretary down a long staircase and into a servant’s corridor. The air hummed with powerful wards, blurring together into a sensation that made her head spin. It was a relief when they stepped into the tunnel, cast a set of light globes and walked under the road. The wards faded as they hurried away from the bank.
“It feels…surreal,” Frieda said.
Emily glanced back at her. “Pardon?”
Frieda looked…as if she didn’t quite believe herself. “I thought I knew threats,” she said, softly. “My father approaching me with a belt was a personal threat; a blight on the crops or a harder frost was a threat to the whole village. I’ve had people threaten me with beatings or hexes or…the walls trying to crush us. That’s a threat too.”
She glanced up at the low ceiling. “But this threat is…is so strange, so hard to see. There’s no foreign army at the gates, no fires threatening to burn down the entire city, just…pieces of paper. It’s insubstantial. There’s no sense of threat. And yet you’re saying it could bring down everything.”
“The fires will come,” Emily predicted. “Once the truth gets out…”
“It feels like nothing,” Frieda said.
Emily understood exactly how she felt. Caleb and his family had grown up with money, even if it had been the rough gold and silver coins of the Nameless World rather than a standardized currency. Frieda had probably never touched money until she’d been sold to Mountaintop, perhaps not even until Emily had given her money in Cockatrice. She’d grown up in a world of barter, where a blacksmith or a cobbler might trade their work for food and families pooled their resources just to stay alive. To her, the growing crisis was so nebulous that it might not even exist.
“Look at it this way,” she said. “Pretend you have ten crowns in your money pouch.”
“I wish,” Frieda said.
Emily snorted. “You loan me those ten crowns, after I promise to repay you fifteen,” she said. Vesperian had offered her such terms, after all. “But I can’t repay you. What do you do?”