Never Was He Welcome Where He Wanted Nor Unwelcome Where He Trusted Not One More Step Would He Trod
Anyone wishing to avoid the usual tourist spots always must put in a little effort, and never more so than when wanting to visit Wessolp's possibly historic temple to whatever the locals called Holzd. The next day and a half yielded to Dirant knowledge of every gate, every dip in the wall that made no difference to someone incapable of a vertical leap never achieved by the highest-level Acrobats, and the outlet of Wessolp's sophisticated sewer system which was guarded and also tiny and full of sewage. He memorized the city more fully than his father had his family members' names, but none of that got him inside.
Watching the city and its siege-lessened traffic from the top of the tallest tree on the greatest height within sight of Wessolp he had found, a rise a desperate mapmaker might label a hill to add some topographical interest, he developed a plan he calculated as most likely to remedy his current complaint of being stuck outside. Firm in his resolution, he shimmied down and met a stranger.
“Is the tree free now?” The man who asked the question possessed black eyes to go along with the black hair of the typical Adaban, though his exposed forehead and restrained sideburns gave the impression of a traveler abroad recently returned or else someone plain not up to date. His tailor had better taste, judging by his superbly stylish vest. He appeared a little older than Dirant, a little taller, and a good bit more athletic.
“It is, and I recommend it. The view is as good as any that can be had. The thin air cannot support idle thoughts, which tumble down to the ground so that decisions are made more easily.” Dirant bowed and gestured toward the trunk.
“That's just what I want.” The other grabbed a gnarl, raised one foot, and paused. “But perhaps you can spare me the effort. I wanted to think of a way to infiltrate Wessolp. Is it different for you, or?”
“It's the same.” So as not to sound like an unsavory character, Dirant added, “I have a religious obligation.”
“Do you have an idea? Since you praised the tree so fulsomely.”
“I do, and it is one simple enough that it might be executed by a novice such as I am. My plan is reverse bribery.”
The prospective tree-climber came away from the tree to give Dirant his full attention. “You'll make the guards pay you to go away?”
“A good scheme from a financial perspective, and yet for now I must restrict myself to methods of entry. Because of the religious obligation. The fundamental concept is that as suspicious as it would be for me to pay to get in, just as expected must it be for me to be paid to enter. That is, I will endeavor to have some farmer hire me to haul cargo inside, as I have observed is done all during the day despite the siege.”
“Good, but who is this farmer who will cooperate?”
“I go now to find one.”
The other man put his hands in his pockets. “ I intend to honor you and shame myself by stealing your plan. It will be easy, since I have learned all the affairs of every farmer hereabouts who did not flee. I know just the man. The only apology I can make is an offer that we go into it together, since I think a two-man job will alarm the guards less.”
That suited Dirant just fine, but his Mercantile Fundamentals ability urged him to press for a better deal. “I agree to that, and I think a licensing fee for my idea would ensure a productive relationship.”
“No.”
“Ah. You've seen through the weakness of my position, and I wonder if you also have Mercantile Fundamentals.”
“No, but Negotiating Fundamentals does just as well in this situation.” He offered his hand, Dirant took it, and away they went.
“Our meeting is a blessing for me. My name is Dirant Rikelta, and I look forward to our joint undertaking soon to be glorified by success.”
“No less for me. I'm Kelnsolt Aradetnaf.”
“Ah. Eh. Uh. Oh.” Dirant's mind told him he was perhaps getting in over his head, his heart reminded him that to his knowledge Wessolp was entirely in the right as far as this dispute went, and his legs went right along walking. After all, everyone knew the high standards of restraint and mercy possessed by modern mercenaries. His condottieri-following friends never shut up about it. In any case, what business was it of his? Greater Enloffenkir member states went to war all the time, and it was only the outsider who tried to interfere who received blame.
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Reassured by the culturally approved answer, he made an attempt to hold up his side of the conversation without evincing any of the discomfort that troubled him. They were both men of the world in the end, and therefore unresponsive to vague feelings.
Kelnsolt turned out to be unresponsive to most things, saying little beyond “Yes,” “No,” and “Possibly so.” Like a true gentleman, only external, factual matters inspired him to more elaborate speech. “The farm we want is close. We'll be inside within two hours I am sure. Contingent upon the farmer's cooperation of course.”
Dirant glanced over and brought up an objection that had occurred to him during the walk. “There is this difficulty with the plan as it stands. Must not the guards recognize the condottiero sent against them? And, if it is not too galling to hear a layman comment on your profession, is it not the custom to wait for your hired opponent so that the two of you may advance in notoriety together through your gallant contest?”
“I have 8 Panache. That answers both questions.” Though Kelnsolt's face remained serious, Dirant believed he saw some twitching of features, a sign the mercenary struggled to suppress his amusement. He tried to play along.
“8? A claim impossible to believe without proof, or even with it.”
“But here it is.” Kelnsolt flashed the head and body of his status, and there it was.
Symbol Knight
Priest of Eoa
LV 12 40/1000
HP 382
Muscle 74 (+7)
Coordination 46 (+8)
Verve 47 (+3)
Sticktoitiveness 37
Discernment 50 (+6)
Gumption 63 (+4)
Tit-for-Tat 35 (+1)
Receptivity 70 (+4)
Panache 8
Four points struck Dirant, and which of them did so the hardest he could not determine. There was a human alive in the world who did have as little as eight Panache. That was one. For the second, Kelnsolt's readiness to provide the proof required against social convention indicated either how frequently he found it necessary to do so or else some interaction between etiquette and Panache Dirant had never considered. The third observation concerned how phenomenal Kelnsolt's stats were, to an extent that in other circumstances might have done damage to Dirant's self-confidence.
The fourth issue of interest, however, obscured everything else, that being the second line written in orange just as Dirant's new Class Perception (Divine) had promised. He recalled then that Holzd had mentioned something about all classes being priests, but he was too concerned over his own position to think much about it. Who was Eoa? He should try to research that, likely a difficult task given that Holzd was known among Adabans by names so dissimilar to his real one.
Dirant's uninhibited reactions seemed to give Kelnsolt what he wanted, since he grinned and dropped his status again. “For more proof, did you know who I was when we met? Or were you surprised to learn someone like me is one of those flashy condottieri?”
“The latter, admittedly.” Dirant recovered himself. “I accept that it is only the circumstances which make you stand out so much that I can't imagine ever forgetting what you look like or letting you in my city, if you come to it on martial business. If we set aside style, is there not the consideration of squeezing full value from the contract? You are the expert of course, and I only say I have heard words about some such practice.”
“Certainly those in my profession must have our accountants to calculate the optimal length of time to drag out the campaign based on the income promised for the duration of the contract versus the bonus for rapid completion our employers are generally canny enough to include in order to prevent excessive milking.” He delivered that in a cadence other than what he normally used, much as when a Ritualist uttered an invocation meaningful only in the context of a particular ritual. Based on that, Dirant suspected himself to have just heard a lecture often addressed to rookie mercenaries. “But there is another factor that rules here. The rumors are that Baosnesk is preparing for a piracy-suppression campaign, and I will miss my chance to be part of it if I linger here.”
“Good luck to you then. By the way, does the name Eoa mean anything to you?”
“It does not. Wessolp has a temple to Aoda. Might there be a relationship, or?”
“It may be so. Is this the farm?”
It was. Several of the seasonal laborers had come down with something, probably an illness brought by those mercenaries who traveled far and wide, contracting every illness on the continent (Kelnsolt shrugged), just when stuff needed hauling. The mercenaries were letting food through, which proved they anticipated a short contract, but short to an Adaban and short to a Pavvu were different matters, if they knew what she meant (Dirant indicated that he did). The farm wife in charge of such arrangements was willing to hire a couple haulers for the day so long as they could get a load into the city some local elite wanted for a siege-viewing party, but first she had to ask if they were mercenary spies.
“No,” Dirant said.
“Yes,” Kelnsolt confessed. By heroic effort he again kept his face straight when Dirant whipped around to stare at him. “My profession depends on honesty. I'm sure you understand.”
“Wonderful.” Their new employer nodded. “The best time to end this nonsense was yesterday. Besides that, the mayor needs a wife more than we need some mines way out near the Tahiliklisks. Invest in Wessolp is what I say. Now we must have you two dressed up properly. Do you require some accommodation to smuggle in weapons and such?”
“Not at all, but I thank you for your consideration.” Kelnsolt seemed confident. The question of weaponry had bothered Dirant, who knew little enough about what Symbol Knights actually did, but everyone always assured him they did it quite well as a rule. Besides, that was a problem for his temporary partner alone.