Chapter 26
Beware drawing the attention of higher ups. It almost always leads to extra work. And that’s on a good day.
Aphorisms for a Quiet Life by Ruddtha Redstone, Chairman of Toolets Manufacturing, Sunderland
Umber walked into the office at Goblin Market, papers from the last shipment out clutched in one hand, and a cash bag in the other.
The room was in its usual semi-organized mess. Umber’s was pristine, his file cases neatly closed, the tools he used to certify the paperwork arranged in a small box, the inkwell filled and properly capped, and the pen jar filled with sharpened pens ready to be used. Thornfield, as he often was, was sitting at his desk, loaded with a sloppy in box of papers yet to be finalized, a novel in his hands, and his feet propped up on the desk. He briefly looked up as Umber entered, then immediately went back to his reading.
“Gah! Why does raw wool stink so bad? If it has to, why don’t they use some sort of containment touch stone?” Umber said, as he went over to the safe and opened it with a touch stone. Quickly opening the cash bag, he deposited the fees he had taken from the shippers. Closing the safe with more force than necessary, he turned back to his desk, slamming the clipboard of papers that he had gathered during the shipment down on his desk, then plopped into his chair. Quickly he began to sort them into small stacks. “How anybody can stand to be a shepherd...”
“Touchstone containment costs money,” Thornfield said, looking up at the younger dragonkin, with a look between a scowl and a smirk. He marked his page and removing his feet, he placed the book on the desk. “Farmers usually don’t have much to spare to keep shipping clerks and freight loads from smelling barnyard smells.”
Umber thumbed through the receipts he had gathered. “Wool and wheat and pigs. A crate of embroideries headed to Ynys Afel. A table and eight chairs going to the White Isle. Three crates of dried fruits. Someone sending wedding supplies to Waterford on Glint. Vegetable seeds to Harani, of all places. I’m shocked anything that they grow here can grow there. Oh, and a pallet of scrap metal. What a base of production we have here . Now it’s Waterford on Glint’s problem. ”
Thornfield leaned back in his chair once again, but kept his feet on the ground. He guffawed. “It’s a rural area. Didn’t you learn any economics when you were in your creche school? This place produces food and fiber, mostly. Most of the land around here belongs to the Allyns, or it’s part of Cullin’s Forest, and nobody’s going to mine or lumber or build in those woods. That’s why there’s nobody from the big mercantile or exploration clans here. If there was anything they could milk for profit directly, you know they’d have storefronts or factories here. Too rural. Just dragonkin working at the Dragon Web office. That’s the way it is most of An Lar.” The older dragonkin’s eyes lit up as he warmed to his subject, and Umber could feel the start of a long lecture coming on.
He tried to disrupt Thornfield’s train of thought. “Not that way in Harani.” Not looking at his supervisor’s face, he carefully noted the price of goods shipped on each form into a ledger, and then stamped the paperwork.
Thornfield was not the least ready to be disrupted. “Harani’s a whole different world. Mining, exotic metal work, rare spices, and all the goods coming down from the Gray Mountains and the Lost Lands beyond. Plenty of profit, and not many Daoine noble houses to get in the way. And the climate – it’s almost like Sunderland. It’s no wonder there are a lot of Dragonkin there. ”
“True,” Umber said, nodding. He had learned it worked better if he let Thornfield know he was paying at least some attention when he was wound up like this.
“Compare that to where we’re at,” Thornfield continued. “Goblin Market’s just a small market town between Waterford by Glint and Meridae on the other side of the forest. Meridae does a lot of business down south, and has direct connections to most of the major trade hubs, two or three a day, passenger and freight . Two different trade houses have businesses there, and there’s a financial house, too. Making high grade touch stones can do that to a region. Goblin Market only has a once a week direct freight connection to most of those, and I have heard talk about them wanting to cut some of those direct hops down to two a month. Just basic economics. Any Dragonkin ought to know that type of pattern.”
“My family was a family of investigators,” Umber muttered, filing away his documents. “They sent me to school to join the DIC, not to join a trade guild. I didn’t pay much attention to profit making. I was learning forensics.”
“I knew you were a strange one, Umber,” Thornfield said. “Dragonkin who don’t care about profit – now that’s almost a…”
Whatever Thornfield was about to say was interrupted by a knock at the office door. Even before he could respond, the door opened up and Lana, the blue dragonkin who was actually nice to Umber, walked in with an envelop e with bright red lettering. Thornfield looked at her, somewhat perplexed.
“Sorry sir,” Lana said. “This just came in over the message desk marked urgent.”
“Urgent?” the older dragonkin asked.
She nodded. “The address says it’s from DIC headquarters.”
Handing it to a bemused Thornfield, she turned and left, but not before giving Umber a small wink and smile.
Thornfield pulled it open, and read it with his bemused look never changing. Umber, burning with curiosity continued to look down at his paperwork, just to make sure he didn’t make some reaction that would send Thornfield down another bombastic spiel.
Finally, the older dragonkin man put the paper down on his desk. His forehead spikes glowed a little with nervousness. “Go put your best uniform on, Umber. We’re about to have a visit by a real bigwig.”
“A bigwig?” Umber asked.
“I would say so. Gabbro Byrony. Second after the Master Investigator himself.” Thornfield sounded nervous, perhaps even a little intimidated.
“ But why?” Umber asked.
“It didn’t say,” Thornfield said. “But any visit by people at level…” He took a deep breath, and a note of almost panic cre pt into his voice. “What if...what if they want to move me back to Sunderland?”
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“Oldest?”
The Oldest sat in the garden, on a mat, surrounded by the others of the inner circle of the White Guard.
It was still cool, like it got in the early days of the third month. The inner circle were still in their white robes, and three of them had an extra blanket pulled close around their shoulders. Sammisa, the lake woman with green hair and a intolerance to cold, had another nearby, just in case. A few of them had their hoods pulled up, but not everybody, because this was their enclave and all these in the garden with the Oldest were marked and known. Another group, more than the white robes wore the grey of Magic Guard acolytes, joining in as part of their training, and these made an outer circle around them. Wearing the robes of their order for this exercise was intentional; part of it was to feel like a unified force. Outside of the enclave, out of the chapter house, and especially off the White Isle, they became individual, lesser. But here in the circle, they felt part of a force, something guiding the world forward. Which exactly what the Oldest was trying to encourage, and sometimes use. She called this the discipline
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Currently, they were linked in the discipline, breathing as one, focused on tapping into the magic that kept them focused on their protection of the realm, that could at times link themselves into something bigger than the individual. When linked like this they were a unit, a sword, a knife that could cut through anything. It took much practice to join this way. When used as a weapon in the Oldest’s hands, it could be devastating.
But at the sound of the voice, the Oldest opened her eyes. The moment was broken, the joining shattered, and the one fell into the many. Two of the members, less skilled in the technique, groaned. An acolyte had fainted. But sometimes, things could not be helped.
“Oldest, you asked me to contact you when the Youngest returned. I am sorry for disrupting.”
The disruptor was Ethne, the Oldest’s secretary, who at this moment bowed apologetically.
“It’s important enough, Ethne. That’s what I wanted you to do, even during the discipline.” The Oldest stood up, her silver-gold hair falling in a long cascade down her back and almost to her knees as she stood. She shook briefly, picked up her mat, something the others were beginning to do themselves.
“I left her in your reception room,” Ethne said. “Would you like me to bring you some tea?”
“Excellent,” the Oldest replied. She turned to her circle members.“Ruell, Haran, Sammisa? Come join me, please. Everybody else, you may return to your duties. I recommend that you acolytes take a walk in the gardens first. Feel how it feels to have your concentration broken that way, and learn how to sort away the after effects of the magical residue.”
She and the three she had called for dropped their meditation mats off in the bin for them, then headed inside.
Arriane sat quietly in a chair in the reception room, staring at the fireplace, where a small fire, just enough to drive off the early spring chill burned. She had taken the time to put on her robe. The gold spilling out of the edges of her drawn up hood said it had been drawn up hastily.
Ruell and Haran took seats near her, and the Oldest sat in an easy chair that faced the three.
“So you have returned, Youngest. How was your visit?”
“My sister was rather happy to see me. I know she’s missing Gweir. She tells me he’s been out of touch for awhile, involved in some special training.”
The Oldest nodded. At that moment, Ethne came in with a pot of tea and a tray of small cakes.
“I have to admit,” Ruell said, taking a cup from Ethne, “I am always ready for this after the discipline.”
“Just so,” Ethne replied. “I always have plenty made up. More so in winter sessions than summer.”
The Youngest accepted the tea, but not a cake. She had spent the morning going through the Dragon Web instead of sitting on the cold ground, and had eaten too many of the treats Elaine had sent home with her.
Everybody served, Ethne left the room.
“So did you meet your sister’s friend?”
Arriane nodded. “I did indeed. I can see why Elaine kept in touch with her all these years. She is a very kindly person, and from what I understand, all the pixies at Pixie Hollow adore her. The day before my sister sent a work party there, I slipped over to her place and watched them. They flock around her, and she feeds them. She has even managed to befriend a local Tree Shepherd, one who has a bad reputation for being unfriendly to anybody who is not a tree or who shouldn’t live in his forest. His forest is next to her homestead. From what I’ve heard, he already came over for a meal, and she hasn’t been there two weeks.
“That’s rather impressive. That’s Cullin of Cullin’s Forest, isn’t it?” Ruell asked. He took a bite of one of the cakes, and made a happy face at the taste of it.
“Yes. It was the first time I had seen him since I was a small child. I think it surprised him that I had grown up.”
“Cullin’s sense of time is not like most of ours,” the Oldest said, nodding. “It’s nice that she’s managed to make some progress with him.”
“You know Cullin?” Arriane asked, surprised at the Oldest’s familiarity with him.
“Since he was a small child orphaned during the Sundering,” the Oldest said. “You could say I fostered him for a few years.”
“Oh, I didn’t know he was that old,” Arriane said. “Nobody in my family talks much about him unless someone gets hit with his stink mud.”
“I’ve heard about that,” Sammisa said. She had her hands wrapped around the tea cup, trying to warm her hands. “I hear it’s really nasty, and takes forever to fade. One of the waiting ladies in Ynys Afel got splattered once, not on purpose – she wasn’t the target, but still caught some. She ended up burning her dress.”
“Impressive,” Haran said.
“I got the impression from my sister that her friend Gan had met Cullin as a small child. Her people had gotten burned out in the Great Fire that burned on the south side of his forest, but before that, he had been a visitor at her parents house.”
“Ah,” Samissa said, taking a sip of her tea. “So she knows at least a little something of his ways.”
“Evidently,” Arriane said.
“So,” the Oldest said. “Let’s think back to what the seer told us at Brightening Day. ‘ A scholar with no school approaches. You will know her by a cloud of lights innocent as day dancing in the sun that will surround her. She searches for the missing, trapped, trapped by a lie, trapped by greed. Brown hides behind black, black behind brown, confusing all. She will be given a key. Use it wisely, but beware the price.’ Gan Thistleberry is definitely a scholar with no school.”
“She was headmistress of the younger grades at Comrie,” Ruell noted. He snagged another of the sweet cakes off the tray.
“She’s more than that,” the Oldest said. She sipped her tea. “She’s an expert at Domestic Magic, and has written a number of papers. The Goosequills have been after her for years to come here and take a position at their chapter house, but she chose not to.” She looked deeply into her cup. “A scholar with no school, because the Redwing Clan decided to take over the school she taught at, and their choice of headmaster didn’t like her.”
“That sounds rather stupid,” Haran said.
“Clan politics often is,” the Oldest said, nodding. “She’s evidently been surrounded by a large cluster of pixies who are happy to have her with them. ‘A cloud of lights innocent as the day dancing in the sun.’ That could be an apt description.”
“Maybe,” said Ruell. “If you don’t mind pixie dust.”
Sammisa giggled at that one. “They’re small, a bit daft, and never intentionally hurt anybody, and their magic is only defensive glamour. Pretty innocent as things go on An Lar.”
“She searches for the missing...could that refer to her old headmaster?” Arriane asked. “My sister told me she tried very hard to get the DIC or anybody else to investigate his disappearance.”
The Oldest nodded. “It is possible. But what’s this black and brown business? Does anybody have any idea? And what about the key mentioned?”
The group fell silent.
“Not in the least,” Ruell said at last.
“Well, she has a good chance at being the person the seer saw. Mistress Thistleberry probably has no idea she could be the fulcrum for something important. I think we need to keep a watch on her at least for her own protection. If we’re wrong, it’s not a problem. If we’re right, we might prevent something dreadful. It’s not a good thing, usually, to be the person at the center of a seeing.” The Oldest sighed. “There’s so much happening behind the scenes this year. I’d hate for anything to happen to her just because we got overwhelmed. And we really might this time around.”
The seriousness of her tone sunk into the group.
“It’s just so far in the country,” Sammisa said. “What excuse could we use to bring one of our people there? Or rotate a group of people in and out?”
“That’s a good point. Could we set something up with Allynswood, or maybe at Goblin Market?” Ruell asked.
“She has offered to tutor my youngest brother his last year before going away for his official schooling,” Arriane said after a moment. “And she has offered to give me lessons in her form of practical magic.”
The Oldest looked up at that.
“I think you should,” the Oldest said.
“Really?” Arriane asked.
“Think of it like our discipline, but useful to a single person. Everything we teach can be traced back to that type of magic. And you need no devices, no touchstones, wands, magic bowls, or other technology to work most of it. Gan is one of the better at it. Besides, she likes to teach. And it will help us keep tabs on things going on around the area. A member of your family checking on things would not trigger anybody’s suspicions.”
Arriane nodded. “I’ll make the arrangements, then.”
“Let me know when you’re leaving,” the Oldest said. “All right, I guess we go back to work then. Ruell, are you ready to go to Tantis?”
The group began to exit out. But before he could leave, the Oldest grabbed Haran by the sleeve.
“Make sure to fit her out with a jump stone for back here. I hope she’ll never need it, but better safe than sorry.”
Nodding, he made his exit.