Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [152]
“Perhaps you judge them too harshly,” Shuden said. “They seemed less like tyrants and more like people trying to make the best of a very difficult life.”
Sarene shook her head. “You should hear some of the stories Ashe told me, Shuden. The Guards say that when new Elantrians are thrown into the city, the gangs descend on them like sharks. What few resources enter this city go to the gang leaders, and they keep the rest of the people in a state of near starvation.”
Shuden raised an eyebrow, looking over at the Elantris City Guards, the source of Sarene’s information. The group leaned lazily on their spears, watching with uninterested eyes as the noblemen began unloading the cart.
“All right,” Sarene admitted, climbing into the cart and handing Shuden a box of vegetables. “Perhaps they aren’t the most reliable source, but we have proof in front of us.” She swept her arm toward the emaciated forms that clustered in side streets. “Look at their hollow eyes and apprehensive steps. These are a people who live in fear, Shuden. I’ve seen it before in Fjorden, Hrovell, and a half-dozen other places. I know what an oppressed people looks like.”
“True,” Shuden admitted, accepting the box from Sarene, “but the ‘leaders’ didn’t look much better to me. Perhaps they aren’t oppressive, just equally oppressed.”
“Perhaps,” Sarene said.
“My lady,” Eondel protested as Sarene lifted another box and handed it to Shuden, “I wish you would step back and let us move those. It just isn’t proper.”
“I’ll be fine, Eondel,” Sarene said, handing him a box. “There’s a reason I didn’t bring any servants—I want us all to take part. That includes you, my lord,” Sarene added, nodding to Ahan, who had found a shaded spot near the gate to rest.
Ahan sighed, rising and waddling out into the sunlight. The day had turned remarkably hot for one so early in the spring, and the sun was blazing overhead—though even its heat hadn’t been able to dry out the omnipresent Elantris muck.
“I hope you appreciate my sacrifice, Sarene,” the overweight Ahan exclaimed. “This slime is absolutely ruining my cloak.”
“Serves you right,” Sarene said, handing the count a box of boiled potatoes. “I told you to wear something inexpensive.”
“I don’t have anything inexpensive, my dear,” Ahan said, accepting the box with a sullen look.
“You mean to tell me you actually paid money for that robe you wore to Neoden’s wedding?” Roial asked, approaching with a laugh. “I wasn’t even aware that shade of orange existed, Ahan.”
The count scowled, lugging his box to the front of the cart. Sarene didn’t hand Roial a box, nor did he move to receive one. It had been big news in the court a few days before when someone had noticed the duke walking with a limp. Rumors claimed he had fallen one morning while climbing out of bed. Roial’s spry attitude sometimes made it difficult to remember that he was, in fact, a very old man.
Sarene got into a rhythm, giving out boxes as hands appeared to take them—which is why she didn’t notice at first that a new figure had joined the others. Nearing the final few boxes, she happened to look up at the man accepting the load. She nearly dropped the box in shock as she recognized his face.
“You!” she said with amazement.
The Elantrian known as Spirit smiled, taking the box out of her stunned fingers. “I was wondering how long it would take you to realize I was here.”
“How long …”
“Oh, about ten minutes now,” he replied. “I arrived just after you began unloading.”
Spirit took the box away, stacking it with the others. Sarene stood in muted stupefaction on the back of the cart—she must have mistaken his dark hands for Shuden’s brown ones.
A throat cleared in front of her, and Sarene realized with a start that Eondel was waiting for a box. She rushed to comply.
“Why is he here?” she wondered as she dropped the box into Eondel’s arms.
“He claims that his master ordered him to watch the distribution. Apparently, Aanden trusts you about as much as you