by Randy Nargi
They secured a room on the top floor with four beds, each with a large sack of packed feathers to sleep on. Against one wall stood a pair of wardrobes, and near the other were some chairs and a worn couch upholstered in sheercloth. All in all, it was fairly comfortable accommodations—if you weren’t bothered by the sparrow-sized insects that found their way inside—despite the shuttered windows.
After they settled in and had a meal downstairs in the public house, Valthar announced that they should begin their search for Talessa Kreed.
Bander shook his head. “This will go a lot quicker if I do it alone.”
Eton Sward began to protest. “You don’t know anything about the woman.”
“I know what you told me. And that should be enough.”
Valthar slumped down in his seat. “Let him be, Sward. If anyone knows his way among the riff-raff, it’s Bander.”
It took Bander two days to find someone who admitted to knowing Talessa Kreed, and another day—and a decent sum of gold—to set up a meeting. Sward wanted to attend, of course, but the mage was overruled by Valthar who was funding the expedition and therefore nominally in charge.
“Just don’t come back empty-handed,” Valthar said. “I’m not sure how much more of this fog palace I can take.”
“You are a fragile flower, indeed,” Eton Sward said. “We’ve only been here for a few days.”
“It feels like a week.”
The meeting was set up for noon at a warehouse near the Horseshoe Docks. As he made his way through the murky streets, Bander wondered how anyone here could determine the hour. He hadn’t actually seen the sun since they left Vale.
Following the sound of lapping water and creaking timbers, Bander navigated to the south end of the city and then walked along the shore east to the Horseshoe Docks.
These three semicircular canals were where most of the freight entered and exited the city. Jumbles of warehouses and storerooms ringed the Horseshoe Docks like barnacles. Space was definitely at a premium here in Malverton, which was built on a peninsula surrounded on three sides by the river and smothered by a dense jungle to the north.
He pushed his way through the crowded streets and kept his eyes open for the ‘green parrot warehouse.’ That’s where he was supposed to meet Talessa Kreed.
The Tengan language was written in pictograms instead of letters so there were no traditional street or business signs. But Bander found the colorful pictograms adorning the city interesting and he was becoming accustomed to roving his eyes across walls to find them.
After a quarter hour of circling through the warehouse district, he finally spotted a big green parrot painted on a storeroom wall. The building looked all shut up, however.
He walked over to the main doors and tried to open them, but they must have been barred from the inside.
“Sir?”
Bander turned to see a skinny Tengan boy, maybe ten years old. Like all the Tengans, he was as pale as a ghost, with flaxen hair.
“Are you looking for mistress Kreed, sir?”
“I am.”
“I shall take you, then. Please follow, sir.”
At least the kid was polite.
They wound their way east along the shore, past the Horseshoe Docks, to the shipyards where the smell of boiling tar burned Bander’s nose.
“This way, sir!”
Bander jogged after the boy, who seemed on the verge of running. They passed ropemakers, sailmakers, lumber yards, and more warehouses.
At one point, Bander lost the boy from sight, around the corner of a net maker's shack.
When he finally spotted the boy fifty feet ahead, he found him in the middle of an altercation with a fat Harionese man with unnaturally golden hair who was dressed more for a noble’s reception than tramping around the warehouse district of a city in a swamp.
“Out of my way, you filthy little mist monkey!” The man berated the boy and smacked him with a walking stick. “Trying to rob me, aren’t you? I’ll teach you, you little bugger!”
The boy staggered and lost his balance, falling to the muddy ground.
“Hold!” Bander called, in a voice he’d used a million times before, back when he was in the Imperial Guard.
The fat man froze and regarded Bander with beady, ratlike eyes. “Are you on patrol, sir? If so, you’re doing a terrible job. Terrible.”
“No.” Bander said, moving closer. “But you need to leave him be.”
“No? Well, then it’s none of your business.”
He struck the boy again. Once, twice—
And then Bander was on him.
In an instant, he wrenched the walking stick from the man’s pudgy hands, pulled it back, and then tapped the fat man in the sternum with the end of the stick. The blow was gentle by Bander’s standards, but the fat man fell back, knocked off his feet, and landed on his ass in a puddle of mud.
“I am so sorry, sir!” the boy said to Bander.
“You have nothing to apologize for, young sir,” Bander said. “This man, on the other hand, does.”
He cracked the walking stick across the fat man’s stomach with a moderate degree of force, causing the man to yip in pain.
“You need to learn some manners,” Bander growled.
“Why do you care? He’s just a damn mist monkey—” The fat man tried to get up.
Crack!
This time the stick found its mark on the man’s head, which jerked back and then lolled to the side as the man collapsed into the mud. Not a killing blow, but also not one that the man was likely to forget.
Bander told the boy to lead on. Although clearly shaken, the boy continued to guide Bander through the cramped maze of buildings along the shore. Finally, the boy scampered up on to a dilapidated pier lined with big old riverboats and barges.
“There, sir!”
He pointed at a creaky old barge tied to the end of the pier. It was single-masted, seventy or eighty feet long and didn’t look particularly seaworthy. Or even riverworthy. A bunch of sailors, some Imperial, some Tengan, loitered about.
“Mistress Kreed awaits,” the boy said, before turning and dashing away. “Good luck, sir!” he called over his shoulder.
“You heard the lad,” called one of the sailors. “She’s waiting for you.” The tone wasn’t exactly friendly.
Bander didn’t react, didn’t say a word. Just stepped on to the gangplank and then on to the deck.
A sailor dressed in a garish violet jacket bowed facetiously and beckoned towards the stern. There Bander saw another sailor sitting in a dinghy, waiting for him.
“This is all very elaborate,” Bander said.
“Yeah, but that’s the way the Mistress wants it. Get in.”
Bander scrambled down a short ladder and managed to get into the dinghy without capsizing it.
The man didn’t say anything. Instead, he began to row and with each stroke he whistled a few notes of an annoying and repetitive tune. Bander tried to block it out and focused more on where they were going.
The dinghy hugged the shore for a while, winding its way west. Then then man turned the boat and rowed due south. It appeared that their destination was a small wooded island that Bander guessed was maybe a quarter mile from Malverton, towards the center of the Urfantis River. He hoped the meeting went well. He had no idea how he would get back if it didn’t.
As they drew closer to the island, Bander saw that it had its own series of docks and piers, populated with various watercraft. He counted two large cargo barges and dozens of smaller boats and skiffs.
A good number of sailors crawled around on the boats, making repairs or performing maintenance. A handful of others fished off the dock.
Bander’s whistling ferryman expertly guided the dinghy to shore. As they disembarked, the ferryman exchanged pleasantries with some of the other sailors. Then another sailor took over and escorted Bander up a road to a complex of huts and cabins surrounding a larger estate. The main building was a blocky three-story mano
r house, but obviously ancient and in considerable disrepair. Maybe this Talessa Kreed had fallen on some hard times. If so, that might affect their negotiations.
Bander followed the sailor as they entered the structure through a pair of large double doors which opened into a vestibule. There was a guard station right inside the doors, but it wasn’t manned.
They walked into a spacious entry hall filled with artwork. There Bander was greeted by another man, who didn’t look much like a sailor. He was Harionese, maybe a decade older than Bander, tall and boney, but with the pale ghostly skin of a native Tengan.
“Greetings, sir,” he said with a voice that had a bit of a quaver to it. “My name is Dartminter Rigg, Talessa Kreed’s adjutant.”
“Leocald Grannt.”
A faint smile played across his face. “As you wish, sir. Do you have the payment?”
“I do.” Bander withdrew a pouch of gems and handed them over.
Dartminter Rigg opened the pouch, but barely looked at the gems. He nodded and said, “Right this way. As we agreed, you have ten minutes with Mistress Kreed. If you require more time, you will have to make another appointment, though I doubt she will grant a second.”
“So, in other words, get to the point without dallying.”
“Always sound advice, sir.”
He opened another set of doors and held them for Bander to enter.
Bander found himself in spacious indoor courtyard filled with all sorts of large potted plants, pampa and fruit trees, and several small fountains. Polished stone columns formed an arcade around the perimeter of the courtyard, and the floor was intricately tiled. Brightly colored birds sat on ornamental perches and regarded Bander impassively, as if the sight of strangers in their home was nothing remarkable.
“Welcome, sir.”
From the shadows of the arcade, a woman strode towards him. She was tall and elegant-looking with short curly black hair cropped like a man’s. But the shape of her body belied any hint of masculinity. She was dressed in a form-fitting tunic and pants with tall boots and cut an impressive figure.
Bander bowed slightly. “Greetings Mistress Kreed. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. My name is—”
She cut him off. “I know all about you, Bander of Rundlun. I surely do.”
Bander forced himself not to react. He had given his name as Leocald Grannt to her intermediaries, so there was no way she should have been able to identify him.
“Please, sit.” She motioned to a pair of small embroidered couches. “I’d offer you a drink, but our time together is limited, isn’t it?” She smiled a half smile and her green eyes twinkled. Bander wasn’t sure how old Talessa Kreed was. She could have been thirty, or she could have been fifty. Her face betrayed nothing of her age.
“I’ll get right down to it,” he said. “I need a guide and transportation.”
“Not exactly my line of work any more, and I assume you already know that. But go on. Speak your piece.”
“My employers are two scholars, seeking the ruined structure described in Burritch’s Travels. Are you familiar with it?”
“The book? ’Course I am. Burritch built our fair city. But if you are asking about the old ruins he mentions, you’ll need to be more specific. There are dozens chronicled in Travels, aren’t there?”
“There is a structure he compares to the chapel at Aravat.”
Talessa Kreed nodded. “I’ve been down that way. It’s southwest of Lake Horbadin. A few day’s trek, but quite difficult to find unless you really know the canyons.”
“You’ve seen the structure?”
“That I have. At least what’s left of it.”
“Which is?”
“A story for another day.”
She stood up, ready to dismiss Bander. He remained seated. “It’s only been seven minutes.”
“How do you know that, then?”
“I’m good with such things.”
She sat down again. “All right. I’ll give you the one minute version. The chapel in question is basically a big pile of rubble. No wall stands more than ten feet. The tower is completely destroyed. The outbuildings are gone as well. You can’t even tell where most of them stood.”
“Has the area been excavated?”
“Whatever for? Didn’t you read Travels? The chapel had been thoroughly looted before Burritch set foot inside. The only thing of note I remember seeing was the altar—and it’s far too big to move.”
Bander thought for a moment. Then he said, “Nonetheless, my employers wish to see the structure for themselves.”
“Why?”
“They are interested in certain architectural elements and believe that the chapel may be related to some other buildings they have been studying.”
“Well, good luck finding it then,” Talessa Kreed said, rising from the couch.
“How about you take us there?” Bander stood up. It would have been impolite to remain seated.
Talessa Kreed ignored the question. “Nice to have met you, Bander. Good day.”
“We can pay,” he said quickly. “We can pay well.” He dug into his belt pouch.
She turned, but then hesitated. “How well?”
He handed her one of Valthar’s aonae. “Extremely well.”
Talessa Kreed told Bander that she needed two days to prepare, and her terms were very strict. Just him and his two employers on the boat. No servants. No guards. No weapons. She’d provide provisions and equipment, so only one knapsack each. They would have just one day at the ruins. Any longer than that and they would have to find their own way home.
He agreed and she instructed him where to meet two days hence. Then the whistling sailor rowed him across the river.
Back at the inn, Valthar and Eton Sward swarmed him with questions, and then as the news of Bander’s success with Talessa Kreed sunk in, they began jumping around like children, slapping each other’s backs, and whooping their heads off.
“Quiet,” Bander said. “You can celebrate once we actually get there.”
“He’s right,” Valthar said. He sat down on the edge of one of the beds. “This all went down too easily, don’t you think? I’m not entirely sure I trust this slapper.”
“Why is that, Devil Dog?” Eton Sward asked. “Is it because she’s a scoundrel of the highest order? A swindler? A blackguard?”
“No,” Valthar said. “It’s just that we don’t know why the wench has been collecting aonae all these years.”
“Perhaps she has knowledge that we do not,” Eton Sward said.
“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to ask her questions,” Bander said. “I’m estimating it’s over a hundred miles to Lake Horbadin. And that’s the easy part of the journey.”
“Are you trying to scare us off, then?” Eton Sward asked.
“Not at all. I want to make sure you understand what you’re in for.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“I don’t like it here,” Keave grunted.
“I don’t like it much, either,” Mortam Rowe said.
“Too crowded.”
“Agreed.”
“The air is funny.”
“Yes, it is, my friend. It’s quite humid.”
“My clothes are sticky—and I didn’t even spill anything on them.”
“Indeed.”
Five days ago Mortam Rowe and Keave had set off from Vale on horseback. The ride wasn’t particularly arduous. The trade road was flat and wide and someone had done a decent job of keeping the underbrush cut back. Surprisingly, the vegetation was no less dense than were the forests outside of Lhawster. In fact, they hadn’t encountered much of a jungle until this morning, when they arrived on the outskirts of the Malverton Trading Post.
Now Mortam Rowe and Keave were pushing their way through what appeared to be a haphazardly-constructed slum on the edge of a turbid river teeming with insects and smelling like a sewer. The rickety buildings were stacked one one top of another, canting at odd angles, and all looking l
ike they were were just a strong breeze away from collapsing. Malverton was a quite a bit larger than Mortam Rowe had imagined. The trading post appeared to be the size of a small city.
Most of the inhabitants on the streets were pale white Tengans—skinny and stunted to Mortam Rowe’s eye. Despite the fact that they were packed together as close as the buildings, but no one seemed to care much. They just jostled and squeezed and swarmed like so many ants on an anthill.
“Can we leave now?” Keave asked.
“I’m afraid not, my friend. We have business to attend to.”
“Where?”
“Why, here, of course. Well, in another neighborhood, to be certain. They call it ‘the Elbow,’ apparently.”
The Elbow was a residential district to the southeast. According to the merchant who had given him directions, the neighborhood jutted out like the elbow of a woman with her hand on her hip.
It was slow going through the noisy, crowded streets. Even with Keave forging a path through the throngs, it took them a half hour to make their way to the Elbow and then another ten minutes to find their destination, a three-story house on the edge of a circular park.
Mortam Rowe made a face. The park looked completely out of place in this jumbled mess of a city. And what was the purpose of it? It made no sense. The whole of the Wilderlands was a park.
Oh well.
He consulted the book where he had scrawled notes about how to find their contact. Harnotis Kodd had not provided them with transport down to Malverton, but he had provided them with a name and a location.
The location turned out to be a cramped apartment that smelled like cooked fish and the man turned out to be tall and skeletal. His name was Dartminter Rigg and it appeared that he was willing to sell out his mistress for exactly thirteen uncut cloud diamonds and whatever else Kodd had promised him.
“And did you see the aona with your own eyes?” Mortam Rowe asked.
Dartminter Rigg shook his head. “I did. He dangled it like a worm in front of a fel fish.”
“But it was enough to hire the boat?”