He shook his head. “Just the record master for now.”
Zander huffed. “I begin to wonder if either man exists. I’ve been requesting an audience for nearly two weeks, and nothing.” He gestured toward a nearby pavilion that served as a makeshift tavern. “May I buy you a drink?”
Venn nodded, and they moved across the square. They ducked under the tarp that had been hung, offering blessed shade. Zander bought two mugs of spiced ale and then they moved to a couple of chairs in the corner; no one else had claimed the seats, because the hot sun bled under the overhanging tarp, so it gave them a modicum of privacy.
Venn took a strong pull from his mug, before he eyed Zander. “So. Why do you want to see the Keeper?”
The man took his own drink. “At first, it was merely to gather some basic information about the camp. How many occupants, how long it had been here—that sort of thing.”
“Why?”
He sighed. “If Vera shared my story, then you know my son was unlawfully detained and killed, and then my daughter-by-marriage murdered—along with my grandchildren. I knew I couldn’t stay in Fellnor, and I didn’t feel safe going to petition the king in Iden. If he had given his authority in this to the prince . . . no, I fled the Hunt and decided my only choice was to meet with Princess Serene in Duvan. I only stopped here at the camp to learn a little more of the refugee situation, so I could pass that along to her. But I’m afraid I may have stumbled into something quite . . . ominous.”
That, Venn couldn’t argue with.
They drank in silence for a moment, then Venn asked quietly, “Who are you really?”
He tapped a finger against the side of his mug. “What do you mean?”
“You carry yourself differently than anyone else here. Your manner of speech is different as well. Noble.”
“And you’re an expert on such things?”
Venn went with his gut. The man had done nothing but help them, and he could be an ally. “Perhaps I’m not an expert, but I’ve spent enough time around the nobility, since I’m one of the princess’s bodyguards.”
The man’s eyes rounded. “Are you really?” He leaned closer, excitement sharpening his tone. “Did she send you to investigate the camp?”
“No. We were separated near the border, but I want to bring her word of what I’ve learned.”
Zander nodded eagerly. “She needs to know. She might be our only hope of fixing all this.”
“And you are?”
“Ah.” He smiled a little. “Lord Zander Fellnor.”
“Fellnor? I thought that’s where you were from?”
“It is. But it’s also my name. The city was named for my ancestor.”
Venn whistled lowly. “You’re more notable than I suspected.”
“And yet, my title means nothing in Mortise. Except perhaps serving as a marker for thieves. I’ve had to be careful in my travels.” He glanced up at Venn. “One thing I’ll say for the Keeper, though—Salvation is safe, as near as I can tell. The rules are simple, the punishments strict, so there aren’t the thieves you’d expect in such a place. And due to the weekly taxes, nearly everyone here works for the Keeper, so no one dares strike against their neighbor—it’s the same as striking him.”
Venn frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s not like most people here can make a living. They’re all waiting for the Keeper to make his arrangements with Mortise and make them a real city. He makes vast promises, and he offers a security that Devendrans aren’t likely to find anywhere else in Mortise. And so people stay, even though he requires a steeper fee every week. Calls them taxes—yet what right does he have to collect them? What does he do with it all? He pays the guards who patrol, the ones who manage the well, the main shops, the tents . . . He owns this entire camp. Everyone will run out of coin eventually, and there’s only so much one can barter. So they work for the Keeper to work off their taxes, and he owns them.” Zander shook his head. “Something here isn’t right.”
“I agree.” Venn took a sip of the ale, wishing it was chilled. He rubbed his wrist over his sweaty brow, then lowered his voice. “I keep feeling like we’re being watched.”
“We are, nearly constantly. In addition to guards, the Keeper pays many to be his eyes and ears. They watch for anyone committing a crime or avoiding the taxes.”
“People can come and go as they please, though?”
“Yes, but few choose to leave. Especially if they’ve been here for a while. The taxes empty their pockets, making it nearly impossible to travel anywhere else. And I think after the fear these men and women have faced, they cling to the hope the Keeper offers them.”
“Who is the Keeper?”
“All I’ve managed to learn is his name: Phillip Dunn. He’s no nobleman, at least not that I know.”
