The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [3]
“Very well,” Nikandr said as he slipped the paper back onto the desk.
After filing the document back into the sheaf of papers in the same location as before, Aleksei shuffled them neatly together and regarded Nikandr. “If there’s nothing else, My Lord?”
“Actually, there is,” Nikandr said, pausing for effect. “There’s been word, Aleksei, that you traffic in certain goods.”
“Goods, My Lord?” Aleksei’s face remained composed, but the skin along the top of his balding head flushed.
Nikandr leaned forward. “I’m not here in an official capacity, Aleksei.”
Aleksei’s eyes thinned and his eyebrows pulled together for one brief moment, but then he leaned back into his burgundy leather chair with a look of understanding. “Your sister?”
Nikandr nodded. “She has time yet, but the final stages approach.”
“There are several unguents I might recommend, but—”
“I’m here for the grubs. You have two, do you not?”
Aleksei tried—and failed—to hide his surprise. “I-I do, but they are more effective in the early stages of the disease.”
“Let me worry about that.”
Aleksei sat higher in his chair. “My Lord, they’re both spoken for.”
“I’m sure you’ll find more.”
Aleksei looked defeated, but it was only an act. Nikandr knew how shrewd he was. And how greedy.
“I could make arrangements, but my patrons, the ones who were promised the grubs, will be arriving tomorrow. I can only imagine their anger.”
“The price, Aleksei.”
“Two-thousand.”
Nikandr paused, allowing the figure to sit in the cool air between them. “They’re worth eight-hundred. No more.”
“A year ago, da, but times have changed. We have become more desperate.”
“Twelve-hundred, Aleksei. That is all I will pay.”
“My Lord—”
“And I’ll ensure,” Nikandr said, sitting back, “that my brother’s men steer wide of the Master’s office.”
Aleksei looked around the office as if he had just considered what would happen were he to refuse Nikandr’s offer.
“Of course, My Lord. They—They may not prove effective.”
“A fact you share with all your patrons, I’m sure.” Nikandr waited a polite moment for Aleksei to move, and then prompted him. “The grubs, Aleksei?”
He stood with no small amount of reluctance and moved to a set of shelves behind him. From the highest he slid aside a neat stack of books and retrieved a lacquered wooden box. After carefully setting it on his desk, he slid open the top and pulled out a glass vial filled with golden liquid and a fat, colorless grub the size of Nikandr’s thumb. Nikandr stared, fighting to keep his disgust from showing—the thought of eating the thing was threatening to turn the unease in his stomach into all-out revolt.
As Aleksei—a sullen look upon his face—set the second vial carefully on the desk next to the first, Nikandr felt his mother’s presence through his soulstone. A heartbeat later the rook in the corner of the room began flapping its wings and cawing loudly. Aleksei immediately swung himself around and bowed reverently. Nikandr stood and did the same as his mother’s presence grew deep within his chest. He was painfully aware of the vials sitting within arm’s reach, but he knew the worst thing he could do would be to draw attention to them, so he waited and prayed that she hadn’t been privy to the conversation.
The rook shifted on its perch, and then spoke in a voice that was perfectly recognizable—in quality if not in tone—as his mother’s. “Imagine my surprise, Nischka, when you were not in the courtyard at the appointed time.”
“I can see you have business to attend to,” Aleksei said as he scooped up his ledger and rushed out the door.
“You were to wait,” Nikandr’s mother said as the door rattled shut. “Do you care so little about decorum?”
“I have many things to attend to, Mother. My life doesn’t revolve around ceremony.”
The rook cawed and flapped its