Lysandra took the arm she was offered and Kula picked up her other hand. Suddenly there was a loud screeching beside them that made everyone jump. A boy who had tried to pick Kula’s pockets as she was watching their new friend was leaping around with a rat attached to his gloved finger. It let go as he waved it about and used his shoulder as a springboard to dive back onto the girl’s dress and scurry back down where it had come from. Kula turned and thumbed her nose at him as he yelled about being bitten. He had a knife out in his hand in an instant but a squeaking at his feet made him pause as rats appeared and seethed in a mass suddenly, surging towards him in an arrow shaped wave, whiskers angrily raised over yellowed teeth. He turned and fled as the ratcatcher, still chewing, started to flail around with his net in a big show of determination that captured not a single beast.
Meanwhile a small but fixated entourage was trailing them. Downstreet and upstreet they went at a barely respectable distance. Their new friend took them past streets of modest homes, along the paths where canals were thick with narrowboats overhung by tottering tenements and vast warehouses. They went along narrow ginnels between fenced gardens and wealthy estates, crossed several broad squares with riverside moorings attached where day sailboats and dainty yachts were moored alongside splendid merchantmen and then across the great arch of the Temple Bridge with shops all the way along its length and a tiny temple at the peak, draped in flowers and messages that travellers left to name and search for people lost in the war. Every step brought a new gawker. At last they went up the winding tailor’s ways, through the bolt market, the retinue gathering mass from retters and linenmakers, buttoneers and lacemakers, spinners, carders and tanners until they reached the furriers’ store at the end with its heavy, iron-studded door. Then Lysandra, Kula and their new friend who introduced herself as Mags Broadaxe of the Ilkand Broadaxes, (smiths and ironwrights, do call in if you need any metalwork doing or are in want of weapons), went inside beneath the heavy wooden plate marked with various runes and letters declaringthem welcome to Fulp’s Skins and Hides in several languages, all misspelled and, in one case, offensively so.
Inside the shop Mags carefully closed the door and clicked her fingers in the face of a staring shop boy. “Fetch the Mistress!”
Lysandra looked about. “Mags,” she said. “How does shopping work?”
KULA STOOD, AMAZED as the women talked over her head. She had never thought there were this many animals in the entire world. Every wall and surface was covered in piles of fur, leather and scale. Some of it massive. The walls held entire suits of clothing made from these things in various sizes and there were open chests filled with knapsacks and harnesses, gleaming with buckles and studs. Everywhere she looked there were finely made things she didn’t even have a name for.
The entourage gathered outside to look through the open shutters. A disgusting reek of boiling leather from the vats in the back yards wafted around them, causing a few to abandon the post while the more tenacious pressed inward at the door to get a better view. At the back various officials and guards craned their necks and pushed people around for lollygagging and other unprosecutable offences against the public wayfares.
IT WAS THIS sea of backs and the back of heads that Bukham found when he finally tracked them down, Murti and the ratcatcher chatting behind him all the way. There was no way to get closer and although he was tall and imposing as an Oerni, taller than most, nobody was bothered about giving him a special view, so he had to crane and peer until Lysandra and Kula emerged from the door. They, he noticed, got a kind of hopeful avenue opening before them which let them out.
They were wearing long, fur-lined coats and carrying heavy packages wrapped tightly and bound up with cord. Without a second thought Lysandra dumped these into Bukham’s arms and then looked around, casually picking at her teeth with a forefinger. She seemed satisfied that her work was done.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked, not sure it was going to be answered as so far—and he only noticed this now—everyone had always talked about and around Lysandra and the girl, and never to them. They hadn’t expected her to understand or answer, because when they first met her she had shown no ability or interest in doing so. But here she was, in a white arctic fur coat that couldn’t have been handed over for nothing. With nearly a shop’s worth of heavy, oiled and treated gear that weighed enough for a good few people.
She glanced at him, “Shop’n”. She was looking at him as if he was a bit slow. Her gaze roved around, searching for a new interest. She smiled vaguely at Murti and tapped the top of the corded bundle, pointing at him to show she’d got him something.
“This man says…” Bukham began, turning for support to the ratcatcher only to find he was gone. “You were…” He looked at the number of people following his every word raptly. “Did you spend everything?”
“Mmn,” Lysandra continued to fuss with a recalcitrant piece of something in her molars.
“But…” Bukham felt weak, physically weak. The wealth. The value. He didn’t know how to explain it to her. He wondered what Celestaine was doing and where she was but in that he didn’t have to wonder long because he heard her shout them from the corner and turned to see Nedlam giving him a wave.
“Lysandra, is this a friend of yours?”
He turned back and found a small human woman looking up at him. He looked at Lysandra and back at the woman who held out her hand.
“Broadaxe,” she said. “Mags Broadaxe, of the Ilkand Broadaxes.”
“Bukham of the Taib Gathering,” he replied automatically, shaking her hand.
“We thought you were never coming back,” she said, as if she knew him. “Your caravan still wandering?”
“We are, although we have been…” He was cut off by Celestaine’s arrival. The two Yoggs had got most of the street traffic plastered to the shop walls on either side, making a show of looking anywhere but at them.
“Hey, Bukham,” Celestaine said, affecting not to notice Heno’s coat was clearing the area on its own because of the way it marked him out as a Heart Taker, only the truly drama-loving able to stay within earshot of them now. “Who’s your pal?” She smiled at Broadaxe and bent down to greet Kula and offer her some kind of sweets which the girl took shyly but with distinct gratitude.
“Broadaxe,” said the woman and they shook hands in some complicated way that made them both laugh. “Ironwork and swords. Fine weapon you have there, Slayer.”
“It’ll do,” Celestaine grinned. “Got all the coats already, Buk? Fast work.”
He was about to explain what had happened when a carriage came along the lane at a fair speed, drawn by a dashing pair of lunnox whose beards and foot feathers flowed like white water around them as they pranced. They drew a small buggy with two large wheels and a towering canopy of purple silk beneath which a lady in emerald green and mink was seated and wasted no time departing as it drew level with Celestaine.
“You must be the Fernreame Champion. Celestaine the Fair!” The woman had a powerful voice, strongly Ilkand accented and with the plush tones of someone used to getting their way. “My dear, how splendid to see someone of your stature and experience at one of our finest institutions.”
Bukham remembered to close his mouth as he surveyed this extra person. She was tall and well-built, strength and flesh combined in a way that had an authority of its own, like the great cattle of the Demri Plains. She had dark hair, curled and combed in lush coils that lay heavily over the deep emerald green of her fine, fur trimmed coat. Mink frothed daintily in veiling an immensely impressive bosom and extended the breadth of her hips below her corseted waist. Her skirts were almost as thickly pleated as Lysandra’s dress.
“Permit me to introduce myself,” she said. “I am Vantari Demadell. The Governor has appraised me of your arrival in our delightful city and mentioned your need of a vessel.” Her gaze swept them all up, like a civilising broom, and under her appraisal Bukham felt himself taller, better, surprised at his own agr
eeability as though he had always been a fine fellow and only now noticed it. Heno and Nedlam straightened. Celestaine’s chin lifted. Lysandra smiled vaguely, Kula giggled. Murti cleared his throat and went pink about the ears. Bukham saw Deffo sidling out of the crowd and edging forwards though he wasn’t spared a look.
“In the light of the great generosity shown to the citizens here I would like to extend my hospitality and the use of my connections in obtaining a vessel and crew for your occasion. Please, when you are ready, do join me at my home. I will leave my servant with you. He will show you the way. Good day, Ms Broadaxe.”
She didn’t wait for a response but used the gangway given to Lysandra to sweep majestically back to the carriage, not a second glance at the Yoggs or Bukham, as if she saw their like every day. Her presence allowed the bystanders to come closer, and the tension in the air lifted.
Bukham looked around. Nedlam was grinning, for some reason.
“Care to explain?” Celestaine asked, looking at Bukham, curiosity in every line of her face. She peered at Murti. “Is this your doing?”
Murti shrugged and held out his empty hands. “Things fall in place when the time is right.”
Celestaine’s nose twitched. “If you’re on homily time then we are in trouble. I think things fall in place when the Governor can’t wait to see the back of you. Bukham?”
“I was in the bank,” he said. “But they couldn’t change the money because they didn’t have enough so… she, they, came out and…”
“Got the things,” Lysandra said, successfully flicking a piece of fibrous vegetation off the end of her finger into the road now that she’d got it out of her teeth. She patted the parcel Bukham was holding. “All there.”
“But I think she spent all the money,” Bukham murmured to Celestaine as quietly as he could. “On a pie and some coats.”
Celestaine glanced around Lysandra to where Kula had got into a game of jacks with some local children, all of them crouching in the dirt in complete focus as the adults around them went on with whatever boring things they were doing. They were betting coloured pebbles. She was using diamonds and pearls. “I see?”
Lysandra frowned. “I did. I bought a bakery and a leather shop and an ironwrights.”
“What?” Bukham said.
Lysandra took a deep breath with an air of fortifying herself for a difficult explanation to the mentally challenged. “I bought a bakery. All the people will run it just as before and deal with all of the things, but now every time we come here, we can have pie. And I bought a leather shop, so we can all have clothes and a smithy, so we can get metal things. Not just once. Always. Mags told me how the things work. She will be running my metalworks.”
“But what about the profits?” Bukham said, with the keen sense that the day was escaping him. It had started out quite well, but now it was definitely outpacing him.
“I can’t be doing with any of that,” Lysandra said. “I’ve no time for it. But as long as these people can manage I can get pie, clothes and whatevers. Now we will go buy a ship. Then we will have everything. Demadell knows a lot about ships if she speaks true. I will give her this coloured rock of no use at all and I will have a ship.” She grinned and her teeth were shockingly white against her plum coloured lips. Her gaze left no doubt that she was using simplified terms for Bukham’s benefit.
“But how… a few days ago you…”
“I was with you in the bank,” she said. “And in a minute I saw everyone was so busy trying to change the stone for coins and papers and gold and people’s goodwill and badwill. That’s all right for you and your money. But I don’t care about it. So I got the things. I thought it would save you a job.”
“…he said you had given them an emerald ring for a pie,” Bukham said.
“How many pies make a ring?” she asked and Murti started laughing so hard he had to hang onto his knees.
“A… lot?” Bukham suggested.
“Yes, I think a lot of pies,” Lysandra said and looked away from him, dismissing him kindly but firmly. He felt himself in his place and it was not where he thought it had been. He was supposed to be shepherding the mentally unsuited and now he was being organised by… he didn’t know what she was but the cautious way that Celestaine trod around her suddenly started to make more sense. “But you didn’t know anything about trade yesterday,” he persisted, not sure why he had to have answers but he did.
Lysandra glanced at him. “Yesterday.” She seemed lost in thought. “It was so long ago.”
There was enough distance in her gaze that it might have been an aeon ago. The sight of it made Bukham shiver. He watched her crouch down and gently tap Kula on the shoulder to get her attention. Kula left the pearls and diamonds on the ground, got up, a filthy piece of ribbon twirling about her fingers, and put her hand in Lysandra’s hand, ready to go.
“We’re off to see the Widow?” Nedlam said hopefully. “The one with the table.”
“I would never have picked you to want to live the high life,” Celestaine said to her, nodding and casting suspicious glances at Murti, who was intent on retying his sandal and showed no sign of even hearing the conversation.
“Heh,” Nedlam chuckled. “No harm in having a little taste of it though. You: show us the way!” She pointed at a man in grey livery, so quiet and still that he could have been a statue until this activated him.
He bowed and made a beckoning gesture. Nedlam picked up Lady Wall and gave a grin of satisfaction, Deffo just behind her, leaving Bukham to carry the purchases all by himself.
THE ENTOURAGE FOLLOWED the servant, and them, all the way through the town. By the time they reached their destination at a three-storey house overlooking the waterfront, the news of a Slayer who had brought wealth and patronage was on every other tongue within the walls. It had to compete with a story about a rat-charming witch who had conjured an infinite amount of pie from thin air and a child who would change pearls for stone. As Celestaine and her party were being welcomed as honoured guests of the Lady Widow Demadell, Governor Adondra was closing the last hearing of the day and listening to a fifth rendition of these tales with the strong, almost unbearable urge to slam her face onto the sturdy wooden table in front of her.
“Shall I send for her?” the Guard Captain of the Temple asked, wringing a glove in his hands as he felt the tension.
“No, no, don’t do anything to impede a speedy exit,” Adondra said. “And think of something that will discourage everyone within a hundred miles of coming here to seek their fortune. We have enough bother with those who are already present.” She glared at the deputation in front of her from the ferry service that ran between Ilkand and the strings of little islands that swung out to the Westerly Ocean. They were thrilled with the stories and pleased to see someone as important as the Governor and the Archimadrite with their problem but as she studied them more closely their worry and discomfort made her irritation with Celestaine began to fade and turn into a fond memory. She rapped her gavel upon the board and nodded to the Captain to begin.
“It’s about this hole in the world,” he said, awkward with having to say things he expected not to be believed. His hoarse, damaged voice was careful on each word. “I don’t think exactly that the sea is draining into it. But. There’s definitely things coming out of it.”
“Where is it?” Adondra said. “Is it a threat to Ilkand?”
“It’s out to the West of Varkadia Mountain, the one that’s always spoutin’. Big. Like the biggest whirlpool you’ve ever seen and it turns, but slow. It’s not water turning. It’s more like something inside the water. Below. And on the shore nearest to it, on the Varkady shores, we found this. It was among the wreckage of a big ship.”
He placed a signet ring on the table, respectfully.
Adondra picked it up. It bore the clear mark of Ilkand and the crest of Captain Neveth. “The Moon Runner,” she said. “The ship that the Kinslayer stole.” It was their largest and most well-made craft, a ship i
ntended for crossing oceans and discovering worlds in order to bring most of them back in the hold.
“Aye,” said the Captain. “Matchwood now. Varkadians have been all over it, and their animals, so there’s no bodies to speak of.”
Adondra sighed. “Thank you, Captain Voran. I will convey the news to the families of the lost. You will be compensated for your find.”
“But what about the hole?” he asked and she met his gaze steadily.
It occurred to her that here was the stone for two birds. Maybe fortune was turning her way, she thought. “Mark its location on a chart and have it sent to this address with my note,” Adondra said and signalled for parchment and a quill. Under her breath she muttered, “If this doesn’t get rid of her then nothing will.”
The Archimandrite watched her with a comfortable expression. “The island is far away.”
“Far enough,” she agreed. “We will be sure to send no ships that way and lose almost nothing. Those who choose to go for the sake of adventure and discovery will do so at their own account. Voran, if you would keep me informed of any changes of state the hole may make the city would be glad to pay you for the trouble. In the meantime, your silence on the matter would be appreciated. Until we have more information.”
“Yes’m,” he said and took the paper she handed him. “I’ll do it right away.”
When he had gone Adondra turned to Carzel and the Archimandrite. “You are not to speak of this. Are we agreed?”
“What if she doesn’t return?” Carzel asked.
“She will,” Adondra said. “Those whom the gods wish to destroy they first make run a very long chain of errands into terrible dangers, and one dragon and one demigod slaughter is hardly a chain. There has to be a third link for that. She’ll be back.”
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