by Aldrea Alien
“I was informed there is a guild on that street.”
“The merchant guild?” Hamish replied. “Aye, they’ve secure stables. We leave our horses there all the time. Me sister’s husband was a member, before the—” He froze in the saddle, his gaze darting to the boys who were more absorbed in nattering amongst themselves. Nevertheless, Hamish whispered, “Before the sinking.”
Merchant? He had assumed the guild would’ve been tied to a bank or some such like Udynea. “I take it this guild works like a…?” The question died on his lips as he considered the great mental lexicon of words his tutors had stuffed into his brain during the trip here. Any equivalent translation for bank wasn’t amongst them.
Did Tirglasians not have banks? The thought hadn’t occurred to him before. It seemed so natural for people to place their trust—and copious amounts of money—in banks and their guild posts. Only the imperial treasury, and a few stubborn nobles, stood separate from the financial guild. Admittedly, the communication network was vastly superior to the Tirglasian reliance on pigeons and horse messengers, but surely those in the capital city relied on something more substantial than personal vaults and chests to store the entirety of their wealth.
“Works like a what?”
Shaking himself out of his musing, Darshan became sharply aware of Hamish staring at him as if he had somehow dropped out of existence and popped back. “A financial establishment,” he mumbled, his face heating. “One that deals in loans and investments. Perhaps even exchanges of currency?”
Hamish’s ruddy brows lowered at the last example, but the spark of recognition in the rest did give Darshan some hope that he was stepping into somewhat familiar grounds. “I dinnae have much to do with money,” he confessed. “So, I couldnae rightly tell you about that last one, but the merchant guild deals with the trade and loans within the city.”
“They’re a pest,” Gordon muttered over his shoulder. “I’m honestly glad Nora deals with that lot. I would’ve run the buggers out of town by now. Remember their last demand? That their leader be named Mayor of Mullhind? And you ken what?”
“That he wasnae even of the clan,” Hamish replied, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. With one hand opening and closing like the beak of a duck, he mimed his brother’s chatter. Clearly, a conversation they’d had many times before.
“Precisely. I thought poor Muir was going to have a heart attack when he found out. Almost caused a massive upheaval in trade throughout the city, would have if Nora hadnae convinced Muir that an extra tax on all goods wasnae going to help settle matters.”
Perhaps there was a little more in common to the merchant guild and the banks Darshan frequented for funds. The man who ran the central bank in Minamist also oversaw the guild district and did a fine job of keeping them organised. Then again, he was imperial property. Keeping the empire running smoothly was expected of them. “I take it the guild failed to get what they asked for?”
Gordon shook his head. “Nae a scrap. I dinnae ken why they even tried. The mayor always comes from the local clan. It’s the same all over Tirglas.”
Their chatter grew broken and less frequent the closer they got to the central market square. People and carts crowded the streets, the former loud in their efforts to be heard and move on.
Animals also joined in with their cries. The resonating rumble of cattle at his elbow—the brutes big enough to feed a large family with one leg—near deafened Darshan. Thankfully, the driver directed them down a nearby side street. Sheep heavy with wool bleated as they passed by, mercifully in carts often towed by horses as the woolly beasts all brandish curled horns and seemed rather eager to butt them against their wooden cages.
There was a mighty crash to his left, sending people skittering from the chaos. Darshan had barely turned his head at the noise before several crates tumbled onto the road, spilling wizened apples everywhere. Hamish’s horse slid on one, the mare’s rump swinging Darshan’s way as it struggled to remain upright.
Darshan’s horse bunched beneath him in a most alarming manner. Don’t kick. No telling what, or who, those hooves might connect with. Whilst he could heal most injuries, having a face caved in by a well-placed hoof was not one of them.
He gave the animal a few reassuring strokes on the neck. What had Hamish said the animal was called? “Easy, Warrior,” he murmured, pleased when the horse flicked his ears back and listened to him rather than the shrieking of the apple seller, who berated a rather harried young man with a toppled hand cart. “Steady boy.”
After what seemed like an age, the horse relaxed enough for Darshan to guide the animal around the disaster scattered across the street and down another, less hectic, road. Their group wove through a few more relatively empty streets before entering into one a little wider than the others.
Large buildings dominated either side of this street and they halted before one that, like most of the surrounding buildings, started off with a few brick levels before climbing up several more with the aid of timber. Windows jutted out all over those upper levels. The bottom level was clearly reserved for horses, carts and cargo, with plenty of each crowding a space that would’ve rivalled the imperial ballroom had it been empty.
Two sets of stairs led the way into the building. People clattered up and down them, lugging small chests or sacks. Unlike back home, there was no signage above the archway leading into the area beyond a simple iron wrought sign of what he presumed was a sack.
Not waiting for any sort of signal, the boys leapt off their horses and eagerly dragged the long-suffering beasts into stalls. Darshan followed their lead with the dismounting, but waited for an indication of where his horse should go.
Rather than dismount, Gordon merely waited for Mac to slide down the horse’s shoulder onto the street. “Right, I’m off to the Roaring Stag for a few pints.” He chucked a small pouch Hamish’s way, it jingled with the telltale rattle of money. “Meet me there when you’re done.”
Darshan peered at the man. “I thought we were to be chaperoned?” Gordon had certainly made enough noise about it in the courtyard and whilst passing through the gates. He wouldn’t be surprised if the whole castle knew where they were and with whom.
Smirking, Gordon toyed with his reins. “I can if you want, although I think a certain person would much rather I vanish from the land.” His gaze slid towards Hamish.
Darshan followed the look, ducking under the horse’s neck to see in full, and bit his lip in order to refrain from laughing. If mere looks were capable of hurtling a person into the atmosphere, then Gordon would’ve reached the moon by now.
“But so long as you dinnae snog me brother in public again,” the man continued. “I dinnae see why you shouldnae be fine walking around the stalls without me shadowing you. Besides, there’s me nephews to keep you in line, right lads?”
“Yes, Uncle Gordon,” all three children chimed in unison. Darshan wasn’t sure how the man could believe the boys. Their expressions certainly didn’t lend themselves to any sort of dependability.
“By the way, ‘Mish, we’ll be travelling to the cloister in the morning,” Gordon announced as if it were an afterthought. “Keep that in mind.”
Hamish froze, half out of his saddle. “Mum actually agreed to let me go after everything that’s been going on?”
“Aye.” Gordon swung to eye Darshan, kneeing his horse close enough to keep his voice low. “If you’d like to come with us…”
“You are actually asking me to come along?” That seemed awfully at odds with the man’s previous stance. “I thought I was untrustworthy.”
Gordon inclined his head. “I am asking. Wouldnae normally, but ‘Mish insisted I extend the invitation after your interest in visiting.” He glanced over Darshan’s shoulder and, seemingly satisfied, added, “Personally, I’d take you there and leave you.”
“Would the queen not stop me? I cannot imagine your mother would be amenable to having me in Hamish’s presence for such an extended period.�
� Especially after their mid-morning meeting.
“It’s nae as if you two will be alone. I’ll be there, as will a handful of guards. Besides…” he added, shrugging. “…she’s got to ken, first. By the time she realises you’re with us, it’ll be too late to send extra guards. If you’re coming, be at the stables before sunrise.” Clearing his throat, Gordon gave the boys a stern nod. “Behave for your uncle.” With that, he nudged his mount into a steady trot back out into the street.
“We shouldnae be more than a few hours,” Hamish said, having finally dismounted. The boys took up his mare’s reins, along with those of Darshan’s mount, and vanished into the stables with the two horses. “If you’re after funds, then I’d recommend trying the small door.” He jerked a thumb at the narrower set of steps leading off to their left. Although far less crowded, there was an air about it that put Darshan in the mind of a servant’s entrance than the double doors opening onto the whole of the courtyard. “Dinnae be too long. I’m nae sure how long I can keep the lads here before they start complaining.”
“I shall attempt to be swift,” Darshan promised before trotting up the narrow stairs. A quick rap on the door had it swinging open to the flat clank of an old cowbell.
A young man stood on the other side of the door. He bowed as Darshan stepped inside and indicated the hallway sweeping off to Darshan’s right as if the left option held more than a blank wall.
Bowing his head in thanks, Darshan strode down the hall. A few closed doors dotted the left side. The interior of the building was lit by oil lanterns, their ruddy light throwing a warm air over the wooden walls. He had expected a little more show of opulence, perhaps a few rugs or some curtains that didn’t look quite so threadbare. Maybe he really had entered through the servant’s entrance.
He glanced back the way he had come and bumped straight into a door that he was certain hadn’t been open a moment ago.
“Oh really,” a harsh voice snapped on the other side, the top of a grey head of hair just visible around the edge. “You clunking louts ought to take more care where you’re—” The voice’s owner glared at Darshan for all of a moment before shock stilled her tongue. Steel-grey eyes swept over him, no doubt taking in the heavy embroidery on his sherwani and the multitude of rings adorning his fingers. “Can I be of assistance, my lord?” Now that she wasn’t growling like a hellhound, her voice had a slight musical note about it that was common amongst the dwarves.
“I certainly hope so.” He rummaged through his belt pouch, searching for the letter. “I was told to ask for an… Aggie?”
Her light brown skin darkened slightly at the name. “Agnetha, my lord. That’s me.” She waved him into the room. “If you’ve been sent to me, then you’re after funds.” She settled behind a large, wooden desk and dug through the piles of paper already strewn across the surface to pluck her quill pen from its inkpot. “How much, exactly?”
“I am not entirely certain how much I shall require.” If pressed, he could hazard a guess in Udynean coin, but Tirglasian? “I suppose—” By the firm look in her eye, he’d need an acceptable amount and a reason. Not too specific, mind. “Well, the fact of the matter is, my stay here is looking to be longer than planned. I merely require enough to see me through until I can return home.”
“To Udynea?” Her full lips curved into a smug smile, likely to his surprise. “The accent gives you away, my lord.”
“No doubt my clothing, too,” he said, settling into the chair opposite the desk. “Whilst we are on accents, and if you will excuse my curiosity, you would not happen to have dwarven ancestors, would you?” The name certainly didn’t seem of Tirglasian origin. Although, there were other reasons beyond heritage for that alone, coupled with the slightly stilted way she spoke, a foreign origin was a far better possibility.
Agnetha smiled. “I am dwarven. The guild invited me to work for them.”
“I was of the opinion that dwarves preferred not to stray from their homeland for long.” At least the hedgewitches didn’t. Although he had never come across a dwarf outside their lands who wasn’t part of their Coven. Maybe they did and the hedgewitches just never talked about them. “I do hope I caused no offence by that statement. My ignorance shows, it would seem.”
“You’ve caused nae offence and you’re right, we typically dinnae leave home for long.” Sighing, she put down her quill pen. “And this establishment also doesnae make a habit of loaning to those from beyond the city. Makes it harder to reclaim should the deal fall through, you understand?”
He did. But he also had ways around that little barrier, which he hoped the guild would accept. Darshan worked one of his rings loose and placed it on the table. “I believe this should be adequate recompense.”
Agnetha took up the ring, gasped and dropped it back onto the papers. “I can’t take that as collateral,” she cried in her native Dvärg tongue, a language slightly more pleasant on the ears. “That’s the royal sigil… uh…” That wide-eyed gaze darted from him to the ring and back. “My apologies, vris Mhanek. I should’ve realised that the Udynean walking through my halls was the ambassador everyone’s been talking about.”
“That is quite all right, I—”
“How much did you say you needed?” she blurted, snatching up her quill pen and writing furiously on the first scrap of paper that entered her hand. She scoffed before he could answer and continued to babble in Dvärg. “I’m sure you don’t need me bothering you with specifics.” Snatching up his ring, she thrust both jewellery and paper towards him.
“Do you not need to keep the—?”
“No,” she all but screamed. Gasping, Agnetha dropped the items and clapped a hand over her mouth. She stared at him, frozen like a mouse before a Niholian hooded asp.
Darshan remained just as still, making no effort to speak or even twitch in any way that might be taken as aggression. He’d never come across a dwarf that was frightened of him before. They were usually curious people, especially around spellsters, always inquisitive about magical abilities and their limits.
Had she picked up that fear from the local people? Was this how Tirglasians viewed all spellsters? Or was it Udyneans they feared? He was never entirely certain people shouldn’t.
Perhaps his position in the Crystal Court was more to blame. What gossip had circulated that he might not have heard? That was an avenue to think on should any more people display Agnetha’s level of discomfort around him.
Slowly, she seemed to regain a modicum of composure. “Take this to Fib down the hall.” She held out the paper, seemingly unaware of how much it shook. “You can’t miss him. Big man. Bald and with a black beard to make up for it. He’ll give you whatever you want.”
Standing at a pace that would make a dead man look lively, Darshan relieved her of the paper. “And the ring stays?” He could hardly have the woman’s livelihood threatened because she feared him.
Agnetha shook her head and picked up the ring. “Take it. Please.” Her eyes were huge, her skin shiny with sweat. Had he not known better, he could’ve been mistaken for thinking she was begging for her life. “Just take it and go.”
He did as she asked with her collapsing in apparent relief once the ring was back on his finger. “I am sorry to have troubled you,” he murmured before exiting the room. Whatever had happened to make her fear him, it wasn’t something he could fix there and then, as much as he wished that were so.
Finding Fib had taken longer than conversing with him. The man had shown no hesitancy at Agnetha’s letter, merely doling out the amount requested of him.
Darshan trotted down the stairs to join the others, the pouch of gold coins tucked securely under his belt. It was a modest amount, enough to afford him some comfort and no more. Whilst it nagged at him that he was taking it without offering anything in return, he made a mental note to have a suitable repayment sent from his private coffers back home.
“You took forever,” Mac moaned once Darshan joined the group waiting near the gate.
He tugged on Hamish’s overcoat. “I’m hungry,” he said, his voice suddenly small and teary.
“Then I guess food should be our next stop.” Hamish ruffled Mac’s hair and laid a guiding hand on the boy’s shoulder as they stepped out onto the street. “Lest you lads waste away before me eyes.”
On foot, the distance to the central market square seemed far longer. Darshan did his best to remain close to the others, his legs burning with the effort to mimic the brisk pace the boys kept. He considered himself as a fit sort of person, unlike some in the Crystal Court, but the trio were easily able to put him to shame.
They wove through carts caught at a standstill and skirted groups of people crowding various stalls, their individual voices lost to the general clamour of noise. He peered around a few elbows, curious as to what could draw so many, but caught only glimpses of colour.
The stench of animals was far more of an assault on the senses than it had been on horseback, bordering on knocking him out at one point when a pair of cattle sauntered by and deposited their own cargo. He started paying a little more attention to the cobblestones after that.
Eventually, the boys chose to crowd around a stall stocking dark loaves of bread and gleaming buns. The heady aroma of baking bread filled Darshan’s nose, emanating from the building just behind the stall. He breathed deep, sighing and casually wiping at the corners of his mouth.
His stomach issued an embarrassingly loud query. When had been the last time he’d eaten? He had no memory of breakfast.
As one, the boys twisted to shoot Hamish a lip-quivering plea.
“I dinnae think so,” Hamish replied, folding his arms. “I ken what you’re after and you’re nae stuffing yourself with honey cakes. Your mum would kill me if I let that happen.”