Their work in Ioth either came from, or was cleared with, Lai Giofre—who incidentally though not accidentally set up both of the jobs for the golden bust. And though he was outwardly a modest man who owned and operated a pipe shop, they knew better than to get on his bad side. The pay for his work was excellent but he didn’t care for freelancers. That was why whenever they arrived in Ioth, they let him know they were in town and what they were doing—the man was so well connected it wasn’t worth trusting that word wouldn’t otherwise get back to him.
Lai Giofre had his shop in the area known as The Fan; named because of the canals radiating out from its center. It was a quiet side street with his shop the only place of business amongst stone apartment buildings; a convenient canal at its rear, as they knew personally from when they had to duck out the back in the past to avoid the guard. The small glass window was dusty, but through the grime Motega could make out a display of pipes carved from bone or wood, along with casks from countries far and wide of various weeds for smoking. A bell on the door jangled as Motega led the way inside. A customer looked around at them from his conversation with the familiar figure of Giofre, his hair a little more thinning, a few more wrinkles on his forehead, but otherwise the same as he ever was, right down to the clothes he wore. Motega wouldn’t be surprised if the dust on Giofre’s jacket was older than some of his stock. The customer tapped the counter in punctuation at the end of whatever was said and moved away to inspect a collection of pipes arrayed on wracks on the wall.
Motega and Trypp replaced the man at the counter while Florian lingered unassumingly by the doorway.
“Hello, Mr. Giofre,” said Trypp. He flicked his eyes obviously in the direction of the stranger. “Are you occupied?”
“Trypp. Motega. Florian. What a surprise to see you three. I’ve heard some tales about you,” said Giofre with a glint in his eye. He waved at the solitary customer. “Don’t worry about him, he’s safe.”
Motega wasn’t sure what ‘safe’ meant, but he wasn’t going to worry about that. What did worry him was that once again, stories of them were getting around.
“What kind of tales?” asked Motega.
Giofre chuckled. “Don’t worry, they’re all good. Stories about a great fighter with two swords and an archer with a falcon stopping an island full of pirates. Heroes of Kingshold, eh?”
Motega rubbed his face with his palm. Shit, even here. He guessed that should have been expected. Motega turned and looked at Florian, expecting to see a similar reaction, but the fool looked immensely proud of himself.
“Never took you lot for heroes. Heh. Probably get a few extra points in your share if I can use it for marketing though.”
“That’s fine all the same,” said Trypp. “We’d rather not. Any work for us?” Motega chuckled to himself. They had a job, an important one at that, but Trypp couldn’t help himself from seeing if there was a chance for a side hustle. Not that he was particularly against it himself; Motega wasn’t sure there was going to be much excitement in an intelligence gathering mission.
“No. Not at the minute. If you’d have been here in the summer then I had a good job. Unless, that is, I’m wrong in assuming you aren’t interested in bounty hunting?”
“Who’s the bounty?” asked Motega, leaning forward in interest before Trypp could say no. Bounties were difficult jobs. Usually whoever was paying wanted the person alive. If they didn’t then it was usually an assassin they were looking for and the three of them didn’t particularly like that work either.
“Not just the one. It’s a whole bunch of them. There’s a group called the Devoted. A few rich merchants have been attacked, one of them killed.”
“Who are they?” asked Motega, but their conversation expanded before he got an answer.
“That’s hogwash, Lai, and you know it,” said the customer who’d stopped inspecting the pipes. “The Devoted just want to worship Arloth, without any of the restrictions that the church puts on them.” Motega glowered at the man. He didn’t like an eavesdropper. But the man either wasn’t concerned or didn’t notice. “Normal people from what I’ve heard. Not a fighter among them.”
“I’m not arguing facts with you, Neno. I don’t know either way. But I know there’s people willing to pay if they get handed over to the guard. I’m sure they’d like a hanging.”
Neno grunted in response. Motega paid him more attention now. He was of middle years by the gray at his ears, but looked to be in good health. His clothes were simple but well made, like someone with the money to buy good quality but didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Other than a knife at his belt, he was unarmed.
“Well, I’ll be off,” said Neno. “Apologies, gentlemen, for interrupting your conversation. That was very rude of me. But don’t listen to everything this fool says as if it came down from Arloth himself.” Neno nodded to Trypp and Motega before he left, repeating the gesture to Florian as the big man opened the door to let him leave.
“Are you sure he’s alright?” asked Trypp, watching the man as he departed, eyes narrowed, committing him to memory. Motega could see that his friend felt uncomfortable too.
“Yes, yes. Neno Minardi is a good man. He just loves Arloth a little too much is all. I think if it wasn’t for his business, he’d be a priest. I tell you, what’s the world coming to when people choose a god over goods?” Without waiting for an answer, Giofre plowed on. “How long are you boys going to be in town?”
“Not sure. Probably through Wintertide,” said Trypp.
“Will you be staying at Atarah’s again?” Trypp nodded. “Good. I’ll have someone send for you should the need arise.”
Motega, followed by Trypp, went to leave the store, Florian once again taking on doorman duty, when Giofre called out again. “And remember, pipes make great Wintertide presents.” The dusty old man cracked a dry laugh; Motega smiled in return.
Out in the street it was night, but even this alley was illuminated by the flickering light of the gas lamps, intermittently spaced. A steady drizzle fell, and sizzled on the glass dome of the nearest one. Motega glanced at his friends, wordlessly agreeing that it was time to get a warm beer and a warm bed. He flipped up his hood and stalked off toward Atarah’s Hearth, Florian and Trypp walking behind.
Chapter 28
The Speaker
It was two days before assorted citizens of Ioth started to arrive at the door of the Ambassador’s residence. Two days of waiting for a response to visit with the Speaker, even though multiple messengers had confirmed delivery of hand-written letters. Two days of Alana pacing her new home, exploring the rooms, wandering the courtyards, discussing strategy with Admiral Crews, Jill, and even Sergeant Morris. Morris was a strange sort; she could tell that he and his squad of Ravens were not used to this kind of duty, but he seemed to have accepted what had been asked of him. She enjoyed his stories, or at least the ones that he thought were appropriate for her—she could tell he was holding some things back—but finally she heard about Florian when he first joined the army, nothing more than a farm boy seeking adventure; those tales were a delight. Alana learned some interesting new names for him though she wasn’t sure she would try them out.
Alana had not ventured into the city yet, but Bors, Joe, Syd and Cherry had all donned civilian clothes and taken to exploring, reporting back on the things they saw. Much of it was the mundane preparations for the week-long Wintertide festival, but the reports of green and gold Pyrfew soldiers roaming the city were concerning enough for them all to agree that Alana should remain where she was until the Speaker himself guaranteed her safety.
And so two days passed, where Alana felt as cooped up as she had done on the ship; Jill her constant attendant, ready and eager to help. On the day when Alana finally convinced Jill that she should leave the compound for a few hours and explore the city of her birth once again, people started to arrive at the front door and ask if ‘the girl from Kingshold’ was there.
Apparently, a few people had al
ready been turned away, before she just happened to be passing the foyer when another batch of visitors arrived. Rawley, the chief steward, was in the midst of shooing them off when she walked over to see what all the fuss was about.
“We want to see the girl from Kingshold,” said a woman at the front of a small gaggle of people. “The one from the election who organized the common folk.”
“I’m afraid that we do not allow visitors without an appointment to enter,” said Rawley, stiff but polite.
Alana stepped forward. “That’s quite alright, Rawley,” she said, her eyes on the people on the front step. They did not look well to-do, but they had the appearance of people who took pride in themselves. She knew that look from the skilled craftsmen of home. “I’m Miss Narring. The one you are looking for. Why are you here?”
Their faces switched from that of barely disguised frustration to that of excitement. One woman even let out an “ooh”, and another man flicked a glance at Rawley that was clearly meant to put him in his place. The woman at the front, shorter than Alana, wearing a simple cotton shift and a striking woolen shawl of many colors—she was a weaver if Alana had to guess—was the one to speak.
“Ms. Narring. How very nice to make your acquaintance. It’s very simple. We want to learn from you.” The woman looked over her shoulder to see who was nearby and who might be listening. “We heard the stories about what happened in the summer. How you organized normal folk like us to vote in that election. We want you to tell us how.”
Alana thought about this. In some ways it was amazing that word of what she had done had traveled so far in so few months. But then again, she also knew how fast news travelled in the Narrows, passed on with the efficiency that only came with people who wanted to be the one to share some gossip before it got stale. She also knew how a tale could be twisted in the telling, remembering one time how a neighbor of hers had a cousin from up island come to Kingshold, supposedly to make his fortune, and the next day word was going around that Mildred had been married to her cousin and was expecting. Alana wondered what stories these people had heard.
“I’ll be happy to talk to you. Rawley, can you see them in please.”
Alana retired to a nearby sitting room and rearranged the chairs so there would be room enough for them all to sit. She asked a nearby staff member if she could bring some tea, and by the time she had done all this, her guests were waiting for her. Rawley shot her a bemused glance, returning moments later with one of the Ravens to stand guard. It was Morrissey, whose mood did not improve by having to actually do something.
First all of she had her guests introduce themselves. The woman with the shawl went by the name of Ina and she was a weaver—Alana praised her work and asked if she could buy a shawl just like the one she wore. There was also Haani, a seamstress, along with Husto and Tano, who could have been brothers but were apparently just partners in a smithery. These four all had small operations in the east end of the foreign quarter, where locals had moved to over the years for cheaper rents and better opportunities.
Then she asked them what they had heard about Kingshold.
The tale they told had some semblance to what happened, well at least the time of the year was right; but the wizardly fiat that had caused the whole avalanche that had led Alana to where she was sitting now was replaced with demonstrations and riots by the people of Kingshold, that had eventually led to the Chancellor ordering the execution of the King and Queen. Alana chuckled to herself, wondering what Chancellor Hoskin would have thought about that—he’d changed by the summer solstice, but from what she knew he had hardly been someone to seek confrontation. And treason? She could hardly think of anyone less likely.
Apparently, once the election was called, two sisters from the poor part of town had organized all the populace to cast their vote in the election. There was no mention of the restrictions that had been set, the money that was required to be eligible. But they did have the ending partially right—that a golden-voiced bard, a secret Lord who had lived amongst the people so he could fully understand their needs, had risen from obscurity to heed the people’s call and become Lord Protector.
“If it can happen in Edland,” said Ina, as she finished her tale, “where there’s always been Kings and Queens, why can’t it happen here?” Ina whispered the last part. Alana noted Ina’s downcast eyes and realized the bravery that it must have taken to say those words to a stranger.
Alana sighed. She didn’t want to disappoint these good people, but she couldn’t have them hold something so far from the truth so close to their hearts. As they sipped their tea, she told them what really happened. How it all came about, sparing nothing, not any of the coincidences or happenstance that brought Mareth to rule. Nor the mistakes that were made, such as the riots that brought death and destruction. And she was clear how it was the bravery shown by the citizens of Kingshold when the North Sea Corsairs raided Kingshold that was the true turning point for many.
When she had finished, she was surprised that she did not see disappointment in their faces. Simply wonder and rapt attention.
“What should we do?” asked Ina.
“I’m not sure that is my place to say,” consoled Alana. “I did not come here to change the way that Ioth rules its own city.”
“Please. We would greatly value your thoughts.”
Alana considered this. She did have time on her hands and sometimes, she couldn’t help herself for helping others.
“Come back tomorrow. Let me think on this.” Her guests nudged each other with excitement. “But no promises.”
Alana tentatively descended down the slippery steps to the side of the canal and stepped into the long narrow boat, Crews holding her hand to steady her. Dolph did likewise for Jill as Alana settled into the leather-covered seat.
Finally, the invitation had come to meet with the Speaker and she couldn’t help but wonder at the timing.
After talking with the locals yesterday, she had spent the day in quiet discussion with Jill and even with Katterick, mulling over what they had asked. She couldn’t help but think about how the people could be more engaged with how their city was run, even though there was a ruling Assembly that had been the reserve of a dozen families for as long as could be remembered. But in some ways, that didn’t matter. She had a job to do. Mareth had tasked her with addressing Ioth’s support for Pyrfew and it providing a toe-hold in the Sapphire Sea to the empire. Not rabble rousing. Even if the rabble in question seemed to be the type of people that she would much rather be spending her time with.
More people had come to visit yesterday afternoon. Word had spread of Ina and her friends’ audience. Each time, Rawley had informed Alana and she had suggested that they all come back this morning, without really keeping count of how many she said this to.
It was therefore a bit of a surprise when thirty people were waiting outside the door to the Ambassador’s residence at ten o’clock that morning. Hurriedly, Alana and the staff created space for them all while her visitors milled around the foyer, craning their necks to look at the painted ceiling. Rawley acted much as a sheep dog would, ushering back anyone to the group who ventured too far for his comfort, to look at a particular piece of furniture or painting. While she shifted chairs, she heard one of them remark that they had made the set of side tables stationed there.
Once everyone was comfortably seated, and the staff had brought iced lemon drinks and sugar biscuits for their guests, Alana had taken her position at the front of the group. Jill joined her there without asking, which Alana was terribly grateful for—both the company and the moral support. She had wondered if this was all getting a bit out of hand, but she carried on regardless.
She talked of the power of people working together; of guilds and community meetings; of thinking about the small things that could be done by themselves without threatening the establishment. There was a concern that this could all take some time, but she made it clear she knew nothing about revolution and would
not be someone to suggest that is what should be done for a quick answer. In Kingshold, they had the benefit of organizations that had sprung up in their loosely controlled environment, emerging to fill the need where the government was disinterested or slow to react. There were many questions and insightful comments for which she didn’t know the right answer, her rudimentary knowledge of Ioth letting her down; but they had a lively discussion, which took place more and more amongst her guests. The people of Ioth talked animatedly about how once they were organized, they could talk to officials and gain influence, maybe eventually making connections with the Assembly themselves. By noon, Alana was exhausted from the attention required to keep up with the conversation. She thanked her guests and wished them luck as she had led them to the door, hope in their hearts that they could do something to better their own lives, and her word in their ear that they could come by anytime.
The longboat scraped along a stone wall of the canal as it avoided a similar vessel, bringing her back to the present. An apology was mumbled by one of the two men equipped with long poles that they plunged into the slightly fetid water to propel them forwards. She still gripped the handwritten scroll in her hand, delivered shortly after lunch, and sealed with the mark of the Speaker. The boat edged out of the tributary canal and made its way across the grand canal, cutting around similar vessels as well as larger boats that could travel on the deeper waters. Sergeant Morris and Midnight stood at the fore and aft of the boat, scanning the crowds as they went.
Yes, Alana couldn’t help but wonder about the timing of the invitation; was it a coincidence, or was there some connection to the meeting that morning? She had no doubt that they were watched. She held her breath as realization dawned; there could even be spies in the residence. Crews raised an eyebrow toward her. He had noticed her reaction and so she turned the shock into a fake yawn before smiling pleasantly back at him.
Ioth, City of Lights Page 28
