Chapter 10

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Richard considered himself a smart man. With good reason. Not only had he survived, but he enjoyed a certain influence among the other leaders. And lately, he had been doing better and better, aided by the organized smuggling trade. There are, of course, some disadvantages - most notably the food cravings of his partners, but there's nothing he can do about that. They only charge ten dinir per crossing, and bribing the guards would cost considerably more. It's bad enough that Celesta flatly refuses to transfer slaves across the border, but one can understand her reasoning. A man is not a stack of potatoes; if he yells at the most inopportune moment, what then?

What the ghoul was doing at the port, she did not say. She generally preferred to remain silent, unlike her friend, who was happy to keep the conversation on any subject. The chief lamented that he had seldom seen Medea lately. He enjoyed the company of a beautiful and sociable woman. Celesta, on the other hand, weighed every word spoken and in most cases asked questions rather than answering them. She never once let slip her plans or the reasons for her interest in this or that subject; she gave out exactly as much information as she wanted and considered necessary. But she could, at extra cost, demand answers to questions that gave good food for thought.

She must have had good informants. The ghoul had time to think over the news that Richard thought was fresh, and in her conversations with him, she checked some of her conclusions. At least, that was his impression. So now, taking advantage of a brief respite, the cloaked figure nestled in a dark corner and began to question: "Have the Duke's men made you an offer to join their service? Within the last ten days?"

"Why should they?" Richard wondered. "They offered to hire me to escort the caravan, as usual. I declined -it was too great a loss."

"And no strange hints?"

"I think not... There are too many guards as it is, and my men will refuse to become artisans."

"What can I say," the girl murmured. "Taleya's population is growing, slowly, but surely. Some come by themselves, some are brought in by traders from the Archipelago, and the women dare to give birth. There are problems with food: old stocks of tinned food and cereals are running low, and everyone is tired of eating fish alone. So, it is necessary to develop agriculture. And how to do this, if the mutants and marauders attack the villages almost daily? Only by uniting all available fighters under one hand. The nucleus of the future army is there, the biggest ringleaders are fed, you can gradually start to clean up smaller units like yours."

Richard didn't like what he heard. The status quo that had recently been established allowed us to live relatively peacefully, and even to build up a little fat. The sense of uncertainty that had dominated the first two years after the Plague was gone, and new rules and customs had taken shape. The government kept bandits out of its territory, providing them with food and clothing, and the newfound chieftains and "bosses" served as a layer between the city and the many outside threats. Everything is fine, but if the Duke decided to break the balance... It is impossible to oppose him.

"I wouldn't want to get in trouble," said the ringleader, summing up his thoughts.

"It's up to you to decide. There are strange rumors among the poor in the port, communities being moved from place to place. I'm afraid we won't be able to get you through the posts with the same frequency."

That's the bad news!

"But why!?"

"The patrols' disposition will change." The ghoul glanced briefly at the porters, made sure she wasn't being overheard, and then continued. "We can sneak in one man, but a whole squad... No."

"Damn!" Richard cursed involuntarily at full voice. "Right now!"

"Do you have any obligations?"

"Something like that. I need to arm five men with something better than rusty swords, or they will be killed in the first skirmish."

"I'm sorry to hear that. If it's only a matter of cargo, I can deliver it to your territory."

"We still have to buy weapons - and for what?"

Celesta remained silent. She did not believe in Richard's soft-heartedness. His concern for his men was explained by mercenary interests. The strength of any leader was determined by the number of subordinates. That was why he sought to recruit more fighters to the gang. She saw the situation solely in terms of selfish interests. Do the ghouls need a strong Richard? They do, at least shortly. So she should help the bandit, at the same time strengthening her status as a useful and powerful ally.

"I think we've got about ten days. You'll have time to make two trips if you're up to it. Then we'll have to lay low for a while. Let's say a month. During that time, the situation will clear up: we'll sort out our difficulties, and you'll decide what to do next."

"I have to." The ringleader's tone left no doubt of his displeasure. However, he was already thinking about something, making plans for the future. "I think I'll hire as a guard, take a couple of wagons to the villages. The neighbors were already whispering that my luck was too good for me."

The girl had instantly discerned his intention. He couldn't see her face under the mask, but he could have sworn she was grinning: "Try it. Affinity with officials has always been a reliable source of useful gossip. And if the Duke really intends to take control of the neighborhood, it is better to be on good terms with the guards - maybe they'll give you a tastier slice."

After a monotonous and uneventful existence, the last week seemed incredibly rich. Life used to be described by a simple algorithm of "hunt - explore the land - sleep," including occasional interruptions for skirmishes with creatures spawned by the old mages' talents or cleaning the house. The rhythmic cycle was not often broken, and they got used to it (and to regular meals, too). Now there was too much going on.

Sometimes Celesta wanted to be torn, to be in three places at once. The first would communicate with Richard, the second would watch over the people and the rest would work on cleaning up the underground shelter. Alas, she had to make do with one or the other, either reassigning the rest to Medea or putting off difficult tasks for later. Her friend was slightly put off by the pace, and she opted to take time out, finishing the work alone in the new shelter. At first, without tools, the repairs went slowly, then something was bought, something was stolen, the hardest part was done. What was left was the simple and customary work.

The former noblewoman surprisingly easily mastered the art of laying stone, puttying walls, and dashing with a hammer, almost without hitting her fingers. She was willing to go to great lengths to fulfill her dream of a comfortable shelter. Celesta, on the other hand, had to scurry around the port, hiding from public view, spend the day in the back corners of the sewers, communicate with agents, and manage to work as a guide at the same time. So the decrease in the number of Richard's porters made her happy, but the reasons for the decrease were not.

Celesta was told of the changes being prepared by Holy Fakasius, a type so vile that he evoked involuntary admiration. His name was at the top of the list of "black market kings". As a low-ranking official, His Holiness managed to get his hands into all kinds of shady business, from the unlicensed slave trade to blackmail. In his manners, he resembled a kind uncle, which often deceived people who had carelessly trusted the compassionate older man. He owned several low-class brothels in the city, where a rich client could afford anything he wanted. Which means anything at all.

The ghoul first heard about him quite a long time ago. After talking to the intimidated prisoner, and since then she carefully collected any information. This business, espionage, turned out to be unexpectedly difficult and even dangerous - there were two ways to get information: from the captured victims or by eavesdropping on conversations. Laskash, as expected, was of little use, the boy was not distinguished by intelligence. He had a good memory, though.

The observation of His Holiness lasted six months. For the last ten days, Celesta watched him almost every night. Of all the candidates available, he seemed the most promising. For this man, there were no moral constraints. In any case, thought Andrew sarcastically, principles did not play a special role in his life. The fat man was hardly embarrassed by the nature of his partner. A man who feeds the guilty members of his gang to the grass catcher alive would have a job for a ghoul. Though it's unlikely to be a pleasant job.

We may have to endure it.

His Holiness lived on the third floor of an unattractive-looking house, which stood at a distance from the other buildings. The first two floors were occupied by his guards, eight burly foreheads and six girls. They were all listed as a community, the head of which was the object of the ghoul's interest. Dogs were running in the yard - three of them, which was great of luxury in these times. In short, the old bastard slept peacefully and was greatly surprised when he was awakened by the touch of cold steel on his throat.

Celesta easily jumped over the wall, playfully bypassed the watchmen, looked at the frightened dogs whimpering with fear, and finally climbed the wall to the window of Fakasia's bedroom. There she bent the thin iron bars of the bars with difficulty, straining with all her strength - the physical strength of the undead was not infinite, though it was two or three times that of a human - and squeezed herself through the opening that had been created. She was afraid of the dogs, preparing to run away to try again later, but the mutts, who had smelled the undead, dared not raise their voices.

Not yet old, though very fat the man quickly figured out what was going on.

"Shall we talk, Holiness?"

"I'm afraid there must be some mistake, mistress. You have me confused with someone else."

Fakasius perked up when he heard the young woman's voice. In the darkness, he could hardly see who was sitting beside him on the bed, but he caught the stranger's small stature and general frailty. He was not deceived, however, about her innocuousness: If she had managed to get into his bedroom, she must be dangerous. He just didn't know how dangerous.

Very interesting - how? It is necessary to change the guards: there is someone bribed among them - otherwise, it will be impossible to get into the house. He will interrogate those who have made a mistake himself - no one can be trusted with such a case. It is unpleasant, of course, he has such a weak heart, but it is necessary, it is necessary...

"No, I didn't," the girl grinned. She grabbed the man by the throat with one hand and easily lifted the fat body and moved it to the chair next to the bed. "It's like this, Holiness. Either you behave like a reasonable businessman, and we peacefully part ways, regardless of the outcome of the conversation. Or you start calling for security, and your fleshy neck is decorated with a deep, unpleasant hole. What do you say?"

"I'm always ready for a dialogue," the bandit said quickly.

He held himself not bad. He hid his fear skillfully, assessed the situation correctly Celesta even respected him for his courage. Although a weak man could not command a crowd of cutthroats and would lose his status and his life in an instant.

"I'm glad to hear it. I apologize for the intrusion, but I wanted to talk to you alone, without company."

"It's all right," waved his hands, "it happens. I don't like extra ears, either. Though I must point out that you needn't be afraid of my boys; they're good. I've always taught them, 'Do good, and it will return to you a hundredfold,' and I've done the same."

"Are you helping people?"

"Of course, of course, what else could it be? Life is hard, we have to stick together. I'll give my last shirt if anyone asks for it!"

"That's great. So why don't you give the poor ghoul a sip of blood?"

The man turned slightly pale, glancing toward the door. Celesta grinned, showing her fangs, and then leaned back on the softest of cushions in a relaxed pose. As she did so, she moved slightly away from His Holiness, which made him sigh in relief. There was no reason to frighten the fat man - what if he burst out and started yelling?

"I can't remember the last time I've had such a soft bed," she ran her hands over the light blanket, "and clean. You've made a good home, Fakasius."

"To the best of my modest ability..." The man licked his parched lips.

"I'm envious. But, you know, I can understand you. I'm sick and tired of hanging around in basements, I want something stable and cozy. And I immediately thought of you - one good human being will help one good non-human. Not for nothing, of course."

"With all my heart!" His gut sensed the possible benefits, and Holiness perked up. Fear still lingered, but slowly gave way to lust for profit and thoughts of how to use the new acquaintance. "How not to take care of an orphan girl!"

Under the ghoul's heavy stare, he realized he had said something wrong.

"In short, I need work, and the previous customers recommended you. I'm not sharing the names," the girl cut him off. "I do not like to kill: traces remain, so I charge dearly. I can spy, find the right person, take anyone anywhere. The usual work of a mercenary. I accept payment in dinars, or information, which, by the way, I also sell. Think about it. If you're up to it, come to the crossroads of the Coppersmiths and Lakta the Giveress tomorrow night, and I'll be in the area after sunset. Don't take too many guards - otherwise, I won't come near."

The ghoul stood up, seemingly reluctant to leave her luxurious bed. She smiled sweetly: "Sorry about the bars. Your boys are doing a good job, I had to climb through the window."

Without saying goodbye, she slipped into an opening too narrow for a human.

Fakasius wiped the sweat from his forehead and cautiously went to the window. He looked out. Seeing no one, he exhaled heavily and rubbed his face with his palms. It had been a hard night. The fat man lay awake all night, tossing and turning in his bed, trying to figure out what to do next. The ghoul seemed a clever girl, only some friends would be more dangerous than enemies. But she could do a lot of good, too...

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First thing in the morning, His Holiness ordered that the bars on the windows be replaced with sturdier ones.

The acquaintance with Fakasius had both positive and negative consequences. It provided a serious source of truthful information, who was not too eager to share knowledge, but who had a complete and clear picture of what was going on in Taleya. The ghouls finally gained an insight into the powers and factions operating in the city, their relationships, and alliances. Development plans became a particularly valuable acquisition: now the girls knew which areas the authorities intended to renovate in the first place, where they would settle people, where it would be safe to arrange their own home.

She even managed to get the old sewage plans, which are still relevant today. The first level of the dungeons was covered with rockslides in many places, as a result of which it became very difficult to move through them - we had to come to the surface all the time. However, the second tier - technical passages, old catacombs, underground riverbeds, former pumping stations - is much better preserved.

It seems that here the builders relied less on magic and used more sturdy materials. It was impossible to tell exactly where one floor ended and another began: they flowed seamlessly into each other, gradually turning into a real labyrinth. Sometimes a narrow passage in a long explored area led to a new network of rooms, in which it was easy to get lost even with ropes and chalk. Before, the girls seldom descended too deeply, preferring to move closer to the surface of the earth and contenting themselves with making temporary hiding places. Now, with a map, they expected to travel the Taleya with less risk.

But there's more dirt and stench down there.

His Holiness paid with information about the blueprints for a small favor - it was only necessary to pass a letter to the leader of a small gang. Quickly. Celeste suspected a trap at first and took Medea along as insurance, but the assignment proved to be no trick. The bandit accepted the package peacefully, signed for it on a slip of paper - the ghoul's way of formalizing the delivering just in case - and didn't even try to peek under the edge of the messenger's mask.

The next night the girls gave the fat customer a receipt, and in exchange received the address of the custodian of the city archives. The carriers of information, widespread before the disaster, ceased to work after the disappearance of magic, and the paper remained the only source of knowledge. Most of the archives of the city services were lost during the riots, many were stored in the duke's castle, so Celesta attributed the fact that the stimulated by the large sum of money old keeper managed to find and partly removed, partly copied, due to sheer luck. And also the charm of Medea, who conducted the "negotiations".

They had money now, and lots of it. Fakasy's second assignment was to kill an officer who was bothering him in some way. It was a nasty and dangerous case, but she had to do it for fear of losing the most lucrative client. To be perfectly honest, Celesta had long been disgusted by murder: she had often seen - and brought - death, and had grown accustomed to it. She was terrified of the consequences. An officer of the guard is, after all, not an ordinary poor man: his death will certainly be of interest, will begin to be investigated. So she carefully planned the operation, destroyed all traces, and sprinkled a foul-smelling liquid on the floor. As for the execution of the order itself, there was no problem - the man did not live in barracks, but in his own comfortable house, which was guarded by two soldiers. It was easy to slip into the second floor and plunge the knife into the chest of the sleeping victim.

The action had cost His Holiness three hundred dinirs, and Celesta hoped the greedy fat man would think twice about hiring her next time. She would guarantee results, of course, but there were plenty of cheaper mercenaries out there.

So far, everything was going well, inevitably a source of apprehension. Fate, generous as it was, had a knack for trickery, presenting it in a moment of intense contentment with herself and life. The girls were engaged in repairing the new house, crawling through the sewers, disgustedly stepping on a thick layer of dirt and waste, twice met with Richard. We did not lose contact with the bandit; he would surely come in handy in the future. So we had to carve out time and bring his unit together once more - purely for the sake of maintaining a good relationship. Just once: then he was hired to guard the caravans for a month, just as he'd planned. The guards did shuffle the patrols like cards, most of the routes would have to be changed. Richard, as they say, "grew up": there were already twenty-seven swords under his command, there were various rumors about his good luck in business. It would be interesting to know what his people say about the two mysterious guides...

The meetings with Laskash were frequent but much less useful. But that depends on how you look at it. After all, it was from him that the girls heard about the strange people gathering in Illiar's temple.

The authorities were well aware of the danger of the existence of groups of religious fanatics in their vicinity, and they fought various kinds of prophets as much as they could. The most intolerant were eliminated, and they did not use kid gloves with their followers either. The more sane ones were tried to be bought out and incorporated into the established structure. The community system also contributed to the erosion of the ranks of the cultists: those who have torn away from the influence of the collective were not eager to return to their cruel and intolerant comrades. However, the struggle went on with varying success - the fanatics created semblances of secret societies, gathered at night, performed their rituals, and, much more importantly, helped each other. By exchanging information, receiving help from fellow believers, and feeling certain chosenness concerning those around them, they became more than just a bunch of stubborn lunatics.

All the new secret societies known to Celeste were somewhat monotonous. Their ideology was based on similar tenets, with the worship of Morvan or his kind at its core. It was only logical when you think about it: desperate people had reason to believe that the new reality was a kingdom of darkness. The good gods were officially believed in, but somehow sluggishly, without enthusiasm, by inertia. So the news of the cultists gathering in the temple of the Lord of Light interested the ghoul unwittingly. So much so, that she decided to go see what they were up to and took Medea along with her. She had originally intended to encounter a desecrated altar, an ecstatic crowd, or something similar, but life had managed to give her another surprise...

"The temples of the Lords of Light and Darkness are rare," Medea enlightened her friend. "It's not customary to build them. It's much more common to build the shrines of some incarnation, like the Death Reaper or the Master of Disease for Morvan, or the Healer for Illiar. I do not know why. But I've heard that temples are built according to a very strict canon, with very ancient rituals - the priests don't always understand the meaning of the hymns they sing."

"So the cult is weak?"

"Strange as it may sound, but yes. People were more likely to sacrifice to an ancestor, a local deity, or a patron of a craft."

"Was Carlon a priest of Morvan or one of his incarnations?"

As always, whenever the identity of a former patron was touched upon in conversation, Medea flinched slightly: "He served the Lord of Hell himself."

"Exclusive, it means."

The sanctuary of Illiar was a well-preserved small circular building, which reminded Andrew of the minarets of the muezzins of his homeworld. The only difference was that the tall tower at the bottom went smoothly into a fairly wide base, and the first floor had a radius of ten meters at a glance. There was no one in the temple now - the girls had specifically timed it. They intended to look around first, choose a comfortable spot, and wait for the ritual to begin. Though Laskash claimed that the main rituals were performed during the day - which meant that the authorities didn't pay much attention to the cultists - people were sometimes seen hiding their faces here at night.

There were two ways into the building, through the front door and the balcony on the second floor. There must have been a manhole downstairs. In any temple of any religion the priests try to arrange a loophole, but I was too lazy to look for it. And what for? It was dark, no one was outside, no one was inside, and one could simply reach out to the massive stone doors with a decorative metal pattern...

Celesta bounced back with a cry: her fingers were slightly smoky.

"What's wrong?!"

"I don't know." Celesta cradled the injured hand. Her body ached as if an electric shock had struck the ghoul through her injured arm. "Look."

On the door glowed dimly, fading slowly, signs the girls had never seen before.

The priests of the Lords, according to Medea, had always kept apart. Anyone could take the priesthood in the temple of his chosen incarnation, as long as he sincerely believed and aspired to spiritual life. The priests of Morvan and Illiar approached the choice of successors much more strictly. For them, it was not enough just to want to become a priest. A recommendation from an already acting priest was required. But even that was not enough. The young novice was first forced to go through a long period of training, during which his physical and intellectual abilities were examined. Candidates that had withstood the rigors of life were allowed to leave the monastery to make up their minds about their choice. Not all returned after a year: many preferred the secular life.

As for the others, not much is known about the fate of those who took the service. It was said that they underwent some kind of ritual that resulted in the acquisition of strange abilities - although not beyond what was possible for powerful mages-and a certain detachment from life. The complex training system meant that the number of initiates was at all times modest when compared to the servants of other deities.

In ancient times, the adepts of the Lords were considered not quite human. Maybe because of the indifference with which they looked at the fate of others, and their own, or for some other reason... As culture and civilization developed, the ancient legends began to seem obsolete and were laughed at. Apparently, in vain.

"Where can I find a priest?" Celeste drummed her claws on the table thoughtfully. "Where can I find a priest?"

They now had a table, a sofa, a real bed, dragged in pieces, and other furniture. Doors had been hung over the passage leading to the underground river so that the dampness no longer penetrated the room that had become a cozy dwelling. It did not become cozy at once, though. First, the walls were washed to remove the centuries-old layers of dust and dirt, then the cracks were sealed with a sealant, which took almost all the money Celesta had earned, and they waited two days, allowing the rooms to dry. They covered the remaining passageways with thick curtains, hiding from the draughts. Then they cleaned the rooms again, and only then did they start looking for furniture.

As a result of the effort, the house took on a lively appearance. A bedroom that comfortably housed both girls, a hallway, and something called a "bathroom," essentially a cage with a large trough. Where the huge tub had been found, and how it had been dragged, was recalled with nervous laughter. There was one problem left, and that was the fire. The ghouls did not much need light, but they could not refuse hot water. For now, they had to make the fire and heat the big buckets by the river, but in time Celesta planned to have the bathtub vented. She didn't feel there was any danger of being seen: the drains would carry the smoke far away, and besides, there was always something cooking and burning in the port.

"Maybe talk to the leader of those cultists from the temple?"

"We might as well go back to Carlon and ask him," Medea objected. "We're Morvan's children: the light-worshippers would tear us to pieces."

"Let's try to catch it at a good moment."

"How do you know what the right moment will be? What if this priest hasn't lost touch with the deity? He will simply burn us."

"I don't think he's strong," Celesta pondered aloud. "Remember our former chief: the slightest... the slightest sorcery was hard for him."

"Maybe the rebirth changed him too much."

"I don't think so. He, figuratively speaking, approached his Master after his death; the connection must have been strengthened."

"In any case," Medea did not give up, "Illyar's servant will not help the ghoul."

"You won't know until you try it. Laskash says the man he talked to, Poyr, doesn't look like a fanatic. What if we're lucky and the others are the same?"

"What if it doesn't work?"

"We'll force him. We'll keep him chained in a secluded corner, and the priest will talk."

"He will curse you to death!"

Celesta looked intently at her friend. Medea sat nervously through her thick hair, her gaze wandering, resting on anything but the little ghoul's face. Something was wrong with her. She went from beautiful, confident woman to hysterical, shaking with fear as soon as she spoke of her meeting with the wizards. Her voice was so high, she wanted to cover her ears with her hands in pain.

"What's wrong, Medea?"

Silence, only her shoulders drooped. Celesta sighed - this emotions again - and moved closer, wrapping her arms around the waist of the stubbornly staring beauty: "Well, what's wrong?"

"You want to go back, don't you?" Medea whispered. "Go back to your world?"

"I want to," Andrew didn't deny the obvious. "I don't like it here. I could get killed here at any moment."

"I'm afraid to be alone. I'm scared."

Celesta was already contemplating the fate of her friend. It was a shame to leave Medea to her fate. For all her strength, experience, and skill, the former singer and noblewoman remained a domestic being. No, of course, she could be cruel, she could fight and kill, she could survive when necessary, but there was no animalistic readiness to claw at the enemy's throat and die like that. Considering who she had to deal with on a regular basis, without that inner confidence, the ghoul would be a figurehead. And figures, even the most valuable ones, are sacrificed when necessary.

"Silly," Celesta ran her hand through the singer's luxurious mane. "Even if there were a creature left somewhere, a mage capable of bringing my soul back, it wouldn't take a year or two to find it. Or ten. If Carlon's right and the undead are immortal, there's a chance to get back, but if not... Unless some gods intervene."

"Then why search for it?"

"Well, miracles do happen," the ghoul shrugged her skinny shoulders. She wasn't lying, she wasn't trying to be comforting, she was speaking her mind. It was time to stop turning a blind eye to the bitter truth. "Besides, I'm not just focused on mages. Compare the way we lived at the monastery to the way we are now."

She confessed that she'd been tormented by the fear of being alone for a long time. Today, she'd just "broke out," because of the strange forces of the Lord of Light's servants. Medea calmed down a little, then darkened again: "Tell me, if you have a chance to come back right now? Tomorrow we catch the leader, and he knows the right ritual? Would you go?"

Celesta rolled her eyes in martyrdom. We are responsible for those we have tamed.

"No, I'll settle for you first. I'll find a decent ghoul and marry you off to him."

"Don't laugh!"

"Then don't ask stupid questions."

With Medea slightly reassured, Celesta continued to run through the idea of asking around the leader of the cultists. But she made a notation in her memory. Indeed - why not talk to the other undead, look for someone sane among them?

There were hardly any normal ones among our brethren. Rebirth had a profound effect on the psyche. Those who continued to think soberly preferred to be wary and distant. So did the girls, for fear of encountering a second Carlon. So they strove to keep contact with the unfamiliar undead to a minimum, keeping a low profile for infrequent encounters and trying not to enter other people's territory.

Perhaps we should change our habits. One more helper wouldn't hurt: as the saying goes, it's easier to beat the boss by the herd.

No, I still need to talk to the leader. The question is, how to do it? The Laskash doesn't know his name or appearance, and he won't be able to find out; the boy is still too young for such assignments. To act through Holiness means to draw unnecessary attention. The fat man, for all his faults, is clever and shrewd - he will certainly try to find out what the head of a common sect interested the ghoul. Fakasius knows how to ask and get answers: he will get the terms quickly. And then what? No, they cannot risk it.

That leaves Richard. He has some connections in the city - he had done business before he met Celesta, and he often talked to the guards. So he could find out what the praying men were up to. At least by bribing the local police: these individuals were always ready to share information for a fee. But is it worth involving the bandit? He is also a fangy beast, only smaller than Holiness.

Celesta was still undecided about Richard, deciding to try to act personally first. He had the names of some light-worshippers - what if she could reach the right person through them? But after a long argument with Medea, they outlined what to do soon.

Beyond the borders of the port, the girls still had many possessions. Books, a small hoard of canned goods highly prized by the men, stashes of looted clothing and armor. The girls, until now, had only sold weapons and other frequently encountered items, saving the rest for the hard days. Besides, trading armor is a dangerous occupation. Swords, knives, various kinds of spears, crossbows, and arrows were quite plentiful, and the likelihood that the weapons would be accidentally recognized by their former owners was considered low.

Armor belonged to a different category of goods. Armor or helmets, similar to the ammunition Andreq was accustomed to, did not exist in this world. The costs of the magical path of development. The protective function had formerly been performed by amulets, which, of course, ceased to function after the catastrophe and were now reduced to mere decoration. Therefore all armor that existed in the city was strictly divided into two categories: ancient armor stolen from museums and mansions of aristocracy or newly made by local craftsmen. Both looked simply stunning - in a bad way - but were highly prized by the locals. A rusty cuirass, for example, cost twenty dinirs, while a good quality sword cost only ten.

The ghouls believed the relocation was complete, which meant that the hiding places would gradually be cleared of items. Some should be sold to the Holiness, some should simply be stored in a secluded place for the future. At the same time, they could find out how well things were going with Richard.

Ask him what the bureaucrats are whispering about.

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