Chapter 3
“Until we came and set up the Dragon Web, the people of An Lar barely knew each other. Hamlets and cities alike, stuck like little islands across this vast land. Little knowledge shared, little trade happening, and a lot of untrue legends about the people even one mountain ridge away. Since we started shop, the schools at White Island have boomed, and even the smallest child gets a chance to learn more than how to handle a hoe. And goods – things that once were luxuries only the richest could have, why they’re everywhere! You should get down on your knees and thank the Lifegiver that we showed up on day, instead of complaining about how much it costs to travel. How much did it cost when everything went by caravan?”
--From No-Space to Everywhere by Flysch Graben, cofounder of Briarwood and Flysch
It was a sunny day in the town of Comrie in the land of An Lar, sunny but cold, just a few days past the winter equinox. Many people were still on holiday, or returning from it, and the wind was chill, but the sun inviting after the recent snow. It teased more people out on the street, mostly Aos Darion, with their large pointed ears, but very few of the high Sidhe, joined with a few Dwarves and other fae folk and even fewer humans. After all Comrie was in the heart of the Fae realm; its port was the gateway to both the White Isle and and Ynys Afel.
A small Fae woman who sported both the large ears of a Bauchan and the brilliant blue eyes of a Daoine highborn dodged a carriage to cross the street and walk up to a large, imposing stone building, by far the finest on the street. It took up the whole block, three stories tall. Unlike most of the other buildings there, it was set back from the walk, with a fine stone curb. A large entry graced the center, with four massive doors. There might have not had any, with all the people walking in and out, some carrying packages, others luggage.
As she neared, a Spriggan porter, small like all his kind were when not enraged into gigantic size, lifted his oversized head to give her a calculating look, losing interest when he saw she wasn’t carrying anything of bulk. Another Spriggan, luckier in getting work, lumbered under an amazing pile of boxes and bundles as his customer lead him to a waiting carriage. A line of wagons were queued up by the freight door along the cross street, their oxen standing there placidly, giving a few flicks of the ears at the street noises. Their Bauchan drivers, wrapped up in heavy woolen cloaks against the cold weather and good caps to protect their oversized pointed ears, glanced from time to time at the freight doors. Even from where she was walking, the Fae woman could hear them complain about how slowly the lead wagon was being loaded. They paid the woman no mind.
She got to the front and looked up. Overhead, in bright gold and black letters, a sign proclaimed:
Briarwood and Flysch
Comrie Station Dragon Web
Freight – Travel – Messaging
Why walk when you can Web?
The very best in No-Space services
“Briarwood and Flysch, the very best at separating you from your money,” she muttered to herself as she pushed through the door.
Immediately, she almost bumped into a tall, blond-haired Daoine magistrate carrying a full satchel of papers. Like many of the high Fae, he was dressed in silk and fine leather, but had gone a step further and had his badge of office fastened to his chest as if to signal his importance to the people around him. Scowling briefly at the audacity of a lesser Fae coming between him and the door, his face softened as he recognized her.
“Ah, good morning to you, Gan Thistleberry! How are things at the school today?” he said with a small nod of the head.
She gave him a polite nod in return and a pleasant smile. “Quiet, for a change, Councilman Dor. School holidays are a lovely thing. All my little charges are off with their parents or in the care of the holiday caretakers.”
He chuckled. “Maybe lovelier for the teachers than the parents, perhaps. Have a good holiday, then. Tell the lovely Melusine I send her greetings. I hope to see her at the Holiday End bonfire tomorrow night. And you, too, of course.”
“I’ll be sure to let her know,” Gan said.
And with that, he walked onto the street.
She entered the main room, chuckling a little at the councilman’s words. “If you only knew what Melusine says about you, Master Dor.”
It was a voluminous space inside - counters on two walls, a row of offices against one side, and exits to the traveler waiting space in the far corner. There were bright posters along the walls. “See the Southern Seas!” “Travel to the Grey Moutains!” “Visit the White Isle!” all with beautiful people playing at the beach or enjoying the scenery. Rich, beautiful high status perfect Aos Daoine not a single picture of the Aos Darion, be they Bauchan or Spriggan or Bogle or any of the other groups among them.
There were times the messaging of the posters irritated her, but today was not one of those days. She had other things on her mind. By the freight counter there was a long line of customers, mostly Bauchans in their practical work clothes and large pointed ears, mixed with a Bogle or two, and a single Human, all with boxes and bundles to ship off. Overhead of the workers weighing and stamping the packages, there was a big banner: “We can handle all your shipment needs. Talk to our clerk about special needs. We have temporary jump keys for those extra heavy loads. Nobody moves your goods like Briarwood and Flysch.”
She passed them by, then turned left, past a impressive wooden door emblazoned with a giant Dragon’s eye in shining read. Surrounding it was the lettering: “Dragon Investigation Corporation: We Never Stop Investigation. Never.”
“Never if they ever start,” the woman muttered, and then sighed as she passed it by as well. Instead, she headed to the message counter which had a much shorter line.
A young Dragonkin woman was standing behind the counter. She, like most of the counter staff at the Dragon Web station, were young, rather humanoid in appearance, two armed and legged, with no visible wings or tail, just slightly taller than a man of the Daoine.
“Mama,” said a small boy in the line ahead of her. “I thought there’d be dragons! The big ones, with tails and everything.”
The woman with him smiled down. “No, no, Toby. Those dragons are too big to work the counters. Instead, we have nice ladies like Marin working here. She’s a Dragonkin, too, but just not so big. See - she has scales like a dragon.”
“But she doesn’t have wings!” the boy said.
“But we do, young master,” said the clerk. She was lightly scaled, a pale green, and her head bore a female’s ruff of leathery skin. She wore a simple robe of light blue, bearing the name of Briarwood and Flysch. “We just keep them under our clothes. We have claws like the big dragons, too.” She held up her fingers, and wiggled them. Each one was tipped with a hard white point. “If we are going to get tails, we don’t get tails until we’re older.”
“Oh!” the boy said, tugging on one of his slightly pointed, shell-like ears, proof of his high status bloodline. No oversized, protruding ears for the Daoine.
“I’m so sorry, Marin,” the woman said, obviously embarrassed. “This is the first time I’ve brought him here since he was a babe in arms. Winter Solstice holiday and all that.”
“Not a problem, Mistress Arin.” Marin said. “Before I came here, I worked at the creche school at Sunderland. I can tell you, there’s not much difference between Dragonkin boys and Fae ones.” A young man, a Bauchan, one of the many who worked at the station doing the running, fetching, and heavy work, walked up behind her and handed Marin a pouch decorated with the Briarwood and Flysch symbol. The Dragon slid it across the counter. “Ah, here you go, Mistress Arin. Your messages. Any other business? Would you like to purchase some prepaid message pouches?”
“Not today,” the Daoine woman said. She handed the pouch to her son. “You carry it for me, Toby. Thanks, Marin. See you soon.”
The couple turned and walked away, and Gan stepped up to the counter.
Marin looked up and her female ruff reacted, coloring positively as she recognized the woman.
“Ah, Mistress Gan! here to pick up the school’s messages?”
“Yes please,” she said. “Even with the holidays, the messages come and go.” The small woman slid a bag across the counter emblazoned with Master Gwaher’s School of Of Grammarie, Magic and Practical Arts. “And here’s the outgoing.”
The dragon beckoned to another one of her assistants, a young Clurican boy with large pointed ears and shocking red hair.
“Ross, go and fetch the school’s message bag,” she said.
While he scurried off, Marin opened the pouch, and took out the correspondence. “For some of us, the work never pauses, holiday or not,” she said as she stamped an envelope.
“True. Even for us teachers. There’s always lessons to plan,” Mistress Gan said. “It never ends.”
“And things to be moved,” Marin replied.
“I would imagine,” Gan said, nodding. “Still, I hope they give you some time off.”
“A little. We’ll be closed tomorrow for counter business.”
“I hope you get to enjoy it,” Gan replied.
“Here’s hoping. At least I have plans.” Marin sounded a little doubtful.
As the last of the school correspondence was stamped, the woman pulled a blue envelope out of her pocket. “From Gan Thistleberry, Comrie to Elaine Allyns, Lady of Allynswood,” it read in a clear, plain hand. “I’d like to send this.”
“Personal or school business?” the dragonkin asked.
“Personal,” Gan said.
“Ah, going to Allynswood, I see,” Marin said as stamped it. “That’s down by Waterford by Glint?”
“I’m impressed, Marin. Not all that big a place, Allynswood. I think the closest station is the one at Goblin Market,” Gan replied. “Who knows when my friend gets as far as Waterford?”
“We would send word,” the dragonkin said. “All part of the service.”
“I’m sure, but it’s still a long ride,”
The dragon woman nodded, filled out a receipt, and gave Gan half. That’ll be four coppers.”
She dug into her purse. “When will she get it?”
“It should get there tomorrow. We’ll send word from Goblin Market.”
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Ross came back with a small bag stuffed with envelopes. “No packages today, Mistress Thistleberry.”
“Holiday times will do that,” she said, taking the bag. And with that, she headed out.
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While Gan Thistleberry sent her messages in Comrie, in Sunderland things were beginning to wind down.
For the past five days of the Dragonkin conference there had been an endless round of discussion about trade, rudeness of the other, non-Dragon peoples, a demonstration about a new twist on using mobile jump stones in Dwarvish mines, another on the impact of Fae trade near the stations of both shortlifer’s and Shadowland zones (the conclusion that Fae goods lost their appeal as the population shifted towards the short-lifed, but there was profit on the darker, military technologies. “Shadow gold is as good as Aos Si gold!” was a hotly contested slogan with a minority who didn’t live in the Borderland. And many more panels besides.
Matchmakers slipped in, as usual, as did those ready to negotiate trade agreements.
It was a wearying set of days. Beyond the endless discussions and papers and parties, there were five duels, one death, ten accusations of larceny, three of fraud, and twenty seven petitions for opening up new web offices. Elections were held for two of the council members, which returned the original council members to their seats, much to the dismay of the reformist movement. One dragon was banished from his home district for plagiarism and threatened with being outlawed if he did it again. Once the last paper was given, and the last court case was heard, Grimsbeard was glad to see it go, no matter how much gold had fallen into his coffers.
Just after the closing ceremonies, a small, gray dragon slipped into the president’s office.
The president lifted up his cup of red dust spiced tea, and sipped it. Red dust was famous for having mild sedative properties for Dragonkin, and after all the activity, he needed it. Peering over the top of his cup, he noticed the quiet arrival, but this was one he had been expecting, and was not surprised. “Master Investigator,” Grimsbeard said, acknowledging him with a nod of his head.
“That’s the Master Investigator?” Bluestone, who had been at the president’s side during the whole of the event, filing, finding and fetching for her employer looked even more frazzled than the president. She had been avoiding sedatives herself, and the strain of the week showed in her eyes and the amount of smoke sneaking out of her nostrils. She put down her notepad, tipped her head to the side and looked at the newcomer “He’s so....small.
“Very observant, Bluestone,” Grimsbeard said. “Although, you might try to avoid talking about people in third person when they are standing in front of you.”
She blushed bluely and clasped a hand over her mouth.“I’m so sorry. My apologies, sir. It’s just that...you know, the illustrations I’ve seen from the Dragon Investigation Corporation...the news sheets... I thought you’d be as big as one of the old dragons, like Briarwood or Weststone.”
The gray Dragonkin snorted, amused by her reaction, then nodded his head politely. “That’s what everybody says. But my family, well, we’re different than most of the other dragons.” He slid into a seat along the wall.
“This is true,” Grimsbeard said. “For millennia the Investigator clan has, for the most part, bred small.”
“It’s linked to our special talent,” the small dragon said. He touched his nose, and even as Bluestone watched, the dragon in front of her grew faint and hard to see. She knew he was there. She could hear his breathing, see his shadow.
“Invisibility?” Bluestone said, but shook her head. Grimsbeard smiled at her confusion. ‘No...not exactly,” she said focusing her concentration. “I can’t see through you. It’s like...like...my mind just refuses to see where you are.” Her eyes got big and her wings flapped in agitation.
“It’s a useful talent for investigators,” Grimsbeard said. “Most of the field operatives have that ability. It’s a gift that helps settle all the problems that stupid Dragonkin give us. Would you like some tea?”
The investigator shook his head. Grimsbeard dismissed Bluestone, then picked up a report that was laying on his desk.
“Gandaran stirred before Brightening Day,” Grimsbeard said. He handed the papers to Master Invesigator. “Here’s something for your files.”
Master Investigator arched an eye ridge as he accepted the report. “It was witnessed?”
The larger dragon nodded. “By myself, by my assistant Chrysto and three others. Just in case, I’ve got them in a protected area until we can figure out who’s involved.” He tapped his claws on the table. “I informed the council, and still not even a rumor of what’s going on.” He looked at Master Investigator. “But Gandaran doesn’t stir for no reason.”
“No he doesn’t,” Master Investigator said. “Any ideas?”
“Not really, not yet. I wouldn’t be shocked if it was something with Financials and Trade combining in black market deals, but I don’t even have a whiff of a rumor.”
“I’ll put extra people on it,” Master Investigator said, nodding. “There’s been some interest in the new jump stones. Even with the agreements with Ynys Afel about not letting them get into the Boundary lands, it’s going to be hard to keep them out of the black market. It wasn’t such a problem when they had to be preset by a Jump mage, but the new ones...”
“Don’t have that limitation,” Grimsbeard said, nodding. “That, and the researcher disappearances are really going to be headache after headache with the King’s Court in Ynys Afel.
“No-Space research can be dangerous, Briarwood and Flysch tell all the investigators,” the Master Investigator said. “But somehow it happens mostly to people who do not work for them. I’ve always found that rather….interesting. Funny, when it comes to working in that particular field, even the scholars doing pure research vanish far more often than it happens to any of their staff. In fact, I don’t know of a single case where a dragon in his employ did. Could Gandaran’s unrest be linked?”
“There are people in the Fae community starting to make some real noise.” Grimsbeard lifted his tea cup. “We need to really know if it’s the nature of the business, or the Business, if you take my meaning,” he said. “Nothing we can do about it if the research is dangerous, and foolish people without the right safeguards are doing themselves in, but if it’s commercial espionage and murder...” He took a sip of his tea. “I believe Ynys Afel, or at least interested parties in the court have gotten the White Circle involved in digging, and you know that might not necessarily be good for us. Who knows what else they might find? We need to solve this before they learn things they shouldn’t.”
“The White Circle is good, but not as good as we are, Sir,” The master investigator said. “Their goals are different. Still, their being involved might be useful. It is possible that their odd ways might give us a breakthrough. Perhaps we could cooperate with them a little more. That might help direct them in the way that would benefit us without getting the King’s Court too involved.”
“You have a point, Master Investigator,” Grimsbeard said. “Use your judgment on this.”
“The investigation never stops, sir.” He tapped his nose. “You do realize that the disappearances and Gandaran’s stirring might be related.”
“The thought has crossed my mind.” Grimsbeard nodded. “I just can’t figure out who benefits. If it’s not Briarwood doing it, who else would it be? Protecting trade secrets shouldn’t bother Gandaran at all.” The dragon drummed his fingers on the desk again.
“Well, hopefully there’s nothing else coming up to be a crisis in the next year.”
The small dragon gave a small smirk.
“Only Haran’s station demand for a new manager. That might be looking into. The desert people are noted for taking matters into their own hands. And Briarwood and Flysch are really up at arms about what to do about the Fae-Human leakage in High Crannock, where there’s a natural gate. They are trying to convince Ynys Afal to move people away from the gate; It’s an ancient holy site to one of the Fae societies. There’s a lot of resistance.”
“Always something,” Grimsbeard said. “All of that is business as usual. Gandaran stirred. Why? Lifegiver and the Lord of Stone help us if it’s another case like the Rebellion.”
“We won’t let that happen,” the small dragon said, “When we fail, bad things happen. We won’t get caught napping this time.”
“Journeyswain was a good Investigator,” Grimsbeard said. “But the Rebellion was not his fault.”
“Easy to say,” the grey dragon said. He stood still, as if he was trying to keep his wings from fluttering. Still, his spikes colored slightly. “I think maybe my father was too trusting during those days. He never quite got over it happening. I will not make his mistakes.”
“But I just want you to know that we never thought he was corrupt or untruthful in his work.” Grimsbeard said. “The Council never doubted him.”
Master Investigator nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t let any of the great families or conglomerates cower you on this. If your father had any failing, perhaps that’s its real source.”
Master Investigator took a deep breath, then nodded. “The missing persons investigation may ruffle feathers at Briarwood and Flysch,” he said. “Are we prepared for that?”
“Yes. if there’s any smoke to the fire, we need to know. If Briarwood and Flysch are involved, it might get touchy. Old Briarwood has a hideaway right next to one of the High Daoine estates. They are connected to the highest levels of An Lar. If he is doing something we need to know about and he does something stupid, we may have to take extra measures to keep Ynys Afel off our back. Just be aware.”
“I will see what I can find,” the grey dragon said. He bowed once, and slipped back the way he came.
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Far from Sunderland, in the still warm and dry lands of the west, where rain was scant and the land dry and minerals abounded, was the region of Harani. On this day, the local Dragonweb station was busy with holiday travelers heading for home on top of its usual business.
Umber Madrona, a young grey Dragonkin, stretched his wings with just the smallest bit of impatience as he waited in line at the ticket counter. It was a motley group of people ahead of him, including two high born Daoine men with flowing hair, a Bauchan craftsman carrying a toolbox, a Hyter, with bird feather hair hair in iridescent shades of blue and green, and even a Barghest, horns shining brightly with a golden caps at the tips.
The Hyter squawked towards a group of other bird people, who returned the call.
“I bet she’s buying tickets for a whole flock,” Umber muttered. He fluttered his wings again. “Wouldn’t be surprised if she’s going to try to get them to go shapeshifted into bird form so they can pay pet rates. I hope the clerk is smarter than that.”
Just in front of Umber was a Knocker, short, heavily muscled, and pale from lack of sun. “Let’s hope,” he said, overhearing Umber’s comment. “Line’s moving too slow as it is.” He turned and looked at Umber. “They even make Dragons wait in line?”
“Alas, yes.” Umber shrugged.
The Knocker adjusted his cap. “I hate traveling during holiday times. At least tomorrow it’s back to the delvings. If I ever get there.”
“You’re from Harani?” Umber asked.
“Thank the Lifegiver, no. I’m from the Grey Mountains, only place fit for Knockers. My partner Svalar, though,” he said, nodding in the direction of a Dwarf in deep conversation with another Dragonkin, “he’s from around these parts. His oldest got married over the holiday, and he dragged me with him.” He frowned. “Is that a salesman he’s talking to? I’ve warned him time and time again to stay away from salesmen, but this line is moving so slowly...He’s the easiest mark for people selling things he doesn’t need.” The Knocker took a deep sigh. “He doesn’t have a chance.”
The Dwarf stood with crossed arms in front of the salesman.
“The very latest thing from Briarwood and Flysch, very handy for mining,” the Dragon, a young blue, was saying, showing him a small rectangle of polished stone. So far, the Dwarf looked skeptical. “Guaranteed to save you time and money.”
Umber smiled. “Briarwood and Flysch sales people can be rather persuasive.”
“Tell me about it,” the Knocker said.
“Not always worth it, though,” Umber noted.
“And that’s what I’m afraid of.” The Knocker adjusted his hat. “I’ve seen this game before.”
The Dwarf examined the rectangle. “And what do you call this thingie?”
“It’s called a jump stone,” the salesman said.
“Jump stone, eh? And how would that work in the delvings? It’s such a small thing.”
“You’re not with them?” the Knocker asked.
Umber shook his head. “No. I’m with Dragon Investigations. My people are supposed to keep their people in line.”
“Let me demonstrate.” The sales person walked to the front of the counter. “I have this one set to jump to the middle of the room.” He attached it to a small bucket. “Now watch. I tap the stone once, activating the magical field, then slide my finger left to right across it’s surface.”
He tapped it, and the stone began to glow, and the glow surrounded the bucket. Then he slid his finger across the surface. There was a small pop, and the bucket disappeared, reappearing in the center of the room.
That caught a number of people’s attention, and not just in the ticket line.
“Damn, nothing Svalar likes better than clever gadgets,” the Knocker said. “But he just spent a fortune on that wedding. Maybe...”
A couple of people walked over to look at the bucket. A Bauchan boy lifted it up, and looked under it, scratching his head.
“Dragon Investigations? The “We Never Stop Investigating” people?” The Knocker turned his back on the demonstration. He missed the Dragonkin walking over to the boy to rescue his bucket.
“For the return trip, you just reverse the process,” the dragon said, sending the bucket back to where it started from. “Tap it once, slide right to left. Works on people, too.”
“That’s our slogan,” Umber said.
Finally the line moved forward as a Daoine noble finished his ticket buying and moved towards a group of ten companions.
“You investigating anything, like maybe not letting highborns hog the ticket line?”
“Don’t we wish,”Umber said, shaking his head. “Alas, no. I’m heading to town of Goblin Market where I get to finish learning how to work in an Investigator’s office.”
“Goblin Market? Never heard of it.”
“It’s a small place, by Waterford by Glint.” Umber shrugged. “They like to start us in small places.”
“I thought you looked a bit on the youngish side,” the Knocker said. “Well, everybody’s got to start somewhere.”
The jump stone demonstration was gathering a small crowd as the bucket jumped forward and back with both the Dragonkin and Dwarf sending on its way.
“Would you like to try it?” the sales person asked. “Like I said, it’s perfectly safe.”
The Knocker put his hand over his face. “Here we go...”
The salesman handed the jump stone to the dwarf. “Just tap it once, then slide your finger across it left to right.”
A bit awkwardly, the Dwarf did just that, disappearing, then appearing in the center of the room. A few of the people watching clapped.
“By the Delver! That was an odd feeling. That was naked No-Space?”
The Dragonkin nodded. “Strange place, isn’t it?”
“No place I’d want to dwell in. I can see why the Dragon Web uses carriages. But on the other hand, it’s so fast. Is there any distance limit on it?”
“None, as far as they’ve told me.”
“Imagine having one of these set up if you were journeying and got lost, or your were sailing and the ship was sinking....”
He tapped it once, swiped it the other way, and was standing back next to the salesman. “Or you were deep in the delvings and part of the tunnel collapsed.”
“Exactly. And it could be used to get the ore out, faster, which is why I wanted to show you.”
“Don’t do it, Svalar...” the Knocker said.
“How much do your people want for these?”
“Come back into my office, and let’s discuss that.”
The Knocker sighed, and stepped forward as the line moved up.