Nothing Was Taken
Chris picked up a tin of tea leaves, set it in the crate, and said, "Art, I appreciate you covering for me, but don't get in a supervisor's way again."
"We all messed up. It isn't right that they lay the blame on you alone."
"Keep that up and you'll get marked."
That seemed to frighten him; he flinched. Art pouted, then went on.
"Do you know why Lapin hates you?"
Chris tapped his prosthetic leg. "Because I'm crippled?"
"No."
"You know the reason?"
"Yes."
"And how would you know that?"
"I heard Supervisor Lapin say it when he was drunk."
"What did he say?"
"He cursed you. Said you had no manners."
"How's that?"
"They say that when you got your first wages after joining the guild, you blew every last coin on chocolate cake. I heard you ate five whole cakes without getting up."
"Yeah. I did."
"Wow. You're really something."
"What's so impressive about it?"
"That's money you broke your back earning for a whole month. Spending all of it in one go — that's impressive."
Chris shrugged. "I am that impressive. But how does that connect to my manners?"
"Lapin was right there, and you never once told him to have a bite."
"Did I not?"
"He tore into you. Called you a rotten bastard."
"He makes a lot more than I do... If he wanted some, he could've bought it with his own money."
"But, Chris."
"What?"
"Is chocolate cake good?"
"Yeah. Really good."
Art smacked his lips. "I want to try it."
"You've never had it?"
"No."
"You get paid too. Buy some."
"I don't have any money."
"Why don't you have any money?"
"I send everything I have left to the orphanage."
"You're from an orphanage?"
"Yes."
"Once you're out, you're out. Why send them money?"
"They fed me, clothed me, and gave me a place to sleep. How could I pretend they don't exist? And I can't get the little ones out of my head, going hungry."
"They're not even your real siblings."
"When I think about those kids starving, I can't swallow my own food."
"Did you go hungry a lot at the orphanage?"
"Sometimes."
Supervisor Lapin bellowed from behind them.
"What are you doing, standing around instead of working!"
"We are working," Chris said. "We are."
Art dropped his voice. "Next time you get paid, buy a cake and give it to the supervisor."
"Not a chance."
"If he keeps acting like that, it's miserable, isn't it?"
"There's nothing miserable about it. Just annoying."
Watching Lapin pull his little stunts, Chris found him nothing but pathetic.
Just then Vice-Leader Hammonds, having heard the report, came rushing over in a panic.
"Vice-Leader," McKeon said, "what kept you so long?"
"I was looking for the Unit Leader... Do any of you know where he is?"
The supervisors crowded around Hammonds went grim.
"No."
"No one has seen him since yesterday."
Hammonds's face darkened to match.
"He isn't a man who would leave his post in the middle of a run."
He chewed his lip, then asked, "The damage?"
"A few things were thrown on the ground and broken. Aside from that, there doesn't seem to be any."
"Seems?"
"We haven't finished sorting it all yet."
"Finish it. Quickly."
Hammonds forced himself not to look at one particular wagon. From the corner of his eye, it looked intact.
So the cargo wasn't lost...
Once the goods seemed safe, the worry that had sat in one corner of his mind spread until it filled all of it.
Where did the Unit Leader go?
Chris sharpened his senses and listened in on them.
They said they'd kidnap him. And they actually did.
The inventory showed the losses were slight. Everyone in the camp had been asleep, and the baggage had been torn through in a mess; set against that, you might as well have called the damage nothing at all.
Hammonds could not bring himself to feel relieved. That very fact made it certain what the thief had been after.
They're after the secret shipment. And even I don't know what it is...
It had been bearable while the Unit Leader was there. Now that he was gone and every responsibility had dropped onto Hammonds's shoulders, the stress was crushing. The weight of it made his shoulders ache.
"Vice-Leader, we're behind schedule," McKeon said. "Do we wait longer, or do we leave?"
Hammonds let out a breath. "We leave."
The next village was written into the itinerary, but they skipped it and pushed straight on for Imar Territory. Fearing another strike by thieves or bandits, they did not rest even at night. They moved through the dark, and around the time dawn began to break they crossed into Imar.
Art kept glancing around, and the moment his eyes met a server's he jerked his head away. He looked as awkward as a child stuffed into clothes that didn't fit.
"Let's go to another restaurant."
"We already ordered. How are we supposed to walk out? We'd look like fools."
"This place is insanely expensive."
"Art. Do you know what my hobby is?"
"What?"
"Hunting down places with good food."
"How much have you saved?"
"I haven't."
"Not a single coin?"
"Not one."
Art gathered himself and offered advice. "You can't live like this. Spend money like water while you're young, and you'll be miserable when you're old."
"Later can worry about itself later."
"Chris!"
"Enough. Quit nagging."
Imar Territory's specialty arrived: a whole roasted pork foreleg. A broad-shouldered server stood at the table, carving it into easy bites and laying the slices on their plates.
The moment a piece landed in front of him, Chris speared it with his fork and put it in his mouth. The crackling skin against the soft meat underneath was perfect.
"Oh, that's good. You eat too."
With the price of the meal in mind, Art's fork would not move. He hesitated until he was told that leftovers would be thrown out, then put a piece in his mouth. The boy's eyes went round, and a breath huffed out through his nose.
"Whoa."
"Right? Good, isn't it? This is why I took the job at the guild. I follow the transport unit all over the country, see the sights, and eat well while I'm at it."
The server set more meat on the plate and asked, "You must be with the Senfo Merchant Guild."
"Yes. You've heard of it?"
"Of course. It's an enormous guild. There's a big branch right here in the city. I even heard you're hiring mercenaries."
"That rumor made it all the way into a restaurant?"
"Yes."
The Britan Kingdom was generally well policed, and the area around the capital was famous for having no bandits at all, the guard making regular patrols. Senfo's main house sat on the capital's outskirts, so they hired no mercenaries when they traveled that stretch. As far as Imar Territory, handing the porters clubs had been enough.
The server's knifework was anything but ordinary. He broke the roast down in a flash, and almost no meat remained on the bone.
"Your boning is an art."
The server laughed. "I learned it by getting hit by my senior."
"Sounds like you suffered."
"You have no idea. Still, it seems you're hiring more mercenaries than usual."
The way he kept sliding questions in between the small talk made Chris think the man belonged to an information guild. The story would get out regardless, so he answered plainly.
"Because thieves broke in."
"Oh my. Thieves...?"
The reaction was so good that leaking a little more started to feel worthwhile.
Talented fellow.
Chris asked for the bone and tore at the sinew still clinging to it as he spoke. "They hit us twice, actually."
"Thieves... twice?"
"Chris," Art said.
"What?"
"You shouldn't talk about guild business."
"So what? It'll be all over town in a few days."
"Even so, we shouldn't be the ones running our mouths first."
The server smiled. "You know how to eat meat."
He set the remaining bones on the plate and went on, "Meat on the bone really is the best, isn't it."
Once Chris had picked the bones clean, the server cleared the scraps and asked, lightly, "What was it they stole?"
Chris grinned. "Not for free."
"I won't take a tip."
"Hmm."
"What dessert do you like?"
"Cake."
"Wait just a moment."
A little later he returned with a slice of cake — the kind they hadn't ordered, because the price stung. Chris picked up his fork.
"One slice?"
"Cake is expensive."
Chris shrugged. "Why is cake so expensive, I wonder."
"The main ingredients come from across the border, I'd say. Once something crosses a border, everything gets expensive."
"I see."
Chris cut the cake and set half of it on Art's plate. "You said you'd never had cake, right? Here. Try it."
Art hesitated again. "This is a bit..."
"When I was little, I found out there was a food called ice cream. Cold, soft, sweet. They said the taste was incredible. I imagined it for a long time. Then, later, when I was grown, I had ice cream for the first time... and wow. It was astonishing. Nothing like what I'd imagined."
Chris smacked his lips. "That first taste of ice cream — I won't forget it till the day I die."
"This is cake, though."
"Cake is the same. There are things in this world you can never know just by imagining them. If you don't experience them, you never will."
Chris lifted a bite on his fork, put it in his mouth, and savored it.
"Ahh."
Art watched him eat and swallowed hard. Then he took a bite of his own. Both eyebrows shot up. His face changed even more dramatically than it had over the meat.
"That's it. That's the taste of cake."
Art made a wounded little sound, then shoveled the cake down in a rush. Chris watched the boy and smiled.
"Chocolate will shock you even more."
The server cleared his throat. "Sir, about what you were saying..."
Chris lowered his voice. "Thieves broke in twice, and the astonishing part is that nothing is missing."
"Ah. That really is astonishing."
"Want to know what's even more astonishing?"
"What?"
"Our unit leader is missing."
The server went into the kitchen and came back with another cake. A chocolate one.
Chris pushed it in front of Art, then winked at the server. "You know how to do business."
"You flatter me."
Harold, branch manager of the Senfo Merchant Guild's Imar branch, made a wet, phlegmy sound of displeasure.
"I told you I'd attach the guard, and a mage on top of that. And you still need to hire this many mercenaries?"
Hammonds had not slept properly, and the skin beneath his eyes had gone dark.
"I already told you, Branch Manager. Thieves hit us twice, and the Unit Leader is missing."
"Headquarters takes too much of the money. The finances are tight, I tell you."
Hammonds scratched his forehead. "Everyone's tight. We just have to get through this crisis."
He said it again, trying to convince himself.
"Just this crisis."
"If this shipment ends successfully, the crisis really is over?"
"Yes."
"What is this consigned cargo, exactly?"
"I don't know either."
"And the Unit Leader?"
"The Unit Leader doesn't know either."
"That's fortunate."
Hammonds flared.
"What's fortunate about it?"
"If even the Unit Leader doesn't know, then nothing can leak to the kidnappers. Isn't that so?"
"How can you say that?"
"Am I wrong?"
He wasn't wrong, and that only made Hammonds angrier. Because the Unit Leader hadn't known either, the secret had held.
But does the thief truly not know what the goods are? What if the thief knows everything, and the only ones in the dark are the people hauling it?
"If I were being tortured and had nothing to tell them, that would be real agony."
Thinking of the Unit Leader made his chest ache.
"He might not have been kidnapped at all."
"What are you saying?"
"You said you don't know what you're transporting either. The Unit Leader might have stolen it and vanished."
"How dare you slander him like that! The Unit Leader is an upright man."
When Hammonds got angry, Harold waved a hand. "Fine. I'll cover the cost, as you asked. You may go."
Hammonds glared at him, then left the branch manager's office. Harold clicked his tongue.
"Walking off with my money, and he acts that righteous."