Missing Elements (The Lament Book 3)

by P. S. Power

  That thought got her to shake her own head more than a bit. The building she was in wasn't going to float away, after all. She, personally, blamed the weapons toting insane person in the other room. It was discombobulating, having that happen twice in one day. Why, in her life she'd managed to go whole weeks without having anything more dangerous than a lute pulled on her... That idea did get her to scurry a little, since the whole thing was less than perfect, to her way of understanding things.

  Yes, she needed to act a little suspicious to follow Guardian Clark's plan, of course. Dying wouldn't help her career however. Not even being killed a little bit. Unless she faked it. Then it might be all right, as long as she got to take a bow while everyone still had her untimely death fresh in mind. Otherwise it would kill any momentum she had going with the public.

  She didn't jog down the stairs, merely walking quickly, with her head held high, and back straight. Confident seeming, even if she did almost just die. That meant she didn't run into the boy that was scampering up them at nearly a full run, his hands full of binders. It wasn't Walden, but from the outfit he wore, it was kind of obvious that he held at least a similar position. Again, he was about her own age, or a little younger, and nearly dropped his load of goods as he passed by. Colliding with her, as if he just didn't really see her there to begin with. Pran managed to step aside, not really thinking about it since it didn't hurt, until he spoke, his words rushed.

  "Sorry there, sir!" Then, stopping dead, he spun in place, and took a good look at her. "I mean... Sorry, ma'am." There was no blushing that she could tell, but he had nicely dark skin and that could hide things like that. "On a rush. My mistake." Then, without waiting to see if she wanted to add anything, he hurried on, going a bit slower, but only enough to keep a hold on the slipping folios that he held.

  Still, he'd gotten that she wasn't a boy, even if she were in pants and had short hair. That was decently special, wasn't it? The only other person that she'd met that hadn't been told her gender first and had guessed, was Lyse. The slow, but oddly clever, daughter of the man who ran Pumpkin Hollow.

  Lines drew inside her head then, between Lyse, who really had been clever enough, having her own side business making and selling hard cider, and a man from The Lament. Dovish.

  He'd seemed like a slow person, too. His words slurred a bit, and he always had a charming grin on his face that reminded her of one of her mates from school pretending to be a tiny dog. It had been an act, and a really good one, fooling not just her, but everyone else for a long time. He was a download though, a person from a different time. After he'd been found out as being one and captured, the man had vanished. Given what little she knew, her bet was that he was in the basement there. That, or somewhere close by, since the Guardians had flat told her that he'd been being tortured for information.

  Also that he hadn't talked. None of their enemies had. Except... Well, unless they were lying, several of them had freely shared information with her, hadn't they? It was the only thing that made her current half act of being one of them work at all. She didn't think anyone was going to buy it, but a sudden thought made her feel a lot better.

  Saran would know what Clark had planned. He was in charge of the investigation for the Guardians after all, so his Master would know about it. His boss. She kept the difference clear in her head. The man was the real thing, not just someone learning what to do, as an Apprentice. Pran, on the other hand, hadn't even understood that the High Councilor that had pulled a weapon on her, was simply trying to help her sell the role.

  Hopefully she hadn't ruined it, but since no one would believe it if she fought her way out of the room, it was probably good enough. It took a few minutes to both get to the ground floor and then find a boy sitting back in a little alcove, behind the stairs. He had a plate of food, and looked at her guiltily, as he stuffed something into his mouth. A bit of cake, if she knew what the crumbs on the plate were. That might be wrong, but she'd had that before. On The Lament. Not the dark brown kind that this kid was brushing off onto the floor, but twice in her life it had happened.

  It had been good.

  The boy in brown had a now familiar golden sash on, and seemed a bit pudgy to tell the truth. Round of cheek and with a tiny belly pushing against his shirt. It was nice to see really, since it meant that somebody loved and cared for him. This wasn't a person that had to fight for each bite of food he got and probably never had. A real boy. Probably with a family somewhere that prospered enough for him to grow like he had.

  He stood suddenly, his breath a bit gasping.

  "I'm in for it now, ain't I? Well, I can't lie, you saw me with it. It was left over, and the High Finance was just gonna toss it. He didn't say I could have it, but he didn't exactly say that I couldn't neither. Ma'am."

  There was a sad look on his face, meaning that this was probably a punishable offense. He could be locked in a closet with rats, burned, or even beaten to death for it.

  Not that it would be that harsh. Even at the Art School, most punishments involved fixing what you'd done wrong and trying to learn not to do it again. Sometimes people had to sit with a teacher in a boring room and be lectured. She hadn't been punished much, over the seven years she was there. After all, she knew how to hide the things that she did wrong. Except the last one, which had gone much worse than she'd expected. Even then the result hadn't involved heavy rods or the knot whip. Just her being kicked out, to starve and die.

  She grinned.

  "Ah, now I own you! Mwa-ha! Well, future servant of mine, what's your name?"

  "Robest, ma'am. Robest Tombs. What... What do I have to do? I mean, it was only a piece of chocolate cake. Not like I kilt a man or nothing like that."

  It was a point, but good blackmail or extortion didn't hinge on the information you had being good. No, it always came down to the person you were working being afraid it was.

  "If it's only that, then just go and tell your keeper, and the High Councilor, all about it. I'm sure it will go well enough for you. That, or you could buy some time by taking me to see the High Airship Councilor? I need to bend his ear and try to get a dye shipment put through." She snapped her fingers and went wide eyed, pretending she'd had an idea. "I know, you can help me with that. Give me all the secrets about who needs things shipped or people moved right now. Between Gladstone and O'Brien." Not that it would work, but it couldn't hurt to ask, either. Or, in this case, point out that she, some girl he didn't know and wouldn't have ever heard of before, was important enough to be doing things like that. It sounded pretty good, didn't it? Setting up special shipping like that was the kind of thing someone important would be doing.

  The kid sighed.

  "I don't know anything about that. Unless... Well, if you run it past High Energy, I think her daughter is down that way. In Luis? She said something the other day about wanting her to come for the middle winter holidays. That's a month away, more or less, but she might throw in with you, if you're looking for leverage?"

  That... sounded like a good plan to her. It also turned out that Luis was only about a hundred miles from the much smaller town of O'Brien, which wasn't much more than a rich village, mainly owned by the one family. The boy, Robest, even took her to Jacques, by way of that lady's offices.

  After walking in, Pran got what Clarice had been going on about before she'd left. Not only was the place much bigger than the Bard's area, but it had dozens of people sitting at desks, working away at things. No one said anything about her being there, but near the back, at the largest and nicest desk, which was made of pure mahogany, sat a grumpy looking old woman that seemed ready to chew them apart, when she glanced up.

  "You! Fat boy, what the hell do you think you're doing? I didn't ring the bell for service, did I?" Then without cracking a smile she waved them over. "Go. Say your piece and get out of my hair." She batted at the gray curls, which were longish for an older lady. Probably down her back, Pran bet.

  It didn't make her look any bette
r, since her frown lines didn't seem to be going away. Bullies didn't smile unless others were in pain. Which didn't matter to Pran right then at all.

  "I'm setting up a shipment for High Councilor Times. It should take them near Luis. Do you want in on that? We can get your daughter a bed, if she doesn't mind sharing with an Apprentice or two. It should only be about two weeks travel time, as long as nothing happens along the way. Emergencies-" The woman didn't let her go on, just flicking her hand at Pran and making a sound with her tongue. Raspberries, they called it.

  "Times? That bitch couldn't set a chair upright with both hands and three helpers. What's the buy in for this, if I say yes?"

  Pran didn't know what that meant, personally. After a second she just shrugged.

  "Well, it's a special trip, and we need to fill the airship with goods on the return portion. Your daughter can guard them, which will get her a berth, but the Captain will want the going rate plus fifty-percent."

  There was a wince, and a head shake. They weren't sent away though, which was promising. After all, these two kids might just have what the old lady wanted. That gave them... What had Robest called it? Leverage?

  Smiling, Pran winked at the woman, who glared back.

  "Except that I bet I can bring that down to standard and forty, if you'll let me handle this for you? What do you say?"

  "Fine. Only if you bring me proof that this is really happening in the next week. Much past then and it will be too late to get everything arranged. No more than forty over standard though. I won't be taken advantage of."

  That was pretty clear, but after they hashed out what was said exactly, Pran was able to get over three offices to where the Airship people worked.

  She was fighting a smile the whole way too.

  Chapter four

  There was, as she should have known, a few big problems in regards to getting their deal done in a timely fashion. The main one, a thing that Pran understood from Captain Jacques face almost immediately, was that he really didn't care for the High Councilor of the Dyers Guild. It seemed like a personal thing too, since he actually growled at her about bringing it back up.

  "Fuck that! I told that cunt not to bother me with this again, and now she's sending Bards at me over it? What's next? The ships cook?" There was a darkness on his face that spoke of impending violence over the issue, but Pran held her ground. Ready to move and... She didn't have a weapon on her, which suddenly seemed like an oversight on her part. A Guardian always went armed. Clark had told her that. More to the point, he'd suggested that she do the same at the time. True, she'd been his Apprentice back then, but it was no excuse to ignore good ideas, just because she wasn't one anymore.

  It wasn't the first time in her life that she'd come across that particular lesson, either. Back at the Grange she'd made a point of always secreting something away on her person. A bit of sharp wood, or if she could get it, metal. Back then she never knew when a fight was going to happen, and being a girl, and only eight or nine, she needed to even the odds. You couldn't fight a sixteen year old boy when you were that little. Not with only your hands.

  "What is it with you people here?" She let her voice sound relaxed and wry, rather than tense or like she was about to flee the scene before blood could flow. "First the Guardian at the front door draws down on me, then the High Guardian does it later, and now you're going to make me spank you too? Over a good deal? You better have a reason that doesn't involve spilled coffee here, Jacques. Otherwise I'm going to have to make fun of you. Maybe write a dirty song about what you get up to with livestock." The words played out just right, first getting him to pay attention to what she said, since having kinetic pistols pointed at you was a big deal for most people, and then reminding him that she was a Bard, not a Dyer. Not a lackey, either. The flip tone to it was all her, naturally. It was part of her Bard persona, after all. A cultivated trait picked to make her seem like more than she really was. That worked with the man, it seemed, since he scowled angrily, but managed to quirk his lips sourly, instead of pushing for a real fight.

  "You were more polite, the last time we met."

  She shrugged, then looked around the room, since at least a half dozen people were watching them.

  "So were you. Now, let's forget personal grudges so that I can do my job for the day? It's a good deal, or half of one. The High Energy Councilor has some connections in Luis and is willing to set up a full shipment back to here, along with her daughter, to watch out for it. High Councilor Saran might need some people moved around on the line between Gladstone and O'Brien too. That isn't confirmed yet, but she might. I'll get with the High Judge and see if they have anyone needed down there as well? That should get The Sorrow a tax break, making the trip more valuable, right?" She'd been on a ship for two months so had picked up a few tips and tricks that way. Hopefully her information was close enough to correct to be useful to her now.

  The Airships were all private concerns, owned by the Captain and her crew, for the most part. When they took Judges around on their routes, or Doctors, they got tax breaks on whatever they shipped. It added up, even if it meant making more frequent stops, and sometimes delays in travel. Trials and illnesses came first, after all. Most small villages didn't have either of those things, since they normally weren't needed. Big towns all had Doctors though, and all the major cities had at least one Judge. Most people lived in small scattered places, however, meaning that the government had to go to them, if they wanted to keep control.

  It didn't always work, as far as she could see.

  The rather hard looking man in front of her, who had about three days worth of stubble, which he had to cultivate carefully, since he always seemed to be in that state, as far a Pran could tell, just glared at her for a while. Robest bowed a little, then, like the true hero he was, left. True there was a bell in the background and that probably meant he was needed, but she still could have used the help, if it came to a physical confrontation. Jacques had all his people there.

  Well, she knew not to really count on anyone that way. Most people ran away when things got hard. It was how they survived.

  With a sound that seemed more than a little annoyed with her, the man reached for a book to the side of his desk. It had a nice leather cover on it, but a loose binding, so that the lines of twine that held the pages in could be released to add or subtract pages. Without looking at her again, he opened it, and carefully moved through the pages until he came to the one he wanted. It was all hand written, but the words looked tidy and it was in pencil, not ink. That meant it was something he could make corrections to, at need.

  After ignoring her for several minutes, probably hoping that she'd leave so he could carry on his personal vendetta against people that dealt in colors for fabrics, he tapped the page.

  "The Sorrow could use a good run. You've only given me half of one here though. That's if you can really arrange all you just said. What else can you add to sweeten the deal?" There was a sly look on his face, as if he had something in mind. Probably thrusting into her behind, or some such. It... Well, she had to do it, if that was the case, didn't she? There was nothing for it, but to make this all work. Shutting down her feelings, she nodded, agreeing to whatever it was he wanted.

  "You have something in mind?"

  There was a pause, and a smile then. A bit of a crafty look to his face, too. Then he glanced over to the side, where a woman that seemed to be in her late twenties sat. Twyla, his First Mate. She glanced over and nodded, smiling as she did it, whatever that meant.

  The man did the dealing however, since that was his job.

  "Well... My daughter here is getting married in two days, to Paul Marwick, of The Lament. It might be nice to have a Bard playing for the party after, if that could be done?"

  Pran nearly made a face at him, since it was just about a stupid thing to say. She understood that he wanted a player at no cost, but Bard Benjamin would do it for free without even batting an eye, she bet. Paul was a friend o
f his, and a shipmate, and had been for nearly a year.

  Of course his playing on lute and guitar was twangy on the high notes. It didn't mean he was awful, but that could be a factor.

  "I'll do it, if you want? I don't know if either of you have heard me play. I can audition for you, if you want?" That was pretty normal, when you were just starting out. Twyla clapped once though, which got a sharp look from the room.

  Then she grinned.

  "No need, Bard Pran. I heard you about two months ago. Just don't play that Guardian song and it's a bargain! Paul will be happy, you're one of his favorites. He mentioned that to me once."

  It made sense that they would have met up as often as possible, if they were arranging to get married. They were both kind of old for it, since most did that at about seventeen to twenty, but they were also both on a rather career driven track. As Firsts on their ships, either one was actually trained up to become a Captain. That would be when the real money came in, she bet.

  That got a grudging nod from Jacques, who didn't seem to really want his little girl mad at him over her wedding. Pran smiled at the idea, but reached out to shake on the bargain. That would make it seem more real to the man, she hoped.

  "Good, let me make sure all of that is firmed up and see what else I can get going? I have four days... Can we get a message to The Sorrow about all of this in time?" She knew they could, but you weren't supposed to go around calling out about radios. For all she knew those were only allowed to be used in emergencies anyway. This little situation with some dyes probably wouldn't count.

  The man grumped at her a little, but smiled over at his daughter at the end of it, which made him seem a lot nicer, somehow. Even if it wasn't directed at her.

  "I'll handle that. Get what you have ready for me tomorrow or the day after, though. I suppose I need to get with Terry Prine over in Energy and see about getting her to pay cost for once? That woman can squeeze a turnip until blood runs, I swear."