Lips twisted, Gregor turned to Fillion. “Your investigation skills are a little too good.”
“Will you tell me what it is?”
Gregor sighed. “I don’t think it’s just one thing.”
“Am I one of the things?”
“Yes. A–And no.” Gregor frowned. “Actually, you’re most of the things.”
“Most of—” Surprised, Fillion uncrossed his arms and stood up off of Coatl. He couldn’t recall doing anything to hurt Gregor. “What did I do?”
Gregor shrugged. “Nothing.” He closed his eyes and let out a breath. “Everything.”
What did that mean? “I don’t . . . understand.”
Gregor opened his eyes and returned to looking over the safety straps, tugging on their ends. “I hate it when you’re gone, when Master Gella takes you away.” He looked at Fillion. “But I absolutely love watching you when you talk about what you did, seeing your face light up.” He chuckled. “I’d hoped that I could join you on your adventures, but even though I’m taking the Investigation Craft lessons, Healing Craft—especially learning about dragon health—keeps me here more often than not. And I love doing it, just as you love the investigations.”
Gregor frowned. “Still, I worry that you’ll get hurt on one of those escapades, like I was worried about your fire ring trick. I’m terrified of losing you, of being alone and feeling that . . . emptiness again.”
Fillion knew who he was talking about. The memory of a granite gravestone with its little flecks of mica glinting in the sunlight made his heart clench. He took a step forward. “If it bothers you that much, I can stop—”
“No.” Gregor shook his head. “Absolutely not. Those things are part of who you are. If you stopped doing them, you wouldn’t be you. You wouldn’t be the person who I can’t even imagine living without.”
Fillion blinked. Being so very happy and so very sad at the same time was the strangest feeling.
Coatl let out a quiet chirp.
Xochi lifted into the air with Renata.
Gregor looked up and watched them leave. “Everyone seems to spend more time away from the guild, lately, so I’ve tried to not let your trips bother me too much. It’s not as if you’re the only one that has to venture away now and again.”
Smiling, he turned to Fillion. “I guess I’m also a little sad that someday a few of us may move on, that we won’t all be together here forever.”
Fillion nodded then looked up as Balam and Willem entered a portal. “People usually leave the craft hall they trained at to get a position somewhere.”
“Exactly.” Gregor took a breath and let it out. “I just need to accept how things are and stop being so damn gloomy. After all, I trust you and Coatl not do anything too outrageously dangerous.”
A feeling of resignation came through the link from Coatl. He binds us without even trying.
Doesn’t he, though? Fillion walked up to Gregor and poked him in the good arm. “That wasn’t fair.”
Gregor chuckled. “You asked what was bothering me.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean saying you trust us.”
Gregor burst out laughing. “How is that not fair?”
“Because . . .” Fillion looked up at him. “I don’t ever want to see you that sad again, so now we have to be extra careful.”
A fleeting look of tenderness was replaced with a crooked smile. “Well, too bad. I have to deal with worrying about you every time you go away, so now you have to deal with me expecting you to make it back.”
Fillion scrunched his nose and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, when you put it that way, I guess it is fair.”
“We should hurry, though.” Gregor climbed into the saddle—he was getting much better at doing so one-handed—and began strapping in. He was pretty deft at that, too, considering the sling.
He glanced down. “Hurry. There’s fried pies for desert. If we don’t get there soon, Aeron may finagle them all from the kitchen staff.”
Fillion chuckled and hurried up into the saddle.
+ + + + +
Lord Koen frowned. The sweet was less than satisfactory. Though the frosting was excellent, the cake itself was a touch too dry and, to make matters worse, a bit bland.
“Is there not a baker that can make a variety of desserts well?” He set the fork on the small plate, shoved it away, and looked up at Cadoc. “What of construction? How is it coming along?”
“Nearly complete, sir. We will be ready.”
“Excellent.” He tuned to Tobin. “And you said things are progressing well with the mixing?”
The man looked up at him. He’d been staring at the set aside slice of cake with a frown. “Yes, sir. According to her, the latest batch is even closer than the last and it should only take a few more attempts to get it right. She says the timing being built into the initiators must be matched exactly, and she’s determined to find a perfect mix, primarily by adjusting the proportions of the lesser ingredients.”
Lord Koen nodded. “She’s absolutely correct. We cannot change the device specifications at this late date, so the original timing must be matched. It’s good that she thinks she’s close.”
He smiled and nodded. “Good news all around. That is all, then, gentlemen. Thank you.”
Tobin bowed his head, glanced again at the serving of cake, and left the office.
Cadoc, however, remained behind. “Actually, sir,” he said, “we may have a problem.”
“What problem?”
“Councilor Fiske wished a word with you on the ether mirror after our meeting was done. I told him you always carry your ’writer with you, but he insists on the ’mirror.”
Lord Koen sighed. “Of course. He can’t gesture grandiosely on the ’writer, and subtle tone, too, is lost with only written words.” He stood and made for the ’mirror room.
Ether mirrors were expensive and used primarily by large businesses or political leaders. If it were widely known that an individual owned one, it could raise questions and bring unwanted attention. It was his accountant’s difficulty in concealing the purchase of the communication device, of disguising where the money came from, that had caused an atypical outburst from the man.
“I’m already juggling dozens and dozens of companies and their associated accounts attempting to conceal your involvement in them,” Linden had said. “Can we not use outside funds for this purchase? The amount involved is such that masking its origin will be difficult.”
Lord Koen stared at the man and said, “Not for this purchase. The device must be ordered within the week. You have that long to find a way.”
Linden looked fit to argue.
Lord Koen was beyond upset that the man would think to contradict him. “Let’s not forget who pays whose salary,” he said. The accountant was very good, however, and would be needed for some time, so he added, “Your point is valid, however, so in the future, for amounts of this magnitude, I will arrange for outside sources for the funds.”
And true to his word, he had successfully found ways to do so. At least until recently. National Transportation’s plans had been discovered before their Korovite could be delivered, and his own attempt at obtaining a supply of the valuable crystal had been unsuccessful.
Neither of those failures would matter, soon.
The ether mirror room was well-lit when he entered. Cadoc must have unshielded the sconces earlier. Taking his seat, he watched Cadoc approach the device. It consisted of a large mirror, six feet tall and three feet wide, that had been enchanted with several spells.
After Cadoc touched the left edge of the mirror in the correct locations and sequences, it stopped reflecting this room and instead displayed another. Cadoc moved to the side.
Within the ’mirror, Fiske sat slumped in a chair. When he saw they had been connected, he quickly stood, straightened his clothing, and walked toward Koen. He stopped four feet before the ’mirror.
He nodded. “Lord Koen.”
“Counc
ilor Fiske. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Fiske crossed his arms. “I have thought over your next operation and am troubled.”
“It’s a bit late for misgivings as it has already commenced and will be complete within a week. What is it that troubles you?”
“I’m not certain that the scrutiny it will bring is prudent. We just had the riots, which went quite well.” He raised his hands. “Do we really wish to draw the attention of the special investigators this early?”
“Councilor Fiske, if special investigators aren’t already looking into the events here, then High Lady Hasana is an even bigger fool than I imagine her to be.”
The man turned his hands to face outward and took a step back. “They’re already investigating?”
“I assume so. It was expected. That is why I have been so very careful, as have you.” Lord Koen leaned forward a touch. “All the improvement projects you used to tie up the city’s funds were legitimate. And while perhaps a tad excessive, all the committees that you skillfully routed the High Lady’s offers through were not out of line with how those things are normally handled. Correct?”
“Yes. Yes, absolutely.”
“Then there is nothing for the investigators to find and no reason to worry. All according to plan.”
Fiske clasped his hands before him, fingers woven together, and tapped his thumbs against each other while frowning. “Still, I mislike drawing more attention. There are things High Lady Hasana can do that are beyond my control, after all. These nahual patrols by dragons, for instance. She got past city councils everywhere by making it a national issue of safety. This operation might—”
“Councilor Fiske, make no mistake. The changes we want will require dramatic and messy actions that will draw attention. As our family’s head chef often said when I was a child, you can’t make a beautiful and delicious omelet without first breaking a few eggs.” He smiled. “And, Fiske, we are going to break oh so many eggs.”
+ + + + +
Aeron glanced at the people seated around the low table in the rooms of the former Capu. Cirtis was here, as were Renata, Polandra and Liara. Lonato was here, too. It had taken a while before Aeron recognized the child who’d given him the antidote for the tainted wine the day Anaya was to be executed. At the time, Lonato had been a pesan, shaved head and all. The raven-black hair, though short, had made it difficult to place the face.
Polandra drummed her fingers on the table. “As much as we wanted things to continue as before . . .”
“They really can’t.” Cirtis frowned.
“No,” Renata said, “they can’t. There’s just too much outside the normal purview of the Dragon Craft Guild or even what makes sense for any guild to manage.”
This didn’t sound good. Aeron glanced at her. “Like what?”
“Well, the agave, for example. While it generates a great deal of money, it also requires the largest number of people across all its operations. Farming, harvesting, preparation of the harvested agave, as well as production of rope, cloth, and the various food-stuffs.”
“None of which,” Liara said, “has anything directly to do with Dragon Craft.” She frowned. “I see what you mean.”
“It’s like the guild is running a company.” Lonato’s voice was quiet.
Cirtis nodded. “Indeed. So what do we do?”
“I hesitate to suggest it,” Polandra said, “but we may need to sell off the agave fields and let those workers go.”
Aeron was about to speak, but Liara beat him to it.
“We can’t do that,” she said. “The whole point of buying the Order’s assets was so that the people wouldn’t lose their jobs.”
“I know,” Polandra said. “That’s why I wasn’t sure I should suggest it. I just don’t know what else we can do.”
When he’d heard that Polandra might have bad news to reveal at this meeting, Aeron insisted he be allowed to attend. It was a good thing he had. Liara was absolutely right. He and Anaya hadn’t risked their lives to fail now. The people of the villages and Bataan-Mok were counting on the guild to keep this economic center of the desert running. People had been here for generations, living their lives, dreaming their dreams.
Aeron drew his brows together. Dreams.
He turned to Polandra. “What if we sold it to the workers?”
Liara glanced at him. “Sold what? The fields?”
“Exactly.” He nodded. “We let them buy their dreams.”
“What do you mean?” Renata said.
“When Millinith and I, ah, that is, when Guildmaster Millinith and I went to investigate a nahual attack near Cotter’s Grove, we had a chance to talk with Fillion’s dad, Elder Cayo. He’s essentially a lord in all but name with Cotter’s Grove his caer. As the place grew, it eventually got too big for him and his family to manage alone. So, he’s now letting merchants and families buy parts of his land to own and manage themselves.”
“You’re saying we should sell parts of Bataan-Mok?” Cirtis raised his brows.
“Well,” Aeron said, “the fields and the land next to them with the buildings where the agave is processed. Some workers would own the fields. They would go into business as growers of agave. Other workers, those involved in processing it, would own the buildings and the land they sit upon. They would buy agave from the farmers to use in their own business of making agave products. The guild would buy what rope, cloth, and food we need from them, and they would sell the extra in the villages and to trade caravans.”
Aeron smiled. “All those workers get control of their livelihoods, their dreams, and the guild gets to shed what it doesn’t need.”
Lonato stared at him. “That sounds like it could work.”
“We may need to modify that plan a little,” Cirtis said.
Polandra looked at him. “How so?”
“I doubt the workers can afford to buy the land, at least not yet.”
“Hmm,” Renata said. “That’s probably true.”
“What if to start,” Aeron said, “the field workers just buy the agave itself, the stock, including that being prepared to grow next season’s crop? They would still form a business to farm it. We would charge them a modest fee for the agave and a very modest, I don’t know what to call it, but a rent of some kind to use our fields. Same for the production workers. They rent the buildings from us and run their business from them. In time, both companies will be able to purchase the land outright and buildings.”
“The guild might even be able to assist with education on running a business, with loans to start the businesses, and maybe even loans to purchase the land later on.” Polandra grunted and nodded. “I like this idea.”
“That is a much more agreeable plan,” Cirtis said. “Certainly something to work toward.”
“I agree,” Renata said. “When I get back to the Guildhall, I’ll meet with the Guildmaster about it. Let’s talk a little about those loans, Polandra.”
Feeling relieved, Aeron excused himself and left them to work out the details. He wasn’t versed in managing organizations or in the ways of finance, so he’d not have anything to contribute anyway.
He walked along the marble hallway back to Dragon Square. His initial idea to buy the assets of the Order had seemed so simple. The reality of it was proving to be more difficult. But it wasn’t anything the guild couldn’t handle, he didn’t think, as long as they put their minds to it.
Anaya looked up at him when he walked around the corner of one of the finished dens. The meeting is done?
It is. Who’s this? A little girl stood in front of Anaya, but he could only see her from the back.
I think you will recognize her.
When he got closer, he saw who she was and smiled. “Hello!” It was the girl who’d given Anaya the doll all those weeks ago.
The girl dimpled and curtsied. “Hello, dragonlinked. I came to talk with Anaya. She’s ever so pretty.”
Aeron chuckled.
The girl tilted her head.
“Will she get a dragon house?”
Aeron raised his brows. “Dragon house?” The rest of the dragons did look at her as if she were their queen, in a way, but—
The girl pointed. “It looks like they’re almost done with another one.”
He chuckled. That’s what she was talking about. “Those will be for the dragonlinked training here in Bataan-Mok and their bond-mates.”
“Oh.” She looked at him, eyes sad. “So Anaya won’t live in one?”
“I’m afraid not. We live at the Dragon Craft Guildhall in the North. But we do visit here every so often.”
She nodded. “I see.” Turning to Anaya, she smiled. “I’m glad that rag man has kept you safe.”
Anaya chirped at her. As am I, little one.
“You can call me Hurit.” She blushed. “The name means ‘beautiful.’”
And well-suited to you it is.
Hurit giggled and with head bowed and feet planted in one spot, twisted her body left and right, hands behind her back.
Aeron smiled and looked about the place.
It was very different in this plaza now. In this square, he corrected himself. He glanced at the remains of the tiered seats. Where was that Fala person who’d blown the whistle, starting the attack on the dragonlinked? Why did she still fight the guild? Yiska had come to realize the lie that was the Hour of Creation. Why had she not?
+ + + + +
There was perhaps an hour until sunset when Fala crested the small rise. The walk out here was longer than she liked, but at least the view was beautiful. All around her, the desert lands stretched to the horizon. Thin, rocky spires, scrub brush, cacti, and the occasional mesquit tree all cast long, evening shadows across the nearly flat vista.
Ahead, the young man, the recruit, set a bundle next to the pile of firewood in front of the simple four-room house that was their base of operations. He worked at stacking the fuel for the cooking fire. It was likely mesquit branches, or perhaps a few dried arms from a saguaro. Her eyes weren’t as good as they used to be, so from this distance, it was difficult to say for certain what he had foraged.
She sighed, gripped the woven twine grip on her walking stick a bit tighter, and resumed her walk along the faint trail to the adobe building.
Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4 Page 37
