Chapter 32
Treat meetings like an adventure. The right meeting can send you down unexpected paths to great gain, or down an abyss of despair. You don’t always know in advance. This is why meetings over food are recommended. You don’t necessarily know when you’ll get your next meal.
Advice to the Young - Flysch Graben, co-founder of Briarwood and Flysch
Unaware of the attention of the Tree Shepherd and raven across the field from where they were working, Gan Thistleberry stepped back and looked at the outline of the garden bed Rob Woodway had staked out.
“So you really think I need a vegetable garden this big?” Gan asked Rob.
He gave the cord he had stretched out between stakes a twang to test for tightness and stood up. “Unless you want to run over to one of the villages or Goblin Market every time you need a new cabbage, yes,” he said, dusting his hands off, and nodding. “My ma, she’d probably say it wasn’t big enough, but she’s used to feeding a houseful of kids and grandkids. It takes a lot of growing to feed a household.”
“All I have on a daily basis is me and a houseful of pixies. I suspect they eat a lot less.” Gan shrugged her shoulders. “But still it takes something. I guess I was spoiled living in a city for so long. I forgot how cabbages don’t grow in market stalls. It’s been a long time since I lived in the country.”
“Life would be a lot easier to my back if they did,” Rob said, laughing at the image. It was a merry chuckle, not aimed at Gan, and she joined him with a chuckle.
“Cabbages don’t grow in market stalls?” asked Rosebud, who landed on one of the stakes Rob had pushed into the ground. “I am so confused. My mother always told me they did. And apples and carrots and beans, too.”
“When have you ever been to a market?” asked Hilby. “You never went closer to Goblin Market than Redrock. And that’s the nearest one.”
“My mother knew everything,” Rosebud said, flying off in a huff. “She went everywhere!”
Hilby shrugged, adjusted his cap, and flew off after her. “Rosebud, I didn’t mean...”
“Are they always like that?” Rob asked. “A bit daft?”
Gan nodded. “It’s like being surrounded by young children all the time,” she said. “I had lots of practice at that at my old school. It’s probably why we get along so well.” She looked up at the sky. “It’s time I put on lunch. Let’s take a break. While I’m cooking we can figure out how we’re going to do all of these wonderful things you want to do to my gardens.”
Gan strode purposefully towards her front door, leading a slightly nervous Rob who kept a close eye out for her little companions.
Soon as she walked through the door, Moxie landed on Gan’s shoulder.
“You were outside a long time,” the little woman said.
“There’s a lot to do,” Gan said. “Rob, sit down there.” She pointed to a chair next to the one she usually sat in. “Pixies, we’re going to have company at lunch. Be nice to him.” Walking over to the fireplace, she swung the pot she had left simmering while they were outside close enough where she could easily reach it. Lifting off the lid, she let out clouds of steam and a delicious aroma that filled the kitchen.
“Oooh,” Moxie said. “More steam clouds.” She rose up close enough to admire them but not get scalded.
“They smell better than tea water clouds,” Arne said, dropping from the roof and landing on the table. He gave Rob a look that made it was clear he was thinking about something when Gan’s cat jumped into the young man’s lap.
“Well hello there,” Rob said, stroking the back of the animal. Somehow Pye managed to both rise up to enjoy Rob’s petting while giving Arne a look that let him know he was being watched. The little pixie sighed, and went down to sit at the edge of the table where he could watch Gan prepare lunch.
“Serves you right, meanie,” Moxie said, flitting down to him. “Doesn’t that soup smell good?”
“Sometimes I wonder about you,” Seamus said, dropping in next to the two. “Didn’t you hear what Mistress Gan said?”
“I didn’t do anything,” Arne protested.
“Doesn’t matter. You thought it,” Moxie said. “Otherwise, the cat wouldn’t have jumped up to guard the big person. Cat can tell.”
Rob, being properly distracted by Pye, missed the pixie’s conversation, but Gan didn’t.
She turned around, carrying two big bowls of soup, placing one in front of Rob and one at her place, following quickly with fresh bread and saucers for the pixies. “You should listen to Moxie more, Arne. She’s smart about what goes on here.” Sitting down, she began to cut the bread, offering some to Rob, and then breaking some up for the Pixies, followed quickly by soup in their saucers.
“Now eat!” she said, and everybody took her at her word.
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While Gan was fixing lunch after a morning of gardening decisions, on the White Isle, Ethne knocked on the door of the conference room at the Oldest’s cottage by the sea, then opened the door to walk in with a tray of refreshments. This time, there were more people in attendance than the one a few days earlier. Bedwyr the Birch was there, at the Oldest’s left side studying a paper he held in one hand, with a stack of several more in a pile in front of him. Next to him was Tevan Greybloom, his orderly, with pen and paper at the ready.
To the Oldest’s right, closest sat Sammisa, also with pen and paper, taking notes for the meeting in lieu of Ethne, her green hair cascading down her back. Next to her sat Ruell representing the White Circle and Haran the Magic Guard in specific. Missing from this table was anybody from the DIC.
Ethne skillfully poured and served tea to all the members, and leaving a small tray of savories on the table for their refreshment. Some might have seen him as the Oldest’s butler, but his job was far deeper than that, and he observed each guest carefully as he served. With a quick glance at the Oldest, who gave him a hidden sign to commence, he bowed, and left the room to take up residence in a small chamber next to the conference room. It was where he had his refreshments set up to restock if necessarily, but it also had a hidden panel that he activated with a touchstone, that allowed him to listen to and watch the conversation, and next to that his own paper and pen.
“How many years have I been doing this?” he asked himself as he settled down to work. Pouring himself his own cup of tea, and dipping his pen in the ink, he got ready to record.
The Oldest looked at the gathered people sitting in front of her. With calm blue eyes she studied everybody’s faces. There was fatigue still in the eyes of those who had been out in the field and who were still in the middle of overseeing the followup of their mission with the DIC, but no particular angst or anger. She took a sip of her tea, feeling its warmth and tartness soothing her throat as she thought about how to open the discussion.
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“So, our first mission between the King’s Guard, the White Circle and the DIC has finished. What is our impression of it? Will it be worth it to continue these missions?” she asked.
Bedwyr rubbed his chin. “Gabbro Byrony was very professional.” There were agreement nods from the other members. “He came in with staff, strong intelligence, excellent logistics. As far as we could verify, he hid nothing back necessary for the operation. He was open to our ideas of how to handle our men’s deployment. It was a useful event.”
“He worked as a team member, and didn’t pull rank,” Ruell added. He grabbed a small savory pastry off of the tray left for them. “It seemed to me that he has had experience in doing group operations. I wonder how often the DIC does activities like this?” He took a bite, and chewed it thoughtfully.
“They are good at policing their own,” the Oldest said. “We have sent reports from time to time over the years about fraud, usually, and they seem to handle them with seriousness and speed.”
“Sadly for us all, the one lead we had to who is behind this boom in smuggling died during the operation,” the Birch said. “Byrony took a case of the contraband back with him, though. He thought his experts might be able to learn something about its sourcing.” He rubbed the tip of his nose. “If we’re lucky, and it doesn’t involve one of the big firms, like Briarwood and Flysch, we might even hear something back about it.” His tone on that last bit was doubtful.
The Oldest picked up her tea cup again. “Tell me about it. It was one of the Dragon Web people from Greshold’s Keep? Amron Shulan, I believe? Isn’t that one of the B&F stations?”
“That is correct, Oldest. And Shulan was one of the people there we had been keeping an eye on. He had long been a thorn in the side of the King’s Guard there, from what I understand, and had been reported from time to time doing trade unauthorized either by us or Redbeard’s people.”
“According to my reports,” the Birch said, thumbing through his papers, until he found the one he wanted, “Once or twice the DIC had showed up to talk to him. Some gossip that the local DIC people were winking at what was going on. I asked him about it, but he clammed up. Damn Dragonkin and their opaque internals.”
“Byrony confirmed it was suicide. The Dragonkin have a way of viewing the scene shortly before death,” Ruell said, with a shiver. “It’s very clean for us watching from the sidelines, but eerie, like watching a moving series of pictures projected on a wall showing what has happened. It’s only good for the last few minutes of the victim’s life. Seems Shulan had a panic attack after he discovered he was surrounded and all his bolt holes were sealed off. We’re not sure if was the fear of being cut off from Blazendraught or fear of the person he was doing business for, but he cut his own throat right about the time we entered the front door of his cabin.”
“If he was worried about being cut off from Blazendraught, it sounds like he thought he’d be accused of more than just unauthorized smuggling,” the Oldest said. “That sounds like he felt like he was part of breach of the Dragonkin pact.” She steepled long, slender fingers together. “I wonder...”
“Or that he would be accused of it. Or the person he was working for would accuse him of it.” Bedwyr added. “An added layer of confusion to untease.”
“He had been an important part of the sanction smuggling for a long time. I wonder what Redbeard is thinking. Don’t be surprised if we hear about purges in the people he works with. Nobody’s ever challenged his stranglehold on the trade coming through before,” Ruell said. “He has to be worried about having been infiltrated. Gold brings loyalty more than he does.”
“I”m wondering if my people in the field have been compromised. I know Shulan had some contacts with some of them.” The Birch made a note of his own on a tablet next to his elbow. “I wonder if that’s why I haven’t heard from certain people.”
“Ruell, Haran, we need to check on the people we work with that he might have had access to,” the Oldest said, “and where possible, move them elsewhere. Vet them all over again, and who they work with. We can’t move them all – that would be a blaring signal.”
“True,” Ruell said. “Enide and Arash have already started working on that. They went down to Brightwater yesterday while you were busy elsewhere.”
The Oldest nodded in approval.
Bedwyr cleared his throat. “Beyond that, I’ve already got people working on the contacts of the men we picked up. One was basically a band of up and coming mercenaries, not far from being bandits themselves, but Mizak has many contacts in the trade circles. We’ll be going through what we know of Shulan’s people. We’ve already brought in Brindan Ochre. He likes to act all soft and clumsy and cooperative, but he’s an extremely sharp operator. We might ask the DIC with help on him. They have some methods that we can’t use. I’m surprised Byrony didn’t pick him up on the way home.” Birch said.
“Or the people at the local DIC office, while he was at it,” Ruell said.
“Oh, I think that’s in the works,” Haran said. “I received word right before our meeting that one of Byrony’s seconds stopped off at Greshold’s Keep this morning with a team.”
“It’s going to be interesting finding out what they discover,” the Oldest said. “Here’s hoping that they honor their agreement to share it.”
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Umber Madrona plopped himself in his usual corner of the Dragon Web lunch room, tired and with ink-stained fingers. Thornfield hadn’t been lying about the mound of paperwork waiting for him. There were transport form after transport form that had to be registered, logged, calculated and filed sitting on his desk, practically every bit of commercial shipping that had gone through the station over the days he had been gone. Instead of completing the work, Thornfield had just saved it up for him.
“At least I’m lucky that today is a slow transport day,” Umber muttered to himself. He didn’t even have time to go get a proper lunch made, much less make one himself. Instead, he was eating field rations, leftover from his trip with Byrony. “And at least I’m lucky to have packed that away. Otherwise it would have been getting something from the traveler’s cafe. Last time I ate there I was sick for three days.”
He opened the ration kit. There was a small can, a bag, and some sort of wafer thin item in a white paper wrapping, a spoon and a dull knife. He started with the wafer, when a shadow fell over his food. He looked up, and saw Lana standing there, her lunch box in hand.
“Wanna tell me all about it?” she said, her blue ruff tinged extra bright with anticipation. “What was it like working with someone like Gabbro Byrony? Was it as exciting as you hoped?” She slid into the seat across from him and began to lay out her lunch.
“Byrony is everything I want to be as a DIC officer – thorough, knowing, caring, competent, able to be totally focused on the job at hand, and yet have time to treat his people with respect and interest,” Umber said. “If I can hold on through this year, maybe one day I’ll be like him.” He sighed and started opening up his lunch. The paper wrapped wafer was hard and brown.
“Your boss isn’t making it easy for you, is he?” Lana asked.
Umber shook his head. “Byrony told me that they send the people they think have the most promise to the worst DIC stations for their first year. They want to shake out the ones who want to be in the DIC for lesser reasons, I guess. He didn’t quite come out and say Goblin Market was one of those…”
Lana lifted her bread and meat wrap up, getting ready to take a bite. “But you believe he meant it that way.” She bit.
Umber nodded. “It gave me hope, any way.” He pressed a touchstone on the bag part of his lunch. It began to warm.
“I believe him,” Lana replied, wiping her chin. “You are very meticulous and focused on your job, and you don’t let things escape notice. But at the same time, you take the effort to be polite, and even nice to the people you interact with. I saw how you were with Lady Arriane. You impressed her well enough she came by to say hello while you were out.”
Surprise lit up Umber’s face. “She did?”
“I saw her coming out of the DIC office. She wasn’t all that pleased with old Thorny.”
“Ssh. Don’t let him hear you call him that!” Umber said, somewhat shocked.
“You think he’ll pull me in for an interrogation? Half the station calls him that.” She took another bite of her lunch. “Besides, my family controls some of the special products he likes to pretend aren’t coming into the station. On the shipments he doesn’t let you inspect. That he makes extra money on sending them onto Meridae. He wouldn’t dare make them mad.”
“Your family has connections with Brightwater?” Umber asked. He wasn’t sure which surprised him more, Lana’s connection to Redbeard’s sanctioned smuggling or the realization that Thornfield was busy turf protecting. He tore open the bag that held his heated food, a meat patty with woeful looking vegetables.
“It’s just a little side business. They are mostly involved with commodities like foodstuffs and cloth items. Let’s not talk about that. I’m here to get away from economics and buying and selling. My family wasn’t too happy about that, me flirting with Transportation as a career, but I think it suits me better.”
“You have to go where your heart calls you,” Umber said, nodding. He took a bite of his ration. It tasted better than it looked, and he began to eat in earnest.
She nodded. Her ruff picked up color, pleased at his comment. “And yours is calling you to outlast your boss and become a star in the DIC. And I bet you make it.” She took the last bite of her lunch. “And I want to do what I can to help you do it.”
This time it was his spikes that grew brighter at her words.
“When’s your next day off?” she asked.
“Three or four days from now, I guess,” he said. “I have to check the schedule. He may have rearranged it because of my time with Byrony. Why?”
“I want to have a picnic. At that special place I was telling you about, where I go when I miss the rocks too much. You want to come?”
His eyes opened wide, and the colors on his spikes grew even brighter. “Me?”
She laughed. “Yes, you, you silly. Let me know when your day off is. Think of it as part of my “Help Get Umber Through His First Year” plan. I wasn’t raised by a mercantile family for nothing. I understand these things.”
Umber decided then and there that maybe this day wasn’t going so bad after all.