A Gathering of Fools (Vensille Saga Book 1)

by James Evans

  “There’s more to life than the pursuit of profit, Mr Blucher,” said Banks, smiling thinly, “is that not right, Mr Smark?”

  Krant chewed and swallowed hurriedly.

  “Profit has never really come my way, Mistress Banks. My line of work doesn’t really allow it.”

  “And what is that line of work?” said Adrava, leaning over to help herself to more bread.

  “Ah, er, well. This and that. Or rather, er, I’m a civil servant. Rather a lowly one, really.”

  “Oh surely not, Mr Smark,” said Blucher, “travelling outside the Empire with two fine horses and a manservant? What do you really do?”

  Krant opened his mouth but found he didn’t have a good answer. He decided to lie.

  “Ah, yes. You’ve caught me out, Mr Blucher. I am in fact an immensely powerful person on a mission of great importance to the Imperial Court. I could tell you all about it but, I’m sorry to say, my manservant would then insist on killing you all. Ha ha.” He helped himself to more of the rabbit stew, rather pleased with his improvisation until he saw them all staring at him.

  “No, no, that was a joke,” he said quickly, “I really am a civil servant. G-Dundaserre is retained by my family to look after me, stop me getting into trouble, arrange the inns, negotiate terms of passage, that sort of thing.” He gave them a rather weak smile and focussed on his food.

  “Ha ha,” said Blucher, “so, a civil servant of some sort, on a voyage of self-discovery paid for by a rich family. Ha! And you Miss Naseep, what do you do?”

  Krant looked up, suddenly finding himself interested again in the conversation.

  Adrava looked around the table and down at her clothes then back at Mr Blucher, allowing a confused frown to show on her face.

  “Ah, I think Miss Naseep is trying to work out what to say, Mr Blucher, because her clothes mark her as a temple novice,” said Banks.

  Krant frowned.

  “You disagree, Mr Smark?”

  “No, no, Mistress Banks, it’s just that novices don’t normally travel so far alone,” he trailed off, aware that everyone was looking at him again, “but then civil servants don’t normally travel either,” he added more quietly, cursing inwardly and resolving to keep his mouth closed.

  Adrava smiled.

  “I’m travelling to visit relatives in Vensille - my parents are dead but some cousins I haven’t seen for years are currently staying in the city - before I take my final vows. A few weeks, a couple of months maybe, then I think I’ll be on my way back east.” She turned to Mr Blucher.

  “What about you, Mr Blucher. Do you trade on the river or travel for pleasure?”

  Blucher gesticulated with his fork, waving it around to win time as he chewed a large piece of beef.

  “I trade. This and that, up and back along the river, city to town, village to farm and back again.”

  “I think Miss Naseep is asking what you trade, Blucher, rather than where,” said Banks, waving her knife at him.

  “Ah, well as to that the answer is anything and everything,” he caught Banks’ eye and pressed on, “but mostly I buy raw ingredients and high quality components upriver that I can sell to the charm-makers of Vensille or the larger towns. Precious metals, gems, some base metals, charms themselves on occasion, ivory or antler maybe, fine leathers and silks, that sort of thing. Then on the return journey I head north carrying a few choice craft items from the city, nothing too large or heavy, and offer them to regular contacts or the upstream nobles desperate for a bit of city polish, if you get my meaning.”

  “How far upstream do you go, Mr Blucher? Surely the Golden Rose doesn’t go much further than Riverbridge, given its draught,” said Adrava.

  “The Golden Rose goes only as far as the docks of Riverbridge, I’m afraid,” said Banks, “the bridge over the river stops her going further. Beyond Riverbridge you have to take a smaller inland barge or ride.”

  “There are rich pickings beyond Riverbridge, if you’re able to make the journey,” said Blucher, clearing the last of the stew from his plate with a thick slice of bread, “but the further you go the wilder it gets! In the far north they have the best furs but the winter is cold enough to freeze the nose from your face. They have iron and gold and silver as well and would trade it all for a little fine wine and silk, or maybe some brandy and a set of self-powered warming fire charms. That’s what the nobles really want, something to warm their rooms and baths, if they even bother bathing.” He laughed, leaning back to give himself more room.

  “I’ve heard they eat their children in the winter and wear the skins of their enemies in the summer and have human skulls on the walls of their halls,” said Adrava, listing the three most ridiculous things that were widely believed about the northern kingdoms in the Empire.

  Blucher laughed again and Banks looked sideways at her, eyebrow raised. Adrava caught her eye and gave her a slight smile, then said, “And don’t they hang cheating merchants from the walls of their castles to encourage honesty?”

  “Ah well, there’s a few things I didn’t know. Eat their children? Maybe, when the winter bites, in the far north, but I don’t think so really.”

  “But they do decorate their halls with skulls,” said Krant, “at least, that’s what I was taught by my tutors.”

  Banks snorted but Blucher held up his hand.

  “Mr Smark is right - I’ve seen more than one hall decorated with bleached skulls, some with hair still attached or with gaping axe wounds. They’re a rough people, up north, but they pay well for the imported comforts of the south, although I’ve never seen a merchant hanged for cheating,” he looked over at Adrava, a slightly worried frown on his face, “so that must surely be a story told only in the Empire.”

  Adrava looked at him, face radiating honesty and almost religious conviction.

  “I heard that they bathe naked in the lakes in winter, breaking the ice to jump into the freezing water before running back, still naked, to engage in huge orgies on piles of bearskins spread around huge fire pits in their halls!”

  “That I didn’t know,” said Banks, her eyebrows raised, “but it sounds like it might be an interesting rumour to investigate.”

  Blucher laughed again.

  “Naked ice swimming I’ve seen, it is true. How they do it, or even why, is beyond me, I’m afraid. I barely tolerate the cold and just the thought of swimming in icy water is enough to give me the shivers,” he said, entirely unaware of his pun, “I’ve never seen an orgy, I’m afraid. I think they only happen in your Empire, where decadence is celebrated widely, or so I hear.”

  Krant looked up from his plate as the conversation veered towards a subject upon which he would desperately like to have had personal experience.

  “I’ve heard stories about some pretty wild parties thrown by the Governor in the Traebarn Palace. They might have been orgies. Lots of drinking and music, certainly. Probably dancing as well.”

  “Really, Mr Smark? Orgies at the Traebarn Palace? Maybe this civil servanting lark isn’t quite so dull after all,” said Banks, teasing.

  “Oh, I’ve never been to any of these parties,” he said, disappointment in his voice, “but if you talk to the servants sometimes, on the morning after a big party, they’ll drop hints and tell stories.”

  “No! Surely not?” said Adrava, a shocked expression on her face, “I’ve never heard any tales of orgies, Mr Smark. What goes on?” she asked in a perfect impression of priestly innocence.

  Krant blushed and looked down at his food in embarrassment, much to the amusement of Banks and Adrava, and spluttered out an answer.

  “Oh, er, well, I don’t think I could comment, or should comment,” he managed, desperately changing the subject, “how is the rice pudding? I’ve always fancied trying it.”

  And so the dinner wound its way down to a natural end over a bottle of spirits produced from some dark recess of the ship. Banks and Adrava teased Krant and needled gently at Blucher until, by mutual consent, they decided th
e evening had reached a conclusion and they would retire. Trentor, still waiting patiently, was finally able to clear the table, piling pots high on a tray before making her escape and heading back to the inn.

  “A most enjoyable meal, Mistress Banks,” said Blucher, pushing back his chair, “and an excellent evening all round. My thanks.” He bowed to them all and sauntered, a little unsteadily, to his spot on the deck under the awning where his bodyguards had set out his blankets.

  “Indeed, thank you,” said Krant, yawning, “and a very good evening to you both.” He followed Blucher, not even pretending to be sober, and would have fallen over the railing into the river if Gavelis hadn’t caught him and escorted him to his blankets.

  “Interesting,” said Adrava, sitting back down again and picking up her glass of wine, still half full from earlier in the evening. She leaned closer to Banks and said in a low voice, “Do you think Mr Smark is really a civil servant? He’s clearly talented, to some degree, but he doesn’t yet try to hide it.”

  “Hmm. I suspect he’s not many years older than he looks,” said Banks, “and he certainly hasn’t yet learnt to spot Ancients. Not sure about his man, Dundaserre, though. I think he may not be quite what he appears.”

  Adrava looked down the length of the barge to where Gavelis was arranging things for Krant and making sure he was comfortable. It was difficult to be sure in the dim moonlight but he certainly seemed to be fulfilling the role of a diligent valet. Adrava said as much to Banks but even as she spoke she had to admit that the man seemed to show a poise beyond his apparent years.

  “I’m fairly sure he’s strongly talented,” said Banks, “which begs the question, why work for Smark?”

  “He hides it well. I’ve sensed nothing, nothing at all. Maybe he just has an unusual degree of self-control.”

  Banks wasn’t convinced but Adrava decided to change the subject.

  “Has there been much trouble with outlaws around here recently?”

  “Outlaws? Nothing major, as far as I know. A few small bands, maybe, occasional attacks on caravans. There are always tales of lone travellers being robbed or killed or just disappearing on the long quiet roads between towns. Why, what have you heard?”

  “Nothing, really, but there were stories in Stagford of problems on the Eastern road and I wondered if it was a regular thing or something new.”

  “You hear tales, floating up and down the river. Half the time you can’t tell if they’re real or just stories to frighten the junior crew. If you stop at the inns you can hear all kinds of talk in the common room.”

  She pulled out a slim cigar packet and flicked it open with one hand while the other produced a tiny fire charm. Adrava shook her head at the offered cigar and the conversation paused while Banks lit her own.

  “A few generations ago, maybe 75 years or so, the outlaws roamed freely along both banks of the Guiln, most of the way to Vensille. They robbed and murdered and took slaves, trading upstream to the northern kingdoms or downstream and across the sea. Some of the towns built walls, others disappeared or were abandoned. Bad times. Many people moved eastward, toward the Empire, or southward to one of the city states, although the stories they told were sometimes just as bad as those who had stayed behind.

  “Then two things happened. The Empire expanded, moving the border maybe sixty miles to the west, and their border patrols started to make life difficult for the outlaw gangs. They hanged hundreds and those they didn’t catch mostly moved away or changed business. It made a big difference to life along the river.”

  She paused to sip her drink.

  “And at about the same time, Duke Rhenveldt deposed his predecessor and began building his city walls. Monstrous things, if I’m honest, and almost ruinously expensive, but they gave him control of the river trade. Anything that travels the river plays by Rhenveldt’s rules. Everyone pays the tariff or risks confiscation and imprisonment.

  “Turns out the noble Duke hates slavery - something about it diluting the tax base, apparently. He seems to be a deeply practical man when it came to matters of economics and money - and as soon as he could he destroyed the slavers. He took their ships, their palaces and warehouses, their wealth and titles and estates. They’d grown rich on long decades of trade and Rhenveldt seized that wealth and used it to cement his position, giving lands and concessions and estates to his friends and supporters and even, in several cases, his prominent enemies.”

  “It sounds like you admire him,” said Adrava as Banks paused to smoke and drink.

  “Admire? Oh yes, very much so. I just don’t like him or trust him. But he sorted out the slavers and with the end of that trade the remaining outlaws lost their best customers. Not many left now and there are plenty of new villages where before the fields were empty or the land was covered in forest.”

  Adrava looked out at Greyshore with its ditch and its short wall of stone topped by wooden parapets.

  “Greyshore survived the chaos?” she asked.

  “Walls, a few stubborn idiots who wouldn’t leave, the trade from the river and a firebrand priest not scared of breaking heads got them through.” She took another pull from her glass.

  “It was grim for a few years but they just refused to give in. Out west it was much worse, for much longer. Large parts of the country out that way,” she waved her hand vaguely toward the other shore, “are empty now, nobody at all now lives north of the Scla mountains.”

  “The Empire looks mostly inward, or to the east,” said Adrava, furrowing her brows as she brought to mind the little she had heard, “but even locked within our own crises we heard things about the Kingdom of Sclareme. Their ambassador begged for help, at one point, I remember hearing, but trade with Sclareme was small and they were such a very long way from Khemucasterill. It didn’t seem important and there were so many other things to worry about. And then one day the ambassador returned home, called away by some sort of urgent summons, and the embassy closed. She never came back.”

  Banks gave her a strange, sideways look and Adrava wondered for a moment if she had said too much.

  “Well Sclareme has gone,” said Banks, gesturing towards the western bank, “it was over there between the Scla mountains in the south and the Toothnail mountains in the north. A big country, sparsely populated but wealthy. All gone. No trade, no people, no towns. Wolves roam to the banks of the river now, in winter. There are bears, too, and rumours of worse things in the deep forests in the foothills of the northern mountains.” She shivered and finished her drink.

  “Worse? What do you mean ‘worse’?” asked Adrava, confused.

  Banks looked at her and set the empty glass back on the table.

  “Not many people venture into the forests. Charcoal burners, a few hunters. They tell stories about shapes in the deep forest, dark things, things it’s better not to discuss at night.”

  Adrava stifled a laugh, just.

  “Ghosts? Surely you don’t believe all those tales?”

  Banks’ face was suddenly straight and calm and sober. She leant forward.

  “You live as long as I’ve lived, travel as far as I’ve travelled and then we’ll see what should be believed. There’s a reason I only go up and down the river, why I only dock on the east bank, why I don’t go further than Riverbridge. One day, maybe, I’ll tell you about it, but now I’m for bed. Early start tomorrow, no more stops till Catshed.”

  Banks stood up and stretched, all her earlier good-humour gone.

  “It was a good dinner, thank you for joining me. Until tomorrow,” she said with a respectful bow of her head. Then without another word or waiting for a reply she left, disappearing below decks towards her cabin.

  Adrava sat for a few more minutes, pondering, then she shivered and shook her head. She looked at her drink for a few moments then decided she didn’t need it and went to bed, leaving the glass half-full on the table.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  THE NEXT MORNING Adrava woke late as sunshine streamed in th
rough the small windows in her cabin. Around her she could hear the creaking and clanking of the barge as it sailed downstream and the lapping of the water against the hull. She lay there for a while thinking about the previous night’s conversation with Banks and her hints of dark forces and nightmares roaming the countryside beyond the western banks of the river. Then she shook her head; it was all nonsense, stories told to scare gullible travellers and children.

  She dressed and went up on deck. The crew, some nursing hangovers after over-indulging at the Wharfside Inn the night before, were going about their daily business while Banks watched from the wheel, calling instructions as she guided the barge downstream. Adrava climbed the steps to stand beside Banks on the small poop deck and looked forward along the length of the barge and on to the south.

  “A fine morning,” said Banks, gently nudging the wheel.

  “Yes,” said Adrava, looking out over the fields and forests around them and at the blue sky above, “how long till we reach Catshed?”

  “Mid-morning tomorrow, if all goes well. We won’t stop until we reach Catshed. A couple of hours there, then on to Vensille.”

  “And then how long till we reach Vensille?”

  “Another three days, give or take. We’re not in a hurry so we’ll probably stop for a night if we’re making good time. There are also a couple of trading posts where we might spend a few hours unloading some of our goods. Then there’s a wharf and a small village maybe halfway between Catshed and Vensille where we can take on food and maybe a last few goods for sale at the markets in the city.”

  For a while the two women stood in silence except for the occasional command from Banks to her crew. The countryside crawled steadily past as the sun climbed slowly across the sky.

  “If I need to make the trip back to Riverbridge in a few weeks,” said Adrava, “could you offer me passage again?”

  Banks looked at her then smiled.