“I’m afraid that we don’t keep accounts by name, only by number. It keeps hostile nobles and kings and parents and others from seizing accounts that have been opened privately,” Turgal said. He smiled pleasantly. Fop he might be, but this was a conversation he had clearly had before.
More, it was a lie. Karris was certain of it. There was no way the Onestos wouldn’t keep track of the account holders’ names.
“What happens when account holders die?” Karris asked.
“Nothing. The Onestos don’t even have knowledge of when that happens. We have no way of knowing that. As I said, we don’t link names to accounts.”
“What happens to the money?”
“It remains in the account, of course.”
“Uh-huh, for how long?”
“If an account has had no activity for a generation—defined by old tradition as forty years’ time—the monies therein are made available for other loans.”
Which was doubly a lie, and a subtle pair of lies at that. The money was never put aside in the first place. The moment money was deposited, it was loaned elsewhere. And when he said ‘made available,’ he meant that it then moved into his family’s personal coffers. It wasn’t completely unfair, Karris supposed. If an entire family was extinguished, as had doubtless happened many times in the various wars that had wracked the Seven Satrapies since the Onestos had entered the business, and if no heirs stepped forward, what else should they do with the money? Give it away? It was a perquisite of taking the risks of bad loans.
Of course, if they were less than diligent in their pursuit of finding heirs, it would also be a quick way to pad their own accounts. Too much of that, though, would hurt their reputation. A bank was only as good as its reputation. So the appearance of punctilious virtue had to be of the utmost import. Of course, generations of the Onestos now long dead had built that reputation to such a height, it was quite possible Turgal and his compeers felt they could coast on it to enrich themselves.
And if they thought that, they probably thought right. Their children and grandchildren would pay for it, of course, but Karris wouldn’t be there to feel vindicated.
“Before you came here,” Karris said, “you looked up all of my husband’s accounts to see what I would be talking to you about. Did you bring them?”
He blinked. “I can’t comment on the existence or status—”
“Which is a yes. And you brought them. You wrote them down.” It would, the White had guessed, be quite a few different numbers, and Turgal Onesto didn’t have his ancestors’ head for numbers. The White said writing down the account numbers would be a direct violation of family policy. They believed in memorizing everything. What was in your head couldn’t be stolen, at least not without your knowledge of the theft.
Karris was surprised that the White would know so much about a mere merchant family, but the White believed in knowing as much as possible about those who had any kind of power. In a hundred years, she said, the Onestos would probably be more respected and more titled than most of the remaining eighty-seven and a half out of a hundred noble houses in the Seven Satrapies.
It had been a joke, and Karris hadn’t caught the punch line. Twelve and a half percent was the typical rate of interest the Onestos charged. Twelve and a half, out of a hundred left … Ah. Then she got it. Here she’d been wondering if there really were exactly one hundred noble families in the satrapies. Even the jokes told Karris how much she had to learn.
He reached for the slender scroll case he kept slung across his back.
But in addition to being given a network of eyes and ears, the White had also been directing Karris to some fingers as well. Some of which were very light.
Turgal Onesto reached in the scroll case and found nothing. He upended it. Nothing. Empty. His face lost all color, then went green.
“Tell me you at least wrote it in code. Your family must have a dozen ciphers.”
“Of course. Of course. Setback, not a disaster. It’s right…” He reached into the satchel he’d brought. Groped. Blanched once more.
“You brought the key to the cipher along with the message?” Karris rubbed her forehead. “You’re not making some very poor jest, are you?”
Turgal’s wide eyes told the tale.
“Your grandfather is going to be so very displeased.”
“Most people don’t even know it’s a cipher!” Turgal said. “It’s just a piece of wood, a cone. If you don’t have exactly the same…” He trailed off. “You! You did it.”
“Turgal, listen to me.”