If Crows Know Best (Mage of Merced Book 1)

by Aimee Gross

  “Haw, we can help you with part of that. Though you won’t find we see much difference between council constables and Keltanese patrollers. If you can pay, boy, that is what makes a bargain. I’m Zaffis. What needs does your village have?”

  “Some supplies of food that keeps. Raw materials for the forge and lumber to rebuild what the invaders burned and stole. Buyers for villagers’ woolens, milled grain, leatherwork—rather than giving it to the Keltanese.” I scratched my head. “And I need a wagon,” I added. “Ours was burned in our barn when we were overrun during the invasion.”

  A few of those laboring stopped to look curiously at me as I spoke, and Zaffis growled at them and pointed his pipe stem at their waiting work. “And do you want all this at once?” he said, turning dancing eyes back to me.

  “No, I’m heading home in the morning. I just need to know if all of it can be gotten here. My brother and I will return if we decide to use your … services.”

  “Services—Haw! I like that. Makes us sound like the merchants we are, eh? You’ll need to bring a heavy purse of gold for all you want. Do you and your brother have coin?”

  “If we start with a wagon and a load of dried beans, plus lumber, how much might that run?” We had some gold at the farm, and the villagers had some as well, I had to think.

  “You’d need a team to pull your wagon? Or do you plan to clip clop into the harbour on your plow horses?” He play-acted holding reins high and bouncing along.

  Orlo sniggered at the sport he made of me. I said, “For the right price, maybe you’ll drive our new horses and wagon to Roicer Village with the load of goods. It’s only seven miles walk back, and that’s just a good stretch of the legs for country folk. If we can agree, I’ll bring a third of the gold to you here, and you’ll bring the wagon to us in Roicer and get the rest of the gold on delivery.”

  “Being a countrified boy, you probably don’t realize, that’s not how this is done. You don’t tell me what’s to be. I tell you.”

  “Being a smuggler, you maybe don’t appreciate I want to be out only a third of my money if you don’t come through,” I said, trying to copy Da’s affable way of talking. As if haggling with smugglers was something I did whenever I took a break between chores. Like pipe-smoking, for instance. Though I had smoked a pipe as often as I had bargained with smugglers, or never.

  “I’ll have to charge enough to cover my risk, see. A wagon and team don’t readily fit beneath the streets. That part will have to be … arranged and then loaded. What if I say 200 gold pieces? ’S war and occupation, after all. Drives prices high.”

  “Has to be worth your while, that much is plain. I’ll carry the price back to my brother and his men. If they agree to the bargain, I’ll get back to Orlo, then?”

  Zaffis shook his head side to side like a horse trying to shoo flies. “What mad creature have you brought me, cousin?” He spoke to Orlo, so I surmised that was their relation to one another. Did that mean Orlo was a Traveller, too? He had the dark looks of one. “I’ll stand by my price if you don’t wait overlong. I’ll need to hear back by the waning of the moon, so we can load and deliver at dark of moon. Later than that, your deal is no good.”

  “My brother will decide without wasting time. Our time nor yours.”

  “Yah, be off before I realize I’m selling too cheap by half.” He turned to his cavern of workers, but he was grinning.

  I followed Orlo as he withdrew, and wondered if the whole village could come up with 200 pieces of gold.

  By the time Orlo had led me a roundabout return path to Guthy’s back yard, I had been struck with an idea to help the harbourmaster, since my previous thoughts of how much money might be kept at home, and with our neighbors, had no ready answer.

  “Orlo, do you think when next you are at the harbourmaster’s house you could get some clothing from the grandson, and the parents and the harbormaster’s wife, too? Something they have each worn, or some of their bedding? Something with their scent. I think Wieser could track them to where the Keltanese are holding them.”

  He paused mid-stride, and faced me. “The laundress might could help me do it.”

  “Needs to be worn clothes, not washed, to have a good scent.”

  He looked at Wieser, who sniffed the sea breeze and licked her chops. “If I can get such as that, and bring it to Honni at Mistress Guthy’s, you’ll have the dog try when you come back to bring the money?”

  I nodded in the fog, then thought he might not be able to see my gesture, and said, “That would be the best time, no? Then she can start with the little boy, in case they are held in separate places.”

  “And the benefit for you, of relieving my master’s mind?”

  “I want him on our side, so he sees I’ve done him a favor if it comes to pass that he can do one in return.”

  Orlo accepted this as sufficiently sensible, and said, “I never saw Zaffis cut a deal like yours, or so quick.”

  “He wants rid of the Keltanese, even if not as bad as I do, that’s my take on it. And, he looks to get 200 in gold for about 30 coins’ worth of goods.”

  “You could be right,” Orlo said, and led us smack into Honni on the porch. She held an iron skillet, and had blazing murder in her eyes.

  “Orlo Suerat, you better hope you have brought him ba-back whole!” she said, and hefted her skillet with real menace.

  “Aww, Honni, they only took one of his ears. He has the other still—Hey!” He yelped as he vaulted off the porch beyond her reach. She had a mighty swing for such a scrawny girl. The weight of the skillet swung her right around until she faced me again. I pulled back my hair on either side of my head, to show two ears, while laughing fit to bust.

  “And you!” She pointed her skillet at me. “You never said you w-were leaving with Orlo! I thought the patrols had taken you both off the s-stoop.” Her glare was truly fury. She would have seemed scary, if not so bony and frail.

  “Did the patrols come? And get their dose?” I asked to divert her. Orlo climbed over the porch rail and smacked dirt from his trousers, collected as he rolled on landing below.

  “Hmmph! Yes, one bunch of the same o-ones, and more we hadn’t seen before. What are we supposed to do if more c-come calling? There’s no more of your packet left.” She sniffed and tossed her head.

  “I’ll give you the money and tell you where to go for more. It would be wise to have on hand. Tell the lady at the shop the country boy with the dog sent you. She’ll remember.”

  “Oh, you j-just think you know everything,” she said, and carried her skillet into the kitchen, slapping it on the hearth with a clang. I looked up into the mist, and could barely make out the pair of crows where they perched on the porch roof, watching.

  It’s not me that knows everything, I thought. Here’s hoping they do. I clasped hands with Orlo, and went into Guthy’s warm kitchen. While the fire burned toasty, Honni’s back turned to me seemed as chilly as the clinging fog outside. I soon felt called to go upstairs and see how Virda got along with Guthy’s old sailors.

  I suffered a hug, the price of safe return, and asked after her errand. She lit up as she shared her news.

  “I thought they’d be proud to help us! Only one of them knew my Davini, but I was once a shipmaster’s wife, and that carries weight no matter how much time passes. Some know what ships carry what sort of cargo, and can send word when what we want comes in. Then when it’s loaded to go west, they can tell us which wagons and the number of guards—everything we need. No one will question them watching, as they have always done. They even have an idea for the code to use, so the messages do not go into wrong hands even if they go awry. The ships use lanterns. From deck to deck, short and long flashes of light. The Keltanese will not know maritime code!”

  “But how can we use lanterns, Virda? Flashes of light can’t travel as far as what we need. Over flat water is one thing. Up the mountain is another.”

  “Laroot, he was one of the signalers when he sailed, he sugge
sts writing our messages of one and two-syllable words, to make up the code letters. Then if the enemy reads a message of, I don’t know, farm news or how someone’s baby is getting on, they won’t have anything to make them suspicious of another meaning.”

  “I like the plan. Maybe we could carry some messages back and forth, just like regular letters instead of using the messenger birds. Use the birds only when speed is most vital, so they do not attract attention by flying to and fro frequently.” Wils would like the plan, too, I thought. I felt lifted up by hope of getting help to Da soon. “I remember you said you doubted coming here with me was a good idea. I could never have got the old salts to come round as you have! Great work, Virda. Only you could have done it.”

  She said, “Oh, well, now, I don’t know if it was all that … ” and pushed at her hair to tidy it. But she was pleased to hear what I told her, I could tell by the spots of color on her cheeks.

  “I don’t suppose you can guess whether there’s 200 in gold at home?” I said, and told her about the smuggler’s dealings.

  She sucked her lower lip. “Such a sum! I mislike to bargain with criminals, but dire times make dire needs. And dire deeds, betimes. There may be that much coin amongst several families. He didn’t say it had to be Keltanese coins? Because none at home will have that.”

  “He never said. He likely melts it down, and trades in gold ingots or such, so it’s harder to trace.”

  “You found out a lot about them, it seems.”

  “I’m only guessing. But he never said what currency we had to have. Gold is gold.”

  “I’ll be glad to be out of this town and back where we belong!” Virda said.

  While I missed the mountain, I would have been glad to stay longer. I liked the way something new to me seemed always happening here. But now, I did want to travel home and get our plan to help Da at the fort fixed in place.

  CHAPTER 29

  We woke as early as the old salts the next morning. My hand fairly ached from being shook so often—some of them were not as creaky as they appeared and had a grip in them yet. They set off for the dockside with more bounce to them than I had seen previously. Feels good to be of use, I thought as I watched them filing out. One of them pinched Guthy on the backside as he passed. She swatted at him with her table-wiping cloth, but didn’t mean it as serious as Honni had meant her skillet-swinging, as far as I could see.

  Honni thawed overnight, and did not grumble at me further about going off with Orlo. While Virda and I hurried to eat bread and tea, she packed sliced pork and onions for us, with a hunk of cheese and bread. I protested we would be home by evening, unless slowed by the weight of her food package, but she only smiled. Guthy crunched my backbones in a smothering embrace, then flung her arms about Virda.

  “Do not leave me lonesome for you so long again!” Guthy said, dabbing at her eyes. I had hoped to come with only Wieser for company next trip, but it looked as if Virda coming along would be required to minimize female fussing.

  The fog still pressed against the windows and swirled through the open door. Though nearly dawn, the light was diffuse and the haar as thick as Honni’s fish stew outside. Virda walked out with confidence, since she knew her way, and Wieser and I followed her toward the edge of town.

  The wall the soldiers were building at the main road had grown far higher over the short time we stayed in Bale Harbour. Many Keltanese labored on, replacing Merced’s hasty wooden barricade with rough cut, keg-sized stones. Two gates stood open, one for travelers coming into the town, and the other for those making their way out. I saw with relief that only those wishing to come in faced a quartet of sentries. Both the gates were wide enough to accommodate the broad drays that carried heavy goods, which would have made them difficult to secure. But, the Keltanese had more knowledge of barricades than we did. The iron gates set into the wall at each opening could be swung shut to bar any onslaught from without or within. I would have to be sure we avoided this route when we rescued the imprisoned troops of Merced. Perhaps a sea escape?

  There remained a great deal of stone still stacked at the worksite, dim hulks in the fog. Likely they planned guard towers and a walkway above, such as the walled city drawn in one of Da’s books at home. Keltanese might not know seacraft, but in warcraft we were not their equal. A disheartening thought.

  I felt further dismay after we passed through the exit gate and onto the road west. Marching eerily out of the mist to meet us came a column of some forty men. Merchants and farmers conscripted by our troops, I guessed from their lack of uniform. Keltanese surrounded and herded them as the men trudged home. Some bore severe wounds, and leaned on their fellows as they stumbled along. Others had slings or bandage-wrapped arms, some limped with canes and crutches. One fellow with grimy rags about his head was led by the man beside him. His eyes open, he appeared either blind or addled. All were dirty and downcast. I hoped Honni’s da and brothers were among their number, and marching under their own power.

  “Will they be sent back to their families?” Virda said in my ear, voice soft and somber.

  I shook my head. “I think it more likely they’ll be taken to the warehouse we saw. I hope the apostate is allowed to visit them there, so he can tell the families.” I drew her over to the side of the road, where we stood in the gravel to let them pass. I wondered if some of Roicer Village menfolk would be among these captives, or if they might have filtered away into the countryside when the invasion came. There were more troops unaccounted for, too. The men Wils and Da had found camped at the western pass, who Da had sent on their way east to meet the enemy. Surely those men had not all been killed or captured? There would be uniformed Mercedians among their number. More difficult to hide among the citizens, for them.

  “Let’s keep count of our troops we see marched to the harbour. When time comes to free them, we’ll need better numbers, of course. But I think it would be good to know a rough amount,” I said to Virda as we walked along. Wieser kept pace, and though the fog kept me from seeing them, the caws I heard above us told me the pair of crows followed us, too.

  As the morning wore on, the climbing sun began to burn away some mist, plus our road began to rise until behind us a bowl of milk-white marked the harbour. By the time we reached the road that came off the main way and headed to the village, we had counted another fifty of our men. So, almost a hundred walked down to the sea this morning. How long would Keltane feed them, if feeding their own troops was their priority? How many made the walk every day?

  We saw wagons coming and going with typical loads of goods, and one curious wagon I paused to watch go past us, headed west. It carried a load of men, sallow-skinned and with long dark hair fixed in hanging plaits. The wagon’s canvas panels were rolled up, but packed tight in the bed, the men scarcely looked about them as they jolted along over the stones and ruts. I turned to Virda and saw her make the warding sign as she gazed at them going by. “Slaves,” she said, shaking her head. “Gods’ mercy be on them. My boys have told me of Scytheran slave traders. It’s a bad business.”

  “Are the slaves being taken to Keltane?”

  “Only too likely. Mercy be, mercy be.” She drew her shawl closer about her head, turning to resume our journey. I stepped out as well, wondering what work needed slaves in Keltane. Forced to work in the mines? Tend the fields and crops? Leaving more Keltanese men to bear arms against us, maybe.

  We drew up to the Earth Goddess shrine in good time. Virda pulled out some of our cheese and bread for an offering, but I persuaded her to save the cheese, since those at home had been without. We mounted the three stone steps that led to the moss crusted granite pillar. The rock was generally woman-shaped, with crude features chiseled in to represent eyes and mouth. Other supplicants had left foodstuffs, grain sheaves and stoppered water or wine jars at the base of the statue. These offerings were never disturbed; it brought the vilest ill-luck to trifle with the Earth Mother’s due. It appeared even the invading Keltanese respected the shrine
, if indeed they had passed exactly this way. Did Keltane share our same beliefs? I would ask Wils and Gevarr.

  Virda knelt and said her prayer as I looked about for Joren Delyth. We waited just beneath the tallest oak on the north side of the shrine, where I had directed him to meet us. I wondered if he had found it more trouble to leave Bale Harbour than I had led him to expect. He might not even have attempted to come.

  But Virda had just stood to brush the dust from her skirt when I heard a soft hiss from the bushes behind the Earth Goddess. I did not think She Herself courted our attention, and Wieser at once poked her nose into the branches while wagging her flag of a tail. Joren emerged grinning.

  “Hullo, well met.” He pulled a sea bag out, and extended his hand to me after touching his forelock to Virda.

  “I didn’t know you were a sailor,” I said as we clasped hands.

  “Truly,” he said with a sidelong look about him, “I’m not. I saw how the sailors went about town without being bothered by the patrols. A sailor came to the close for a cheap bed, asked me to help him hang onto his Double Jack winnings until he sailed. I told him I’d see to it he left with his cash if I could have his bag, less the gear. It suited him better than sharing the money, and I walked out the town gate without drawing any remark!”

  “Clever,” I said, and meant it. We could use the ruse more than once, I reckoned. Eventually the Keltanese would learn how to sail, and not have to be so respectful of the men who already had that skill. In the meantime, our way in and out of Bale Harbour could be smoothed.

  We shared our meat and onion in the shade, with cool water from the seep that trickled down the rocks above the shrine. Wieser and Joren both especially relished the pork. My crows had some of the remaining bread, more politely than Gargle would have done. Then, with wind picking up from the west, we set out through the village proper and on up the road to home. Joren insisted on relieving Virda of her burden of yard goods. Just as well, since the way grew steep ahead. I would not let him carry my tools, though, I’d have felt foolish.