Magic Steps by Tamora Pierce Page B

“I permitted your house to do business here under certain conditions. The thiev ery and, murder you employ were never to occur in Emelan, or you would be barred from my lands, and I would, find other ways to obtain, myrrh. Is that not so?”
    Qasam, bowed. He was trembling now as well as sweating.
    “From where I sit, it appears that your methods outside my borders have come within them. What act did the Rokats commit to rate your brother so messy an exe cution? And if you think to retaliate, you and your people are on the next ship out.”
    “No, your grace, please! We did nothing to cause this, nothing!”
    “I find that hard to believe,” drawled Erdogun.
    Qasam threw him a frantic look, then dropped to his knees before the duke.
    “Please, you must help us! We have done nothing in Emelan, on my mother’s honor I swear it! The Dihanur are animals, my poor brother is evidence of that—,”
    “Now we come to it. Get up,” the duke said crossly. “Don’t grovel.” He glanced at the baron, who tugged the bell pull.
    Sandry put aside her embroidery and got a chair for Rokat. The man struggled to his feet and sagged into the chair, weeping. She watched him for a moment, then lifted his handkerchief from his fingers.
    “As a rule, silk isn’t practical for handkerchiefs,” she told him. “It’s expensive and it looks nice, but it doesn’t soak up moisture very well.” She gave hers to him, and laid the silk over the back of his chair to dry. Qasam rolled his eyes at her—they were bloodshot from weep ing and fear—and buried his face in the new handkerchief.
    A soft-footed maid brought glasses, a bottle of wine, and a bottle of pomegranate juice, Sandry poured wine for the men and gave out the glasses, then took some juice for herself. Mages soon learned that any drug or liquor had unusual effects on their power, some good, many bad. She didn’t think. Qasam Rokat would like it if all the threads in the room began to move.
    His sips of wine seemed to quiet the merchant. “Thank you, your grace,”’ he whispered.
    “I do not require thanks. You suspect your rivals the Dihanur are involved?”
    Qasam nodded. “I know it.”
    “Have you favored my lady provost with this informa tion?’”
    Qasam shook his head.
    “Why not?” asked, the duke.
    Qasam did not look up. “My lady—she, she is not a woman of power, in the merchant’s world, or, or under standing, or sympathy.”
    “His grace knew that when he: asked her to take the post,” said Erdogun waspishly.
    Sandry, back, at her embroidery, was fascinated. She had, to suppose that the baron and, the duke had done this many times, She knew her great-uncle; if the baron made: tart observations in situations like this, it was be cause the: duke wanted, him to.
    They stir the pot, and see what bubbles to the top, she thought.
    “The provost thinks it is not a business matter, when murder is done with such violence,” Qasam explained, staring at the glass in his hands. “She expects a slighted husband or lover, or a madman.” He began to tremble again. “She does not understand the Dihanur. They are heartless, little better than animals—,”
    “You said that,” the baron interrupted. “Tell us some thing new.”
    Now Qasam did look up. His skin gleamed with sweat. “We are rivals. They have the frankincense trade and desire our monopoly on myrrh as well, the greedy pigs. And somehow they have learned, they found—,” He drained his glass and set it down, shaking so hard that he nearly dropped it. “Today I received word they have gained the upper hand. In Bihan, in Janaal. My—my father is dead, my mother, their parents, my sisters, and their husbands
    ” He covered his face with his hands.
    “You believe your brothers killing was part of this.” Duke Vedris made it a statement, not a question.
    Qasam lowered his hands. “They mean to wipe our house from the world. In Bihan, in Janaal, they have suc ceeded. Now they send their murderers