by Mike Truk
“Flimsy claim,” said Morwyn angrily.
“All he’d need is a pretext with which to argue at the imperial court when eventually summoned. But it would allow him to move his forces in, rebuild the fort, and prepare to withstand whatever Annaro sent against him.”
Morwyn nodded grudgingly. “I can see that.”
Anastasia leaned forward. “His wager being, no doubt, that Annaro would not start an all-out war with Baron Niestor over a town so small as Erro. Especially if he knew somehow that our treasury remains depleted after the Six Months War.”
“He could also be taking Annaro’s measure,” said Hugh. “Seeing how stiff his resolve is. Whether he was as confrontational as our father, or more willing to compromise to avoid conflict.”
Branka had watched this exchange with eyebrows raised. “Yes. I guess I can see that. We’d not thought along those lines.”
“You’re not trained in military matters,” said Hugh. “But now that Istlav is gone, Baron Niestor will have to reconsider. Send in his troops to conquer Erro without pretext, or seek a new reason to ‘lawfully’ take over the village.”
Anastasia frowned. “He won’t simply invade. A century ago, perhaps, but Mendev is no longer so lawless. Such an act would attract imperial censure. His disciplus will warn him of it.”
“His blood will be up,” said Morwyn. “He’s ready to invade, thinking Istlav holds the village. Question is: will he hear of our conquest before he marches in?”
“Good point,” said Hugh, warming to the subject and setting down Elena’s empty tankard. He raised an eyebrow to Anastasia, who nodded almost imperceptibly and pushed her tankard over to him. “Istlav was arrogant. I’ll wager he didn’t have anyone posted and ready to send word to Niestor in case of trouble. Branka, do you know if he set up a warning system along those lines?”
She shook her head mutely.
“Then we need to send word to Niestor,” he continued. “Something innocent, telling him that though he may have heard of bandit activity in our area, it’s now taken care of, and he need not worry about his border.”
“Yes,” said Anastasia with a subtle smile. “Perfect. I can draft just the right letter.”
“We’ll need to get that out immediately,” said Hugh. “Branka, do you have someone who could run the message across the pass to the baron?”
“Yes,” said Branka. “I’ll find someone. Not a problem.”
“Good.” Hugh raised Anastasia’s tankard and drained it more slowly than the first two. The ale was good, dark and nutty, almost earthy. Set it down with a satisfied hiss.
Mirco licked his lower lip. “You had heard nothing of all this down in Stasiek?” he asked. “If I may ask, why were you sent?”
“The duke suspected potential unrest. I was sent to survey the situation, update the tax rolls, and rebuild the fort.”
Mirco sat back. “Rebuild the fort? That’ll… well. It’s a cursed place. Only owls use it now.”
“That will soon change,” said Hugh. “If necessary, I’ll send for masons and architects to helm the project. But with Niestor restless, we’re going to need a fortified base of operations.”
Wlad approached with a full pitcher. He refilled Hugh’s tankard, and was about to do the same for the other empty ones when Branka tapped his wrist.
“Just set it down,” she said.
He glanced at Morwyn, flushed, and ran back behind the bar.
“Your assistance moving forward will be much appreciated,” said Hugh, raising his ale. “I aim to update the census rolls, re-assess the taxable value of the different holdings, and grow acquainted with the area.”
Brank and Mirco shared a look.
“Very well, my lord,” said Branka. “I would be happy to assist. However, we’ll soon need to address the issue of there being no mayor. With Little Ivan gone, will you take his place?”
Hugh hesitated and glanced at Anastasia.
“We’ll discuss the matter further,” she said. “No decision needs to be made tonight.”
“True enough,” said Branka. “And - thank you, my lord. For dispatching Istlav so summarily. Erro… is grateful and appreciates your arrival.”
Hugh almost laughed. A more grudging thanks he’d never heard. “You’re welcome, Branka. I only wish I’d arrived earlier. Now, have the corpses of Istlav’s men put somewhere safe for the night. We’ll burn them in the morning. Collect their weapons and armor and set them aside for accounting. If we have need to raise a militia later, that equipment will prove useful. You said that’s an imperial estate across the river?”
“Very well,” she replied. “And yes. It’s said Erro once played a more important role in the empire’s affairs. Something to do with the pass, I suppose. That estate is a holdover from that era. Traditionally, our mayors lived there, but that custom fell into disuse years ago. Now we keep it clean and in good condition as a sign of our fealty to both Duke Annaro and the emperor. Only Fate Maker Jarmoc uses it, and he visits rarely.”
“That’ll suit us just fine,” said Hugh. “If you’ve any food, we’ll dine and then head over for the night. We’ll continue these conversations tomorrow.”
“Of course,” said Branka, rising to her feet and smoothing down her striped pantaloons. “Food. You just killed eighteen men. You must be hungry.”
Morwyn gave her a nasty grin. “Well, yeah.”
The meal was delicious, a hearty mixture of pickled cabbage, roasted lamb in a tomato sauce, and thick, freshly baked garlic bread. Hugh washed it down with a dozen tankards of ale, and by the time he stood up and loosened his belt, he was just about starting to feel human.
As if the Lost Reavers weren’t just there, out of sight.
It was dark by the time they emerged onto River Street. The Mandroga rushed by below, a black chasm with gray accents where it dashed itself apart on the boulders. Elena and Anastasia climbed aboard the cart while Morwyn and Hugh led the way across the upper bridge that spanned the Mandroga’s waterfall, over the river and to the far bank, up to where the imperial estate stood.
It was an impressive building, a clear throwback to an earlier age as Branka had said. The path split into two; the lower road ran before a series of barred alcoves set straight in the hillside below the estate, while the second ran up to the front door before curving into a covered barn set hard against the building’s left side.
They stopped before the building’s front. It was large, a rambling building held up by thick buttresses of exposed bricks, the main facade painted a dark russet, the windows tall and narrow, the roof’s incline shallow and made of thick slabs of slate. A dozen worn stone steps led up to the recessed front door that was protected from the weather beneath a portico.
“Home sweet home,” said Hugh.
“Hardly,” said Morwyn. “Let’s see how much of a mess Istlav left behind.”
The next half hour was spent taking care of the horses, unloading essentials from the cart into the main building, and exploring the premises.
The front rooms were open to the ceiling high above, while steep stairs led to what was a glorified loft that dominated the rear of the second floor. Small kitchen off to the left, pantries, a long living space in the front complete with dining tables, worn cupboards and lots of shelving along the walls laden with dusty bottles and old books; a small living area off to the hard right, and the rear half of the entire building given to a massive bedroom whose expanse was dominated by a truly huge, sagging bed.
Istlav’s men had lined up their pallets in military fashion on the second floor, while Istlav himself had claimed the rear room. Not too surprisingly, everything was neat and well taken care of; even the master bed was made, the sheets tucked and smoothed down.
Elena set to lighting candles everywhere, and soon the ruddy interior of the building was filled with a golden glow that made everything inviting. Istlav’s men had been well provisioned; they uncovered not only strings of onions and garlic, cured haunches of meat and
hard-baked loaves by the dozens, but what looked like an entire crate of fortified wine.
Hugh drew out a bottle and laughed. “Istlav was a finer man than I gave him credit: look at this. Bottled in the Duchy of Fraczek at the famous Braslav Vineyard.” He cast around, found a corkscrew and drew the cork. Sniffed at the neck. “Our sojourn here in Erro has just gotten that much better.”
And he drank deep.
Elena laughed as she sat on a bench set against the wall, the candlelight giving her blonde hair a golden glow. “Thoughtful of them to leave it behind.”
Morwyn took up her own bottle and in short order plucked out the cork. “Not as if you’re going to share.”
Anastasia pulled a bench out from under the dining table and sat on its end, crossing one ankle over her knee so she could tug off her boot. “What a day. But on the whole, Erro is far more charming than I expected. Perhaps this won’t be as grim an experience as you feared, my lord.”
“About that,” said Hugh, leaning against the stone counter where a grill was laid over ashen coals. “Erro has no business being this prosperous and large. Did you see that tavern?”
“Small, but a serious establishment,” said Morwyn, raising the bottle to her lips. “Branka’s no ale wife selling beer out the back of her kitchen.”
“What are we missing here?” asked Hugh. “Where’s all this money coming from?”
Anastasia worked her thumbs into the sole of her foot. “Did you notice how thrilled Branka was when you announced how long you’d be staying?”
Elena pulled up a footstool before Anastasia and gestured at her foot. “May I?”
Anastasia paused. “Rub my foot?”
Elena’s nod was solemn. “A service I’d often provide back at Rusałka for foot-sore travelers. Nothing like mulled wine and a foot rub to make people feel at home and more willing to spend coin.”
Anastasia hesitated. “If you’re sure…? Unless you expect…?”
“Payment?” Elena laughed. “Hardly. This is something one friend does for another. Unless I presume too much?”
“After what you did to those archers?” Anastasia’s smile was warm. “Hardly. By the way, what did you do to those archers?”
“Yes,” said Morwyn. “I’ve been meaning to ask. It was most welcome, but four armed men… no mean feat for a servant girl.”
Elena laughed, took Anastasia’s stockinged foot in both hands, and began to work her thumbs deep into the sole in expanding circles.
“Ooh… wait, wait,” said Anastasia. “Don’t ask her anything. Let her focus.”
“I fear they underestimated me when they trained all their arrows on you, disciplus,” said Elena as she massaged Anastasia’s foot. “I snuck around the cart, grabbing my frying pan as I went -”
“You did not take out four archers with a frying pan,” said Morwyn.
“- and crept into the woods. I grew up in the Black Forest, just east of Orsuk. My father cut lumber. I guess I’ve not forgotten my childhood skills. They were so focused on Mistress Anastasia here, and her magic cloak, that they didn’t hear me come up behind each of them, and then - whack!”
“You did not!” Anastasia laughed and leaned on the table, Elena’s ministrations seeming to sap her of the ability to sit up right. “With a frying pan? I fear Lord Hugh’s accomplishments have been… oh, right there. Ah. Ah! How did you find that spot? I fear Lord Hugh’s accomplishments have been…”
“Oh, get a room, the both of you,” said Morwyn crossly. “I thought discipluses were all about dignity and reserve?”
“We are,” said Anastasia, closing her eyes. “But this is tantamount to torture. I’d no idea I was so sore.”
“You’re not sore,” said Morwyn. “You’ve been riding on a cart all week.”
“I know,” smiled Anastasia. “And been most brave. Did you notice how I asked for no sympathy?”
Morwyn snorted but couldn’t restrain a smile.
“I think I’ve got it,” said Hugh, setting aside the fortified wine. It was almost too sweet to drink. Almost, but delightfully potent. His head was near swimming. “What’s Erro’s claim to fame?”
“It has none,” said Anastasia, voice dreamy. “It’s small, inconsequential, a pawn between two duchies…”
“Nope,” said Hugh, reaching for another bottle. “It’s located squarely at the base of the pass through the mountains to the Duchy of Fraczek. Thus a tavern here would cater to whom?”
“Those who came through the pass,” said Morwyn darkly. “You’re saying the people of Erro are traitors?”
“Not traitors,” said Hugh. “I learned some things during my stay at the Rusałka. Men like the Mink rose to power and earned their fortune doing what, exactly? The more the emperor seeks to tax goods, the more people find ways to circumvent the tolls, toll masters, and taxation laws.”
“Smuggling,” said Anastasia, blinking rapidly as she forced herself to focus. “You’re saying they’re bringing smuggled goods through here?”
“That’s my guess,” said Hugh. “The question is: what?”
“There’s one obvious good of high value,” said Anastasia, smiling gratefully down at Elena as the serving girl worked off her other boot. “Salt.”
A moment of silence as everybody absorbed that information.
“Salt?” asked Elena. “I don’t get it.”
Anastasia wiggled the toes of her other foot. Elena smiled and went back to work. “It would explain a lot of Duke Annaro’s current financial woes. But let me start at the beginning: the Duchy of Fraczek has a seacoast along its eastern border. The emperor’s salt tax there is thus hardly enforced, and the official rate is… I don’t exactly remember. But a pittance. Here in Stasiek, we are landlocked and the tax is far higher. The people don’t have a choice but to pay it.”
“Right,” said Hugh, taking up one of the small brown loaves and cracking it in half. “That’s always been a sore spot for my brother. A Stasiek duke needs to both meet the emperor’s levies and raise enough coin to run the duchy. Salt’s always been a great source of income.”
Morwyn took another swig of her bottle. She was but only halfway done with her first. “But… if salt smugglers were bringing in large amounts via the pass, Erro would prosper.”
“And not be that excited to see us,” said Hugh. “Or hear that we were planning to spend seven months looking into their affairs.”
“I saw that look Branka and Mirco shared when you announced as much,” said Morwyn.
Everyone subsided into thoughtful silence once more. Hugh rooted around the shelves until he found a crock of butter covered with a film of congealed fat. Beside it was a string of summer sausages.
“Branka’s not going to do well when your brother learns of this,” said Anastasia, voice low. “She won’t be able to claim she didn’t know who her patrons were.”
Elena finally set Anastasia’s foot down. “How are your shoulders?”
Anastasia raised a finely arched brow. “You do shoulder work too?”
Elena stood and moved behind her. “You’ve no idea how far my talents range. But a question, Lord Hugh. If I may. What will your brother’s response be?”
Hugh washed his mouthful of food down and wiped his wrist across his mouth. “Depends on the scale of the operation. We’ll need to find evidence. Figure out just how much salt is coming through Erro. But if it’s as much as I think - especially given how prosperous Erro seems to be - then he’d call in Fate Makers, have ring leaders arrested and executed, and shut down the whole operation.”
Elena began to dig her thumbs into Anastasia’s shoulders, working the muscles of her neck while not looking away from Hugh. “That will be the end of Erro.”
“Aye,” said Morwyn. She held up her bottle to examine how much was still left and scowled. “Erro will rapidly become what we thought it’d be. A shitty little hamlet in the backwaters of the duchy. A warning to the rest of the towns to not work behind Duke Annaro’s back.”
He could picture it: Annaro’s rage, the soldiers being sent in, the purple-robed Fate Makers holding court and interrogating everyone involved. Little Ivan’s death would soon be overshadowed as Branka and no doubt a dozen others were hung. The smuggling would end. With it Erro would be forced to depend on its natural resources; subsistence farming, foresting, fishing the Mandroga. It would change; the charm, the rustic appeal, would fade.
“What are you thinking?” asked Morwyn.
“I don’t know,” said Hugh.
“What’s there to - ah. Ah! Not so - ah, that’s… oh wow.” Anastasia’s eyes almost rolled up in her head. “Your hands are amazing. How do you find so many knots?”
“Practice, I suppose,” said Elena. “I apologize for not doing better; it’s hard to really get at the right spots through all this clothing.”
Anastasia blushed faintly and sat a little straighter. “That’s quite all right. As I was saying, what’s there to think about? It’s a simple if unfortunate matter. Erro, charming as it may be, is stealing hand over fist from the emperor and its rightful liege, Duke Annaro. We will report the matter as soon as we collect evidence, and events shall take their course.”
“Such a pity,” murmured Elena.
“They brought it on themselves,” said Anastasia, closing her eyes and rocking with the motions of Elena’s hands. “Nobody compelled them to steal.”
Morwyn was watching Hugh from under lowered eyelids. “Hugh’s not convinced.”
“Hmm?” Anastasia opened one eye. “Of course he’s convinced. They’re stealing from him, too.”
Morwyn drew her dagger, leaned forward, and stabbed a slice of summer sausage off the cutting board. “Then let’s hear it. Hugh?”
“I’ve got nothing to say,” he said, not wanting to delve into the muddle that were his thoughts. “We’re working on assumptions here. Let’s get some evidence first.”
“Fair,” said Anastasia, closing her eye again. “But the reasoning is sound. The question is: how to recover sufficiently damning evidence.”
