Kushiel's Avatar - Jacqueline Carey [102]
"You believe Chouma's household was telling the truth?" I asked.
"I have reason to believe as much," Amaury said. "From my understanding, Pharaoh's guardsmen asked their questions at knifepoint, and none too gently. He sold the lad in a fury, and none knew where. The clerk, Rekhmire, went over his accounts in detail. Slavers pay taxes in Menekhet, the same as anyone else." He shrugged, his expression showing his distaste. "He'd an entry for the boy's purchase in Amílcar, sure enough, but naught on the other side of the ledger. It never mentioned he was D'Angeline, but the description matched and no mistake. Rekhmire's an industrious sort, especially when it comes to protecting the interests of Pharaoh's Treasury. He's pursued the matter in the last few days, made inquiry at the slave-auctions and among the libertines and pleasure-houses. Nothing. And believe me, my lady," he added grimly, "even in Iskandria, a ten-year-old D'Angeline boy would not go unremarked."
"No," I said. "I suppose not." What would Anafiel Delaunay do? All knowledge is worth having. Delaunay would analyze the situation, I thought. And derive . . . what? Weary with long travel and the soporific effect of a rich meal, I forced my wits to work. "Chouma," I said aloud, thinking. Fadil Chouma was a clever and exacting man. He had recorded Imriel's purchase; why not his sale? Mayhap because he sickened too quickly. And yet, he had concealed the information from his household, which suggested otherwise. Who knows what he had meant to do? But given the information at hand, I thought it unlikely that he intended to make a full accounting.
Why?
Political reasons, mayhap; surely, there was danger involved in trafficking in D'Angeline flesh . . . and yet not so much that he had feared altogether to record Imriel's purchase. No, it must be somewhat else. Why had he refused to divulge the boy's fate? The most obvious possibility loomed before me, sickeningly plausible. Imriel had stabbed the slaver. If Chouma had killed him in a fit of rage, knowing his household doted on the boy . . . then, he would keep it silent.
No. In an act of will, I rejected the notion, summoning the logic to justify it. Fadil Chouma was a slaver; a merchant. He had laid his plans too well and invested too much to dispose of valuable propertyout of anger. It had to be true, had to be, or all my searching was in vain, the bitter bargain, the promises made. Surely Kushiel's mighty justice must come to more than this, a small corpse mislaid, a blind alley in an unknown city.
It made me think of Amílcar, and the children there. A twisting alley, the darkened back room. I thought of the Carthaginians, poor stupid brutes, and Mago with his flame-ruined feet, screaming his lungs raw with his confession.
Fadil Chouma had a buyer in mind; one, only one, mind . . .
A merchant's ploy, I'd thought upon hearing it, to get out of a bargain he'd no intention of keeping. And yet. . . what if it were not? Fadil Chouma had had a buyer in mind. He'd hedged his bets, he'd recorded the purchase—but not the sale. Why? On a deep level somewhere below conscious thought, I felt the pieces of the puzzle fall into a pattern.
"Chouma was protecting his own interests," I announced. "He had a buyer in mind from the beginning, and whoever it was, it's someone dangerous. Dangerous to him; dangerous to be known, dangerous to be named. He was uncertain of the deal, which is why he recorded Imriel's purchase—but it happened, the buyer came through. He would have altered his records if he hadn't fallen ill." I blinked and realized Amaury Trente and the others were looking blankly at me. It had been a long time since I'd spoken.
"And so ... what?" Amaury asked carefully. "What do we do about it?"
"Ask . . . what's his name? The ambassador?" My wits were dull with weariness and exertion. "Raife, yes? Raife Laniol, Comte de Penfars. Ask him, my lord. Pharaoh's a powerful man; powerful men have