Benjamin Tate - Well of Sorrows

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve given us nothing.”

“I’ve left you alone in Lean-to,” Sartori said, taking a step forward, voice rising, “when I have every right to send the Armory up onto that hill and clear you all out. And after the attack today, I have every intention of doing just that.”

“You can’t.”

Sartori snorted. “I most certainly can. I am the sole arbiter of the Carrente Family lands in New Andover. I am the Proprietor of this little section of New Andover. And I now have evidence that Lean-to is nothing but a pit of political dissidents, sent here to undermine the Carrente Family and bring down its assets in the New World.”

A growing sense of horror began filling Tom’s gut, spreading outward slowly. “We aren’t political dissidents! We’re guildmembers. We came here hoping to work for the guilds-”

“No! You were sent by the Avezzano Family to stir up rebellion, to take down Portstown and Carrente’s hold on the coast!”

Tom stepped back under the fury of Sartori’s statement, realization choking him, making it hard to breathe. “Shay.”

“Yes, Shay Jones. Or should we call him by his real name, Vetralla, member of the Avezzano Family?”

Tom tasted bile at the back of his throat, swallowed its bitterness. “We didn’t know. He told us… he told us he was a guildmember, a shipwright.”

“He lied.”

Tom reeled beneath the revelation. They’d invited Shay into their home, had drunk with him, had treated him as one of their own. But now

…

Now he saw him in a different light, and it changed nothing.

He turned back to Sartori, tried to shove Shay aside. “Some of us have poured our heart and soul into that land, into those huts and tents. It’s all we have left. We aren’t dissidents, aren’t political rivals. We only wanted advancement in the guild. There’s nothing for us in Andover. We spent every last resource we had to get here.”

Sartori placed his hands behind his back. “Then you have a problem, don’t you? Because I can no longer tolerate such a clearly disruptive element in or near Portstown. Not after today.”

“Where do you expect us to go?”

“Back to Andover. To Trent or Gillem. To any of the new ports springing up along New Andover’s coast, if you can get their Proprietors to accept you. I don’t care. But you can no longer remain in Portstown.”

Tom felt himself harden. “We won’t go. We can’t. We don’t have the means anymore. You’ll have to remove us by force.”

Sartori leaned forward slightly. “Then so be it.”

Tom thought about the riot on the docks that afternoon, about those from Lean-to facing the Armory with knives, with stones, with their bare hands.

If the Armory fell on Lean-to, it would be a slaughter, even if Shay’s cohorts joined them.

The bitter anger turned to nausea as he stared at Sartori’s implacable face, as he realized that Sartori was serious, that he’d already made his decision, and nothing Tom could say or do would change it.

“Gentlemen.”

Neither Tom nor Sartori turned at the intruding voice, not until the word was repeated, with emphasis.

“ Gentlemen.”

Sartori’s gaze broke first. “What is it, Signal Daverren?”

Daverren shifted forward in his chair. “I believe I have a solution to both of your problems, one that does not require violence. If what Tom Harten says is true, and he has been unjustly judged.”

“And that would be?” Sartori asked. His tone held a mild warning, but Daverren ignored it.

“It goes back to the opportunity I spoke of before we were interrupted,” Daverren said. He reached down to retrieve a wooden cylindrical tube beside the seat. “Do you mind?”

Sartori hesitated but motioned to the table.

Shifting the tray with the tea and cups to one side, Daverren opened the silver end of the cylinder and removed a sheaf of papers, sorting through them until he found the one he was looking for. With a murmured, “Aha,” he pulled the parchment out and spread it out on the table, motioning Sartori and Tom forward.

“This is a map of the known world,” he said. He pointed to the center of the map, to a large land mass that was divided into different regions using subtle shading. “This is Andover, with each of the Families represented by different colors. And this large stretch of blue is the Arduon Ocean.” He traced east from Andover, across the Arduon, until his fingers came to rest on a new coast, the details of the land behind it empty, as if someone had forgotten to draw in the rest of the map. A few towns littered the new coast, represented by dots and scrawled names, the edges of the land itself shaded in colors that matched those used for individual Families from Andover. “New Andover,” Daverren said, although it was obvious. “And right here is Portstown.” He glanced upward, to Tom, “And Lean-to, of course.”

Sartori grunted.

“You’ll notice that the coast is shaded to represent the division of the land to the Families as decided by the Court once the new continent was discovered and the first settlements, such as Portstown, were seen to be successful. However, you’ll notice that the land behind the coast,” he motioned toward the empty area, “has not yet been claimed. Not officially. Proposals were drawn up as to how this land was to be divided, once it was explored, but those proposals have fallen by the wayside in the wake of the discovery of the Rose and its potential.”

“Those proposals haven’t been forgotten,” Sartori said.

Daverren smiled. “No, they have not. But look at what happened with the settlements along the coast. The Court was forced to respect the claims of the towns that had already made a start. If a Family backed a particular group, and that group successfully began a colony on the coast before the Court became involved, the Court ceded the land surrounding that colony to the respective Family. Carrente owns the land around Portstown because your father established the town here, and it thrived.”

Sartori leaned back from the map. “You want to lay claim to the inland, while the Families are distracted by the Feud.”

“Exactly. The respective Family Trading Companies are already at war. We’ve been at war since the Companies were first founded. The Rose is a political affair-potentially a religious affair if what I’ve heard of the powers of the Rose are true-one that the Companies will profit from, true, but at its heart it is not a commercial endeavor. Establishing an early presence in the heartland of New Andover is.” Daverren’s eyes narrowed. “The West Wind Trading Company wants to stake its claim as early as possible, before any of Carrente’s rivals have the chance. And we know that other Companies are interested. The Southern Isles have already gathered an expeditionary force, although it had not yet sailed at the time of my departure.”

Sartori held Daverren’s gaze for a long moment. “An expedition is dangerous. And expensive. I’ve already sent groups out into the plains, at significant cost to myself and the Carrente Family. None of those expeditions have returned. None that have traveled a significant distance from the coast. And in order to stake a legitimate claim, the group would have to travel relatively far.”

“The West Wind Trading Company is prepared to underwrite the cost of the venture. In fact, I’ve brought the majority of the necessary resources for an expedition with me, on the Tradewind. Wagons, horses, supplies for the establishment of a settlement, a town. My only concern was finding someone to lead the expedition and the people willing to risk it.” He turned to Tom. “That’s where you come into play, Tom Harten. You and those in Lean-to who are not associated with Vetralla or the Avezzano Family.”