“I’m going to go look for him.”

“You’re not going anywhere until we have the caravan employed.”

“He should have been back by now.”

“He’s waiting out the storm at Ludwig’s. He had enough time to get there before it worsened.”

Sil wanted to say something more but Tallah held up a hand. “What is it with you and the sudden bout of concern for the waste of skin?”

“I have a conscience,” Sil said, much more accusingly than she intended.

“I have two of those and they don’t kick up this much of a fuss. Vergil’s fine.”

Bloody sure he wasn’t. The boy was held together by big dreams and sinew. Sending him out was beyond cruel, so far so that it bordered on imbecilic. “He could be freezing to death somewhere.”

“So could you if you go after him. Sit still and wait quietly. He’ll be along after it quiets down out there.”

Tallah was back to pacing the room like a caged corallin, arguing in terse whispers with Christina and Bianca. They too resented the idea of going with Ludwig anywhere, especially as it all hinged on the sorceress’s one bad premonition. Granted, those were usually right as she had an obscenely accurate sense for danger, but this felt excessive even for her.

“You’re fretting your tits off, but you’re telling me to be calm?”

There was no spoken answer, just a glare. She turned back to the window, watching for some change in the weather, or at least some sign of the boy stumbling back. Vergil was still in her care and still recovering. Simply discarding him didn’t sit well in her stomach.

Verti’s girl was due back any minute. Miria had already informed them that the caravan master was taking his morning meal and would be available for a meeting soon after. Vulniu asked few questions and answered none about his cargo and passengers. Travelling with him would be… fine.

A knock at the door.

It repeated, insistent.

Why is she trying to break down the door?

She opened and found herself face to face with a runner. Miria was nowhere to be seen.

“Yes?” she asked, more than a little confused. They weren’t expecting any word from Aliana.

Confusion turned to surprise, then outrage as the boy walked in, right past her as if she weren’t there. He was caked in snow and wrapped in a thick cloak with a head covering that hid most of his face. His footsteps thumped the floor when he walked, chunks of ice breaking off his thick boots to leave a melting trail.

“Excuse me?”

He walked right into the sitting room and headed for the hearth. He clinked and clanked as he walked, as if he were armed and armoured beneath the layers of padding. Tallah watched him walk by, gaze swivelling like an owl’s to follow his movement.

“Welcome back,” she said.

Vergil? Sil was having a hard time making up her mind if to laugh, hug him, or push him into the fire for worrying her.

Vergil raised his hands to the heat of the hearth and slowly defrosted. The first thing he did after was turn to Tallah, raise his right hand, and show her his middle finger.

She chuckled, “I don’t know what that means, but I assume it’s rude.”

“It’s… b-bloody cold… out there,” he said in a hoarse whisper. His teeth chattered.

“I expect that it is. How’s Ludwig?”

“D-drunk off his arse and m-miserable.”

Sil helped him peel off the mask he wore. He smiled at her, sheepish almost, red faced under the hood. Now that he no longer resembled some strange snow-man, she saw that he wore completely different clothes than the ones he’d gone out in.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Mertle says ‘Hi’,” Vergil said as he unclasped his cloak and set it up to dry by the hearth. “I swung by on my way back.”

“She fitted you out well I see.”

Tummy had been busy while Mertle spent her time with Sil. Vergil wore a cuirass breastplate over a thickly padded gambeson. It all seemed very sturdy and functional, as expected of the smith. Subdued greenish-greys were the main colours, with only a thick scarf adding a splash of sky-blue.

“Tummy calls these highwayman clothes,” Vergil said, noticing her curiosity. “Said I’m too scrawny for proper plate but this should suffice for now. Also said Tallah’s off her tits if she thinks I’ll ever fill up enough for the kind of gear she wanted to waste money on.”

Sil laughed and Tallah flushed to the tips of her ears.

“A fool and her money get easily parted, he also said. There’s more to proper defence than how thick the metal you lug around.”

“Yes, yes, I get the idea. I trust he knows his business better than I.”

“Oh, this is the very short version. He went on for almost a bell’s length. I remember more of it.”

Tallah gave a tight lipped smile and sucked her teeth before changing subjects. “I’m sure. What did Ludwig say?”

“Would you like me to repeat word for word? My headware’s saved up a transcript.”

Sil turned his head side to side and inspected his ears. Then she checked his fingers. And finally his toes. As intact as the moment he went out, even if much pinker in the face and smelling faintly of booze. Mertle must have given him one of her distilled nightmarish concoctions. It explained his sudden bout of backbone.

Released from her attention, Vergil sank into the chair and stretched out his legs. “There’s a letter in the inner pocket of my cloak and a locked box. He said you’d manage to open it.”

For someone that had spent half the night out in the storm, Vergil looked none the worse for it. It galled her to admit that Tallah might have been right in her own thick-headed way.

The sorceress unfurled the folded paper, stared at it, and went to fetch her glasses.

“How drunk was he?” She squinted at the letter. She turned it upside down. Then tilted it. “Sil, you try. We can’t make heads or tails of this.”

“Three of you in there and you need me to read an old man’s writing? For shame!”

All right, it was bad.

Words stumbled one over the other and nearly fell off the page. There were no two lines the same height, or even with similar spelling. It trumped even her own horrible penmanship.

“Err, right. How drunk was he, again?”

“Very,” Vergil replied and shrugged apologetically. “What do you mean by three of you in there?”

“She’s got imaginary friends. They’re all rude.” By his expression, he actually believed her.

She was just about to correct her explanation when Tallah pipped up, annoyance getting the best of her patience.

“The letter, Sil, can you bloody read it?”

“Ah. There’s some colourful language on top, and then it basically tells you to use the item in the box and get to him when you’re good to go. He’ll have his affairs in order in a day and be ready to head out.”

Tallah nearly exploded the top of the box off with a flame burst. It flew off with a sharp crack and azure light flooded the room.

“Oh, that old bastard,” Tallah breathed out as she picked up the shard inside. Light flowed out between her fingers. “Makes you think, Sil, of what other secrets the old fool’s been keeping from us.”

“Is that like the thing you gave Mistress Aliana?” Vergil asked. He was keenly fascinated by the glow.

“Yes, but ten times more valuable. This is a live shard, Vergil. It’s got an anchor tied to it.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

Tallah laughed.

“It’s a sliver of an Illum Hearth.” Light pulsed between her fingers, changing shades of blues. She stowed it back in its box and went to find the mangled lid. “This has a twin somewhere. They’re always drawn to one another, meant to come together no matter what. We can portal directly to it without the city’s own Hearth altering our destination. To the Empress, one of these is worth as much as a city.”

Sil passed Vergil buttered bread and a cup of hot coffee. He looked like he could use both.

“Which begs the question, why doesn’t he just buy her favour back with that?”

“I’ll bet you a jar of wild honey that he hasn’t come across this by happenstance. Bet you a second one that this is how he’s made sure nobody else knows the way to his secret city.”

“Lovely. And we’re trusting him with our safety. For all you know, that could portal you straight into the deepest dungeon in Aztroa Magnor.”

Tallah regarded her with an amused expression.

“And you thought I was horrible. If he were to give us up he’d have done it years ago. No, I think this is safe.”

A grimace twisted her smirk into something altogether quite nasty, but it was only a flicker on her face.

“Christina doesn’t agree I take it?”

“And, like you, she hasn’t come up with anything better. Like it or not, we’re committing.”

And, to give finality to her words, here came the soft, respectful knock on the door that announced Miria.

Lovely.