The wharf at Lagash gave on to a paved area noisy with stalls and pedlars. Behind this loomed walls of black stone. Towers flanked a gate where sentries eyed those coming and going. The party was immediately bombarded with offers of food, accommodation and company, pleas to assist helpless orphans, cripples and the elderly, and promises of excellent service should they wish to buy or sell anything at all, from Items to their persons. These were shouted, whispered confidentially, whined, whimpered in half a dozen languages according to each vendor’s judgement. Chrys and Cardnial uttered a petty cantrip that made the eyes glow red, which caused the crowd to fall back. No one wanted to annoy a magician. The others were not so feared. As they made for the gate in a tight group, Aitonala left a trail of bruises and foul language and Rakt had to stomp on a foot and twist a wrist to discourage attempts to relieve him of his burdens.
“Travellers from the Saka lands, here for some days on business,” Cardnial loftily declared to the sentries and they passed through a dank tunnel into the city proper. Here the streets were almost as crowded as the market outside, with folk squeezed together by dark buildings set close together. Cardnial led them confidently to a square, down another street and then into another. He halted before a frontage much like any other they had seen – a stone wall rising three floors where the few windows were small and barred, with a solid door set up a few steps. Cardnial strode up, banged on the door, said something into a copper tube and gestured them forward when the door opened. Within was a quiet and pleasant courtyard.
“The Safe Repose,” Cardnial announced, and strode over to the reception desk.
An hour later Chrys, Cardnial, Rakt and Aitonala were relaxing in warm water. Grymwer, as usual, preferred to bathe privately and Bajur had blushed and mumbled something when asked. The hotel was pricey but offered all the amenities, even if the staff were a little insistent. Chrys had shooed two youths out of her room and Bajur had asked to share with Grymwer.
“How long are we here for?” asked Aitonala.
“Only a few days, I hope,” said Cardnial. “We’ll see what price we can get for the sierlak feathers, replenish our gear, check for news from Ferrzhe Jiaghin and see what opportunities are out there. All sorts of people come through Lagash – well, all sorts of bad people, so it’s a good place to pick up information. I’ll ask around about brokers.”
“What about Hassani?” asked Chrys. “She’s still bitching about being in the jar and it’s getting to Grymwer. He says it’s like living with his horrible uncle.”
“You can buy anything in Lagash, including bodies, but I’d prefer to be further from Saka lands before I let her loose.”
“How safe is it to walk the streets?” was Rakt’s question.
“Keep a hand on your valuables and don’t go down alleys. Also, don’t accept invitations or you will wake up naked in a gutter. Apart from that, it’s much like any other place. The main streets, squares and shops are safe enough. As is this hotel. I stayed here with my father a time or two, back in my teens.”
“Do you miss him?” asked Aitonala. “I think of my parents often, but they are alive and well, or so I trust.”
“I do, and I regret the manner of his death. But I can’t help feeling some resentment that he left me without an inheritance. If he had not fled I would be leading a pleasant life in Frouan still.”
“And missing all this excitement? The near-death experiences, the invigorating long walks, the big chickens?” Chrys teased. “I don’t know how rich you were, but we are making money. Which reminds me that we must check with the bank.”
“We should also get Bajur some armour and a decent sword. That ring-mail he has is only good for scouring pots and his sword is the cheapest militia-issue,” Aitonala added.
Rakt heaved his long body out of the water. “Time to get going. But first, lunch!”.
* * * *
Later that afternoon Chrys and Cardnial were standing outside a dubious-looking shop in a dubious part of Lagash. Not, Chrys reflected, that many, or perhaps any, parts of Lagash were unquestionable. Cardnial had asked at the hotel after shops he remembered, only to find them gone. He had then asked after establishments that dealt in exotic items, and been directed first to a shop specialising in poisons and then from there to another selling clothes made mostly of leather and string. This third shop bore a weathered sign with the words “Ezrak Brothers – We Buy and Sell” lettered small in five languages. It had no window display, or even a window. It did have a narrow door of solid construction.
Ezrak Brothers sat near the intersection of five alleys, all as down-at-heel as the street it was on. Chrys looked around at the dilapidated buildings, the thin mix of toughs, paupers and shabbily-dressed people variously lounging, shuffling or leaning here and there, and looked back at the shop.
“Even if this place meets Lagash standards for legitimacy, I doubt it will pay a decent price. I mean, they can’t afford a new sign or even a lick of paint on the door. It’s either a con or a dive.”
A nearby tough straightened out of his lean and took a step towards them.
“That is an accurate observation,” he told Chrys in a surprisingly cultured Saka. “It is indeed a con. Don’t look around, but there are four members of the guard in the alley opposite and to my right. If you went inside, they would follow you in after a few minutes and arrest you for possession of stolen property. Then you would either have to bribe your way free or be tried and sentenced to rendition.”
To their credit, they did not look around. “Why are you telling us this?” asked Cardnial.
“For one, I don’t like the guards although, to be fair, they don’t like me. For a second, I have a major grudge against Ezrak Mikerah and a minor grudge against his brother. Third, I’m out of a job and you look like you could do with a native guide. My rates are four silvers a day with food, five without. If you are trying to sell something, I’ll give you the first bit of advice for free.”
They looked the applicant guide up and down. They saw a man of medium height, well-muscled, features and skin a pleasant ensemble of no immediately discernible origin. Mail showed at neck and wrist, peeping out from the edges of a tunic worn under a leather jerkin. A scabbard held a serviceable blade at one hip, a sheath a hefty dagger at the other. The hair was neatly braided, the gear plain but in good order, the stance both easy and alert.
“Your name?” asked Cardnial.
“Deyilan Feralgut.”
“Feralgut?”
“Bestowed upon me after an incident involving seafood. I kept it because it has a nice sinister ring, which can be useful at times.”
Deyilan’s eyes shifted. “I think we should move on before the guard gets impatient. They may decide to arrest you in the street and then you would have to pay, fight or be rendered.”
This made obvious sense – if Deyilan was telling the truth. They fell into step beside him as he set out. They did pass the alley he had mentioned, and Chrys did catch a glimpse of figures within. She was, however, still wary of their new acquaintance.
“You were just hanging around there waiting for someone who looked like they needed a guide to come past?” she asked sceptically.
“Not at all,” came the cheerful reply. “I flipped the Peaceful Repose a silver bit to tell me of any arrivals who might need my services. I followed you from the Final Touch to that exotic clothes shop and then cut ahead to Ezrak’s. It was the obvious next stop. I couldn’t figure what you wanted with the clothes, though. Did you buy any?”
Chrys glowered at him. “No, I did not. Look, we are not about to hire you without checking you out.”
“Fair enough. There’s a good bar two blocks over. Why don’t you buy me a drink and I’ll answer your questions.”
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Cardnial shrugged. “Why not. We’re not getting anywhere with what we set out to do.”
Deyilan turned at the next junction into a street that rose steeply, and from that to a broad stair that climbed up the face of a stone outcrop to a tiny plaza. From here a second stair led to a narrow court fringed with restaurants and bars. A stone balustrade at one side overlooked the sprawl below. It was only two blocks away in physical distance but much further socially. The area was quiet, clean, free of beggars and certainly expensive.
Deyilan crossed to a table under an awning and sat down. “Three of the dark, please. My friends will pay.”
“Cheeky bugger, aren’t you? Luckily for you I like dark beer. Bring a plate of nibbles too, please,” Chrys added to the waiter. She sat down firmly opposite Deyilan and leaned her face on her hands.
“So, talk. Tell us why the guard do not like you, what’s this ‘rendition’, why you are out of a job and why we should hire you.”
“In reverse order, you should hire me because I’m a local, I know this town well and I can arrange most anything. I’m out of a job because Ezrak Mikerah’s brother cheated me on a deal and then Mikerah told the guard I’d snitched on their racket. They framed a friend of mine and she was boiled down, so I snatch their fish away when I can. What’s rendition? If you’re sentenced to death here they get what value they can out of you – they extract any saleable knowledge and bottle it. I’m told it’s painful as well as fatal.”
Chrys leaned back. “Succinct. I won’t cast a truth compulsion on you, but I would like to look at your aura.”
“Go ahead”. Chrys felt for the ether and spoke strange syllables. Deyilan’s aura sprang into visibility to her sight, a flare around his body peaking over the head, wavering and shifting colour in tune with his thoughts and feelings. Chrys examined it carefully, looking for the distinctive marks left by treachery or rooted malice. Deception she was less worried about: it was an essential part of any good fighter’s make-up. The flow gave indications as to current intention and here Deyilan showed nothing too dark – a hint of avarice, a flavour of concern, a touch of desire. She did not explore too closely – all too often reading auras showed things you would rather not know.
“He checks out fine to me,” she told Cardnial. Cardnial smiled.
“So, if the first piece of advice is free, any ideas on where we might get a fair price on sierlak feathers?”
Deyilan took a pull on his beer and considered. “The Finder’s Web has a lock on the supply of stuff like that. They pay fair rates to members but they’re pretty stingy with outsiders. You will get a better price in Umma, and an even better one in Dravishi. Where are you headed anyway?”
Chrys was frank. “We don’t know yet. Somewhere we can make a lot of money.”
“Am I hired? Because if I am, I know someone who can give you some options along those lines.”
“If the others agree, sure. Let us go and see how they are doing.”
* * * *
At the Safe Repose they found Bajur in the courtyard practising with his new sword against Rakt while Grymwer watched. Aitonala was out seeking to contact her guild. In a few more minutes Rakt achieved a touch on Bajur, ending the bout. When they introduced Deyilan there was complete agreement that a native guide would be useful. Rakt, Bajur and Grymwer had all found it frustratingly difficult to get accurate directions or a reasonable price. When Aitonala returned, unsuccessful, from her mission, she joined the chorus.
“I have traipsed over half this bloody town getting wrong directions and lies. I have had to break three fingers and give two men a sore crotch, and listen to offers of everything I don’t want and nothing I do. How do people make a living here?”
“Mostly, illegally. Ship-broking, smuggling, safe-haven for a price, selling stuff to outlaws. Of course, people also need a decent meal and a good pair of shoes, so you can get those here too,” Deyilan explained. “Lagash thrives on secrecy, although pretty much everyone will turn informant for half a groat so it’s all a bit of a pretence really.”
Chrys sniffed. “They can keep their secrets. We need new boots, clothing mended, some reasonable armour for Bajur, a run of Fast Healing, passage to our next destination. If there are any Items for sale we might be interested.”
“You mentioned an information source,” said Cardnial.
“I know someone who collects information on opportunities and will provide it, for a fee,” confirmed Deyilan. “I’ll need a day to set up a meeting.”
“Does the Shipwright's Bank have an office here? We need to check for messages and establish our credit,” asked Grymwer.
“I was looking for the Select Services chapter-house,” added Aitonala.
Deyilan laughed. “Would a respectable institution like the Shipwright's Bank have an office in so disreputable a place as Lagash? No, they keep their hands clean by having a correspondent. You need to see Khefereh the Lender for credit, but she is not part of the regular message service. Sorry,” he said aside to Aitonala, “the Select Services do not have a presence here to my knowledge.”
Probably because no-one in Lagash was worth protecting, thought Aitonala. Or would pay up, she added to herself.
Late the next afternoon, having dealt with the boots, armour, clothing and credit, Deyilan led them through a tangle of alleys to a modest building in the shadow of the great black wall. He knocked out a complex pattern, a shutter opened to scan the group with a suspicious eye, the door opened with a grudging creak.
“It’s all show,” Deyilan remarked. “Shiem has the hinges made to creak, lets everyone in even if they just rap once and is known to all Lagash as the place to buy Items. Yet she goes through this charade.”
“You can mock, young Feralgut,” said the tall black woman behind the door. “Yet all Lagash plays these games and is not kind to those who disdain them. You, for instance, who snatches the fish from the hook. As you did yesterday.”
Deyilan laughed. “You don’t like Jol and his little band any more than I do, Shiem.”
“No, but I don’t tease them, and those who tease cats get scratched. So come in and see if there is anything you like. That you can afford, of course.”
Shiem turned away, and Chrys wondered at her display of ease. Lagash seemed like the kind of place where shops were robbed daily, yet Shiem wore nothing but a light dress of red silk, carried no visible weapons and was apparently alone. She led down a passage, through a door, down a short flight of stairs and into a well-lit room where Items hung on the walls or were laid out under glass.
Chrys was drawn to a dress on a stand. A full skirt belled out from a narrow waist which rose to a square bodice inset with small crystals. Puffed shoulders and long sleeves completed the ensemble. It was all in a heavy creamy-white fabric, edged with lace at hem, bodice and shoulders. Shiem glided over, and Chrys noticed that white stripes traced the long bones of her arms and legs.
“That is a Helpful Crinoline. It is meant to be worn as an under-dress, but can also serve as outerwear. The fabric offers considerable protection against steel and will absorb and deflect many spells. The bodice warns against poison. It will adapt to the figure of the wearer, of course.”
Chrys was tempted. Yet it was hard to envisage a situation in her life where the dress would be appropriate. It was meant to protect a young aristocrat from palace assassins, and she had yet to be invited to a palace ball. More privately, she also thought that, even if it adapted to her figure, she would look more like a pudding than a princess in such a garment. She sighed regretfully and passed on. She agreed with Cardnial that a cord that fastened oaths to the soul might be useful and that a bottle of Super Rum was probably not, even if just one drop made you drunk. Aitonala bought a flask of Green Oil, which rendered water able to support a standing person and Rakt bought a lump of jade which Shiem assured him would attract unnatural creatures. When Chrys asked why one would wish to attract unnatural creatures, Rakt replied that, should the occasion arise, it was better they be attracted to the rock rather than to him.
Deyilan asked after the current stock of Instant Wisdom, and Shiem brought out a case of small bottles.
“Each of these contains a specific skill or craft. These top rows, for instance, are for languages. Here we have Dravish, Corillionese, Eskaguna, Dzai, Saka, Brahnak. These others contain such learnings as Advanced Magic Theory and Brahnak Law. Prices vary.”
Bajur stepped back. “These are the product of dark magic. I will have nothing to do with them.”
The others had fewer qualms. Chrys bargained for a distillation of Advanced Magic Theory and joined with the others in buying several of the language bottles. As Aitonala said, nothing could resurrect the donors, so they might as well have the benefit. Grymwer remarked cynically that her reasoning was very much in line with the code of her guild.
Lagash’s narrow crooked streets were shaded even at noon. Now, in the evening light, they were full of shadows. Most day-market stalls were shuttered and the night-market ones yet to open. The crowds were thinner in this in-between time. Glowstones threw pools of light on the dirty paving that only emphasised the darker areas beyond. Deyilan walked quickly, eyes flicking to every alley, doorway and low rooftop. Aitonala stepped out with him, one pace back and to the side.
“You seem nervous,” was her remark.
“Shiem’s tone was serious. She hears a lot, so maybe her warning was more immediate than I took it for.”
As they rounded a corner she glanced back. Chrys and Cardnial were half a block back, chatting amiably. Bajur and Grymwer were further back still. The two took every opportunity to talk Brahnak together. Aitonala returned her attention to the street ahead as Deyilan’s stride hesitated.
“Do you see that pair standing on the doorsteps to the left, two lights ahead? That’s Jhoudzan, one of Jol’s little circle of guards. She’ll take any excuse to arrest me, and she’ll make one up if there isn’t any. So we’ll slow down. The Cabal takes a dim view of the guard hassling rich foreigners.”
They paused in front of a still-open fruit stall long enough for the others to catch up and for Deyilan to drive a hard bargain on a small basket of custard apples, then strolled on. Jhoudzan gave Deyilan the eye as he passed but made no move. A block later they had to run for shelter as a squall swept in from the gulf, dropping a bucket of warm rain on tile and stone. As it turned out, the shelter was the porch of what Deyilan said was a reasonable restaurant, so they sat and watched the drops splash up from the paving over a Corillionese dinner. This was made up of many small dishes, spicy, salt, savoury and sweet in turn, sampled at the diner’s whim.