by Max Irons
Galeron cast her an appraising glance. She’d tanned some from their week at sea, and there were a few streaks of black across her face, probably residue from her pistolettes or a touch of sailing pitch.
“Dirty enough,” he said.
Lonni glowered at him. “Thanks.”
“Be grateful you didn’t bother to style your hair,” Galeron said. “You’d have to undo all of it.”
“Are you saying my hair looks bad?” asked Lonni.
Galeron blinked. “Did I say that?”
“It was implied.”
He gritted his teeth and savagely beat down the part of his mind screaming about women being more trouble than they were worth. He was stuck with Lonni, so he might as well make the best of it.
“For what we’re wanting to do, you look perfect,” Galeron said.
She said nothing, and they passed through the last set of gates and into the burgs. Constructed mostly of double and triple-floored wooden buildings, the burg sprawled out in front of them. People and animals trotted around the twisting streets. Carts trundled by, filled to the brim with a variety of cargo, and the air stung with a sickly-sweet smell that Galeron recognized as burning flesh and the damp scent of animal manure.
Lonni wrinkled her nose. “It smells like…” Her face turned slightly green. “It’s like being back at the caves.”
Galeron nodded. “You’ll get used to it in a bit.”
“I thought we were supposed to stay out of the burgs,” she said. “Wasn’t there something about a horrible disease?”
“We stay out of the areas that are burning bodies,” said Galeron. “There are usually signs, and streets will be blocked off. Besides, you’ll know what to avoid. They smell like an overused chamber pot.”
“Lovely.”
Galeron set off down one of the streets, Lonni following beside him. He scanned the shop signs. A man didn’t just out and say he could provide any weapon needed. If there was trading outside the law, he’d likely hide it behind a legitimate business. Keenan Caffar wasn’t like Azura, with dedicated merchants for weaponry within easy reach, so he’d have to look elsewhere. Some tradesmen were easy enough to ignore. Soap and candle makers weren’t likely to deal in firelocks or night dust. Blacksmiths, or even silversmiths, were more likely. An apothecary or local healer might have some of the necessary ingredients for night dust. Perhaps they might know who would mix it for him.
As he walked and looked, stories swirled in his head. He’d need a good excuse to look for both a firelock and night dust. Galeron took a turn into a run-down blacksmith’s shop, chimes rattling as he opened the door. A small boy sat on a stool, peering at a long scroll unfurled on the counter before him, seemingly indifferent to the deep, metallic clanging echoing from the back of the shop. He looked up, brown hair filled with soot.
“Yes, sir?” he asked.
Galeron’s eyelids drooped in a practiced motion, and he shuffled up to the counter, leaning heavily on it. “Listen, boy, I need to have a chat with the smith. Is he about?”
“He’s in the middle of something, sir,” the boy said. “Do you need to place an order?”
“Of a sort,” Galeron said. He worked his mouth in a round of nervous biting. “See, I’m looking for a man with special…cargo, and I was told I might find it with one of the local smiths.”
The boy frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“My master owns one of the mining operations further south,” Galeron said. “I’m in town with a ship for resupplying, and my master was hoping I could find a way to get past a nasty bit of granite.”
“Then you’re on the wrong side of the mountain,” the boy said. “You should talk to a stone scholar at Aleor.”
Stone scholar? What’s a… Likely a mage, if Aleor was involved. Galeron’s mind jumped through a few assumptions, and he nodded at the boy. “Aye, but it’s not worth the price of transporting one all the way down there, hauling him out to the site, and then bringing him back here once the job’s done. Just enough granite to stifle work, but not enough for a stone scholar’s fee.”
The boy narrowed his eyes and studied Galeron’s face for a moment. Then he got up from his stool and walked into the rear of the shop. The sounds of metal pounding metal abruptly halted.
“What are you doing?” whispered Lonni.
“My job,” Galeron said. “Let me do the talking.”
The boy returned with a barrel-chested and mustachioed man, long leather smock covered in soot and metal shavings. His deep-set eyes regarded Galeron for a moment.
“Broton?” he asked.
Galeron nodded.
“What are you doing so far from home?”
Galeron shrugged one shoulder. “Making a living. I’m a sell-sword providing security for a mining supply ship.”
“Dull business,” he said.
“It’s paying business,” Galeron said. “Can you help me?”
“Moving rocks without a stone scholar,” the blacksmith said. “Shouldn’t you be going home for that?”
Galeron sighed and spread his hands. “I’d have preferred it. It’s only two more weeks travel, but my master’s a tightfisted fiend. He paid me at half the normal rate last time because we were assaulted by three raider vessels at once.” He scowled. “I’m a great many things, but I can’t handle forty raiders with a paltry ten men. Bad luck, I tell him, but he doesn’t care.”
The blacksmith nodded. “Ill fate happens to everyone.”
“Precisely,” Galeron said. “Friend, if you haven’t got what I’m looking for, could you at least tell me if anyone does? I’d rather not have to waste my time, and part of me would love to go back to Broton for a while.”
“To find what you seek, I suggest speaking with the apothecary down beyond the Penniless Prince,” said the blacksmith. “Nothing is assured, but if someone has your required cargo, he might know where to look.”
Galeron gave him a half-smile and nodded. “Thank you, friend.” He turned to go.
“For a sell-sword, you have a very nice lady on your arm,” the blacksmith said to his back.
“Concubine,” said Galeron. “She’s good company.”
Heat radiated off Lonni as they walked out.
#
Lonni slapped a hand across Galeron’s face the instant they were out of sight of the shop.
“Concubine?” she asked. “What…blast you, Galeron. I am no concubine.”
Galeron sighed and rubbed the stinging welt on his right cheek. “That was part of the act. It’s fairly common for a sell-sword to have a concubine while he’s in a city. If I’d said anything else, you and I would have stuck out in his mind. As it is, I’m just another hired blade.”
“So, it’s perfectly for you to run about claiming I sleep with you on a regular basis?”
He glared at her. Probably should have warned her beforehand. “This is what being an informer is all about. It’s lies, deceit, and playing on expectations. When we’re out like this, hunting for information, don’t believe most of what I say.”
She sniffed and held her nose slightly aloft. “At least tell a more believable lie. If I were a concubine, you’d never be able to afford me.”
Someone’s gotten saltier. Maybe the sea spray had pickled her disposition. He shook his head and didn’t reply back, instead scanning the street before them, keeping his eyes open for the Penniless Prince.
They kept walking, but eventually, a barrier of overturned carts, crates, and other pieces of debris blocked their way. The severe stench of a chamber pot exposed to hours of sunlight rolled over them like a wave. Lonni gagged and held her nose. Galeron sealed his jaw shut and turned back the way they’d come, taking the next side street and moving away from the foul odor.
“I see what you meant,” Lonni said.
“Mmm,” Galeron grunted. His stomach still churned and flipped. It probably wasn’t safe to open his mouth just yet.
They wound through the side street and emerge
d into another, more crowded main road. Galeron and Lonni wove through the swarming masses of people, until Galeron spotted the Penniless Prince’s sign. He squeezed out of the throng and, once Lonni caught up, entered the apothecary’s shop sitting next to it.
Lit by a single candle at the far end of the shop, the building’s smell assaulted and puzzled Galeron’s nose. The faintest wisps of spearmint and sage drifted over, though they were swiftly beat down by the more overpowering smell of garlic, lungwort, and about a dozen other scents that he couldn’t place. Some left a bitter taste on his tongue as he inhaled them while others made him cough briefly. Still others, probably as he passed under them as they hung from the rafters, made him sneeze. Lonni seemed unaffected by the sensory overload, or perhaps she and her nose were on better terms.
A tall spider of a man, all thin limbs and digits, stuffed ground pieces of something dark brown and flaky into a glass jar at the other end of the shop. His mop of brown hair kept spilling over his face, giving him the appearance of an underfed sheepdog grimly watching a flock. He turned to look at Galeron and Lonni as they approached, licking his slender lips.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“You’re the apothecary?” said Galeron.
The man grunted and put the jar on a shelf behind him. “No, I’m a cooper. I keep all these herbs because they smell nice.”
That’s starting things off well. Galeron smoothed out his face into what he hoped was a politely blank look. “I’ve got a bit of a problem. My master wants to move some granite without hiring a stone scholar. I was told you might know how to go about it.”
“Go to Broton, you lazy sell-sword,” the apothecary grumbled.
Galeron sighed. “I want to, but my master insists the cost is too much. He won’t pay for it, and I don’t have the coin.”
The apothecary took another jar off the shelf and started measuring some of its contents into a leather pouch with a small spoon. “Alchemy is against the crown’s law in Raya. Don’t you know that?”
“Aye, it’s true, but it doesn’t fulfill my master’s wishes,” Galeron said. “He, not the crown, has the coin purse I need, and that coin is how I eat.”
The apothecary shrugged. “That’s a terrible fate, but it’s not my problem.”
He’s going to be one of those, I guess. Some men had a sense about people, could tell when a man was having them on. This apothecary, it seemed, smelled lies. Either that, or he genuinely had no connection to a night dust supply. An unlikely story, given what the blacksmith insinuated, but it could have been a ploy to get rid of him. A little more pressure, then.
“I would hate to make it your problem, friend,” Galeron said, leaning on the table.
The apothecary cocked his head, studying him from behind the greasy hair. “It’s foolish to roam about making threats.”
“I’m a foolish man,” Galeron said blandly.
“Leave my shop.”
“And if I don’t?”
The apothecary’s jaw stiffened. “Vort!”
After a few moments, the shop vibrated as footsteps pounded in the back rooms. The door opened, and a tall, muscle-bound man in a disheveled tunic and breeches appeared in the frame. Bald with squinting little eyes, he ducked under the doorway and entered the main room. One hand on his hairy arms could’ve wrapped around Galeron’s neck without stretching. He looked from Galeron to Lonni and crossed his arms, striations in his limbs clear-cut and deep as trenches.
Galeron froze, but he let nothing escape his face or posture. Now, we might have a problem.
He raised an eyebrow at the apothecary. “All I asked was a simple question. There’s no need for things to get messy.”
The apothecary sneered. “That’s what everyone says when Vort looks at them.”
“I was more interested in preserving your shop,” Galeron said. “If you don’t care what happens to it, that’s your business.”
“Try if you like to take him on,” the apothecary said. “He’s an earthbound mage, sell-sword. You think your blade can touch him?”
His insides turned into knots. That might be a problem. The last mage with a connection to the earth made him drop a building on her to win the fight, and there was no helpful stone structure around here. Besides, that kind of conflict would cause a lot of noise and defeat the purpose of his visit to the burg.
There was a metallic click, and Galeron turned. Lonni pointed one of her pistolettes at Vort, wheelock mechanism drawn back into firing position. He swallowed. This had better not go any further.
“Is he faster than me?” she asked, one eye closed.
Vort’s eyes grew to normal size, and the apothecary twitched, looking from Galeron, to Lonni, and then to Vort. “You already have night dust. Why are you here?”
Galeron rolled his eyes and tried not to shudder. “Any fool knows it doesn’t take much for a pistolette. You really think that tiny bit of dust is going to blow through granite?” He gave him a half-smile. “Now think on this. You answer my question, and we’re on our way, not to bother you again. Decline, and you won’t have your shop anymore. We’ve got enough dust to burn this place to the ground.”
A growling noise emerged from the apothecary’s throat. He surveyed the scene again, bit his lip, and then spat on the floor. “I don’t control the dust or its shipping. I just supply some ingredients. If your master’s as high and mighty as he thinks he is, chat with Lord Pendegrast. He runs the shipping lanes for anything that isn’t food.”
A name. Finally. Galeron nodded. “That’s all I wanted, friend. We’ll be on our way.”
He turned around and walked to the door. Lonni kept her pistolette trained on Vort until she reached Galeron’s side. She slid it back in its holster.
“Take caution, sell-sword,” called the apothecary. “Roughing with Lord Pendegrast might cost your master more than coin.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him,” Galeron said.
CHAPTER TEN
“It looks like we’re back to the nobility,” Galeron grumbled as they walked up the lane.
Lonni kept pace with him. “Is that a bad thing?”
He ran a hand through his hair. That depended. It could be the murderer, whoever it was, happened to get his supply of night dust and the firelock from the Pendegrast ships. However, given the attempt to set up a Broton diplomat, the truth was likely more complicated. Someone desperately wanted the Rayans and Brotons at each other’s throats. Who would benefit?
“We might learn more at dinner,” Galeron said. “Perhaps Iven and I can pry some useful information out of Falco since Dianna won’t talk.”
They made their way back through the winding streets and toward the Porter mansion, walking most of the way in silence as Galeron’s brain whizzed through possibilities. Had finding a night dust connection been too easy? It was a banned substance, after all, so it didn’t make a lot of sense that he’d found someone who knew something about it within two tries.
On the other hand, Iven’s talk of the city watch lacking control might make the dust trade easier to come across, especially if it had the support of a noble. He shook his head. I need more information. Hopefully, Falco would be happy to oblige.
Galeron and Lonni passed under the middle gateway and back into the inner portions of the city, tall stone structures casting long shadows over them in the late afternoon sunlight. They reached the Porter mansion just as the sun sank behind the mountainside. Galeron’s legs twinged slightly as he walked the stone pathway to the entrance. He’d spent too long in Azura and lost some of his endurance. Nothing is ever easy.
One of the servants ushered them from the entryway and through a hall to the right of the stairs, bringing them into a dining room. A candle chandelier burned brightly above the long oaken table. A green cloth runner stretched from one end to the other, laden with food of all sorts. Duck, chicken, and venison each had their own platter, along with a smattering of breads, fruits, and vegetables.
Iven sat at t
he table’s head, Dianna and a man Galeron didn’t recognize off to his left. Next to them was yet another couple, though he had a sneaking suspicion that this might be the Phoebe and Hadrian that Iven had mentioned earlier. The woman had a shock of dark black hair and very pale skin, almost porcelain in nature, which stretched tightly over a thin, bony face. Iven waved at him and gestured to the seat on his right.
“You’re putting a Broton at your right hand?” asked Dianna. “Is that a wise look?”
Iven’s face darkened. “It’s my house, and I don’t care what it looks like. I want someone I trust next to me.”
“Others might not trust him,” Dianna said. “A Broton murdered Princess Carys not long ago, or had you forgotten?”
“I might have heard something about it,” Iven said. “I’m not here to make political statements. I just want to eat dinner.”
“You dishonor your family with such flippancy, Lord Porter,” the man next to Dianna rumbled.
A grim chuckle escaped Iven’s mouth as Galeron slid into the seat, Lonni next to him. “Falco, if we were concerned about that, you would have found a way to keep me out of the lord’s mantle, wouldn’t you? I’m nothing but flippant.”
“As no such way exists, my lord,” Falco said through gritted, yellowing teeth. “It appears you must make the best of your new position.”
Iven nodded. “And because I don’t trust you farther than I can throw you, Galeron sits where he is. He’s my paladin, not just a hired blade.”
“Of lowborn stock, no doubt,” said Falco.
Galeron met his gaze and gave him a half smile. “The very lowest.”
Iven clapped him on the back. “And this is why we’re friends.”
“The very downfall of a noble house in one arrogant youth,” Dianna grumbled.
The unknown man Galeron presumed to be Hadrian hadn’t stopped eying him since he’d sat down. Galeron returned the stare with even measure, meeting the brown-eyed gaze until he looked away.
“Iven, aren’t you going to introduce your guests?” asked the other woman.
“Right.” He gestured to Galeron and Lonni. “Phoebe, Hadrian, this is Galeron Triste and Lonni Tomkin, from Broton. Good friends who are no doubt hungry, and even if they aren’t, I am.” Iven reached for the platter of roasted chicken, and dinner began in earnest.