They had gone about a block when Sae turned down a side street. As he rounded the corner behind her, Makokan raised his eyebrows. A hitching shed stood in front of them.
I see. That makes sense. Anyone with business in the shop-lined alleys would leave their horse at one of these first. Without Sae, Makokan and Van would’ve had a hard time discerning which one Shikan had used.
It was a simple lean-to structure with a rail. The roof was barely enough to keep out the rain, and a crude drainpipe ran along it, sending a stream of water plunging off the edge. The boy in charge of the horses sat on a stool, amusing himself by flicking the toe of his boot into this miniature waterfall. He looked up when the group approached and gaped at them. Sae stopped in front of the shed and stared at the floor. She walked to the right without bothering to enter.
“Can you follow horses, too?” Makokan asked.
Her lips formed a slight smile. “It’s basically the same thing.”
Makokan glanced at Van and was reassured to see his own admiration reflected in the man’s face.
I thought so. She’s no ordinary tracker.
Only the most experienced of hunters could pursue someone in the middle of a city. Makokan couldn’t see what clues she followed, but she continued on at an even pace, only stopping occasionally. Shikan could presumably only move slowly through town because he was on horseback. Plus, it was raining. Most riders would steer clear of the slippery stone-paved thoroughfares and stick to the dirt-packed side streets. Shikan must have done the same because Sae strode wordlessly down the muddy lanes. Still, even if she could follow him, it was going to be hard for them to outpace someone on horseback. Van and Sae showed no trace of fatigue, though, and Makokan did his best to look unfazed.
At last, Sae came to a halt behind a run-down warehouse. “It looks like he dismounted here,” she said. Makokan inspected the iron hitching rings set in the wall and the ground beneath. With tracks this clear, even he could read them. This was where Shikan had dismounted and tied his horse. And there were the tracks of other horses and men, too.
Van was already walking toward the back door. It was wide open, and several men were visible inside the dimly lit building. They were sorting and packing furniture, dishes, cooking pans, and clay pots.
“Storage for household goods,” Makokan whispered. He glanced at Van and was immediately surprised by the intensity of his gaze.
With his eyes still fixed on the men inside, Van said in a low voice, “I can smell Ohfan. And something else, too. It’s faint, but it worries me.”
One of the workers looked up and, noticing the visitors, came toward them with a questioning look. “Do you want something?” he asked.
Resting a hand on the doorframe, Van replied, “I heard we could get dishes here for a reasonable price.”
The man scratched his chest and shrugged. “Yeah. What’ve you got? If it’s glue, we don’t need any.”
Van’s eyes narrowed, “You don’t need glue?”
“Yeah. Tough luck for you. Some other guys got here first, and we’ve enough to last quite a while.”
Makokan finally caught on. They traded their wares for materials, such as glue, with which they could repair furniture and other goods. He was impressed by how Van had so easily drawn that out of the man.
For the Ahfal Oma, glue would be a good source of income. Ilia had once told Makokan that the Ahfal Oma made excellent glue from the hides of their dead horses. Van must have known this. Feigning disappointment, he said, “So they beat me to it. It wasn’t Ohtan and his gang was it? He’s a small guy.”
The man shook his head. “No. He was about the same height as you.”
“Then it must have been Fahoe. Did he have his nephew with him?”
“Don’t know if it was his nephew, but there was a young man with him.”
“That would be Fahoe, all right. Damn. I told him I was coming here to trade, so he snuck in ahead of me. He bought dishes then, did he?”
The man shook his head. “No, not dishes. Just some of those small clay pots. But I wouldn’t accuse him of anything yet if I were you. You might be mistaken.”
Van sighed and gave a lopsided smile. “Yeah. You’re right. How many were there?”
“You don’t give up, do you? Three, including the young guy.”
Once they had put some distance between them and the warehouse, Makokan said, “If it was Ohfan, why would he need clay pots?”
“There was a trace of gunpowder mixed with his scent,” Van said, looking grim.
Makokan stopped and stared at him, and Sae’s face went rigid. “So that’s why,” she breathed. Clay pots filled with gunpowder and equipped with fuses could make lethal weapons.
Makokan frowned. “But how would he get his hands on gunpowder?”
The substance was strictly supervised. The Zolians used it to make weapons and fireworks, but they kept it tightly controlled from production through distribution to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands. For someone like Ohfan, who was being sought by the Molfah and the Inner Circle, it should have been impossible to obtain. The king would have known immediately if Ohfan was spotted anywhere near places that dealt in gunpowder or any other form of weapon.
“Maybe it’s Mukonian,” Sae said with a troubled look. “The Lafan were using explosives when the Mukonians attacked the fort in Zakato.”
Van nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. Ohfan captured some of the Lafan and likely confiscated their weapons. They’d be too conspicuous to carry with him, so I’m guessing he removed the gunpowder and packed it separately, making sure to protect it from moisture.”
Makokan groaned. “I see. So that’s why he bought those pots. He would’ve drawn attention to himself if he’d bought them at a shop on the main street, but no one would really notice if he traded some glue for them here.”
Carefully and methodically, Ohfan and his band were plotting an insurrection, one that would slaughter as many people as possible with just a handful of men. For a few moments, Makokan, Van, and Sae were silent. Then Sae fixed her gaze on Makokan. “Would you please tell Sir Hohsalle? I’ll tell my father and look into it further.”
Makokan nodded.
The rain was now a drizzle, and the sky had begun to brighten. As the heavy clouds parted, golden threads of afternoon sunlight poured through the narrow gaps and into the city. Even the muddy water pooled in the tracks on the road shone dully.