As if sensing their unease, Sylvie called back over her shoulder, “It’s rough here, but the inn’s good.”
Right, so this wasn’t necessarily a decent part of town. Should she be relieved or not?
Sylvie proved right—she usually was in these matters—and the inn proved better than Siobhan’s paranoid fantasies. In fact, it was rather on par with their favorite inn on Island Pass. Siobhan paid for five rooms without worry, glad to have a good place to lay her head. They threw their bags into the rooms, locked them, and gathered back down at the main porch.
As soon as Markl joined them, the last to do so, she turned to him and ordered, “We need information, and you’re the best at gathering that without raising too much suspicion. Take at least one person with you and just walk around town, get some intel. Beirly, I want you to take a good look at that bridge. How solid is it going to be and how long is it going to take to build?” Each man nodded understanding. “The rest of you divide yourselves up.”
“And you?” Tran asked her.
Siobhan linked her arm with Sylvie’s. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”
“Oh, marvelous idea,” Sylvie agreed easily. She already had a predatory eye on the street ahead of them.
“Not alone,” Wolf objected.
“You’re not coming with us,” Siobhan said firmly.
He gave a wordless protest.
“You intimidate people just standing there and breathing,” Sylvie added, backing Siobhan up. “You’ll just be in the way. We’ll be fine.”
Siobhan gave them a little wave as she started off. “Go find something to do. Something that doesn’t involve bloodshed or broken buildings.”
He didn’t look happy but he stayed where he was. Siobhan could hear his low voice murmuring something, and Tran’s voice responding. Hopefully the two of them wouldn’t go somewhere together, as that was a sure fire way of getting into trouble.
She and Sylvie made it all of ten steps when the brunette murmured for her ears alone, “Rune’s following us, isn’t he?”
“Fei is too.”
“Did Wolf sic them on us?”
“Probably.” Siobhan didn’t have a problem with this, as at least those two knew how to follow people discreetly. Wolf couldn’t blend in with his environment if his life depended on it.
Sylvie dismissed this with a shrug. “Are we using our usual plan?”
“Why not?”
“Excellent.” Sylvie pretended to think about this for a moment. “I want a new winter cloak. You?”
“Boots would be good. Something knee-high to block this icy wind.”
“I haven’t seen any good clothing shops yet….” Sylvie raised a hand to shade her eyes and peer further down the street. They’d finally walked far enough along to get to a nicer, more business-oriented side of town, so they actually had choices in front of them. “But I think I see one. That green sign down there, isn’t that a boot carved into it?”
“It certainly looks like one.” Siobhan had a hard time seeing it clearly with the sun glaring off of it.
They struck off for the store, for all the world appearing to be two women on a shopping expedition. Sylvie’s eyes proved right, and the store had a great quantity of leather boots, work rough and fine in every possible size. The store seemed fit to burst, in fact, with the quantity of them. Siobhan quickly discovered that quantity did not equal quality, as the first two boots she picked up were obviously second hand and ill-used. Hmm. It would take some digging to find anything decent.
As she shopped, Sylvie leaned against the counter where a middle aged woman was waiting. “I’m looking for a good cloak,” she said with a warm smile. “Is there any store here you’d recommend?”
“Oh, certainly,” the woman responded, voice slightly nasally. She leaned over the counter, which creaked under her ponderous weight. “There’s a shop two down from here on your left side, but don’t go into it. The man’s a shyster. Go further down, past the old tavern, and there’s another store on your right with bright purple trim around the door. That’s the best place to shop.”
Siobhan glanced at her over one shoulder doubtfully. Considering the state of the woman’s wares, she had to question her taste in quality.
Sylvie pretended not to notice. “My friend here is looking for knee-high boots, something that will keep her legs warm while she’s traveling. Do you have anything like that?”
“Oh, a few,” she said. “Most of my women’s shoes are only ankle high, though. Dearie, what size are you? Twenty-two, twenty-three?”
“Twenty-five, actually,” Siobhan admitted.
“Oh my! I won’t have anything that large.”
Yes, so she could see. Siobhan just sighed in resignation. “It’s fine. Do you have anything like it in men’s shoes?”
“Oh.” The woman stood from her stool to see over the counter. “Ohhh, you’ve got men’s shoes on, I see. Hard to find your size, eh? Well, you’re so tall, it’s no wonder. Here, see this back corner near me? That’s the right area to look.”
“Thank you.” Siobhan turned sideways and eased around one stack of shoes, carefully stepping to avoid creating a shoe avalanche.
Sylvie recaptured the woman’s attention. “When we came in, we saw a bridge being constructed on the shoreline. Where’s it going to? I mean, I don’t think there’s any land out in the channel until you reach Wynngaard.”
“There isn’t.” The woman leaned in a little closer. “They told everyone in the city to keep this hushed for as long as we can, although why they thought that would work, I don’t know. The thing sticks out over the water like a sore thumb. Eventually enough sailors will spread the word. But they’re building a bridge to Wynngaard, like the Grey Bridges.”
Sylvie gave a shocked expression that would have made any credible actor envious. “Oh my! Are you serious?”
“Yes, yes. I don’t remember where it’s supposed to connect…” the woman trailed off, staring up at the ceiling as if she was trying to recall. “Somewhere on the continent, anyway.”
“But that’s a long ways!” Sylvie protested, more genuine this time.
“Oh, I know it. It’s supposed to take another forty years, they said. Long past when I’m dead and buried, leastways. But can you imagine what it will do for this city? Why, trade will shoot right up!”
“Who’s behind the building of it? It’ll take a pretty penny to build something that size.”
“That’s the thing.” The woman leaned forward even more, her voice lowering to a conspiratory tone. “No one knows.”
Siobhan snapped around to stare at her incredulously. “What?”
“No one knows,” the woman repeated with a furtive look toward the door. “We all suspected Fallen Ward, but they’re denying it, and it’s true—we never see their members working on the bridge. It’s always workers and masons from other cities that come and do the construction.”
She shared a speaking look with Sylvie. This just got stranger and stranger. Even the people of this city didn’t know?
After a little more digging, Siobhan found a good pair of boots that only had light wear to them, and she bought them for a reasonable price thanks to Sylvie’s bartering. They exited the shop and went ten steps down the street before daring to speak to each other.
“It’s not Fallen Ward?” Siobhan said in confusion. “How can that be possible?”
“It can’t be,” Sylvie denied. “No way. Can you imagine a guild coming into Goldschmidt and building something that large without Blackstone somehow being involved? No, they’re working with someone behind the scenes. This attitude of ‘not involved’ is camouflage. Why they’re bothering to act innocent, I don’t know.”
Siobhan rubbed a temple, feeling the pangs of a headache coming on. “I’m getting more confused, not less. And we’re here so I can be less confused!”
“I hear you. Cloak?”
“Why are ya shoppi’n anyway?” A familiar male voice asked from above
their heads.
Both women stopped and craned their necks around to look up. Rune squatted casually on the edge of a nearby roof, looking as comfortable up there as a cat in a sunny perch.
Sylvie didn’t even look surprised to find him up there when she explained, “Buying something is the easiest way to loosen a shop owner’s tongue. Thereby, shopping is the most effective method of gathering information.”
Rune gave her a look that said he didn’t buy that for one second. “Ya like ta shop.”
“You bet.” Sylvie winked at him, lips curled in a smirk. “You don’t have to lurk on the rooftops, you know. You can join us.”
He held up a hand in refusal. One shopping trip with Sylvie was enough for him, eh? “Ya keep goi’n.”
“Suit yourself.” With a shrug, Sylvie kept walking, Siobhan keeping pace with her.
“At the rate we’re going, we might need to buy a whole wardrobe before we find all the information we need,” Siobhan muttered.
“You think Iron Dragain will reimburse us?” Sylvie batted innocent eyes. “After all, it’s a business expense.”
“I highly doubt it, but can you pitch the idea to Jarnsmor when we get back? The expression on his face is bound to be priceless.”
“I bet you I can,” Sylvie challenged with a gleam in her eye.
“Usual bet?”
“Usual bet.”
“You’re on.”
Siobhan’s joke about buying a whole wardrobe turned out to be more accurate than she’d predicted. Between the two of them, they managed to buy a cloak, coat, shirt, boots, and two pairs of pants in their search. In spite of their intense pursuit and Sylvie’s silver tongue, they didn’t get much more information.
As night threatened to fall, the whole guild met back up at their inn’s tavern room and sat down at a round table for dinner. The lighting in here wasn’t the best, so the room with its low ceiling seemed casted in warm lantern light and cool shadows. After spending the majority of the day in harsh sunlight, Siobhan was thankful for the cool darkness.
She did feel somewhat sorry for Tran and Wolf, though, as they kept knocking their foreheads against the rafters.
A thick beef casserole of some sort was dished out onto plates with warm biscuits and set on the table. Silence descended as everyone focused on the food, and it wasn’t until the second serving was half-consumed that Siobhan felt it safe to ask questions. “So…how did it go today?”
Everyone just grimaced at her or gave a glum shrug.
“Well, now, that’s informative,” she said sarcastically, pushing her plate away from her. “Come on, people, tell me what you do know.”
Beirly, being a brave sort, started after clearing his throat. “Bridge is solid. Good construction, good design. When I went to get a closer look, the foreman there tried to hire me on the spot. Said he was short on workers. From what I see, they’re taking any man who can lift a stone, no matter where he comes from. Bridge isn’t as big as the ones near Island Pass, about half the width, but that’s wide enough for caravans and the like.”
“Did he mention how long it will take to build?”
“He said it’s due to be finished in 37 years.”
A more accurate timeline had been gained, then. “Did he mention where exactly it was supposed to end up?”
“They’re going straight across, so just northeast of Quigg.”
Sylvie let out a low whistle. “If they do that, I can imagine that Quigg will rapidly expand that direction.”
“Either that or another city will start up nearby,” Markl agreed. “We talked to a great many people and no one knew who was behind it. Now, according to the masons’ guild here in the city—they’re apparently over the design and construction of the bridge—they’ve gotten approval from Fallen Ward to construct it. But they were adamant that it wasn’t them who funded the project.”
Siobhan’s brows arched. He’d learned something that she hadn’t. “So who did?”
“Client privileged information,” he said sourly, with a tone that indicated he’d heard nothing but that phrase all day.
“That’s a fancy way of saying, ‘I won’t tell you.’” Beiryl shook his head. “We heard that a lot today.”
“Whoever did this is very good at covering their tracks.” Markl braced his forearms against the table and leaned across the surface wearily. “In fact, the way the information has been so thoroughly squashed makes me believe it really is Fallen Ward. Only the main guild of a city could exert this kind of influence over everyone.”
Truly. A city guildmaster was like a minor deity to its city. No one would dare to disobey for fear of the consequences, which could range from anything between a fine to being stripped of all possessions and thrown out. “Speaking of, anyone gain any information about the new guildmaster?”
“Not a thing,” Markl sighed. “People would tell us about the funeral of the old guildmaster—apparently it was quite a grand affair and the whole city got drunk for three days—but no one seems to know about the new one. Ever since the guild’s changed hands, the security around their main compound has tightened to the point that very few can enter or leave.”
Hence why Jarnsmor hadn’t been able to get any messages from his people. If they truly were still alive, and in there, they were probably unable to leave long enough to send any message out. She nodded understanding. “Sylvie and I didn’t do much better. Anyone else find out anything? Anything at all?”
People shrugged or grimaced but no one spoke.
“Alright, that begs the question,” Siobhan raised an illustrative finger, “will we gain more answers if we stay longer?”
Most of the table shook their heads no.
“I think between all of us, we covered most of the city today.” Denney grimaced and stretched. “Or at least, my feet say we did. Siobhan, honestly, I don’t know who else to ask. The few people that are in this city that know all the answers aren’t going to tell the likes of us. So unless you want to start a war right here in the city—”
Tran, Wolf, and Rune all perked up and eyed their guildmaster hopefully.
“—and force information out of people, then I don’t know what else we can try,” Denney finished with a sour look at the men.
“I highly doubt that we’re allowed to start a war here,” Siobhan responded dryly, giving the men quelling looks. It didn’t have quite the effect she was going for, as they seemed more crestfallen and disappointed than afraid of her future wrath. “In that case, I think we should leave in the morning. Beirly, find the ship’s master and relay a message to him that we’d like to go back to Sateren in the morning.”
Beirly gave her a casual salute of acknowledgement.
Pushing back from the table with a scrape, she stretched her arms above her head with a yawn. “See you in the morning.”
ӜӜӜ
“Siobhan.”
“Uhhhh.” She batted the hand away and attempted to roll over. This effort was thwarted by the wall that she smacked her forehead into. The beds in the inn were clean, but one could not describe them as wide.
A hand grabbed her by the shoulder and insistently shook her awake. “Siobhan!”
She cracked open one eye and aimed a murderous glare over her shoulder. Markl was leaning over her with a lantern in one hand, illuminating a worried expression on his face. Judging from the narrow window behind him, it was still in the middle of the night.
Uh-oh. Her brain woke up enough to point out to her that the only time anyone woke her up like this, something had happened. It usually involved property damages, too. “Who’s injured?” she slurred out, dragging her hair out of her face as she sat up.
“Wolf and Tran, although it doesn’t look too serious,” he answered promptly.
“Where?”
“Tavern across the street.”
She stopped with her legs half off the bed and gave him a long look. In a painfully level tone, she said, “Wolf and Tran went to a tavern. Together.”
“Umm…yes?”
“And no one stopped them?”
“Were we supposed to?”
She dropped her head into one hand and just groaned, long and loud. “How much damage did they do?”
Markl hesitated, searching her face and judging what words to say. When she just stared back at him steadily, he gave up and with a shrug told her bluntly, “I’m honestly surprised the building is still standing.”
Lovely. Shooing him out with one hand, she threw on the first clothes she found, dragged her hair back in a rough ponytail, and stuffed her feet into her new boots. Snagging her purse—and praying it had enough money to fix this situation—she stomped out of the room, down the short stairs, and into the cold night air. Rubbing her arms briskly, she got all of two steps when Fei appeared at her elbow like magic. He had a medical satchel in his hands, the sort that Conli issued to take care of minor medical emergencies.
Without a word to him, she crossed the street in quick strides to the tavern and shoved what was left of the door aside. The way it creaked and hung, the whole thing would likely need to be replaced.
Once she got a look at the room, she realized in dismay that the door was in good shape compared to everything else.
There was not one chair still intact. They were all broken, scattered over the floor like so much kindling. Only a handful of tables were still erect, two of which Wolf and Tran sat on. The bar behind them had mostly withstood the fight, but it had long scores in the wood, like a dragon had gnawed on it. People were laying injured, comatose, or just passed out drunk in every possible angle and position. She had to maneuver her way around the bodies, sometimes stepping over people, to get to her own.
Wolf and Tran looked up, spotted her approach, and gave her neutral expressions. That look alone told her that this fight was, indeed, their fault. For some strange reason, both of them were half-naked, only their trousers still on, and Tran was even missing a boot. She’d never seen a bar fight that had escalated to the point that it had stripped people before. Stopping in front of them, she planted her feet, crossed her arms over her chest, and gave them The Look.
Deepwoods (Book 1) Page 28
