Chapter 9

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The ghoul stared intently at the departing men. As was to be expected, Richard again drove the party across the border, this time taking five of them with him. Appetite comes with food, doesn't it, gentlemen? Medea will lead the party back. Celesta remembered the surprise and understated contentment with which the bandit had listened to the news, and she grimly grinned - the ringleader is frightened of her. Well, let it remain so. Thus, she did not answer his questions, she got off with a phrase about the urgent matters and quickly disappeared into the darkness.

She had been to the local sewer on one of her last hikes and had marked out some good spots for a day's rest. Today she wanted to make herself comfortable. Walk a little further and she would find herself at the first houses with inhabitants. The government had wisely planned the placement of its subjects, making good use of all available resources. In the former gardens and parks that once surrounded the duke's castle, the land was plowed up and peasants were settled there, ordered to grow edible plants. Some of the newborn horticulturists practiced their trade in the small enclaves that encircled the port and provided fresh food mostly for the guards.

It was rumored that the harvests were not particularly great, but they helped diversify the boring fish table and provided the necessary vitamins. Further afield, the houses became poorer, people's clothes more often looked like rags, and the local proletariat lived here. The livelihood of the poor came from paying for street clearing and construction work organized by the government, as well as various kinds of wage labor in the port and surrounding neighborhoods. Celesta had not yet made it this far, knew from stories that the artisans and craftsmen settled in the former warehouses, on the far side. If she imagined the port as a semicircle facing east, then the guards' barracks would be at the ends, the officials' and officers' houses would be at the top, the forges and other industries would be in the middle, and the newly emerging slums with their seedy establishments would be at the bottom.

However, they are called slums for nothing. To the ghouls accustomed to the permissiveness and cruelty of the Pit, this neighborhood seemed relatively respectable. At least the streets were patrolled by guards.

The most perspective seemed to be the locations of the villages of the poor. A lot of ruins, neglected by the city administration, tired indifferent people, not interested in the problems of others, the general atmosphere of hopelessness allowed to remain unnoticed for a long time. All that was needed was to find a good shelter, preferably underground and with several exits to the surface.

Getting comfortable in a long pipe and pressing the exit with a heavy piece of stone - a man can't move it, the ghoul can hardly move it - Andrew shifted his thoughts from tomorrow's plans to Medea. Will she be able to handle it? Alone her friend can bypass any patrols, she has even more experience than Celeste, but to lead a bunch of people she had not yet. Besides, the porters weren't very nice, and they might take advantage of a woman's beauty. If there were perverts who raped the dead, they might as well go for the undead. One hope for Richard and his greed, coupled with a sense of self-preservation: the ringleader must know what kind of hell his life would become if something happened to Medea.

Celesta's hopeless assumptions were confirmed, and Medea had removed the veil from her face and was now shining with a white smile. What a splendid thing she had done to feed herself yesterday morning! The blood had not yet been absorbed by her system, and the ghoul looked like a normal human woman, though she looked a little pale. Her fangs didn't even protrude. Richard seemed completely fascinated by his beautiful companion, as did all his subordinates, who looked at the new guide with a slightly glazed look.

Medea sighed and extinguished the torch: "Alas, Lord Richard, we must move on. Your men have rested and recovered their strength, and the guards are just leaving their post. Do you see a faint glow that way? That's the patrollers leaving. The replacements occupy the building opposite, so they can't see the alley we're going down. But just in case, I'll check to see if any of the old patrols are still there. If you'll excuse me..."

"Of course, Lady Medea," was all the bandit had time to say after the girl flew away.

As soon as the girl stepped back, the smile disappeared from her face, giving way to a frown. There was more than enough reason to feel uncomfortable. She was not used to being the center of attention for a long time. And the stares on her were annoying. In the monastery, Medea communicated only with her kind, after the escape her only interlocutor for a long time was Celesta, so a large number of strangers around was unnerving. Besides, they were men, after all... In the time since the disaster, she had learned to fear them. And to use them, of course.

Her heart gnawed with anxiety for her friend. Celeste always took on the most difficult cases, as if forgetting that Medea was older, more experienced, and, perhaps, stronger. True, the younger one always gets the job done, I'll give her that. But she was taking a much greater risk today than she had before, even running away from Carlon seemed less dangerous. What if she got spotted? Or no suitable shelter for the day's sleep? We should have gone together, Richard would have endured a few extra nights. While one searched for prey, the other explored the area, or walked together, looking out for each other.

No, she needed to be a hero!

Typical male stubbornness.

Sometimes from behind the mask of the young girl looked out someone alien, strong, knowledgeable. He had his logic, incomprehensible to Medea, counted only on himself, did not believe in luck, and did not make mistakes. The one she mentally called by the strange name of "Andrew" seldom appeared when a serious decision had to be made. He acted with cold detachment, outside the criteria of cruelty or mercy, based on his notions of good and evil.

It was frightening and appealing.

The slender ghoul paused for a moment, looking around. There were no people to be sensed. The sounds are far away in the night, the slight clinking of ammunition is sometimes heard a hundred paces away. No ambushes are completely silent. Men want to move, to straighten their clothes, to scratch themselves. After all, humans need air, and they breathe loudly. It's easier for the undead in that regard. Local guards got used to being on duty and relaxed, no one dragged the goods through the control perimeter a long time ago, and if they did, they "didn't notice". Soon the situation would change. Today, Richard gossiped that there were serious people in the city who were ready to play on their own. Minor officials who consider themselves undeservedly disadvantaged by the new power, leaders of small port gangs who want to live a little better than they were allowed. They want to trade with the townships outside Taleнa and are willing to go to great lengths for the chance to make money.

The girl sat a little longer, listening, and then hurried back confidently. The passageway was clear, she could go. Leading the stumbling bandits, picking out the best parts of the road, flirting nicely with the leader, making him brag about his exploits. To fish out and memorize information to pass on to Celesta later. The smallest details can be an invaluable aid if her friend decides to talk to the other leaders of the gangs. Or, more precisely, when she does. You can't rely on Richard alone: he's too slippery, and he might just die by accident.

"Please follow me," Medea chanted, emerging quietly from the darkness. "I suppose if we hurry, we'll reach the places you know in an hour, Mr. Richard."

"That would be nice. I can't even believe how smoothly things are going," the bandit grinned.

"Don't jinx it," the guide superstitiously pinched her fingers together. "It's not over yet."

"Excuse me. Although, frankly, it was much harder to walk last time."

"Yes, Celesta told me about that ridiculous incident with the catcher grass and the new route. You got lucky."

"Yes..." Richard paused, and then asked cautiously, "I hope I'll have the pleasure of meeting you again next time? In seven days, say?"

"I can't say anything in particular. My friend is supposed to get some information today, maybe talk to some people. Our plans depend on these meetings."

"Are you helping many people?"

The answer to this question was prepared in advance, so the ghoul lied confidently: "Mostly, we deliver letters or trade-in confidential information. Sometimes we take it through the Pit or search for a strictly defined object, a book. I can't give you any names if you'll excuse me."

"Who needs books nowadays? Burn them all. If it hadn't been for the wizards and their damned experiments, none of this," he held his hand over the ruined city, "would have happened. The Duke would never have let them live there. That's the kind of kin you should stay away from."

The squad supported the leader with a consonant hum.

"Nowadays, agronomy books and chemistry textbooks are in demand: magic doesn't work," Medea dodged out and deftly shifted the conversation. "I used to think the talk about the wizards living in the fortress was just gossip. No one has ever seen them."

"I saw them, once. I was hired to guard a caravan in one of the villages, where a detachment of guards was rounding up monsters. The mage helped the centurion point out where the lairs were located."

The story turned out a little crumpled because the interlocutor belonged to the same "monster". But the girl wanted to hear the details: "That's it? No mighty spells that tear enemies apart, or scorch entire miles to the point of being a glass roller?"

"Not at all, lady," the bandit grinned contemptuously. "He even uses a torch. The magic is gone."

It's hard to tell, Medea thought. The mage could sense monsters. Carlon, the damned bastard, could do something, too. She said nothing out loud and continued on her way. There was no point in being distracted. It would be a shame to run into a patrol near the end of the path.

At the moment when Medea was peacefully saying goodbye to the bandit, carefully hiding her fangs, Celesta was hanging upside down on the third-floor ledge. It wasn't from a good life - she'd climbed to the height in an attempt to hide from a group of poor people who had suddenly decided to pay their attention to a well-preserved house. They were looking for wood. The other valuables had been stolen by looters long ago. Last winter they had used everything from wood to smoldering sheets of plastic for fuel, so the chances of finding firewood now were slim. Neither, it seemed, did the men, for they showed no enthusiasm.

Oddly enough, some useful items were found. After grabbing a few pipes, some murky gray plates dug out of the walls, a roll of roofing felt or similar material, and a few other small things, most of the group left. There was one kid left, stubbornly continuing to search the attic and studiously avoiding the eyes of the other searchers. She wondered why?. She couldn't see him, but she could hear the noise and muffled cursing, given off by the brittle teenage voice. In Celesta's opinion, it was a bad time for the guy to show up.

Aside from the obvious fact that he might have noticed her, his presence greatly irritated her sense of hunger. The ghoul had last hunted the night before last and had been on rats ever since, a substitute that didn't help much. She was hungrier and hungrier with each passing hour. She'd hoped to be more resilient, planning to hold out until tomorrow night and catch her prey beyond the patrol line with Medea, but she seemed to have overestimated her limits. Tomorrow would be too late.

After thinking a little more, she concluded: the situation must be taken advantage of. Fate itself gave her a source of information - a stunted, well, you can't win at everything - and a way to replenish her energy. The boy very well decided to linger, it is only necessary to frame the acquaintance so that the conversation and the subsequent feeding went on the script imposed by the girl. In other words, quietly and without unnecessary traces.

If she had been in familiar terrain, she would have acted simply by stunning her prey, tying her up, and dragging her to a secluded corner, where she would have asked her questions without fear. Now she would have to "gut" her captive on the spot, listening to the sounds of the night every minute in case any of the adults wanted to return. No suitable place for her interrogation: she wasn't going to risk the few shelters she had. But the object of interest was fortunate - physically weak, and male. Men are easier to work with, their actions are mostly logical and predictable. A woman, on the other hand, can do anything, so she should be watched more carefully.

She rolled over deftly, caught her hands on the ledge, pulled herself up, and silently jumped onto the balcony. The building looked rather tall for this place. The formal, fancy style and the furnishings still intact made it look as if it might have been an office or something similar. The boy was now on the fourth, top floor. Celesta steered steadily toward the noise he was making. She didn't foresee any trouble catching him. The lad was probably unarmed, using some dimly glowing rotting thing instead of a torch, and didn't look very sturdy either. Like most teenagers, there wasn't enough to eat.

It all happened quickly. One, and a dark shadow grows behind the bent boy's back. Two - an unknown force snatches the stick from him, gripping his throat tightly at the same time. Three - the weakly trembling body is pressed against the wall. Tightly pinned, unable to break free. Caught just now tried to resist, but it is too late. The horrible grinning mouth approached the face, glistening with bloody glare ghoul eyes darted around the victim's widened eyes. His breath was ragged, his throat tightened by a cold hand, panic choking his will and driving him to hysterics.

The monster easily ripped the boy off the floor and lightly pressed his back against the wall. It relaxed the hand, let him breathe in precious air, squeezed again, and hissed right into his ear: "If you start to fidget, I'll kill you. Got it!"

There was so much power in her voice that the very thought of resistance vanished. The boy sank into submission. Celeste had recently noticed that if you looked a victim in the eye while simultaneously trying to mentally suppress its will, most of the people caught became sluggish and obedient for a while. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not. If it was possible to distress oneself enough, to act confidently, without a drop of doubt, to press the will as a single powerful press, then the attempt was always successful. What accounted for the unexpected skill - accumulated practical experience on the part of psychology or a natural gift - she was still undecided. Absolutely everything could be expected from an undead body, so she did not reject both options.

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"What's your name? Answer."

"Laskash."

"What are you doing here, Laskash?"

"The headman said to look for useful things. The house will soon be occupied by new neighbors, we need to loot it off before then."

Celesta looked thoughtfully at the prisoner. The proximity to the food source was irritating, and the hunger insistently suggested that she ignore the information and sink her fangs into the filthy throat. With a habitual effort, she suppressed her irritation and said: "I'm going to release you now. If you try to run away, I'll break your neck. If you start screaming, I'll throw you out on the street. They'll find the body in the morning, and they'll be glad that loser Luskash fell out the window and one less thing to worry about. If you do as I say, you'll live. Understand?"

Teenagers are flattered to hear their thoughts confirmed by others, even if they are unpleasant thoughts voiced by a monster of the night. A sharpened intuition told Celeste about the prisoner's conflict with the adults: not a great achievement, at fourteen everyone rebels. Whether or not the hunch was correct, and whether or not she could use it, was not clear, but it was worth a try. When you are on the same "wave" as the boy, it is easier to interrogate.

The boy nodded desperately. The ghoul unclenched her hand and stepped back a couple of steps to get away from the sweet smell. It would be easier for her, too: there would be fewer distractions.

"Who is the headman? What is his name and who does he manage?"

"Master Roh, he's in charge of our community." I could see that the boy wanted to answer, but could not find the words. It was scary and hard to explain the usual concepts. "The families living nearby are united into a community under the head of the headman. We go to work together, we are responsible for the order around the house..."

"How interesting. Tell me, who does the headman report to?"

"To the Quartermaster."

"And the Quartermaster?"

"To the Prefect of the district. The prefects are commanded by the Count Lash," the boy guessed what he was being asked to do, and he chattered, "...or his assistant, Viscount Squirey. No one else."

Judging by the prisoner's words, the management at the grassroots level is organized quite effectively. At least, that was Celeste's opinion. The common people worked, receiving tasks from their superiors, who, in turn, acted on the instructions of the aristocratic elite. The congregations were a good idea. Several families - the term was used to describing a variety of social arrangements, and it was no surprise to anyone that a woman had three husbands of different ages - were brought together deliberately and forced into a kind of commune, headed by a man with leadership potential who was loyal to the new government. They all lived together in a sturdy building.

The community members went to work together, receiving penalties for failure to meet standards or rewards for good work. If one community member committed a crime, everyone was punished, and in the case of under-reporting or outright deception, the punishment was much harsher. Involuntarily, people began to spy on their neighbors. The headman wielded great power, primarily through access to food resources. Food, clothing, and other useful items in the government warehouses could only be obtained by him or his designated assistant: an ordinary man simply could not cash a dinar. Except on the black market. It was useless to complain, and cases of headmen's deaths were always investigated. On the other hand, a system of indirect control still existed: new headmen were appointed to communities with consistently low performance.

The boy calmed down a bit, and finally realized who was threatening him. The ghoul's short stature and subtle build gave him a brief glimmer of hope, quickly suppressed by the glint of fangs and the memory of the cold brush's stiff touch on his throat. The pain in his back also helped sweep the silly thoughts from his mind. Celesta caught the prisoner's brief hesitation and smiled wider, consciously instilling fear. The Incident was not something she needed.

"You said more people would move in soon. Where will they come from? There aren't many fugitives coming to Taleya, and they prefer to be sent to the villages. The population is not growing."

"They're moving the community out of the port. I heard they want to move more people to the side of the warehouses, to unite the city."

It makes sense. The current "enclave" system hardly suited the ruler, and it was easier to defend one settlement than three. Sure, there were well-preserved roads with patrols and permanent shelters between the palace, the port, and the warehouses, but they took away valuable manpower that could be useful elsewhere. Meanwhile, the teenager dared to ask a question:

"You won't kill me?"

"No need." The girl pondered the news and spoke slightly distractedly. "No one will believe you. Everyone knows that the servants of Darkness don't leave anyone alive. Even if you show my bite mark, it will be an accidental wound, and they will laugh at your fiction. And beat you."

The boy's face turned a bit white. I had to calm him down before he made any trouble. Besides, Celesta had an idea - a slightly crazy idea, but useful in the long run.

"Don't worry, I won't take much. It won't hurt. Just tell me, do you want to make some money?"

"What?"

"Make some money." The ghoul waved a piece of paper in front of his nose, immediately attracting the captive's greedy attention. "Dinirs for vegetables, two."

"And... what I must do?"

"Nothing serious. Just listen more carefully and remember what the elders are talking about. Tell me what the bosses are planning, what kind of construction is going on at the port. It seems they're going to increase the bonuses for slain undead, find out too. I'll give you the dinir, the advance payment, and the meal payment, and you'll get another one in a week. How's that?"

The glazed look indicated better than any other sign: "The client is not ready yet" and is not capable of constructive dialogue. Meanwhile, the hunger grew stronger and stronger. Well, she would have to force the issue. With a mental crinkle, the girl made a subtle motion of stabbing the boy in the carotid artery, trying not to cause damage. Experience had not failed: the victim felt nothing and did not even have time to be frightened. She pulled up the sleeve of his burned and dirty jacket and, with a hungry purr, pierced a vein at the elbow with her fang and took her first sip.

Getting comfortable in the dry concrete well, deep underground, Andrew went over today's events anew. His gut and logic all considered last night a success. A portion of fresh blood gave new strength and allowed to stay in the port an extra couple of days, which can be spent on the intensified search for shelter. Those already found were not suitable: they were either dead ends without additional exits or some overgrown pits, in which there was no desire to live. Doubts were raised by the spontaneous combination with that boy, Laskash, but the pluses still outweighed the risks.

In the worst-case scenario, the boy would bring the guards. So be it. She'd picked a good spot for the meeting, and set a time so she could survey her surroundings beforehand. She could take Medea along as insurance... But that was unnecessary, for adults were not likely to believe the boy's word. Dark creatures have not been seen in Duke territory for a long time, and the soldiers dealt with them quickly and efficiently. They say a lot of people died then, but now you can walk around the city without fear. It was. With the arrival of her friends, the situation must change for the worse. They have some time to spare, but rumors of ghouls will inevitably spread, and people will be cautious.

If Laskash does come, he could be considered the first seed of a future network of agents. He will probably want to continue to get acquainted. The awake boy behaved as expected: at first, he looked frightened at the ghoul, holding his aching head while frantically clutching the wound at his elbow. It looked funny, but Celesta restrained a smile.

She began to reassure the "donor" in a quiet, calm, reassuring tone, telling him that nothing terrible had happened, that everything was over, that it didn't hurt at all, that everything was all right... and other babbling in the same vein. Gradually the boy recovered from the shock, the sweet words, the voice, the girl's face filled with color calmed him down. When he received the dinir, he came to his senses and was glad. Poor people earned little, the amount issued to Laskash was the equivalent of a day's earnings of a grown man. In addition, the kind ghoul advised how to explain his uncle - the closest relative in whose family he lived - and the headman the appearance of the money. And she promised to give him more in a week if he fulfilled her simple request.

The friends had enough dinirs: everything earned or taken from the preys went into the pot. So it wasn't hard to buy off a dozen or two of these boys. Adults, on the other hand, require different amounts of money, more substantial. There aren't any new customers yet, and there's no telling when they'll appear. They'll have to make do with informants from among the poor, small-time villagers until better times. On the other hand, the storm blows down the trees without damaging the low grass, the servants get less attention...

Celesta didn't believe the kid keep the secret. He would spill the beans. To his uncle, to his best friend, to someone else. It didn't matter. As long as he helped her at first.

To say that Medea was nervous is to say nothing. The beautiful singer was weary with worry for her friend. Fear of the loss of her only close person securely seized all her thoughts, paralyzing the ability to reason. They had considered various possibilities before Celeste left, including the possibility of an extra day's stay in the docks. In this case, Medea was to meet the explorer in the closest to the border hideout and then act according to circumstances - to heal, to feed (with their regeneration, these words became synonymous), to help fend off pursuers. So she caught half a dozen rats, not daring to look for a human, and with a calm soul, or whatever undead have, began to wait for Celesta.

The next night her serenity was shaken. The woman stood motionless at the entrance, listening to the nocturnal rustles and waiting expectantly for the slight tapping of familiar footsteps. Celesta's former solitary forays had not been so distant and dangerous. She had been delayed on occasion, but then Medea knew for certain that her friend would get out of any situation and return to her. Now the risk was much greater. Time stretched and stretched, Medea waited. If she had stayed alive, she would have long ago thrown a tantrum or run to the border. Unfortunately, that dream of glory girl had died long ago, and the ghoul who had taken her place was more accustomed to the blows of fate and met them cold-blooded. Worried - yes, worried, anxious, but stayed in one place and even managed to hunt for people passing by. What they were doing here in the dead of night didn't interest her. After sitting at the entrance to the hole that served as a descent to the shelter until almost dawn, she went to settle in for the day with an unpleasant premonition.

Waking up from her daytime nap, the woman was determined to wait one night and no more. She was exhausted by the uncertainty. There was no particular reason to worry, but the idea of being left alone firmly took hold of her thoughts and caused such a storm of emotions that the ghoul could hardly control herself. To be fair, her anxiety was not merely selfish. Medea became very attached to the stubborn little ghoul with a strange biography. They had been through a lot, starved together, shared their last crumbs of warmth, comforted each other when it became unbearable. Hard trials either unite people or turn them into sworn enemies. In the case of the two friends, it would be more accurate to say that they perceived one another as an extension of their selves.

During the hunt, they didn't need words - a slight gesture was enough to indicate their intentions, the subtlest shades of mood could be guessed by subtle signs. Celesta, by the way, was better at sensing; she even managed to answer unasked questions out loud.

By the time was minutes away from the deadline, and she was about to leave, a faint rustling sound caught her attention. A human wouldn't have heard a quiet shuffling sound, but the ghoul was immediately alert. She cocked her head and flared her nostrils, sniffing expectantly at the gentle breeze. Though undead could never quite match their sense of smell for a dog, they had the better of humans. Sometimes that ability came in handy. At last, a contented happy smile spread across the woman's face, and she paced ahead, straining to keep the urge to run: "Your late!"

"I decided to spend all night last night getting to know the port. You know, I found a very convenient place; there's even water and a few exits, but it's wet." Celesta dropped the heavy sack from her shoulders and smiled wryly. And my shoes are completely ruined.

Medea hugged her friend, sniffing her nose. The remnants of her human reactions were wearing off: she felt the urge to cry once in a while. With tears of red.

"Well, that's enough." Celesta wasn't sentimental. "I'm back, it went well. Are you okay?"

"Yes. Are you hungry?"

"I won't say no. Rats?"

"What else?"

People had become difficult to catch lately. They preferred to move not in small groups of two or three, as before, but in groups of five or more, some of them carrying good weapons. Their favorite trick of cracking the man in front of them on the head, robbing and eating while the others weren't looking, didn't work anymore. The sentries, always wary of their surroundings, also preferred to work in pairs. If the girls hunted prey with intelligence for a little less time, they'd have a hard time.

"I don't have much news, but it's all interesting." When she had had enough, Celeste began to share her impressions with her friend. Who, by the way, had already dumped on her a heartbreaking story of her terrible suffering, and was now sitting relaxed. "To cut a long story short: I could not meet those people, whose names we got from Richard. They are too cautious, and I do not want to communicate in the presence of guards. At least the first time. This is the only bad news, the rest are better. First, I managed to find a good shelter and also a lie-in. The new house, however, will take a long time to bring to a habitable place, but it is comfortable and safe."

Medea only sighed in response. In her mind, the concept of "comfort" had little in common with Celesta's criteria, and if she said that the shelter would have to be scraped away for a very long time, it meant that there was an incredible amount of work to be done. She kept silent because she was primarily interested in the safety of the shelter, and to Celesta, the words "comfort" and "safety" meant more or less the same thing. She described the place with undisguised enthusiasm; she seemed to like it. So that's where they were going to live. After the renovation.

"One bad thing is that there is an underground river nearby, and the air is humid. What happens during the rainy season, I can't even guess. It's clear right away that it's no good. I will have to look for tools, material, and sealant. Unreal to get from the locals - I saw how they were fighting over an ordinary board of plastic. We'll have to buy on the black market or rob warehouses. Duke's been a big hoarder. His men started gutting stores right after the catastrophe. Let him share."

I also talked to a boy about twelve years old. I bribed him with money and gave him the task of collecting rumors. I want to get through him to the headman or other officials of low rank, ambitious enough to try to solve their problems with the help of ghouls. It makes no sense to demand much from a teenager - he has nothing useful but ears and eyes, but in our position, it is harmful to be too picky. Let him tell a useful rumor, gossip, give characteristics of adults, and then we can do it ourselves. The main thing is to find the right person with serious problems. We meet this Lascash in five nights.

"Are you going to go to the port again?" Medea became worried. "So soon?"

"We're going, we are. We've got shelters, I've got convenient places to hunt, so what are we waiting for?"

"Richard gathers another squad, he asked to lead the party through two nights."

"Again?!" Celesta shook her head in admiration. "He doesn't waste any time. Where does he get his goods from... Do you know which of the neighbors he trades with?"

"As far as I understand, Richard's main income comes from the Pit. He sells food and weapons, buys clothes, gold, tools, slaves."

Legally there was no slavery in Taleya, but human beings were traded in great numbers. Two categories of living goods were highly valued: women of childbearing age and artisans. Blacksmiths with their families were the most expensive: they brought a steady income to the owner and rarely tried to escape. Large gangs preferred to keep them, small gangs exchanged them for dinirs at a good rate. Within the government, all captured or ransomed "captives" belonged to the duke personally, though on occasion noblemen were allowed to sell handicrafts in exchange for food and supervision. Andrew believed that the rebirth of serfdom was not far off. After all, the situation of the peasants living in the fortified villages was already very similar to that of state slavery.

"So we'll take him there together, and someone else will go back alone," Celesta decided. "We need the money. Robbing the poor makes no sense, attacking the rich is... let's just say, undesirable. So the only source of dinir remains Richard, which personally pisses me off."

"We'll think of something," Medea brushed it off. Now that she was not alone, her confidence and optimism came back to her. "You'd better think about hunting in the city. Or do you intend to stop hiding? Personally, I'm a little afraid to make my presence known in a city full of guards."

"Me too. If there were any inns nearby, we'd eat there, but in the meantime, we'll have to give money to the victims. There are a lot of desperate people among the poor: they would trade their blood for a chance to survive and keep their mouths shut."

"Are you serious about paying donors?" Medea marveled.

It's going to take a while.

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