Covehold Demesne was bright at night.
Light shone from seemingly random locations high up on walls, just barely out of reach. The last time I was here, I'd learned that the demesne employed Whisperers as streetlighters, who spent all day imbuing a certain number of bindings of lightwisps. At dusk, they anchored the bindings in the areas they were assigned. Many Whisperers also made a side business of selling light to people, where they would imbue lightwisp bindings and people would pay them some beads so they would anchor the binding to a bowl of water or something so that their house would have light for the night. Other people with more beads or less concern about fire had oil lamps or candles, which were brighter and lasted longer and could be put out to keep it from being used up.
I saw both kinds of light among the streets stalls that seemed to spontaneously appear as night fell. Some were barely more than someone with a stool, a large-mouthed jar full of coals, and a bucket of questionable meat in questionable marinade of questionable cleanliness. Others had wheeled stalls, where skewers of recognizable meat cooked on a wire grill… from a bucket of questionable marinade of questionable cleanliness, but I suppose that was what cooking was for.
It would probably be a good idea to set aside some beads for if we needed to go see a Deadspeaker for any upset stomachs.
People thronged the streets, and the air was filled with the cries of street vendors offering food, soap, candles, and whatever else; the subtle ringing of bells as we passed women with their skirts pinned high on one side and blouses cut low or unbuttoned, and men with shirts open to the waist or simply shirtless; the distant screams as someone realized they'd had their pockets picked or their belt pouch cut.
I sighed happily as I felt the cool night breeze flowing from the bay as Multaw and Cyuw walked with me, heading towards the tavern we'd gone to for information when we'd visited Covehold before last winter. There'd been wizards there last time, as it was near several boarding houses and apartments. I was hoping to find one who I could recruit, and if not perhaps they knew someone that would be amenable. The place was relatively clean and brightly lit with a mix of lamps and little wooden cups of water with a binding of lightwisps floating on top of it, which was a good indicator of the Shady Stand's relative prosperity. Once, it had been built next to a stand of shady trees, hence the name, but the trees were long gone. I know this because I had shared a table with a nice old man who'd been drinking there since those days, and had been happy to tell the story to me.
Inside, the Shady Stand smelled of frying meat, other cooking foods, and sweaty bodies. There were several tables, as well as a raised gallery on three sides with more tables, held up by stone pillars—or more likely wooden posts that had been faced with Whispered stone—that were very solid, as the galleries didn't shake at all. Several tavernhands were walking around carrying trays of food or drink, or cleaning up tables and plates from vacated tables.
By the standards of Covehold, the place was slightly pricey but still well within the means of most working people. I'd probably have better luck with a cheaper place, since people down on their luck were more likely to go there, but if I recruited in such a place, I might come off as highly suspicious. Besides, last time I'd managed to hear of several promising recruits just by listening. Hopefully I would do so again this time.
When we arrived, we ordered a light dinner—we'd mostly already eaten, after all—as well as drinks. Multaw and Cyuw ordered booze, while I asked for a cup of beast-meat broth. I got some strange looks for that. Broth was an autumn and winter drink, and we were in the middle of summer. Still, I knew they would have it. The broth was the base they used for some of their dishes, and while I wasn't happy about drinking something hot, being boiled meant it was safe to drink, and it was better than tea. I could only drink tea with a lot of honey in it. I already got enough grief for not drinking booze, I didn't want to seem childish as well. Broth, while strange, wasn't childish. The latter would make people think I didn't know what I was doing and incline them to not take me seriously.
"You sure you wouldn't rather have one of these, Rian?" Multaw said in the tone of someone doing his due diligence of being a good drinking companion as he held up his mug.
I shook my head as I waited my broth to cool. There was a smell not unlike the glue the carpenters used coming from it, which meant it was also a bone broth. The smell wasn't a problem, as the taste was completely different, and it would fade as the broth cooled. "We're not getting too drunk, remember?" I reminded them. "Nurse those drinks, we don't want get in trouble on the way back."
The two sighed, but nodded. I chose to pretend not to hear that mutter about me acting like everyone's wife.
Since there were only three of us, we shared a table with a group that was friendly enough but had to leave as we were waiting for our orders. It wasn't long after the tavern woman took away their dishes and wiped down their side of the table that a new group joined us.
"Good evening," I greeted with a smile. Beyond them seemingly being less sweaty—though that might have just been my imagination—the new arrivals didn't smell of anything in particular to help me narrow down their professions, though a casual glance tentatively had me putting them down as friends. Their builds weren't all that big but healthy enough to handle regular labor, they had no ink stains on their fingertips… still, they smiled back pleasantly enough as they sat down. "Rough day?"
Of course it was. The day was always rough.
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It turned out they worked at an ice house, cutting, moving and delivering blocks of ice to the local butchers, eateries, and some of the more well-off homes. I nodded and listened at that, and felt better when two of the five-man group also ordered broth when they saw I was drinking some. Technically a failure, since none of them were Deadspeakers or seemed to know Deadspeakers, but people would know people would know people. All I had to do was talk and listen. Occasionally, I had to move that talking along by offering to buy the booze for our new friends.
I learned a lot, not all of it relevant, but most of it interesting.
It turned out the ice houses get bothered by requests to make ice boats so often they had a quote ready for how much it would cost to make one the size of the little boats we saw on the bay, which was very expensive. Most of that expense, however, was because of the wispbeads it would take to let a Whisperer make that much ice in those dimensions and keep it from melting for at least a day.
However, once I'd established that I was a good listener and genuinely interested in their stories—as did Multaw and Cyuw, who knew how to listen to a tavern after-work story—I'd have the opportunity to point their stories in general directions. For example, a comment like, "Making a living is hard these days, isn't it?" would have them talking about the difficulties of their job, but an additional prod of "well, it could be worse" would usually be enough to prod them towards talking about people they know who are having a harder time. No job, worst job, terrible job, sick child, dead wife…
"Colors," I sigh at one point. "I wish I was a wizard or something. They probably never have to worry about not finding work."
It took a while, but I got a lot of stories about wizards who were out of work or were in need of better or more work eventually. Many of them were Horotracts, since it took a lot of magic to maintain their vistas, at least at the dimensions they were usually hired to make them.
"I heard that one of the room stretchers got desperate and actually became a Dungeon Binder just so they'd have enough magic to make big rooms," one of our new drinking friends said, shaking his head. Alren worked at a lumberyard, and we'd bonded over how hard it was to maneuver long beams through narrow and short streets, ugh. "Made a little demesne somewhere, built a small house, rented some of the land so people could build houses and farms on a small plot of land, but worked in the city to make vissies and keep them together. Died in the last dragon because he left his big ball just standing around."
"That's terrible," I said, as everyone else shook their heads with me. I wasn't sure if the story was true, but it a simple chain of events that sounded disturbingly plausible. "Are there a lot of people who do that? Just… make a demesne just to be a Dungeon Binder so they can work?"
"Used to happen a lot back in the old days," an older man said. "All the magic, none of the work, you know? They'd work here in the town, and let know-nothings live in their little demesne who think there were safe because there were no colors. Then a dragon would come by and their farm would be gone, the colors would come back, and their core broke because the lazy uhogs didn't bother to build a decent dungeon around it…"
Deadspeakers were unfortunately among the most well-employed people in the demesne. Even a small talent had a use, even if it was just to imbue a meaning for a more experienced Deadspeaker to manipulate. Those who didn't know how to do the useful meanings that everyone wanted done were well-motivated to learn.
However, that didn't mean there weren't any Deadspeakers to recruit. After all, just because they were sought after and employed didn't mean they liked their employment. Some actually wanted to move to another demesne because they didn't like their circumstances in Covehold. Those people were probably our best bet. They wanted to move out to a different demesne anyway, but from what I was able to learn, the difficulty was finding a demesne that was both decently established, could protect itself against dragons, and offered enough of an improvement over their circumstances in Covehold.
As much as I was hoping for it, I wasn't able to find a lead on anyone like that tonight, but I'd ask several of my new friends to keep their ears open and let me know if anyone new came to mind. Most would probably forget in the morning, but hopefully they'd remember if we met again tomorrow night.
We left when the mood changed. The people coming in were less talkative and more serious drinkers. The talking became subdued. I paid our tab, asked if we could have them fill a jar we brought with booze—they would, so I resolved to bring one tomorrow—and Multaw, Cyuw and I headed home, my belt pouch a lot lighter, though only because I didn't put a lot into it.
Outside, the streets were clearer than before, with several of the food stalls gone now. Bellgirls and bellboys lingered in a few corners and doorways, but they looked tired, the sound of their bells almost perfunctory. After relieving our bladders on a handy wall, we walked towards the docks. None of us spoke, our heads turning back and forth to watch for possible muggers waiting in ambush. I even glanced above, because there was no reason a Mentalist couldn't have turned to that line of work either.
"Did you two have fun?" I asked quietly, turning to look at Multaw next to me and using that to cover the quick glance I shot behind us. The group of three men behind us were still there. They looked like they were just walking the same way we were, minding their own business, and there was nothing to mark them as different at all. If I knew the area better, I'd have turned into a side street and see if they'd follow us, but I didn't.
"Nothing like a booze after a long day," Multaw said, seeing my glance but thankfully not turning his gaze that way himself. His eyes were eyeing the doorways and alleys ahead of us, also wary.
"You sure I couldn't have one more?" Cyuw said in a voice that sounded drunk, even though I know he'd only had the two mugs, which had been watered slightly with ice.
"Sleep it off, Cyuw," I said as I turned towards him, taking another glance. The three men were turning into another alleyway, finally leaving the street. Well, at least we could potentially run back that way…
Thankfully, our watchfulness was for naught. Besides some tough leaning against a wall who took one look at us but didn't move, there were no people lingering in any of the side alleys along our way.
That would probably change in the following nights if how I bought booze for other people was noticed, but tonight, we made it back to the ship safe and sound.
Tomorrow, I would be meeting with Ravia again, then going see the lawyer that the Golden Sweetwood Company had retained to hear if word had arrived earlier this spring. Since at least one boat had already come to Covehold Demesne from across the ocean, there was a good chance their reply had arrived. The day after that I would see if Master Yhosed had any good news.
I should probably get a walking stick or something tomorrow.