by David Dickie
It wasn’t a nice stone, and there was an undercurrent of tension in Fal’s voice that hadn’t been there before. Grim shook his head. “Sorry, family heirloom, not for sale.”
“You sure?” asked Fal with eyes half-lidded. “I’d offer a tidy sum, given its uniqueness.”
“Not for sale,” repeated Grim.
“Sure, sure” replied Fal, “No offense. If you come across anything else like it, and you want to sell, you know where to find me.”
Grim nodded, but stood and returned to his original table without saying anything. The avarice in Fal’s eyes had disturbed him.
The others had returned, even Aurora, although she murmured that she had to head up to her room shortly, and Grim noticed the soldier she’d been flirting with was finishing his beer rather quickly.
Grim smiled and said, “Since you’re in a rush, Aurora, why don’t you go first.”
She nodded. “The three are officers for some kind of Struford standing guard. They seem to be training the local men at arms. Trying to cause problems for Cherifyr I’d guess.”
As she was finishing up, Rotan joined them. Rotan pitched in, “Storm bull priests are for the ore barges. They come down from Rotkruz full of ore, then go back, mostly empty. They need something to push them up river, and the Storm Bulls provide the power. Sort of wild, the barges don’t even have sails, they have some other way to catch Storm Bull generated wind… it wasn’t completely clear how it worked.”
Grim frowned. “Any luck on transport out of town?” he asked Rotan.
Rotan nodded. “Yes, I took a few minutes to talk to the barkeep. There is, but there’s a catch. The docks are not that large, and Kethem has negotiated almost exclusive use for its merchants. Almost every ship is heading directly for Kethem ports. Local transport can be days apart, and it’s expensive, more than we can pay, even for the short hop to Cherifyr.”
Alan looked interested. “Fascinating, and it explains why Pedron’s caravan is financially viable in a city with a sea port. Lack of local shipping lines must leave gaps in trade that can be filled with other, less efficient transportation.”
Rotan nodded quickly. “I’m reading between the lines here, but I’ve seen patterns like this before. My guess is that Struford and Cherifyr are both working to keep Eleyford too small to support a standing army, dependent on the two of them for military protection, and required to pay what I’d guess are exorbitant taxes for it. I’m surprised Kethem doesn’t have an embassy in Eleyford, given the miracle metal produced here.”
Grim laughed. “About that. Turns out there’s some kind of Kethem negotiator in town named Marson Braize, making a deal that is going to disrupt the current metal trade.”
Rotan looked at him sharply. “Marson Braize? I know him. Gold Ring. He’s good. Very good, one of the best.”
Grim stopped laughing. “How well do you know him? Does he know about your mission? Can we get funding from him, enough for us to reach Tendut?”
Rotan frowned. “I know him mostly by reputation. I’ve met him a few times at capstone meetings. He won’t know details about what I was trying to accomplish in Pranan. It’s a military operation, not at all related to what he’s doing here in Eleyford. But he’ll know about the Venture, know about the attack on the fort, and know that I’m missing. And he’ll know enough from capstone meetings that he’ll do what he can to help us.”
Grim quirked an eyebrow. “Capstone meetings?”
“You know Kethem’s administrative arm, the Strategic Office of Administration and Procedure?”
Grim shook his head. “Just a commoner. I know city political structure, not much past that.”
Rotan nodded. “Well, you know cities are consortiums of Holds, and they have a legal document that spells out the details about consolidated services, like law enforcement, tax collection, that kind of thing, and how each Hold contributes both people and rimmi?” Grim nodded. “And you know that those consolidated organizations have their own internal command and control structure?”
“Sure,” said Grim, “just like the military, the Navy, the Guard, Kethem Naval Intelligence.”
“Not just like. Those are permanent. City services are on a rotating basis. But it’s close. Well, there are the equivalent at the Province level along with a smaller version reporting directly to the high council. The entire thing isn’t large; Holds and Hold consortiums are responsible for most things. But there are activities, like negotiating treaties with Pranan City-States, which are binding for all of Kethem, or just too big to deal with at that level, and those fall to people in the organization like Marson and I. There are regular meetings to share information and make policy decisions, called capstone meetings.”
Grim nodded. “Ok, so what’s that mean from a ‘he’ll give us money’ standpoint?”
“It means I’ve met him a few times, and that he’ll know I’m on a mission critical to Kethem’s security. I’m confident our organization is not leaking information to the ohulhug. I think I should approach him.”
Grim thought about that for a moment. He wasn’t convinced that someone in the military was spying for the ohulhug as Rotan feared, but he didn’t have a better theory for how the black ship had found them at the Kethem Naval Intelligence fort. Of course, it might have been coincidence. He didn’t know they were there because of Rotan. But Rotan had been present during the sinking of the Venture and the attack on the fort, which gave Rotan’s fears some credibility. “Any support staff? Can they be trusted?”
Rotan blanched. “Yes. And no. Some of them might recognize me, and it is hard to know how far the ohulhug influence has spread. A lot of the support staff are…” He stopped and turned red.
“Commoners like me?” said Grim.
Rotan looked at him seriously. “No, not like you. Just not trustworthy.”
Grim almost laughed. He was a professional thief. “Trustworthy” was not a term anyone would use for someone like him. But there was trustworthy, and there was out and out dirty, and if someone were working with the ohulhug… well, that was a line not many would cross. Finally, Grim said, “I don’t really believe there’s a huge ohulhug spy network with tendrils throughout Kethem’s military and diplomatic organizations, but we’ll play it your way. I’ll approach him, try to get him to talk to me alone. I’m a Kethemer in Pranan, shouldn’t be that hard to convince him to talk to me.”
Fayyaad nodded sagely. “Sure. What could go wrong?”
Chapter Eighteen
The guards around the carriage were dressed in the yellow and lime-green form-fitting jackets and pants of Eleyford’s small military. They were also wearing red caps, which meant they were part of Lord Yelfin’s personal guard. They had swords belted to their waist, and while they had no visible armor, smart money would be on their uniforms having been magicked up to perform the same function. They stood with stiff postures that didn’t quite hide the fact that all four of them were bored. That didn’t mean they weren’t alert. They were professionals, and their eyes scanned the area around the parked carriage and its four black horses constantly.
It was evening, and the sun had set, but both moons were out providing some minimal light. Off the main street, a nearby alley way was sheathed in dark shadow, and the men on the side of the carriage facing it let their eyes linger on it, aware that it could be used to approach the carriage surreptitiously.
When something came spinning out of the darkness from the alley toward the wagon, followed by two small figures in dark clothing, swords were out of their scabbards before the object or the two following it were anywhere near the group.
“Stop!” yelled one of the guardsman, and he raised a hand with something small and round in it, something that was almost certainly an artificer’s weapon ready to unleash some offensive spell. The guards on the street side of the carriage fanned out, staying on their side of the vehicle but ready to assist their squad mates if needed.
The carriageman on top of the carriage wasn’t a m
ember of the elite personal guard, and he panicked a bit, pulling out a glow disk, one that had been focused to cast light in a cone. He played it over the guards and the thing that had come bouncing toward the carriage. In the light, it was clearly a large red ball, the kind used for kickball matches. The light swung up, bathing the two figures, who turned out to be two children of perhaps ten years of age.
They stood, eyes wide, hands in the air. “Please mister, we didna mean nothin’,” called one.
The soldier didn’t relax. “Stay where you are.” He approached the ball, which had come to rest a few feet from the carriage, slowly and carefully. He tapped it lightly with his toe. Then, with a grin, he called out, “Clear.” He took a second to line up a shot, then gave it a kick that sent it flying toward the two children. One of them reflexively dropped their hands and caught the ball. The other boy dropped his hands as well and took a step forward.
“No,” said the guard, dropping the smile. “Take the ball and go.”
“Sure thing, mister,” said the boy holding the ball, and they both turned and ran back into the alley. The carriagement flashed his light around, making sure no one else was in the vicinity. The guards on the street side winced and held up their hands to their eyes as the bright light flashed across their faces. “God’s smelly feet, will you turn that off,” said one, blinking in the aftermath of the beam.
The carriageman extinguished the glow disk. “Sorry,” he said apologetically. “Just, you know, anything happens to one of Yelfin’s carriages, you know who’s going to get blamed, is all. Don’t want street urchins stealing nothing, is all.”
“Just let us handle things, will you?” said the guard, irritation in his voice. Then he and the other guardsmen took up their posts again.
Forty minutes later the carriageman called down, “Got the signal, he’s ready to be picked up.” The guards nodded and each stepped on a small extended platform that jutted from the sides of the carriage and took a careful hold of a guardrail.
The carriageman released the break and send a gentle wave down the reins. They rolled slowly forward down the street for a minute, then glided to a halt in front of a one-story stone building with bright glowdisks and a red awning with the unmistakable look of an inn, and an expensive one. A valet in a formal black suit and a top hat stood under the awning, near the door to the inn. When the coach stopped, he opened the door, stood to the side, and let an older man in brown leather pants, a white silk shirt, a flowing cloak and a belt with a large silver buckle that sported a Kethem Hold’s glyph on it walk out from the building. The valet moved quickly in front of the older man, opening the door to the carriage. He bowed and said “A pleasure, Lord Braize. Please visit again.”
Marson Braize nodded and started to step in. He stopped in the doorway. Grim was on the other side of the carriage, seated with his hands on his knees, fingers splayed out to show he had nothing in them. Marson grunted, finished entering, and sat opposite Grim. The man with the suit glanced in and gave Grim a quizzical stare.
Marson said, “Good night, Donner. Compliments to the chef.”
“Very good, sir,” said Donner, closing the door.
“Carriagemen, to the castle,” called of Marson with a loud voice. The carriage started moving. He looked at Grim. “How did you get in here?”
Grim replied, “Your guards are good. I’m better. I was hoping to have a word with you, but approaching you privately turned out to be somewhat difficult. My apologies for being so… dramatic.”
It had been as much luck as skill. With his limited funds and no time to do any serious planning, all he’d been able to do was hire two kids to startle the guards and make sure the coachman had a light spell and was nervous enough to flash it around. The carriage had a skirt around it, and it was the one Marson always used for his nightly trips into town for dinner. Grim had rigged up a harness, slipped underneath much earlier in the day when it wasn’t being used, and hung himself from the bottom for a long and uncomfortable six hours. Even so, the few seconds when the light was blinding the guards had been barely enough time to slip into the carriage. It was a chance he never would have taken on a regular job, but in this case, if he’d been caught, he would have been hauled in front of Marson anyway. It would have just been a bit more public.
Marson grunted again. “Kethemer. Not an assassin, clearly. You could have just asked, the guards would have passed on the message.”
Grim said, “I really couldn’t, for reasons that I will make clear. By the way, I would appreciate it if we didn’t actually arrive at the castle just yet.”
Marson called out loudly, “Carriageman, pull over and stop.” The wagon came to a halt.
“Is everything alright, my Lord?” asked one of the guards still ridding on the outside of the carriage.”
“Guard, fine,” said Marson. He looked at Grim and waved his hands at the drapes over the windows. “Sambahl privacy spell. If I don’t intend those outside to hear what I say, they don’t. Same goes for you. What do you want?
“I am here on behalf of Rotan Telini,” answered Grim.
Marson grew still. Then he said, “I see.” He paused, clearly thinking. “And how, may I ask, do you know Rotan?”
“I was at the Kethem Naval Intelligence installation that was attacked with other survivors from the sinking of the Venture and the Hediro’s Wrath. We helped him escape with his life and not much else. He’s hired us to escort him to Tendut.”
Marson looked at him thoughtfully. “Yes. I was briefed on all this, and you match the descriptions we received from the Fith’s Hammer before it disappeared. Kethem Naval Intelligence—”
Grim interrupted him. “Put out word to locals that they could make some coin if they could turn us over to the Kethem military? I guessed as much based on what happened in Struford.”
Marson shrugged. “They didn’t know you were helping him. It was possible you and Rotan had been taken by the…” Marson paused.
“The black ship? I’ve seen it up close. We all have.”
Marson sighed and nodded. “The black ship. But there were signs that the Ohulhug had headed inland from the fort, implying there might have been someone who scattered in that direction. Given you didn’t contact anyone from Kethem… well, it seemed best to assume you didn’t want to be found, and Kethem Naval Intelligence wanted answers. So do I. I need to know what you can tell me about the black ship.”
Grim sat thoughtfully for a moment. Marson was more worried about the black ship than he was about Rotan and his mission. He knew more details than made sense. Grim was sure there was some method of keeping the Kethem diplomats up to speed on current events, but knowing exactly who had escaped from the ohulhug and what they looked like? That wasn’t just a general briefing. Marson had been given very thorough information on what had happened to the Venture, the Wrath, and the Kethem Naval Intelligence fort. Why? The answer came to him. “You’ve seen the black ship. You’ve seen it here.”
Marson nodded. “Yes. It’s done no harm, but several merchants have reported sightings. We don’t know why it is in the area. The metal trade from here to Kethem is lucrative, but if that’s what they were after, you’d expect them to grab a merchant and move on. We can’t seem to detect it with spells, but there are three Kethem warships at the docks right now, ready to scramble if we have a confirmed sighting that they can reach quickly. But… we’ve lost four warships already. I’m not sure we could sink it even if we could intercept it.”
“How long? How long since it was first sighted?” asked Grim.
“Two days ago,” answered Marson.
“About the time we arrived,” said Grim.
Marson looked at him oddly. “Are you implying there’s a connection?”
Grim was thinking furiously. The Venture, the Kethem Naval Intelligence fort, and now this. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The black ship was here because Rotan was here. Somehow, they knew where he was, were tracking him. No ship leaving Eleyford’s harbor
with Rotan on board would be safe. “I don’t know. I have to assume there is.”
“Rotan’s relationship with Regent of Tendut and the Overlord of Penne is critical if we are going to get them to commit ground troops, and we need them if we are going to try to chase the black ship back into ohulhug territory. He needs to get to Tendut safely. What can I do to help?” asked Marson.
Grim thought about it. They needed another path out of town, one that took them inland, away from the sea. That took money. “Funding. Rimii, enough for five people for any reasonable expenses.”
Marson nodded. He reached into an inside pocket of his cloak and pulled out a small leather purse. Out of that he drew a piece of paper with his Hold’s glyph on it. Out of a separate pocket he pulled a small yellow stick with a glob of what looked like candle wax on the end. Grim recognized it, a fairly standard item magicked up to leave a permanent mark on paper. The glob at the end was a little more unusual, something that would leave an audio mark that would play back a message if touched. Marson wrote the number 100,000 on a line, signed it, put the wax blob against the paper and pushed down. He said, “Provide the bearer 100,000 rimmi or equivalent in local currency, verified by Marson Braize, Tartyn Hold, Malin Province, Kethem.” When he pulled the blob off the paper, there was a small red circle where it had rested. “You can pull funds at Yelfin’s or one of the big money lenders in town. Don’t let the money lenders charge you more than five percent. Rimii are sought after in Pranan.”
