The Inner Circle: The Knowing (13 page)

‘
I told you you’d
been naughty,’ he muttered irritably.

A loud explosion tore through the
evening and echoed throughout the field. In unison with the sound,
Fasil’s chest erupted, spraying Seteal’s face with blood. The man
fell first to his knees, his eyes having lost their life before he
even hit the ground. Across the field a reedy man with a long white
beard strode in her direction, a smoking pistol held in his
hand.

*

Far-a-mael sat on the edge of his bed
staring at the silver matchlock pistol he’d been forced to use the
day before. Its flared barrel and leaf-work design put its origins
in Jenjol. Far-a-mael detested the Jenjen, but they were admittedly
innovative when it came to their weaponry. He sighed and put the
gun on the bed beside him. He had hoped never to use it and felt
like a hypocrite in doing so. Wasn’t it he who’d once preached so
vehemently that an accomplished gil should need wield naught but
the Ways in facing an enemy? But times were changing, he
supposed.

Renewed wailing from the next
room drove Far-a-mael to his feet. Poor Seteal. Far-a-mael gritted
his teeth.
Poor him!
This had undoubtedly meant another delay and
they were already pushed for time. He’d intended on leaving that
morning and would’ve done so had that damned silt not plucking
Seteal off the street. Far-a-mael tugged his beard in
frustration.

A silt in Sitnic . . . why? The
question drove him mad, constantly resurfacing in his mind. Why
would there be a silt in Sitnic? And a lone silt, no less. Contrary
to popular belief, silts were not entirely evil. Far-a-mael wasn’t
so naïve as to believe it possible for anyone to be
entirely
evil. And knowledge developed through personal experience
backed up his hypothesis. However, although not evil, silts were
indeed dangerous and vile and needed to be wiped from the face of
the world.

Their capacity to raise the dead
made silts the greatest burden the world had ever known. Far-a-mael
needed Seteal to be aware of that. He needed her not to get bogged
down by all that womanly emotion. As far as she should be
concerned, silts were demons constructed of purest evil, just as it
said in the Holy Tome. Far-a-mael chuckled at the thought. Perhaps
he hoped she wasn’t that foolish after all. Anyone stupid enough to
believe in the Holy Tome would probably fall miserably short of
what he’d planned for Seteal.

There was a soft tapping at the door.
‘Gil Far-a-mael?’ A voice called. Far-a-mael opened the door and
raised his eyebrows. ‘Your meal.’ A young man raised a covered
plate and sniffed at the steam wafting above it.

‘
There’s no need for
you to drool all over it.’ Far-a-mael waved him in. ‘Put it on the
desk.’ He waited for the boy to leave before closing the door and
making his way down the hall. He stopped at the next room and put
his ear against the door. Silence.

‘
What’re you doing?’
a voice whispered in Far-a-mael’s ear.

Far-a-mael leapt back in fright and
slammed into the opposite wall. The ghastly serving boy had
followed him. ‘That’s none of your business!’ Far-a-mael shouted.
‘Get out of here.’

‘
I thought you
Elglair couldn’t be surprised like that,’ the boy grumbled as he
made his way back along the hall.

‘
You whispered in my
ear,’ Far-a-mael cried in retaliation. ‘You could’ve given me a
heart attack, another thing that can indeed happen to the Elglair!’
The boy didn’t respond and disappeared around the
corner.

Far-a-mael narrowed his eyes and
frowned before again leaning against the door, which at the same
moment swung open causing him to topple inside onto El-i-miir.

‘
Gil’rei Far-a-mael,’
she gasped in surprise. ‘I heard you shouting.’

‘
Get out,’ Seteal
squeaked from her bed in the corner.

‘
How are you doing?’
Far-a-mael barged past El-i-miir to approach Seteal.

‘
Get out!’ she
shrieked when he arrived at the bedside. ‘Get out!’

‘
All right.’
Far-a-mael raised his hands and backed away from the hysterical
girl. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow,’ he informed El-i-miir as he passed by.
‘Do something for her. Not too much or she’ll never recover, but
just enough to ease her distress.’

‘
I’ll make sure she
gets some rest,’ El-i-miir replied, her aura brightening as she
embraced the Ways. ‘Goodnight,’ she said before firmly closing the
door.

‘
Well then,’
Far-a-mael spoke to himself, feeling entirely useless. ‘I’ll just
have my supper,’ he muttered, wringing his hands and heading back
to his room. He removed the cover and stared at the plate on his
desk with a look of disgust. They’d given him one of those hideous
lobsters from Middle Sea. He’d ordered steak. ‘Incompetence,’
Far-a-mael grumbled, scooping up the plate and heading for the
door.

‘
Here,’ he tossed the
plate onto the counter upon reaching the common room downstairs. ‘I
can’t eat this. Fix me something else,’ he ordered the bony man
behind the counter. No wonder he’d confused the order; a man so
skinny couldn’t possibly have had a proper respect for
food.

‘
Is there anything
the matter with it, my lord?’ The skinny man asked nasally as he
twirled a finger around his red moustache.

‘
Yes there’s
something wrong with it,’ Far-a-mael replied distractedly as he
watched a group of drunks entering through the front. ‘It’s not
what I ordered.’

‘
I’m afraid that it
is, sir,’ the skinny man sniffed loudly and pulled his pants up
around his waist. He seemed to be having a problem with their
continual escape from his miniscule frame.

‘
Excuse me?’
Far-a-mael stared flabbergasted.

‘
You ordered
lobster,’ the skinny man insisted.

‘
Don’t you think I’d
know what I ordered?’ Far-a-mael’s tone elevated to match his
frustration. ‘I’m allergic to lobster. Why the torrid would I order
it?’

‘
Only you would know
the answer to that, sir, since you’re the one who ordered it,’ he
replied vehemently.

‘
This is
ridiculous.
’ Far-a-mael put a hand to his
forehead.

‘
If you must have
it,’ the man nodded enthusiastically, ‘I have the order slip right
here.’ He retrieved a square of paper and traced his finger down
its length. ‘Yes, yes that’s right. Says right here that you
ordered the lobster.’

‘
You wrote
that!
’ Far-a-mael
barked.

‘
Well, of course I
did, sir,’ the man said in confusion. ‘You don’t think I got it
wrong, do you?’

‘
Oh, for the love of
Maker,’ Far-a-mael grumbled in utter disbelief, ‘just get me a
steak.’ He raised his hand and twisted the man’s aura, ensuring his
harried obedience.

‘
Yes, sir,’ the man
scurried away, the order slip fluttering forgotten to the
ground.

‘
Hey!’ Far-a-mael
called after him.

‘
When you’re done,
bring it to me at that table.’ He pointed out a spot with a view
onto the street.

‘
Yes, sir,’ the man
replied, hurrying about his duties.

Far-a-mael made his way past the other
patrons and sat down at a table decorated by a small candle that
flickered on the occasional breeze entering through the open door.
It’d started raining outside and the common room was becoming
increasingly crowded.

‘
Da ye mind if I be
sittin’ with ye?’ The question was rumbled by a thick Merry
Islander accent.

‘
Just great,’
Far-a-mael muttered sarcastically. ‘Why not,’ he replied more
loudly, having decided that he might as well see what news he could
gather. So far from home, it was likely the Merry Islander would
carry stories of the world.

‘
I da appreciate it,’
the dark-fleshed man rumbled, sitting heavily and exhaling tiredly.
His eyes widened and he slapped his bald scalp with a hand twice
the size of Far-a-mael’s. ‘I’ve nah seen your type for some time.’
The fellow gazed into Far-a-mael’s eyes with unrestrained
curiosity. ‘Could I get ye a drink, friend?’

‘
How lovely,’
Far-a-mael uttered dryly.

‘
Your lobster, sir,’
the nasally voice of the skinny chef set Far-a-mael’s teeth on
edge. He stared at the plate in front of him. Lobster.

‘
I ordered steak,’
Far-a-mael said through gritted teeth. ‘Twice.’

‘
I’m certain you
ordered the lobster, sir,’ the man replied, putting down a second
plate in front of the Merry Islander.

‘
Excellent.’ The big
man clapped his hands together and ran his eyes over a juicy
portion of steak partnered with golden potatoes. ‘Thank ye
kindly.’

‘
You got his order
right,’ Far-a-mael thrust out his chair and loomed over the skinny
man. ‘What the torrid is wrong with you?’ He barked so loudly that
a hush fell over the surrounding patrons. ‘Fix it! Fix it properly
or so help me you’ll face the wrath of the Eighth
Cleff!’

‘
But sir,’ the man
withered, ‘you ordered the--’

‘
Shut up,’ Far-a-mael
snapped. ‘Steak, you fool.’ He snatched at the man’s collar and
shook him. ‘Steak!’

‘
Stop that.’ The
Merry Islander rose to his feet and pushed the men apart. ‘It nah
be decent to fight when there be ladies about,’ he said firmly. ‘If
ye wanted steak, ye should’ve ordered it.’

‘
I did,’ Far-a-mael
slumped dejectedly. ‘I don’t suppose you like lobster?’ he asked
the Merry Islander. ‘If you’ll trade with me I’ll pay for your
meal. This fool seems incapable of following simple instructions.’
He stared daggers at the skinny man.

‘
I’m sorry, sir, but
I really didn’t--’

‘
Enough,’ Far-a-mael
snapped. ‘And it’s gil, not sir. You understand?’

‘
Yes,
sir--gil--gil-sir,’ the man blathered. ‘Can I get you a
drink?

‘
A cold ale.’
Far-a-mael glared at him as he scurried away.

‘
Ye needn’t be so
hard on him,’ the Merry Islander said, shaking his head in
disapproval. ‘Here.’ He slid his plate across the table before
retrieving Far-a-mael’s.

‘
Oh, thank you,
Maker!’ Far-a-mael picked up a knife and fork. ‘What’s your name?’
he asked the man across the table before sinking his teeth into a
thick piece of meat, relishing the feeling as it slid down his
throat.

‘
Briel,’ he replied,
cracking open the lobster with his beefy hands. ‘Briel Keaco.
Yeself?’

‘
Gil’rei Far-a-mael.
What brings you to these parts?’

‘
We be traders of the
finest cloth,’ Briel replied as he scraped out the flesh of the
lobster and put a chunk in his mouth using his fingers. ‘Linen,
towels, curtains, and the such.’

‘
We?’ Far-a-mael
enquired.

‘
My wife, Fes, and
I.’ Briel sucked on one of his sausage-like fingers. Far-a-mael
wrinkled his nose, disgusted by the man’s lack of table
manners.

‘
Where are you headed
now, then?’

‘
We be headed back to
Merry Island,’ Briel answered. ‘We do a loop, ye see. When we be
halfway out of stock, we turn the wagon ‘round and sell what be
left on the way home. What about yeself?’

‘
Your wine sir,’ the
skinny man reappeared, placing a goblet in front of Far-a-mael, who
merely rolled his eyes at the appallingly inaccuracy of
service.

‘
Didn’t ye order
ale?’ Briel frowned.

‘
Never mind.’
Far-a-mael shrugged. ‘The way we’re going, I could try all night
and still not get what I want.’

‘
Right ye
are.’

‘
Help!’ A man with
the red face of an alcoholic stumbled into the common room,
drenched from head to toe. ‘The horse,’ he cried. ‘The horse stole
my cloak! Snatched it right off my back, he did!’

‘
Sit down, you drunk
fool,’ one of the younger patrons shouted as the man stumbled
across the room.

‘
I wonder what’s
becoming of the world,’ Far-a-mael muttered, shovelling the last
piece of the potato into his mouth with a look of
disgust.

‘
We be livin’ in
disturbin’ times,’ Briel replied. ‘Ye heard about the
silt?’

‘
Of course.’
Far-a-mael frowned. ‘Who hasn’t? Troubling isn’t it?’

‘
Makes ye wonder what
the mongrels be doin’ so far north.’

‘
Indeed.’ Far-a-mael
stroked his beard. ‘On that note, what else have you discovered on
your travels? I’ve been away from my cleff and haven’t received
news of the world in quite some time.’

‘
There be nah much ta
tell,’ Briel rubbed a greasy hand across his shirt. ‘Kilk and Kilk
Antet be lookin’ at wagin’ war again. Jenjol be formin’ a
mysterious army around Veret. What else . . . ? Shinteleran be at
civil war again,’ he finished with a shrug.

‘
Listen, you seem to
be an honest enough fellow,’ Far-a-mael began, having come up with
an idea.

‘
The Lord Maker be my
witness.’

‘
Then perhaps you can
help me with a little problem of mine?’