“I can think of no good reason for you to return to Keina. It will be dangerous and what is there that a messenger can do? A messenger without a message.” The head of the Mer Ammery Guardian Avengers was a no-nonsense woman with short grey hair, scarred hands, a paisley scarf that wove about her like an affectionate cat, four knives and an incongruously gentle voice. She stood like a grizzled veteran and spoke like a kindly grandmother. Gherrit set out his arguments, citing his expertise in reading financial documents, his knowledge of the demon’s habits and, when those proved unpersuasive, the possibility that his erstwhile employers might be behind the kidnappings.
“Your former employers? Who sent you on this errand? Who would they be?”
“I am reluctant to name them without better evidence, Leader. Evidence I hope to find at Keina.”
The scarf paused its climb up her left arm to let one end form a tight ball. The Leader’s mouth twitched. Gherrit met her hard stare with all the practice of the past weeks. The Leader chewed in thought then, abruptly “We owe you for Slevain’s return. You can go and look. You go in after the patrol has cleared the place and you do as the head patroller instructs. Clear?”
Gherrit cleared his throat and thanked her. The Leader gave him a terse nod then added “You will be extra weight, so we’ll need to contract another magician. At your cost. Should be no more than forty gulls for the day.” When Gherrit agreed readily she eyed him and added “Just a messenger, eh?” Her scarf formed a hook.
* * * *
When Gherrit assembled with the patrol he realised with a gulp that the journey would be by the same means as Saore’s abduction. The hired magician was a dour older woman who insisted on weighing him and the Guardian member who would accompany him. “Some damn fools load themselves down with lead trinkets and then there’s those who wear loose clothes and pretend they aren’t fat.” Satisfied Gherrit was neither fat nor wearing lead shoes she handed him a belt, had him clip to a rope and with a few Words had him bobbing weightless. The Guardian was added, she uttered more Words and they were off, trailing behind her like boats under tow. Gherrit clenched at the returning memory of that frightening night, and had to consciously will himself to relax. Once his brain had persuaded his body that this was not a kidnap the flight was enjoyable. The Archipelago spread below, sea to his right shining in the late afternoon sun, forest threaded with the brighter green of fields terraced back from silver streams below. In little more than an hour they descended smoothly to land in the garden before House Keinahuar.
The manse looked worse in daylight. Patches of moss clung to the walls, tiles were missing from the roof and one corner had been colonised by a vine that had climbed the wall and entered a window. The patrol of Guardians had arrived moments before and stood in a loose cluster at the foot of the steps while their magician examined the front door.
“We did leave the window to the left unlatched,” called Gherrit. The head patroller frowned at the interruption and then gestured two of her squad to check. The window opened, one did a quick survey and vaulted inside, followed immediately by the other. A moment and then a coded whistle and the others followed. Gherrit stood there wondering if he should go too while his magician pilot coiled rope and muttered about Association pay rates. Before he could decide the door opened and he was beckoned forward. He gave what directions he could and followed as the patrol moved on into the house. Doors were opened on rooms festooned in webs and smelling of mould, a stairway up cautiously investigated. All was empty, mildewed, rotting.
The stair down was as Gherrit remembered, and the passage to the kitchen. The kitchen too was vacant except for a family of lizards lying sated around the half-empty pot. One lifted a head to peer over its rounded belly and then flopped back. The patrol checked the adjoining rooms, finding nothing of interest, before heading for where the demon might lurk. The corridor was as remembered, the door at the end made useless by a gaping hole. The head looked through then passed a signal that brought Gherrit to her side.
“I take it that is the demon?” Pythoȉg had lengthened itself, turned horizontal and was lying as if asleep just above a bench against the far wall. The three bodies still lay where they had fallen, Rugher’s severed hand lying palm up as if asking for alms. The only motion was a gently-waving string of mould that dropped from the ceiling into the patch of dried blood and a few flies buzzing near it. The leader looked at him sideways. “How do we get rid of it?”
“Not with weapons or magic,” Gherrit breathed. “I’ll try.” He stepped through the hole, nose wrinkling at the iron smell of blood and the first hints of decay and addressed the demon.
“Pythoȉg, consider an infinite set of equilateral triangles, all having their apex at a common point and a height of one unit. What is their area?” Pythoȉg hummed to life, flashed blue, then red, then blue again, twisted in on itself, turned grey and then folded up smaller and smaller until it vanished. Gherrit waited a few minutes and then leaned back through the hole.
“I think it has gone, but do not say that word you were warned about – the C-word.”
“You mean,” the leader’s hand started to shape a curve and Gherrit grabbed it, shaking his head and mouthed “No shapes either”. One by one the patrol hopped through, the magician tested the other door, chuckled and simply pulled it open. The area on the far side was in better repair and more comfortably furnished yet just as empty. A bedroom showed signs of hasty departure, in a sitting room a glass of wine sat half-full on an occasional table, a cupboard had been flung open and clothes dumped on the floor. The magician found and disarmed a crude trap in a wash-room, one that would release a flesh-melting gas instead of water, and warned about another more sophisticated trap on a hidden door. That was left while they explored further. A nook with a desk and a litter of papers was of no interest to the patrol; it was to Gherrit, who carefully checked each paper and examined the calendar pinned to the wall with interest. When it came time to leave he had a tidy bundle.
The patrol did make one grim find. A cellar held the remains of a Guardian, and she had not died quickly. “Slevain’s partner,” the patrol leader said with a tight mouth. “We will not forget nor forgive, neither those who did this nor those who paid them.” The flight back was sombre, the shrouded bundle roped behind Gherrit a grief to the Guardians and a reminder to Gherrit of how close he had come to death.
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Gherrit met with the Leader late the next day. The badge of the dead Guardian lay on a desk otherwise bare, her scarf moved in small jerks, her hands were tight.
“We do not lose people often,” she said without preamble. “The possibility is always there of course – we have our share of fights and accidents. To have a Guardian fall into the hands of the Grey Cloaks here in the Archipelago, that I would not have imagined.” She pulled her gaze away from the badge. “What do you have for me?”
“Some dates, some notes on sailing times. If my guesses at the abbreviations are right it will not be hard to find what ships they used. An account number – no bank name but the form is that used by the Provisioners’ Consortium. Several calculations of exchange rates, largely from beech-marks to Merllan gulls, over a three month period.”
“And these tell us what? Will they give us names?”
“They may. Tell me, would confession and monetary compensation satisfy you? In Daruz Alman one may place oneself under the protection of the Procuracy, provided one confesses all relevant wrong-doing and agrees to meet whatever terms of restitution they impose.”
“You believe those behind this are in Daruz Alman?”
“They may be. I doubt what I have would allow an accusation before a court, although I can get legal advice on that. It could scare the culprits into seeking protection though.”
The Leader’s mouth twisted. “If we had the names and they were in a Wild they would not live to come before a court. The Grey Cloaks have fled into a Wild and there we will hunt them. Yet Daruz Alman is not a Wild. Weave your plots in that city; I ask only that you give us the names of those you suspect and let us know the outcome. Our chapter in Daruz Alman will be told to expect you.”
“As to that, perhaps the chapter there could add to our efforts ...”
* * * *
Director Hausier looked mildly surprised merely when Gherrit called at Thousand Island Trading.
“Back so soon? Few ships call at Keina so I thought you might be there for a week. What can I do for you?”
“I need to arrange return passage to Daruz Alman,” Gherrit told him, putting urgency into his request.
“Certainly. You have concluded your business?”
“Alas no. A patrol of Guardian Avengers arrived at Keinahuar the morning after I did. The occupants fled before we could exchange seals and I have no idea where the papers are.
The Guardians were in search of a criminal band and I was nearly mistaken for a member. I was questioned at length. It was all most distressing and I feel I need to report to the partners as soon as I can. When is the earliest departure for Daruz Alman?”
Hausier’s face was a picture of concern. “My dear fellow, how awkward for you. You must sit, have a cup of liani and tell me what you can.”
Gherrit told a vivid tale over herbal tea and wafers of dried seaweed of how the exchange was arranged for the morning (and really Keinahuar was not at all what he had expected: the house was half a ruin and the inmates had the appearance and manners of ruffians), his documents had been snatched away, he had been awakened by screams in the night, been told in the morning that the counter-parties were ‘not happy, not happy at all’ and then an hour later a patrol of Guardians had demanded entrance. All but a few servants had immediately fled, he gathered through secret ways, and he himself had been interrogated at length. There was mention of a group called the Grey Cloaks – did Hausier know of them?
“I have heard the name. They have an evil reputation.”
“Quite so. I was asked about some missing women – I knew nothing of course, and they would not let me search for my papers. I was left to pay a fisher to bring me up the coast and came across from Hane Bay.”
Hausier expressed his shock at these events, repeated his sympathy and said he would find Gherrit a berth, possibly within the next two or three days. Where was he staying? Gherrit gave his details and left for the offices of the local correspondent of Iron Casket.
* * * *
Pranik’s jowls quivered as he read the squirt. He read it again and then heaved himself to his feet and hurried into Sguirres’ office. There he shut the door and thrust the slip across to Sguirres.
“Messenger returning Selm’s Friend dep 4.8. No exch. Parties not happy, Guardians.”
Sguirres rubbed an eyebrow. “Cryptic. I wonder where the wretch left the bill for Mer Ammery. If it’s lost we can claim against that.”
“The mention of Guardians does not concern you?”
Sguirres patted his fingertips together, a mannerism Pranik found deeply irritating. “Not until we know more. They cannot suspect the boy or his papers if he is returning. What is there to do but wait until he gets here? Perhaps our friends in Keina will fill in the blanks before then.”
“Not if they are having answers extracted at knife-point. And what does he mean by ‘Parties not happy’? We need to know more.”
“And we will. Is it worth the expense to have Hausier send us some garble from that half-wit boy?” Sguirres looked at his anxious partner and sighed. “Have the Consortium transfer two hundred to him with instructions to send a full account under seal and by hand via the Association. If he puts stylus to paper straight away it should be here within days.”
Pranik hurried away and Sguirres went back to his ledger. After a short time he put down his stylus and sat back. Had he been too hasty in dismissing this report? ‘Parties not satisfied’? Did the Greys want money as well as the tablet? Probably – the Greys always wanted money. Maybe that idiot messenger had muddled the questions and they had let him go so that they could demand more. Guardians? They had lost the trail months ago and there was no reason to think they had found it since. No, it was another of Pranik’s panics, and a costly one at that. He dismissed concern and returned to his figures.
The work of making money with money continued uninterrupted for another two days. On the third Pranik again erupted into Sguirres’ office. “Hausier has replied!” Sguirres plucked the paper from his hands, remarking acidly that it was the most expensive single sheet ever to cross his desk.
Honoured Sirs,
In accordance with your instructions I have set down what I was told by Yunierkiz Gherrit, as related to me on his return from Keina.
As requested, Messer Gherrit (Sguirres snorted at the title) was provided passage to Keina on the 28th of the first month of Harvest. He returned to our office two days later, on the 1st of the second of Harvest, requesting that we arrange passage to Daruz Alman that he might apprise your honoured sirs of what transpired. Messer Gherrit did provide us a brief account, as follows:
He arrived to find House Keinahuar in a state of dilapidation and occupied by persons of dubious manners (Sguirres snorted again). He handed over his documents, was offered a bed and spent a disturbed night. On the 29th he was informed that the residents were (in his words) not happy, not happy at all and that they would be pursuing the matter with his principals. They refused to elaborate. At this juncture a patrol of Guardian Avengers arrived demanding instant admittance. Gherrit shortly found himself alone but for two servants (all others having fled in haste), and subject to prolonged questioning by the Guardians. He was unable to locate the documents and seals he had carried. After some hours the Guardians determined that he was innocent of any offence and he was left to procure transport to Mer Ammery by whatever means he could find.
Messer Gherrit did add that a Guardian mentioned that they sought members of the Order of the Grey Cloak. If your honoured selves are unaware of this Order, it is known here in the Archipelago for engaging in criminal activities and I cannot myself fathom how a Merllan House, even one of such minimal distinction as House Keinahuar, could be associated with such.
As previously advised, Messer Gherrit left on the Selm’s Friend on the 4th. I am sure he will be ably to supply more information on these deplorable events when he reaches your great city.
I am sirs, as ever, yours to command
Miele Hausier
Director, Thousand Island Trading.
Sguirres laid the sheet down. “Two hundred does not get much these days.” Pranik glared at him.
“Are you not concerned that the Guardians are ransacking Keinahuar and will find papers with our names? Are you not concerned that those people will be ‘pursuing the matter’?” Pranik’s voice rose with each syllable.
Sguirres patted his fingertips, causing Pranik to suppress a snarl. “I see no reason for undue alarm,” Sguirres said. “The Guardians and those people have their own quarrel. If we are asked then the documents are ordinary commercial transactions, ones we had no idea were connected to any shady activities. As for the threat, I imagine those people will be preoccupied for quite some time.”
“Your blithe optimism will bring us undone,” Pranik said, his voice tight.
“What would you have us do? Run to the Procuracy?”
“We can pay whatever fines they levy,” rejoined Pranik. “A few thousand lost is better than a knife in the back.”
“We will just have to hope that nothing befalls until the end of next month, for we have little ready money to hand before then,” Sguirres reminded him. Pranik stared at him a moment and then left.