Chapter 30: Undercover
The day after the assembly fell apart, Violet woke before dawn.
She lay in the small house beside the granary, staring at the wooden beams overhead. Yesterday's quarrels still spun in her head. Hagen wanted water. Eve wanted coin. The blacksmith wanted proof. Ulric wanted face. Astrid wanted independence. The shaman said nothing. Six tribes. Six minds. She had thought she had calculated every account. The one thing she hadn't counted on—a ledger can't record the human heart.
She sat up and pulled an old cloak from beside the bed. Gray. No markings. Finn's old one, left at her place and forgotten. She draped it over herself and pulled the hood low, covering half her face.
She told no one.
When she walked out of Water City's south gate, Tor the gatekeeper glanced at her but didn't recognize her. Head lowered, she blended into a water-hauling caravan heading north.
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First stop: Frost Claw Tribe
Frost Claw's camp lay half a day's journey north, pressed up against the salt mine. By the time Violet arrived, the sun had just risen. People were already at work at the mine entrance. She didn't go looking for Hagen. She blended into the salt-hauling crew and listened.
"Why should Frost Claw's water be supplied first? The wells belong to everyone." A young man was complaining.
"Hagen said the terms were his to negotiate." An older man spat on the ground. "His to negotiate? He negotiated with our lives. Water City doesn't give water, we die of thirst. Water City gives water, we fight their war for them. Is that fair?"
"Then go tell Hagen."
"Telling him does what? He's the chieftain."
The two men hoisted their salt sacks and walked away. Violet stood behind the salt pile. She said nothing.
She went farther in. Behind the salt mine lay a row of crude shacks. Several people sat beneath them eating. She walked over, crouched down, and pretended to tie her bootlaces.
"The water cart got stopped by Frost Wolf again on the road yesterday." The speaker was a middle-aged woman, a bowl of porridge in her hands. "Said our wagon rolled over their road. The road belongs to everyone. Why can't we use it?"
"Frost Wolf is like that. Look down on us Frost Claw. Think we're poor." The person across from her bit into a dry ration. "Last time we hauled salt, they insisted our salt was dirty. Wouldn't let us use the trade route."
"What happened after?"
"After? We took the long way around. Two extra days of walking."
Violet tied her bootlaces three times. Each time deliberately loosening them again. She heard enough. She stood and walked out of the Frost Claw camp.
First stop noted: The conflict between Frost Claw and Frost Wolf isn't about water. It's about roads. About being looked down on. About "you think I'm poor, I think you're savage."
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Second stop: Frost Wolf Clan
Frost Wolf's camp lay to the northwest, farther than Frost Claw. By the time Violet arrived, it was nearly noon. She pulled her hood lower and blended into a crowd of hunters returning.
"Eve wanted to raise the trade route share. Did she bring it up?" A scar-faced man asked.
"She brought it up. That woman didn't agree. Still only ten percent." A younger woman curled her lip. "Incredibly stingy."
"Ten percent isn't small. Last month's pelts, ten percent traded for thirty sacks of salt."
"What can thirty sacks of salt do? Frost Wolf has two hundred mouths. One sip each and gone."
The scar-faced man said nothing. He hung a freshly skinned wolf on a rack. Blood dripped onto the ground, kicking up small puffs of dust.
"I'm not saying ten percent is too little." The younger woman spoke again. "What I can't stand is the Frost Claw people. Every time we haul pelts, they say we're dirty. Say we kill wolves, so we carry the wolf smell. I just want to ask one thing. If Frost Wolf doesn't kill wolves, who hauls your salt?"
"Frost Claw people are just like that. Guarding their salt mine. Looking down on everyone else."
The two of them carried the wolf pelt away. Violet stepped out from behind the tree and walked a circle through the camp. Frost Wolf people were more direct than Frost Claw. Discontent written on their faces. But their discontent wasn't aimed at Water City. It was aimed at Frost Claw. At everyone who looked down on them.
Second stop noted: Frost Wolf doesn't want coin. They want respect.
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Third stop: Shadow Clan
Shadow Clan's camp lay to the west, near the woodlands. By the time Violet arrived, it was afternoon. The camp was quiet. Only a few elders drying herbs in the sun.
She didn't find the shaman. She asked a child. The child said, "The shaman went gathering herbs. Won't be back until night."
She was about to leave when an old woman nearby called to her. "You come from Water City?"
Violet stopped and turned around. "Yes."
The old woman looked her up and down. "You didn't come to buy medicine."
"No."
The old woman nodded and said nothing more. She sat on a stone, several bundles of herbs spread before her, sorting. Violet crouched down and helped her pick out the dead leaves.
"Shadow Clan people are afraid of fighting wars." The old woman said suddenly.
Violet's fingers paused. "Afraid of what?"
"Afraid of being laughed at. We Shadow Clan aren't good at hunting. Not good at fighting. We only know how to know herbs. Chant spells. Heal sickness. Other tribes look down on us. Call us 'pretenders of gods and ghosts.'"
"The shaman asked for thirty percent of the medicine at the assembly."
"He wasn't asking for coin. He wanted people to see Shadow Clan. Shadow Clan people have hidden in these woods too long. Long enough that others have forgotten we're still here." The old woman put a sorted bundle of herbs into her basket. "You think he doesn't know the difference between twenty and thirty percent? He knows. But he has to speak up. Speak up, and others will know Shadow Clan is here too."
Violet said nothing. She placed the dead leaves she had picked aside and stood.
Third stop noted: Shadow Clan doesn't refuse to send men. They're afraid of losing face.
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Fourth stop: Ironwood Tribe
Ironwood's camp was the farthest, at the foot of the eastern mountains. By the time Violet arrived, it was dusk. The camp was full of the sound of forging iron, a steady clanging, like rain.
The blacksmith wasn't there. An apprentice told her, "Master went to Water City. Said he needed to oversee that batch of newly forged blades."
Violet walked a circle through the camp. Ironwood people were wealthier than any other tribe. Their hide coats were new. Their tools complete. But their faces carried an expression Violet knew well. In Manhattan, those startup CEOs fresh off a funding round wore the same expression. Rich, but uneasy.
"Water City people say our blades are too expensive." A young smith stopped to wipe sweat and complain to the person beside him. "Say we're jacking up prices because of the beast tide."
"Our iron we dig from the mountain ourselves. Our blades are quenched in water. Why should they be cheap?"
"Exactly. Buy or don't."
Violet stood outside the forge. Listened for a while. She didn't go in. Turned and left.
Fourth stop noted: Ironwood doesn't lack coin. They lack being told "you're worth the price."
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Fifth stop: Ice Wolf Clan
Ice Wolf's camp lay on the east side of the city, closest to Water City. By the time Violet arrived, the sky was nearly dark. Ulric wasn't there. The warriors weren't there either. Only a few wolf handlers remained in camp.
She crouched outside the fence, watching the ice wolves. Gray-white fur. Pale yellow eyes. Lying on the ground. Tails sweeping occasionally.
"Ulric wants overall command. Not because of the war." A young warrior's voice came from the other side of the fence. He was feeding meat to a wolf as he spoke. "He just wants others to look at Ice Wolf with respect."
"Who doesn't respect us?"
"Everyone. Other tribes call us 'dog keepers.' Say we rely on wolves to fight, so we're like wolves ourselves."
"Ice wolves aren't like wolves. Wolves don't talk to people."
"That's why Ulric came to Water City. He wants others to know. Ice Wolf people are people too."
Violet's fingers tightened on the wooden fence rail.
Fifth stop noted: Ulric doesn't want command. He wants face.
---
Late night. The small house beside the granary.
Violet took off the cloak and draped it over a chair. She pulled a small notebook from inside her coat. Hide-bound. Palm-sized. Her running ledger. She opened a new page and wrote:
· Frost Claw: Looked down on. Looking down on others. Not about water. About roads.
· Frost Wolf: Wants respect. Not coin.
· Shadow Clan: Afraid of losing face. Not unwilling to fight.
· Ironwood: Afraid of not being worth the price. Doesn't love coin.
· Ice Wolf Clan: Wants face. Not command.
Done writing. She stared at those lines for a long time.
She hadn't gone to Astrid's Silver Spring. Not because she forgot. Because she knew Silver Spring's people too well. Knew them well enough to know without looking—Astrid didn't want independence. Astrid didn't want to lose again.
She closed the notebook and placed it under her pillow.
She had walked all day. The old injury on her foot ached again. She pulled off her boots and looked at the scar on the arch of her right foot. Faded to a white line now. But it still hurt every time she walked. She rubbed it. Left it alone.
In the distance came the sound of stones being moved from the east side of the city. Stone by stone raised atop one another. The wall growing taller day by day.
She didn't go talk to anyone.
Didn't go find Hagen and say "your people resent the long roads." Didn't go find Eve and say "your people want respect." Didn't go find the blacksmith and say "your blades are worth the price." She only went to look. To listen. To record. Then placed the notebook under her pillow and closed her eyes.
Tomorrow, she would begin solving problems.
But she knew some problems couldn't be solved with water.
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End of Chapter Thirty
She draped an old cloak over herself and walked through all six tribes. She heard the voices not heard at the assembly. Not that the water is insufficient. That the roads are too long. Not that they won't fight. That they fear being laughed at. Not that they want to contend. That they want to be seen. She wrote down each problem, one by one, the way she recorded accounts. But some debts can't be repaid with water. This night, a notebook pressed beneath her pillow. Five lines written in it. Starting tomorrow, she will cross them out. One by one.