by P. S. Power
The idea had actually been Countess Printers originally. Tor had wanted to use some of the money from sales of items there to help people, after the storm, but she pointed out that giving things away only worked in the short run. That people needed to work and earn their place to feel good about themselves. It made enough sense that he'd tried to adopt the practice himself, when he had extra funds. Yes, it meant he'd never have as much gold as some people, but how much did he need? He could make his own luxuries to a good extent now and didn't even need to buy clothing any more. Personally his expenses were down to food, and bathing supplies. What would that take, four gold a year? Ten if he splurged and ate out a lot?
If he couldn't afford to share, who could?
Debbie had also given him a small box with food for the trip, pastries and meat hand pies made by her relative, who turned out to be her brother. The man was called Box, but that couldn't be his real name, Tor didn't think. Still he smiled and seemed happy enough to be baking in the city with his sister. It seemed that he’d had some problems in their home village and needed to get out of town. Something about a girl, Tor thought, but didn't pry.
It was a good job, the man said, a friendly gleam in his eye, and he'd met a girl already, who he was pretty sure only wanted him because his sister had all those magic things, but she had sex with him, so that was fine for now, right?
Shrugging Tor pulled out a few amulets from his own gear and passed them to Box, in front of his sister, so that she'd know they were pure gifts and not filched from inventory.
“Spread them out for a bit and make sure she doesn't get pregnant. Have fun, but don't saddle yourself with someone only interested in your wealth, you know?” The man clapped him on the back and whooped a little. Then brushed at the flour hand print he'd left.
Debbie looked at him sadly as he left, wistfully, as if attaching herself to him romantically would be something a woman might want. It made Tor wonder who she was spying for. Sure, it would have to be a new thing, but it could happen. For that matter Box could have been a trained spy. Well, hopefully the girl was real at least.
Spies need love too, right?
The gate guards made him wait while they tried to find someone that could vet him. He paced a little, but just for the exercise of it, he knew why he had to wait and agreed with it, even if it was a pain in the rear this time of day. Smythe of Westend came, but the main gate guard, a Royal Guard after all, looked down his nose at the man and shook his head.
“No sir. Needs to be one of the royal family. Besides, you keep trying to kill Master Tor. I give him over to you and he ends up dead, how does that make me look? We wait.” They did, but Smythe went in to see if he could rouse anyone. It took a long time, but the gate guard didn't change, so there was no threat of a beating if he didn't leave at least. That had happened before. The night he'd met Debbie in fact.
Finally, about an hour later a sleepy looking Karina came out with two familiar girls in tow. Lilli, who still had one brown and one green eye, and the short busty girl. They were all identically dressed in slightly shining gold dresses and floated across the ground using Not-flyers. When they got closer they all looked tired, exhausted in fact. Once through the gate he realized that all the girls were more than slightly drunk.
Brilliant.
The way to safety for a royal was always dressing up in bright clothing and making a display of themselves while drunk.
Probably why so many of them did it.
He shook his head and led them in, walking in a plain gray workmen's outfit himself.
“Seriously Karina… You too Lilli and…” He flounder for a second, he knew who Yardley was, the dun colored girl that didn't have acne any more, unless it came back, but this one…
“Ali.” She said, mustering up a smile through force of will. She was still cute, even half drunk like this, Tor noticed. A little round of face, and light colored of hair, but not blond, an off brown, he thought. She looked sleepy, like a little kid for some reason.
“Right, Ali, when you're here, try to blend with the servants, will you? Stand out in town to catch attention as advertising, sure, because the Austrans won't think that I'd have the Princess out working like that, I don't think. But here, try not to make yourselves a target, OK? You'll make the Royal Guard pull half their hair out and then they'll be all lumpy and funny looking, instead of dapper and conscientious, you don't want that, do you? Of course not.” He kept walking while they failed to even chuckle at his words. Well, it was early. Plus, they probably wouldn't be feeling too well soon from the hangover. Tor decided to leave them that, just in case it helped to curb further drinking later. It was mean, but was it really a kindness to make things too easy on people?
If he always did that, how would anyone ever learn?
The girls just wondered off once inside, leaving him on his own. That was fine really. He’d need help, but it would probably work better if that aid was sober.
Tor started in the King’s open audience, where Rich tended to meet with people most of the time, at least from what Tor had heard. It took about a minute for Tor to get someone’s attention, waving his hands and calling out awkwardly, but he started explaining how the communications device worked and finally, five minutes later, a half dozen people were standing behind him, wanting him to explain again. Three Royal Guards, two servants he kind of recognized, including Quavel, the Queen’s main servant. Her butler? Something like that, and last was Squire Gemma, who got a hug from him. Their shields bumped, which made him grin and whisper “good girl” gently into her ear. It sounded like he was talking to a dog, which made him wince a little over her shoulder, but she seemed happy enough about it.
The sigils, all in glowing light in different colors, weren't sigils at all, but spelled out complete names. By tapping a plate to the main device it was activated. It was naturally an unassuming piece of tan focus stone, nearly a true square about the size of a block of ice, with lights shooting through it to indicate it was working and make it look more interesting, since he wanted to keep it in the audience chamber for safety and ease of access. That meant it needed to look special, he figured.
Once turned on, all you had to do was tap a name sigil and you'd talk with the corresponding device as if you were in the room with them. Simple. Each time a new plate was activated the name showed up on all the other plates. Yes, he could only fit about a hundred on each, but who'd need something like this? The second name on all the devices was his and would reach the plate he'd carry with him. Tor explained it all four times, how a bright blue light would glow, signaling someone wanted to talk to you, their name glowing blue as well, raising a little out of the surface of the hand piece or plate, so you'd know who. You tapped it to talk, then again to end the conversation. Simple once you saw it once or twice.
When Tor left the room and tapped the Capitals sigil, Gemma answered.
“Tor?” Her voice was soft and hesitant, but became happy enough when he responded.
All he had to do was activate a plate for each Count or Countess and a few other key people. The plates were meant to be mounted, on a table or wall, so had holes in them for that, accept his, which was smaller and meant to be carried in a little bag of shear material so the light would show through if anyone ever wanted to talk to him.
Then they just had to pass the devices out and explain them to people. That he'd leave to these people and specifically tasked to Gemma, who looked pleased but uneasy. Quavel and the other servant looked like they didn't approve, but the Royal Guards all did. One of them, an older man slapped her on the back, smiling when he hit shield.
“Good. You don't learn responsibility unless you have it. People forget that sometimes.” Then he nodded at Tor respectfully before asking Gemma what she wanted done with the plates.
Tor found Smythe at the mouth of the room looking pale and slightly shaken.
“I see you did it. I know I asked but… will they work at the distances needed?” The man didn't s
eem pleased really.
Well, Tor was skeptical too. It was a new device and that meant it had to be tested, they all did. He explained that they should work anywhere, as if in the same room. Maybe even off in different lands, if it came to it. Smythe just nodded grumpily as they walked slowly out to wait for the transport to come.
It flew in from the north, settling slowly as was protocol when coming in to the palace complex, so that the Royal Guard wouldn't freak out and slap the giant palace shields into place. They'd done it a few times Tor had heard from Rolph, at first just to test it and then any time someone came in too fast. That meant settling at more than about a hundred feet per minute, which almost didn't look like it was really moving at all and took about ten minutes as they stood waiting.
“They really are a bit off. A cream and gold wood coach with the royal seal on the side gets people’s attention, lets them know that the people inside mean business. This off black shine looks nice enough, I'm not belittling the effort or effect, but it… lacks presence. Well, no help for it now, is there? Orders are given, it is for us to but obey.” The old man spoke abstractly, almost as if ignoring that Tor was right there. He did that, talking about Tor as if he wasn't standing right next to him sometimes too. At least he didn't seem to do that with a anyone else, not that anyone had said.
Standing in silence for his part, Tor watched the craft settle, it was a steady movement, skilled and exacting. It was probably one of the new military pilots, Tor guessed, since they'd started making a point of training them at the flight school and Smythe was, by some mistake or capricious design, still the head of the military, attempted murderer or not.
Tor got the idea, he could investigate with impunity, because he could call in the whole King’s army to back up his word, but it didn't make him feel any better. He was almost tempted to just fly himself. It would be nearly as fast and more comfortable once he factored in the stony silences and the old Counselor acting like Tor had been the bad guy in all of what had happened.
Just before the craft settled, not ten feet from the ground, four black and purple clad Royal Guards came out, each carrying a modestly sized canvas bag with carry straps. Smythe had a single trunk and looked back at Tor's four cases with a smirk.
He nearly explained that they were mainly filled with devices and gold to help set up businesses and relief efforts, but didn't. His actual gear, what he needed to survive, including housing, was on him. He'd miss the little bag with his razor, soap and tooth care stuff, but if he pulled that out, he could wear it discreetly on his side, next to the communications device. Smythe could smirk all day, but it didn't change the reality. Tor was more ready to pick up and move, even lose everything, than he'd ever been before. If someone stole his trunks now, or even stripped him of amulets, it would mildly inconvenience him, but that was all.
When the side hatch opened Tor had to blink. It wasn't a military man at all, but a military woman that stepped out. She still had short blond hair and smiled at him winningly, bounding down the ramp fast enough that the guards all went for their weapons. She stopped in front of him and tried to give him and awkward shield hug. Then she straightened and looked at Smythe, her boss. It was a bit blank, but polite enough, as if asking for an introduction.
Ah.
Tor realized they probably hadn't exactly met before. That made sense really. Sara was a spy and low level military member as part of her cover, if Tor had it right, so no-one that the head of the military would know on sight.
“Oh… Um, Sara, this is Smythe of Westend, head military Counselor and all around swell guy. Decent fighter too. Willie, this is my, um, friend, Sara Debri. Her mom heads the Debri merchant house. She's a sergeant in the army, runs supplies by air. Personal flying though, I didn't know she flew transports yet…”
It turned out she didn't, which they noticed when the driver crawled out from the front, dressed in a tan shirt made of silk and soft canvas pants in a similar color. Sorlee. It made more sense than her normal drab gray dresses he'd grown used to seeing her in. For one thing it looked kind of official and less like she'd just stolen the craft.
Great, another spy. At least he knew who they were this time. The Royal Guards, well that was so obvious they didn't really count as spies. They reported to the King. If they needed to strip him, turn him upside down and shake to get information out, they'd do it and not bother hiding the fact most of the time. The only one here he wasn't sure about was Smythe, but that didn't matter did it?
Assassins had their own category in his mind. Before anything else, Tor crawled in and checked out the interior, looking for traps, attackers or anything that might be troublesome. He didn't find anything, but suggested the more proficient guards check it too. He watched what they did, checking under each cushion physically, getting on hands and knees to look under each bench, tapping the walls to check for hallows or odd sounds. When they were done and piled out, Tor slapped an amulet to the inside wall, explaining to the guy in charge, the same older man he'd met earlier, who said his name was George and didn't give a rank, what he was doing. It went up with just a bit of tacky putty on the back, since it would take that or glue to do the trick on smooth focus stone.
Then he hit the sigil, getting a soft gasp from the people outside.
“Master Tor, it's so pretty! It looks like one of the grand carriages of the King. The woods all grand and shiny too. Did you change it into wood? Is that strong enough?” Sorlee had enough sense to be concerned about practical matters at least.
“It's still focus stone, the shield on the outside just reflects light to look like this now. Obviously,” he added for George and his guards-people, two of which were hard looking women that could probably tear him in half with a strong exhalation.
“We can fly with it in normal mode and decorate just before landing, so we won't be advertising who we are the whole time. That probably wouldn't be a problem, since no one has seen this before, but just in case, no need to tempt anyone.”
Tor hit the sigil so that everyone would know how to do it. Pretty basic really. He left the little tan focus stone square on the wall of the craft, since they'd want it later.
In the back the Royal Guards all sat together, and Sara settled right beside him, smiling and happy to see him, or so it seemed. Sorlee waited for everyone to be seated, closed the heavy counter weighted side door that they'd all used as a ramp and then flew off a good bit faster than she'd landed, headed nearly due east.
Tor did a quick inventory of what he had on, device wise, knowing that he clanked a little when he shifted and his shirt bulged in the front. Both hands had devices held in place by leather thongs too, for flight and Not-flyer controls. Shield, of course. Then without speaking to Sara at all, he closed his eyes and dropped into a working state briefly. Not to be mean or even work on some project or another, but so he could examine how her arms worked when she moved.
The field portion of the movements. She wasn't helpful, holding remarkably still for some unknown reason. So eyes still closed he poked at her arm. She'd taken her shield off and so had he, which made her think he was trying to hold her hand apparently. It worked well enough. When they touched he could understand what her brain was doing to process sensory information from her left hand. He stroked it gently, and caught a sense of warm friendliness from the girl. Then, reaching over with his other hand he pinched her lightly. She didn't say anything but stiffened and felt slightly annoyed and bemused at the same time.
After an hour or so of this he opened his eyes and let go of her hand.
“Anyone hungry yet? I have some food, fresh from Debbie's bakery.” Moving to the back he pulled out the small box and offered it to the Royal Guards first, all of whom checked the rolls and pastries with poison detectors. All the food, each of them making certain it was all good, even when the person next to them had just done the same thing. The old fashioned devices he'd made about a year before, small copper rectangles still held solid fields. Then he passed the box
to Smythe, who took a peach hand pie and nodded to him, but didn't check it for poison. Probably because he'd been stripped of all devices to keep him from killing Tor. Tor pulled his own, a glowing sigil on natural stone from the beaches of Printer and tested the food for the man. It was clean, so the older man started to eat.
But he gave Tor an incredibly funny look first. As if saying that if anyone in the world were going to try and poison him, he knew who to watch. It was ridiculous of course. Tor didn't know anything about such things at all. Like he’d do that anyway? It seemed really rude, even if the guy did keep making attempts on his life.
Sara took a small roll for herself and Sorlee, happy to be remembered, asked him to feed her bites of hand pie, a savory beef one, because she didn't care for sweets in the morning.
“You know, if we were back in Forest Far, this would mean we were married now.” The girl said it seriously, like she meant it.
Tor almost blushed, but shook his head instead.
“That's not the tradition there. By tradition if I fed you like this, your brothers and father would beat me and try to drive me from the village… If I didn't marry you instantly that is. The same as in Two Bends.” It was true enough, but the girl kept flying and gave him a knowing look.
“I know that, but then after whoring for all these months, I'm pretty much dead to them anyway. I can make up my own traditions now.” Her voice was a bit sharp sounding, but also held something else he didn't quite know how to explain to himself.
Focusing on her field for a moment Tor tried to pick up what she was thinking, it wasn't hard.
The girl was covering for her slip and wondering how long she could keep her game up. She was starting to do it with others, but no one had noticed yet. If she suddenly spoke too well, that could be played off as practice, couldn't it? So far it had worked. The only real danger was Tor. He was sweet, but that was a bigger danger to her than not. Her teasing and flirting deflections would only last so long. Plus she wasn't certain what he knew already.
