They left the Wild six days later, again passing through the watch-post above Skive late in the morning. A different guard was on duty, boots up, cup of tea in hand. He leafed back through the ledger, located their names and brought out a scale and assay ring. Their loot made an impressive pile on the desk. The guard sorted, counted, weighed and finally assessed the total tax due at one hundred and nineteen silver tulips and fifty-two seeds. They put their marks to various forms, collected a receipt and walked across the line into civilisation.
“We passed through here, hmm...one month and twelve days ago,” remarked Rakt later. They were again sitting on the verandah at Skive, glasses of raki in hand. “We’re coming back around each richer by about thirteen hundred tulips,” he continued. “It’s not a fortune, but I can’t think of another line of work where I would earn that in the time.”
Rakt was forgetting to subtract Venalse’s death from the total, reflected Chrys. It could as easily have been his own, in which case his personal rate of return would have been decidedly negative. If she was going to continue on this path the death of friends was going to be an ongoing part of the reckoning. She wondered how her own family would take news that she had died in the Wild. Her father was a chief and a nomad warrior. He would grieve, and say her name each year at the rituals attending the Darkest Night, but accept it as part of the lot of life. Her mother? Harder to predict. She had left the upbringing of her only child to her half-sister, swooping in every few months to take her to expensive dressmakers or hairdressers or - her favourite treat - the rat circus. Chrys had loved the clever rats in their little costumes although, she now realised, much of the dialogue had been over her head. As one of the leading courtesans of Tsitiev her mother had had a busy social life, and her restaurant in Toul was hardly a social backwater. Chrys’ frank judgement was that her mother was too self-absorbed to feel real grief, but would certainly wring every possible ounce ofdrama from her loss. Her aunt’s mourning would be more genuine. She sighed, drank the last of the spirit and went to bed.
Three days later Chrys led through the North Water-Gate and along the narrow twisted streets of Dtlag to the Overlook Inn. They had decided to make this their base for the time being. Once rooms were secured, they adjourned to the harbour-side garden for beer and snacks – flat bread, small spiced fish, pickled vegetables, cubes of cheese in herbed oil. Somewhere along the trail Cardnial had become part of the crew. He reserved a room and joined them at a table under the trees with no question.
“What are the next things to do?” asked Rakt. “Apart from delivering the book to Ferdino, of course.”
“We meet with the High Councils’ representative tomorrow. I expect they will let us know where and when later today or tomorrow morning,” contributed Doryid.” Kosohona and I both need to see our captains anyway.”
“We need to order some more Healing and I need some virgin daggers, so a trip to Feriol’s and the Golden Toad is in order,” put in Chrys.
“I have to report in to my Guild-Mistress, and ensure those badges get to the Guardians,” added Aitonala, tearing off a piece of bread and dipping it into the oil.
“We should maybe set up a joint bank account, and we need to find a buyer for the jewellery,” came from Grymwer, who then scooped up the last of the fish and waved a waiter over to order another round. Chrys listened with half an ear as they agreed tasks, reflecting yet again on the fruits of the expedition. Her access to the ether had improved markedly, and spells she would have struggled to command a month ago now came effortlessly. She had seen a lot of beauty and wonder, and a lot of horror. She had forged deep links of respect and friendship with all the people around the table. On a mercenary note, she expected that after Ferdino paid them she would have a sum equivalent to what a qualified Practitioner would earn in a year. That is, she though, looking around, she would have such a sum if they did not spend it all on beer, snacks and Items from Feriol’s. Magic could be expensive.
An ambition firmed in Chrys’ head. She would return to the Wild and return with enough wealth to live as an independent magician, pursuing a knowledge of the ether as she pleased. She would have a house like that of Marlli and Lydissa, although one more convenient to rat circuses and other amenities of civilisation. Or at least the beginnings of such a house, she amended to herself. A house like that was the work of several lifetimes.
* * * *
Biyerda’s Hotel was one block over from Feriol’s, on a quiet side street. It catered to the country gentry around Dtlag and to visiting dignitaries from the archipelago and the highlands. It was not ostentatious nor even luxurious but it was discreet, comfortable and, above all, long-established. Members of Dtlag’s older families would take young relatives there for afternoon tea, hoping perhaps that the atmosphere of genteel decorum would rub off on them. The members of the party, neatly and soberly dressed, passed through its polished wooden doors into the hushed lobby. Doryid murmured a name to the clerk, she summoned a guide with the touch of a thimble on a small gong and they were conducted down a passage and ushered into a private lounge. It was furnished after the Saka fashion, with flat cushions around a low table. On a side table a small flame warmed a teapot, the fragrance spilling across the room. The room was empty but they were a few minutes early, as was polite.
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“Now remember,” Kosohona reminded them, “We kneel, you sit cross-legged, you touch palms and bow your heads, wait until the host sips tea before you touch your cup, do not point your feet at our hosts, do not rise until they leave the room.”
“We’ve got it,” Aitonala said. The others nodded. Grymwer looked a little nervous. Brahnaks and Saka had been at war for generations. They each took a cushion and settled themselves. Two minutes later a side door opened and an elderly Saka entered. He was without apparent insignia but Doryid and Kosohona both bowed so low their heads touched the table, hands to face-marks in a sign of deepest respect. The others did as instructed. The Saka acknowledged by spreading hands, palms up, and gave a half-smile that wrinkled his tattoos. He knelt on a cushion in a single easy movement.
“Comrade Doryid of the Three Faces, Acceptee Kosohona, First Dagger Aitonala, Gentles Chrysanthemum, Grymwer, Cardnial, Ensign Rakt.” His dark eyes focused on each as he named them. “I am pleased to meet you. You may call me...Old Man. Will you have tea with me?”
As they sipped the delicate green liquid Old Man drew Kosohona and Doryid out on their trip into the Eig Wild. The pair were frank about their first retreat from the undermen and the killing of Salko. Old Man listened intently, asking occasional clarifying questions and offering short but sincere words of praise or sympathy as appropriate. When the tale concluded he stayed silent for a time, then sipped his tea and looked at the ceiling.“The area of the Wild you visited is of interest to the Councils. Perhaps for this reason, it is also of interest to those in Paghin Paail.” He pronounced the name of the Brahnak capital as a native might. “It is of so much interest that a small group, led by one Fearless Pride, has disembarked north of this city and is making for the East Trail. Since the recent incursion into our lands has been characterised as the mistake of an underling, and apologies offered, our truce with the Brahnaks remains formally in force. There can, however, be no objection to a party of wild-runners finding themselves in the same area.”
“And if Fearless Pride and his companions do object to the presence of the wild-runners?” asked Rakt.
“Then events would fall out as they will. Brahnaks are notoriously arrogant and easily offended. I imagine that one who has taken the name Fearless Pride embodies these qualities in a high degree. But if discretion and observation seems a better course, that would be of value also.”
“My guild has authorised participation in this matter,” put in Aitonala. “I am asked, however, to ascertain the level of compensation before I have final approval.”
“Certainly. I have noted some numbers for you to consider on this paper. Should you proceed, a brief will be available at the house of the Three Faces. A simple yes or no there will suffice, but an answer is required tomorrow, for a departure within three days. I thank you for sharing tea.”
The Old Man flowed to his feet, acknowledged deep bows from the two Saka and slipped out the door.
Chrys looked around. “Tea is good, but this place is famous for plum wine and almond cake. Why don’t we order and then talk?” At their nod she rose to touch the square of framed parchment beside the door. It changed to a deep rose colour. She spoke the order and returned to the table, where Aitonala had unfolded the paper, given a low whistle and then then passed it on.
“The Guild will be happy to go along for this money.”
“Even if it means politics and maybe assassination?” queried Chrys.
“The Select Services is not shy politically. We guard noble ladies, remember? And sometimes we get our retaliation in first. We call it preventive maintenance.”
“I’m a mercenary now,” Rakt said. “Fighting for money is the deal, and the High Councils are legitimate employers.”
Cardnial shrugged. “Guess I’m in that trade too.” They looked at Grymwer, who would be going up against his own people. He blinked at their concerned faces.
“Oh, I’m in. Luminaries of the Pure Land, like this Fearless Pride” - he spoke the name with a sneer - “have been giving my family and our friends grief for generations.”
Chrys thought about the money on offer. It would certainly help her towards her goal. She gave a smile that her father would be pleased to see and leaned forward.
“What will we need, and when can we start?”
* * * *
One of their first acts on returning to Dtlag had been to send a message to Ferdino. The following afternoon saw a small gathering on the lawn outside Ferdino’s library. The party, dressed in their best, stood to one side as Ferdino recited several quatrains in their praise and a short poem in memory of Venalse. He then invited a senior member of the family to inspect the book. The ancient tottered forward, bent under the three robes of a Syndic, Circle-Mistress and Fane-Keeper, pronounced in a wavering voice that the book was a true record of honours due and was helped back to her chair. The party stayed a polite length of time after the ceremonial drink of fruit brandy, making small talk with Ferdino’s relatives. They had agreed the sum due beforehand and left with a draft on Ferdino’s bank. Both Rakt and Cardnial declined offers of private employment.
They left Dtlag two days later, on the first ferry of the morning. At Chrys’ suggestion, they hired horses for the trip to Skyve, so saving a day. It could have been more, but neither Kosohona nor Grymwer rode well, and Rakt sat his horse like a marine. Chrys raised an eyebrow when Cardnial swung into the saddle with ease. “Riding is part of a gentleman’s education” he grinned.
“And ours”, Aitonala said. “You never know when you might have to pursue a kidnapped heiress across country.”
The border guard also raised an eyebrow. “Back so soon? Even the professionals usually take at least two weeks rest between ventures.”
They let pass the implication that they were amateurs, entered their details in the battered ledger and once again stepped into the Wild.