Sea of Ghosts - Alan Campbell [51]
‘Would that I could have them fight each other,’ he said, indicating the creatures in the flooded alcoves. ‘But olea are far too valuable to waste in sport. That hexen midurai is one of only three known specimens in existence.’ He pointed at the large crimson jelly. ‘From its size, I estimate it to be over sixteen hundred years old. And these,’ he waved a hand at several unremarkable ochre lumps floating in a tank of yellow brine, ‘are hexen parasitae from the Sea of Dragons. They way they breed is as remarkable as it is hideous. Even the Drowned avoid them.’
‘You know why I’m here,’ Granger said.
The Evensraumer nodded, then gestured for his guest to sit on one of the sofas. ‘Would you care for some wine, Mr Swinekicker?’
Granger looked at the sofa with distaste. He shook his head.
‘Tea, then? I don’t often get the chance to converse with outsiders.’
‘No.’
Truan smiled. ‘I can see from your expression that you disapprove of my lifestyle.’
‘You’re supposed to be a prisoner here.’
Truan’s eyes narrowed. ‘I am a prisoner here, sir,’ he said. ‘It’s true that my wealth affords me certain luxuries and allows me to pursue my interests, but walls are walls. I will remain here until the emperor decrees otherwise, while you are free to leave the city whenever you choose.’
Granger thought about his waterlogged boat, but said nothing. He set his parcel down on a nearby table and began to unwrap it. He was surprised to find that his heart was racing.
Truan hovered nearby, eyeing the amphora with interest as it was revealed. Finally he strolled over, leaned across the table and squinted at the markings etched into the clay. He turned the jar a little to one side, frowning. ‘Is this a joke, sir?’ he said.
Granger felt his heart grow cold. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s a wine amphora.’
A sudden awful realization gripped Granger as he stared down at the lump of pottery they’d dredged up. Creedy. Creedy had decided which canals to search. Creedy had identified the find. Creedy had found the buyer. And Creedy had brought him here, away from his home. Anger coiled inside him. He was about to turn and leave when his pragmatic side urged him to stop. Might the Evensraumer not simply be lying to lower the price? He swallowed his rage. ‘If it’s of no value,’ he said, ‘I’ll take it elsewhere.’
Truan continued to study the object. ‘Unmer wine is of some value,’ he said, ‘provided it has not been exposed to the air. I suppose I could offer you twenty gilders. But not a coin more. Frankly, I’d be doing you a favour.’
‘Forget it.’ Granger picked up the amphora.
‘Thirty, then,’ Truan said. ‘That’s five more than the market price.’
Granger began walking towards the door.
‘Thirty-five,’ Truan called after him. ‘My final offer.’
Granger reached the door, and turned the handle. It was locked. He hammered his fist against the iron barred wood.
‘Very well,’ Truan said. ‘My jailers charge me exorbitant commission on anything I order. I’ll give you fifty for the wine if you don’t tell a soul. You are robbing me blind, after all, and I won’t have my other suppliers hear of it.’
Granger turned to look at the other man. Fifty? For a jug of wine? Truan seemed unusually keen to get his hands on such a worthless artefact. And yet his instincts continued to gnaw at him. Something is wrong here. The amphora, the buyer, it was all too convenient for Creedy. And there was something else, something about Truan that bothered him. This man was no trader, that much was clear. He had raised his price three times before Granger had even reached the door. After all, they had both been captive in that room. Granger wasn’t going anywhere until the jailer came to release him, and Truan would have been well aware of that. Not even the poorest Losotan merchant, much less one as rich and successful as Truan