The Last Lies of Ardor Benn

by Tyler Whitesides

  “Okay,” Ard continued. “So you’re not a Hegger. Are you a Wayfarist, by chance?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then you’re probably expecting to be detained in a Wayfarist jailhouse once we reach Grisn?” Raek didn’t say anything. “Did you know it is considered highly Settled to lie to a Holy Isle? Enough lies and people might begin to question whether you’re Wayfarist at all.”

  Again, was this conversation mirroring reality a little too well? But this time, it was Ard’s conflicted beliefs in Wayfarism reflecting in the glass.

  “So let me ask you again,” Ard said. “Why were you carrying Health Grit?”

  In an impressive display of acting, Raek seemed to cave, his shoulders slumping forward as if Ard’s words had dealt him a blow.

  “I don’t use it,” he muttered. “I was working a job.”

  “What job?” Ard pressed.

  “I was supposed to get close to Capsu,” Raek said. “Catch him in a surprise detonation of Heg.”

  Lord Capsu looked like he would have rushed Raek if his wife hadn’t been holding him back.

  “Why?” Ard asked.

  “Get him to relapse,” said Raek. “Get hooked again.”

  “And did you plant that Health Grit in Baroness Lavfa’s handbag?” Ard asked. When Raek didn’t answer, he added, “You’ve got to be honest. At this point it’s the only chance you’ve got of finding yourself in a decent cell.”

  Raek sucked in a breath. “I deposited the rolls while she wasn’t looking. I’ve got quick hands, you know?”

  Ard wanted to laugh. Raek had steady hands, but he was far from sneaky. Quarrah had actually been the one to deposit the incriminating evidence in Lavfa’s handbag.

  “Why’d you do it?”

  “If Capsu relapsed, I knew everyone’s possessions would be inspected,” explained Raek. “I was trying to pin it on her.” He pointed at the baroness. A gasp went through the crowd, and Ard saw a dangerous expression cross Lavfa’s ruddy cheeks.

  “Why her?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Raek spit. “Nobody likes her. She wasn’t even supposed to be here.”

  “Like flames, I wasn’t!” shouted Lavfa. “I was an invited guest just like everyone here.”

  “Your invitation was a forgery,” Raek declared. “Capsu didn’t want you tagging along, talking nothing but shop for three hours, striking your own Ashlit-pinching deals with his actual guests.”

  Lavfa spun toward Capsu. “Is this true?” The lord didn’t answer immediately, which seemed to be all the proof she needed. The baroness stalked toward Raek, her excess fat quivering with rage.

  At the last moment, Ard stepped between her and his partner, holding up his hands in a cry for peace. “The Homeland condemns violence.”

  “And what does it think of slandering one’s good name?” she bellowed.

  “He’ll spend a night in a Wayfarist jail cell,” Ard assured her.

  “A single night?” cried the baroness.

  Lord Capsu stepped forward, finally composed, now that Lavfa was enraged. “I’ll escort him inside. We’ll make sure he faces proper punishment.”

  “With respect,” Ard said to Capsu, “I don’t think you should risk escorting this man when his sole purpose aboard this ship was to inflict harm on you.”

  “Let me at him,” cried Lavfa.

  Ard held up his hands again. “I don’t believe he would dare lay a finger on a Holy Isle.” He grabbed Raek’s arm. “Right this way, Wolden.”

  They moved across the deck, Baroness Lavfa following close behind. “We must interrogate him further,” she said as they passed into the boathouse. Quarrah pulled open a door to one of the rooms as they drew near.

  “If he’s working for someone,” said Lavfa, “we must find out who. I have enemies, you know.”

  “Enemies?” Ard asked, pushing Raek through the low doorway.

  “A woman does not get where I am without stepping on a few toes,” she said. “Ruffling a few feathers.”

  “Oh, I understand that as well as anyone,” Ard said. Inside the room was a small feather bed with a hefty side table. A large window in the back wall showed the catamaran’s impressive wake.

  Ard led Raek across the narrow room, Quarrah shutting the door and standing watch outside once Baroness Lavfa was through.

  “A single night in a Wayfarist jail…” Ard muttered, shaking his head. “It hardly seems a suitable punishment, considering how he humiliated you in front of the other guests.” He stepped around Raek and opened the large window.

  “A single night in a Wayfarist jail, and then he’s back on the streets of Talumon, spreading his lies about you,” Ard continued, walking around to stand between Raek and Lavfa again. “Or, we could decide on a better punishment for his crime.”

  Ard spun abruptly, throwing himself against Raek’s chest. The big man cried out, staggering until the windowsill caught him in the back of the knees. Hopelessly grasping for Ard, he tumbled out the open window and fell some ten feet to the roiling water below.

  Ard turned slowly, straightening his sea-green robes. Baroness Lavfa was staring, her small mouth slightly agape, a twitch of a smile at the corners.

  “That was… unexpected.” Her voice was soft for the first time since she’d come aboard.

  “A terrible accident, wouldn’t you say? That window really shouldn’t have been left open,” Ard declared. “And I was lucky I wasn’t harmed when he tried to force his way past me.”

  Ard gestured for her to take a seat on the edge of the bed. The baroness obliged, daintily lifting the hem of her dress.

  “Now that I have you alone,” Ard continued, “I was hoping we could talk business.”

  “Oh?” She looked plenty intrigued.

  “When you were speaking earlier, I heard you mention your land on Talumon,” Ard said.

  “I own a vast number of properties from Grisn to Lenthers,” she said proudly. “I have over five hundred landlords and landladies in my employ, and more tenants than I could accurately count.”

  “The Homeland must look kindly on your enterprises,” Ard said, sounding appropriately Isle-ish. “But I’m interested in your properties in Helizon.”

  Lavfa’s demeanor changed ever so slightly, her round body stiffening at the mention. A common person might not have noticed, but Ard prided himself on reading people.

  Interesting, he thought. Why would that put her on edge?

  “I had a feeling you’d ask about that,” she said.

  “A feeling?”

  “A holy man like yourself would probably call it an Urging from the Homeland.” The baroness shuddered. “What do you need it for?”

  “I’m working on something big,” Ard said cautiously. “And I’m looking for a place to store a particularly sensitive item.”

  “How big, exactly?”

  “Well, let’s just say it wouldn’t fit on this boat,” said Ard.

  Baroness Lavfa interlaced her thick fingers thoughtfully. “I might be able to provide a space. How long would you need it?”

  See, Hedge? Of course she was going to ask that question. “Two cycles.” Hedge needed it for only one, but Ard didn’t think it would hurt to give themselves a little wiggle room. “But the property needs to be discreet. The item we’ll be storing has the potential to attract a lot of attention. We need to make sure it doesn’t.”

  “How well do you know Helizon’s history?” Lavfa asked.

  Ard shrugged cluelessly. “I’m from Beripent. Born and raised.”

  “Roughly three hundred years ago, a series of natural caverns were discovered under what is now Helizon,” she explained. “One of them contained a massive underground freshwater lake. The early Talumonians attempted to distribute this water by carving tunnels to connect the various caves, making for more conveniently placed wells on the surface. The water is long gone, but the caverns remain.” She pursed her painted lips. “I happen to own eighty percent of them.”

 
; Ard had heard about the caves under Helizon. Caverns of the sort were not uncommon all across the islands of the Greater Chain. Similar aqueducts to the ones Lavfa was describing were still used to run water into Beripent’s Mooring. Lyndel had used an abandoned one to meet with Isle Halavend for cycles.

  “What about access?” Ard asked. “Would we be able to move in something as large as, say, a dragon?”

  “Dragon?” she whispered.

  “I say that as a mere size comparison, of course,” Ard said, watching her reaction. She wasn’t as frightened by the prospect as she should have been. But then, she probably didn’t take him seriously. Who would?

  “I recently had the impression to expand one of my cargo hatches,” she said.

  “An impression?” Ard said. In his line of work, that usually meant threat. Maybe Hedge Marsool had primed the pump for him.

  “Never mind that,” she said. “The hatch is covered by an empty warehouse in a shabby neighborhood in the Picks. I have rope ladders for manual access. Large cargo can be lowered down with Drift Grit.”

  Sounded like the perfect place for a dragon.

  “And you’ll lend us the space?” Ard finally asked.

  Baroness Lavfa tilted her head. “For the right price.”

  “I could do a hundred Ashings. Half up front.” Ard knew he didn’t have much hope of getting her to take this offer. She’d been running much harder bargains all morning.

  “Pah!” She balked at Ard’s offer. “The property’s worth three times that.”

  “I could do two,” said Ard. “But I can’t go higher.”

  “I’m a very wealthy woman, Isle Ardor,” she said. “Your best offer would be a mere drib in a bucket for me.” She pursed her lips again. “But I could use a man with your expertise.”

  “There are many Holy Isles with much more experience than me,” Ard began.

  “I’m talking about your prior skill set. Yes, I heard you bragging about your exploits on the deck, too. You seemed unafraid to take risks in your former life.”

  That wasn’t true. Ard had been plenty afraid, plenty of times. He just knew how to turn the fear into something useful. Something that would drive him forward at a relentless pace.

  “Tell me what you have in mind,” he finally said.

  “I’d like you to acquire a few items for me,” said Baroness Lavfa. “If you do so successfully, I will lend you my subterranean Helizon property and stay out of your business. Do we have a deal?”

  “I suppose I should hear what the items are first,” Ard said.

  “Of course. How familiar are you with the Royal Concert Hall in Beripent?”

  “Quite,” Ard answered. He’d actually spent a great deal of time there as Dale Hizror, claiming to be the composer of the famous Unclaimed Symphony.

  “Architecturally, the building is a throwback,” said Lavfa.

  “What do you mean?” Architecture was the last thing Ard had been thinking about when he’d been in that hall.

  “Bricks,” she answered. “Who uses bricks these days?”

  Ard raised an eyebrow. “There are thousands upon thousands of homes in Beripent constructed from bricks.”

  Lavfa flicked her fingers at him dismissively. “Cheap homes in ragtag neighborhoods. But show me a manor or mansion built in the last two centuries that’s made entirely of bricks. Drift Grit is the vehicle of impressive construction, and anyone with enough Ashings employs it. Slabs, blocks… Sparks, Lady Envire has a guesthouse made of just four pieces of stone—one for each wall.”

  “I don’t see where you’re going with this,” Ard admitted.

  “Excuse my tangent,” Lavfa said. “A woman in my business finds that her heart beats for a well-built structure on a prime spot of land. Which leads me to the Royal Concert Hall, constructed ninety-eight years ago, when the use of Drift Grit for floating large masonry was in full swing. However, the architect of the hall thought it would be quaint to craft the entire structure from old-fashioned red brick and mortar. It was supposed to give the hall a friendly, neighborhood feel—which in my opinion was negated by the sheer size of that royal structure.”

  Ard scratched behind his ear. Baroness Lavfa could be exhausting. He understood why Lord Capsu had never invited her aboard his catamaran.

  “But I digress again,” Lavfa acknowledged. “For the purpose of our business deal, I need you to bring me four bricks from the wall of Beripent’s Royal Concert Hall.”

  Ard wrinkled his forehead. It certainly wasn’t the strangest job he’d taken. But why did she want common bricks? “That’s all?”

  “No, no. I’m just getting started,” Lavfa said. “I’ll also need ten panweights of Void Grit and the same amount of Barrier Grit. Those must be divided into sealed Grit kegs and placed in a black leather backpack with the bricks.”

  “Okaaay,” Ard said, letting a little of his puzzlement shine through. Oddly specific. Maybe he should be writing this down.

  “The last item I need will be the most difficult to obtain,” said Lavfa. “Have you heard of Agrodite Moon Glass?”

  At that comment, Ard nearly toppled out the open window himself. To his knowledge, he was one of the few Landers who had actually held a piece of the glass. Looking through the red lens had shown him something similar to Trothian vision. And Lyndel had said it did even more for her people.

  Several years ago, the shard of Moon Glass had been given to Isle Halavend’s assistant, a young Isless Malla. She had carried it to Pekal’s summit to confirm what Lyndel and the old Isle had suspected—that the dragons absorbed the sickening rays from the passing Moon.

  “I know they’re very rare,” Ard answered. Lyndel had said that there were only three pieces in existence among her people. Ard had seen a giant spire of similar red glass standing on the bed of the InterIsland Waters. That column had held the final testament of a race now forgotten.

  “I need you to get me one,” said the baroness.

  Ard bit his lip in thought. That last part of Lavfa’s order would be no simple task. He listed the items back on his fingers. “Four bricks, twenty panweights of Grit, and a piece of Agrodite Moon Glass?”

  “Deliver those items to me in a black leather backpack and I will be happy to write you a lease to my subterranean property in Helizon,” she said. “No questions asked.”

  That was more than Ardor Benn could say. His mind was swimming with questions.

  The key is never to be adrift. I’ve spent my whole life standing at the proverbial rudder.

  CHAPTER

  6

  Quarrah stepped past Drot, moving up the slippery steps to the Be’Igoth. “Excuse me,” she muttered, even though the Trothian man didn’t understand a word of Landerian.

  Initially, she and Ard had been suspicious that Drot and his brother, Eggat, might be merely feigning their inability to speak Landerian. It would certainly make them more effective spies for Hedge Marsool. More than four years had passed, but none of them were quick to forget how the Trothian baker, Mearet, had betrayed their hideout to the king.

  Quarrah didn’t worry about Drot and Eggat now. In classic Ardor Benn fashion, he had paid three other Trothians, unassociated with Tofar’s Salts, to independently check the language barrier. And if that wasn’t enough, he’d paid three more Landers to approach the brothers on the street with basic directional questions. In every case, the report came back clean.

  It made sense to Quarrah. Hedge Marsool apparently spoke flawless Trothian. There weren’t many Landers who risked learning it, since their language was considered Settled to traditional Wayfarist beliefs. Hedge’s ability to retain two exclusively Trothian-speaking employees might give him a sense of security. After all, it was unlikely for another Lander to sway them with a better offer if they couldn’t communicate.

  “Quarrah!” Ard greeted her as she shut the door quietly behind her. He was dressed in his usual billowy-sleeved shirt and snug vest. Behind him, Raek was hanging a framed map of the Greater C
hain on the stone wall. He looked quite recovered from last week’s abrupt plunge out the back of Lord Capsu’s catamaran. She hadn’t liked the idea of relying on a common fisherman to swing by and reel him out of the water, but they’d paid the man well in advance to make sure he’d be in position.

  “I made a few improvements to our hideout.” Ard held his arms out, gesturing to the spacious Be’Igoth. “What do you think?”

  A few improvements? This place barely looked like the same room where they’d met with Hedge. They’d stopped adding Heat Grit to the bath while they’d planned the catamaran ruse, greatly reducing the steam. But now Ard had taken the interior decorating to another level.

  The first thing Quarrah noticed was the new flooring. Ard had laid wooden planks atop the stone floor. Well, Quarrah was sure Ard hadn’t done it himself—he’d more likely hired it out or asked Raek, who was much less afraid of manual labor.

  At any rate, the new flooring completely covered over the bath, effectively doubling the amount of usable floor space in the room. Ard had brought in an array of comfortable seating options—armchairs, couches, and a chaise against the far wall for lounging.

  Quarrah noticed that a few sconces were mounted to some of the square pillars. They were the type with a Slagstone ignitor built into the bottom, making it easy to keep the Light Grit glowing brightly in the windowless room.

  The rack of Grit pots was still against the back wall, but even the privacy dressing stalls had been given a makeover. The heavy curtains were gone, giving Quarrah nowhere to hide if the need should arise. Instead, the four empty booths were loaded with tables of Raek’s Grit Mixing supplies.

  “I’d say all you’re missing is a personal cook,” Quarrah remarked, remembering the lavish setup Ard had rused his way into at Queen Abeth’s Guesthouse Adagio.

  “Actually, we’ve got a whole kitchen staff,” Ard said. “Hedge takes every chance he can to squeeze the purses of these good Agrodite soakers. Come to find out, Tofar’s Salts is better known for its drinks and cuisine, served fresh to any Trothian taking a fajumar.”