Like yesterday, the Rangers spent the early morning in transit. Unlike yesterday, they spent that time asleep. The Rangers were awoken by the full morning sun as the conductor awoke them for their arrival to Westbell Station. From there, a sizable number of passengers exiting the train filed into queues to process their inspections to continue on into the outer Halen territories of Aichrol and Woulsta. Garrot and the others, however, were turning Southward, to catch the next local train going out to the small town of Cheranol.
“Alright. I hope you two are rested from that overnight ride,” said Bran, returning with their next tickets to where Garrot and Sarei were waiting. “Once we’re on site, we link up with Private Petterson and start our game plan.”
Sarei arched her back, stretching out. “Rested? More like restless.”
Garrot pointed an accusing finger. “That might be because you ate half the sweets from the service cart when they came around.”
Bran avoided a smirk. If Garrot was able to poke jokes at their new companion, maybe they could set aside the disagreement from earlier.
“I’m sure everyone’s legs are cramped up from being stuck on a train for a full day,” said Bran. “So why don’t you two take your tickets, and we’ll all meet at platform 4 for the train in thirty.”
“Thirty?” asked Sarei. “Awww, but...the viewpoint that lets you see across into Aichrol is about 25 minutes walk...!”
“Well, my heart aches to hear that our sightseeing tour is subpar, Private Adamel.” mocked Bran. “Please leave your review with tourmaster Klaus.”
“Fine, fine.” said Sarei. She noted a tourist board posted near them. “There’s a market pretty close to the station. Might be worth checking out.”
“Just don’t be surprised if your CO decides your overpriced souvenirs are not a military expense.” warned Bran.
Though souvenirs were present, Westbell was far from simply a tourist destination—down some long paths they could see the downtown and residential regions of the city they’d be soon leaving. The market was primarily packed with foodstuffs—impressively grown gourds, fruits, and vegetables of all sizes, taken from the vast farmlands they’d been passing all through their train ride. Only a fraction of the varieties of trade came all the way through to the markets Garrot was familiar with in Dosken and Imbral.
Garrot explored the market stalls, past the main streets of the market found various persuasions of craftsmen, showing off impressive shows of woodworking and iceware; everything from housewares, to jewelry, and even some weaponry for self-defense. Behind the shouting apprentices looking to make sales, their masters were hard at work crafting new pieces. Most of their time was of course spent in their own workshops; but presenting their process from tents on the snowy streets served as an alluring draw for the passers-by.
Garrot decided to avoid getting into any lengthy conversations with merchants, for fear that it would lead to hopes of a purchase. Eventually, he broke his own rule, complimenting the remarkable appearance of a set of ornamental daggers made by an elderly local. The owner admitted they were more of an imitation than the real thing, and that he ‘only hopes that they may one day save a customer’s life’. Checking the time on the nearest bell tower, Garrot found himself struggling to explain his need to leave, and decided his fastest way out of the conversation was the purchase of a short, glistening iceware scimitar, adorned with shimmering, diamond-shaped holes in its blade, for a mere 3 marks.
After securing his new weapon in the scabbard he’d been given, Garrot returned to the station, and was relieved to see that he wasn’t the only one who’d made a dubious purchase. Sarei held a paper bag with a bottle of liquor in it—likely the ‘King Panther’ brand of core-cider she’d mentioned. Bran spared him a greeting and beckoned Garrot to follow—apparently he was late.
Since their destination, Cheranol, wasn’t a common destination, their local train was nowhere near as regal as the overnight Express. It was furnished simply with rows of wooden seats facing forward. They were separated from the engine by several freight cars, loaded with produce and sundries, to return with klysten ore deliveries.
Once the train had set off, the three of them gathered in one of the byways of the traincars, shut off from any eavesdroppers by closed doors. Unrolling his map of the village, Bran held it up on the wall for a level of context as he launched into a re-briefing.
“Cheranol...mining village. Population of about 400. A good fifth of that are now immigrants.” He opened.
“Huh. People call J’halans cavemen out of ignorance,” said Sarei. “I guess hurtful labels didn’t stop so many of them from turning to mining work.”
“First order of business, we’ll be linking up with PFC Petterson,” explained Bran. “He’s providing us lodging for the area, and has explained to the local patrol force that we are acting as reserve reinforcements, able to act as we see fit. As the Lieutenant has mentioned, mission objectives are not to be discussed with any locals unless absolutely necessary.”
“I know there's many ways to go about it,” asked Garrot. “But, how exactly will we be ‘investigating’ them?”
“From what I gather, the Shaded Paw’s presence among the village is no secret. They’re legally classified as a nonprofit political movement, but at least to the Steel Legion, their inner workings are unclear. Might be a good start just to join in with any community discussion, and see what the local opinion of them is.”
“I take it that’s not all, though?” said Sarei. “I feel like the Lieutenant’s gonna be pissed if we come back and just say the locals feel they’re ‘pretty good’.”
Bran nodded, turning back to the map. “Well, from there, we have the options of asking the local Sheriff, as well as going right to the source—trying to find a chance to speak with the movement’s spokesperson, an older immigrant by the name of Jes’qel Remire. Runs a kind of community-owned Temple of Mhira, over round the corner of the mountain here.”
Bran tapped on a corner of the map, then rolled it up to conclude his presentation, stuffing it into a coat pocket.
“If we get lost on our progress, though, we’ll still be reporting directly to the Lieutenant—callsigned Nest, every few days from the local telephone office as we discover details about the Paw. We’ll go over our investigation itinerary each morning, otherwise.”
“Man...” Sarei leaned back against the wall of the coach. “From how much it costs just sending a letter across the empire, I don’t want to imagine what the phone rates must be.”
“Hah. For military use? Probably nothing,” said Bran. “More expensive paying off the lancer division’s total lack of inhibition for souvenirs.”
“I enjoy the finer things in life, and I ain’t ashamed to admit it,” announced Sarei with pride.
“I’m curious, though,” Garrot said, "Was there a plan for how long we’d be here? The mission objectives are a bit unclear. How long do you imagine we’ll be out here?”
“That’s up to Nest,” said Bran, shrugging. “We may just be filling in some of the simple blanks for command before the Inquisitors or Department of Knowledge takes over for us. Honestly, if we’re here a while, we might hear about the war on the Dark Spawn in the same newspapers as everyone else.”
Bran began picking his way back towards his seat, as the other two followed.
“Guess you won’t be stabbing anyone with your new toy as soon as you thought,” said Sarei, poking at Garrot’s new scabbard. Garrot gently slid the short scimitar partway out of the sheath to examine it. Its bluish transparent hue and the polish on the blade gave it a remarkable appearance.
“Your unit-issue M2 musket, and field knife, weren’t enough for you?” asked Bran, resuming his seat.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“I-...well.” Garrot stammered, not wanting to admit how much he’d been pressured through puppy-dog eyes into the purchase. “The salesman reminded me about how much lighter iceware knives can be, even if they’re not as sturdy. And even if I don’t use it, it was little to pay for an ornamental piece.”
“So are you going to go out and buy a carved stand for it to sit on your desk...? And a desk?” Bran asked, his eyelids drooped in incredulity. It was true—the sum of Garrot’s possessions and furnishings consisted of a footlocker in his barracks, and a duffel bag on a shelf back in his guest room at Bran’s house.
“Alright, fine. I felt bad, okay?” admitted Garrot, as he slumped down into his seat. “He says now that steel is mostly taking over, it’s harder to make sales on works like that. And the older generations of craftsmen like him can’t really afford building forges hot enough to work steel. For most people, the only choice is moving someplace like Imbral or Dosken for the factories, and learning a new craft from scratch.”
“He probably didn’t want to say it to you, but...” Sarei rolled her head towards the window, hiding a guilty look. “There’s a LOT of J’halan craftsmen come in that have driven down prices to make competition for them. It’s tough on everyone who used to work with ice now.”
Garrot examined the weapon again.
“Well, I was happy to tell him that it’s more beautiful than any blade I’ve seen back home.”
“Really…? Even though it’s melting?”
Sarei pointed at a flash of light on the blade’s surface. Droplets of water were falling from a gap in the blade to the train’s floor.
“Well…he was making these pieces fresh, so he said that might be normal,” assumed Garrot. “It'll just be the thin outermost layer. It should stop in a few minutes, I think?”
Sarei stood her chin on her fist, studying the suspicious object. “Let me see it.”
Garrot gently handed Sarei the glistening transparent blade. She turned it over in her hands a few times, pointing the blade away from her. Then, she raised her knee, and with only a small amount of force, brought the sword's flat midpoint down against it.
The entire sword snapped effortlessly in two. The remaining blade in Sarei’s hand slipped to the floor off of its slick moisture, leaving water dripping from her fingers.
“What the?? How did-…" Garrot was in shock.
“Garrot...it wasn’t iceware. It was just frozen water. White ice.” explained Sarei. “No salt, no binding oils, nothing. Maybe just a dye to give it the blue tinge.”
“I...but he had me do the same thing when he was showing it to me!! It wouldn’t even bend!” whined Garrot. “How did it get so brittle?”
Bran felt horribly sympathetic. “Did you keep your eye on it when you were counting out payment? Did you tell him you were getting on a train? He may have swapped it for another.”
Garrot couldn’t reply. He felt mortified at how easily he’d been deceived.
“I...I’m sorry, guys.”
“No need to apologize. Your loss,” said Sarei, offering a shrug. “There’s a lesson in trust for you. Don’t.
She briefly held up the bottle she’d championed off her own market trip. “I didn’t even haul this off without sampling it.”
Bran glared at her, judging the quantity missing from the bottle’s lip.
“Private...” he growled.
“Hey, the one sip was wasted, though!” Sarei professed. “This stuff’s bitter - supposed to be served on Yetiberry juice.”
Bran snatched the bottle off her, wordlessly. Garrot had finished feeling sorry for himself, and knelt to pick up the remaining pieces of his 3-mark purchase, only to find one had already been taken by another passenger.
“Melting Salesmen, they call ‘em...” said the passenger. “Even their stalls seem to melt away when someone wants to find them.”
The older gentleman sitting in the seat behind them bore a body that was thick and hardened by labor, wearing a set of overalls suggesting a lifetime of manual work. He adjusted a pair of iceware spectacles to examine the piece of the former blade.
“I am so very sorry about that, young man. I can assure you any of the tradesmen in Cheranol would sooner send a man to Solsreach without a sled than let him get away with tricks like this.”
Garrot offered the man a smile. “Thank you for your concern, sir-…"
The gentleman handed back the decrepit piece. “Here. If that isn’t just a puddle by the time you get to Cheranol, tell you what. Show it to Mr. Evans - owner of the Canary Elevator, and tell him you’ve had a bad day, and Foreman Tallow sent you. He should set you up with a round on the house. Times have been hard on all of us, but that’s never been a reason for us to turn on each other, even our newfound neighbors.”
“Tallow?” repeated Garrot, extending a hand for a shake. “A pleasure to meet you, sir. Thanks for the offer, but we’re out on assignment—we're probably not going to be doing much in the way of drinking.”
“I will!” exclaimed Sarei, as she snuck the ice shard from Garrot’s hand.
“Did you say Foreman?” asked Bran.
“Aye. My son’s been taking over for me while I made a visit to the city, but thankfully most of the workers know their job well enough. I just handle the odd dispute. Somewhat glad I left when I did—some of the news lately made Dosken a less than happy place at times.”
“I lived in Dosken for a while,” said Garrot. “I guess most everyone did after immigrating.”
“Well, it is right on the border,” shrugged Tallow. “...which you’d think would mean more people would speak Elman, at least. But the way the J’halan Quarter seems to be out there, it’s just ‘Their world, and Our world’. *sigh*..tragic. Oh, but your Imperial is excellent, by the way.”
“Thank you! It was good enough to land me a posting as a ‘translator’, apparently...”
Bran cut in abruptly. “Aw, come on, Garrot—Both of us believed you about getting that job, but plainly something happened to get you fired, or you wouldn’t be doing dead-end routine patrols with the two of us.”
Garrot tried to parse out what he had missed with Bran’s comment. “...Uh?”
“Seriously,” said Sarei, slinking downward in her chair from boredom. “Why do they even send us out to these places? Nothing happens out here. Best you can hope for is saving some cute guy from a raging tenguin and have a night of fun, but...anyone fun has already gone out to the real cities.”
Tallow smacked the back of Sarei’s seat.
“Believe you me, never have I had closer companions than down in the mines. A couple near cave-ins help you learn who your friends are in this world. You’ll find we’re a friendly sort.”
Bran stood up. “Well, for one thing, it might be nice to get away from the big cities for a while. On that point, I’m going to head to the coach and see what the views are like.”
Bran made quick eye contact with Garrot as he passed him, and nodded to the rear of the train.
“Uh...I guess I’ll join you,” responded Garrot.
The tracks were winding the train through the hilly regions of the west side of the core Hearthland. In the distance, the Southern Turgian Mountain range, the Empire’s own geographical wall, loomed before them. The train’s path was mostly surrounded by snowy trees, cascading down the hillside the tracks followed.
Garrot located Bran inspecting his new firearm, a mid-sized handgun with six chambers for specially made small-caliber ice bullets. Responding to Bran’s covert nod, Garrot closed the cabin door behind him. The passenger train wasn’t traveling at a tremendous speed, so while they couldn’t whisper, they didn’t quite need to shout over its rattle.
“I think I figured out what I missed there. Our story when we arrive is that we’re just simple patrol reinforcements, like you said. So…telling him I was a ‘translator’ was going to lead to questions, and then-...”
He flapped his arms in admission of his mistake.
Bran nodded. “Yeah, more or less. Don’t be hard on yourself about it. I know that lying and deceiving people isn’t something that comes naturally to you.”
Garrot faced him with a flat stare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Bran chuckled. “Like I said—I wouldn't take it so hard. From that talk we had with General Klaus the other day, he’s sort of the same way. Doesn’t like the idea of warfronts where people are always skulking about, hiding their intentions. When he fought the Elmans, it was all upfront declarations of war, musket lines, and trenches.
“I mean, look at the weapons now.” He rotated the pistol in his hand, examining its craftsmanship. “They make our guns smaller, rather than bigger, so a guy can’t even tell it’s on my belt. It’s like carrying a knife rather than a spear or a musket.”
Garrot sighed. His night vision was slowly adjusting, and he struggled to make out the details of Bran’s expression—attempting to determine to what degree he was disappointing his friend.
“Bran...can you promise me that you’ll be honest with the Lieut-...with Nest?” he asked. “That if I’m not the right person for this assignment, you’ll say as much?”
Bran was startled by his forwardness. Sensing no reply, Garrot continued.
“You and Ms. Adamel...you were in sync, covering my mistake with that foreman without missing a beat. It’s just not so natural to me-...”
Bran attempted a smile.
“I was surprised Sarei managed that, actually. She caught on pretty quick. But if I could be honest? Garrot...Rhile and I read a LOT of Queryman novels. I mean, heck, we’d write encoded notes to each other back before I came out to my dad as gay. Maybe I’m just enough of a fan of that kind of thing that I’d wanted to try it out myself.”
“But even so—we're not even fully formed up, and we’ve already run into trouble just because I'm here.”
"Hey.” Bran’s tone was sharp. “Hold up. You’re not trying to apologize for the color of your skin, are you?”
“No!” Garrot said, picking his words out carefully. “I just...if the mission comes first, and I’m causing problems for it-”
“You don’t cause problems on your own, Garrot. Each person is responsible for their actions—and their actions alone. Besides...”
Bran rolled his shoulder, considering his words tentatively.
“I think Nest made a good pick with you. I know I’ve gone so far as to openly criticize your...lack of wariness of the world around you, but I still think you offer something important. All of us want to feel at home with our fellow neighbor, but when it really comes down to it, we don’t. But, Garrot, you trust people more than anyone. Maybe it’s an issue, on occasion. But I wouldn’t ever ask for that to change. We’re going to need that sort of shared faith from people to finish our mission. I’ve known you for only a year or two, and already I’d...I-I mean.”
Bran stammered.
“There are people I’ve known my whole childhood, and…I still think I trust you more than them.”
Garrot blinked, taken aback by the admission. Finally, he gave a cheeky smirk. “Can I maybe suggest...you don’t give speeches like that when you’re commanding a full squadron, Sergeant?”
Bran grimaced, and reached out to give an aggressive ruffle of Garrot’s loosely-kept hair. “Shut up. We’re going to arrive soon—let's make sure Sarei’s still watching our bags instead of dipping into her liquor.”