by Steven Brust
“Yes?”
“Now I understand why you had such confidence we would learn where he was by to-morrow.”
“And so?”
“I am in your debt once more.”
The Yendi bowed and said, “Well, it now but remains to collect our friends, and to learn where Mistyvale County is, and, well, we are on our way.”
“Our friends did not anticipate our setting out before to-morrow at the earliest.”
“Perhaps, but I believe they will be ready in any case.”
“So then?”
“Are you packed, my good Khaavren?”
“I have everything I need with me. And you?”
“Oh, you know that I am always ready to travel on short notice, or no notice whatsoever.”
“Then I will pay the shot, and we will be on our way.”
“Will you finish your wine first?”
Khaavren shrugged and, still holding his wine, signaled the host, who scrupulously calculated what was owed him. Khaavren paid it and thanked the host for the service he had received, which was both prompt and cheerful. The host was delighted, and assured Khaavren that, should he ever grace his house again, there would be klava.
Khaavren tipped his hat, his host, and his wine-glass, after which he followed Pel out the door.
Chapter the Seventy-Sixth
How Matters Transpired at the
Deepwell Inn
Mistyvale County—that is to say, the Mistyvale County between Adrilankha and the Shallow Sea, as opposed to one of the other three—took its name less from any romantic notions engendered by this name (though no doubt the name is, indeed, tolerably romantic) than from simple observation. It is one of the handful of counties nestled between Southmoor and Bra-Moor, south of the Collier Hills, and twenty-five or thirty leagues west and north of Aerich’s home of Brachington’s Moor. The entire region is hills and valleys, with the Adrilankha River cutting through them like an orange ribbon; most of the hills being grass-covered, but some showing only bare rock. The hills and valleys are all modest, even compared to the Collier Hills, but, perhaps because of the ubiquitous river, or perhaps because of some strange effect generated by its hills, the valleys are filled with a thick carpet of fog nearly every morning. Perhaps the most striking effect of this fog is that the district has nearly as many stories about it as the Kanefthali Mountains or the desert of Suntra; indeed, Dewers’s famous Tales of the Landlocked Harbor are set there, and many of the landmarks referred to in his tales of supernatural wonder are in fact real (although, to be sure, the events he described seem to come from his own fertile imagination).
Numerous roads crisscross Mistyvale County: from Riverwall to Steps, from Brambles to Crossway, from Nacine to Gridley, from Hillcrest to Ripples, from Lottstown to Gorge. Moreover, these roads have not been carefully named; to be sure there is the Gridley Road, and the Lottstown Road, but there are three distinct roads called Hillcrest Pike and two that are known generally as the Brambles Road, so traveling in the region was problematical for a stranger, especially since the Disaster, as the various signs and markers had fallen apart and not been repaired; yet, even during the height of the Interregnum these roads had been used, as there continued to be a certain amount of trade in coal and ore even with the refineries long closed and abandoned.
Inns and taverns were built, flourished, and died with a brutal regularity along these roads, the average lifespan before the Disaster being only a few hundred years, and during the Interregnum perhaps a few score. Of course, there were exceptions: the Feathers, in Brambles, has been in existence for at least six thousands of years, and the Pins, between Crossway and Hillcrest, has been in existence for so long that this historian cannot learn its origins (and does not care to accept the word of its present owners). Another exception, to be found on the Hillcrest Pike not far from Deepwell, is the Deepwell Inn, which claims its date of origin as the Fifteenth Tsalmoth Reign—certainly long enough ago to be respectable by any standards.
The Deepwell was a narrow, two-story building—indeed, it had been built to have three stories, but it had been constructed so well, of stone reinforced with iron braces driven into the stone, that, over the millennia, it sank into the ground rather than falling apart, and several hundreds of years ago the owners had been obliged to tear out the bed-rooms and create a jug-room from them. As a result, it had one upper story of bed-rooms to let; the main floor which held the jug-room; kitchen, pantry, and storage below; and additional storage yet further below, in what had been the original basement and wine-cellar. The main floor had two windows looking out from the jug-room, one looking west and the other north, and two doors, one opening to the west and the other to the east. In addition, it had a third door, which opened from the kitchen, below the ground, and into a tunnel that went south and emerged in the stables.
According to what sources we can find, the Deepwell had been a welcoming home to highwaymen since its erection, and no matter how many times its owner was taken by the Count, or occasionally the Duke (Mistyvale had been part of Arylle, Luatha, and even Hampers at various times), and fined, imprisoned, or even starred for aiding road agents, the new owner would continue the practice without the least hesitation. In the words of the owner at the time of which we have the honor to write, a certain Dunnclay, “I can help my friends, and I am assured of as much custom as I could wish as well as not infrequent gifts; or I can turn them in to the authorities, in which case I will petition for Protection of Debts in a month and be dead in a year. I know which end of my cup has the hole.”
At the time of which we write, Dunnclay did, indeed, have as much custom as he could wish: the over-sized jug-room was tolerably crowded, nearly all of them Teckla, though there were one or two Chreotha or Tsalmoth merchants. One of these, a Tsalmoth, was engaged in an earnest conversation with one of the Teckla.
“But my friend,” said the Tsalmoth, “for so I hope I may call you—”
“Oh, certainly. Why, if you buy me another cup of this excellent stout, you may call me anything that comes to mind!”
“So much the better,” said the Tsalmoth. “Then, you will answer a question?”
“For this splendid stout, I will answer ten.”
“Then, if you please, tell me of these road agents I hear so much about.”
“Well, what do you hear?”
“That for one such as I, travel can be dangerous.”
“One such as you? You are, then, a wealthy man?”
“Oh, by no means. I would not say wealthy. It is true that I own a small, that is, a modest iron mine that employs some two hundred miners, and another twenty smelters, and brings me an income of three thousand imperials—”
“Three thousand imperials a year?”
“Please, not so loud.”
“But, that is riches beyond belief! In the old days, Count Mistyvale, I am told, only received an income of two hundred imperials, although, to be sure, this was augmented by a certain amount of livestock, and the odd bushel of rye.”
“That is a good income,” said the Tsalmoth complacently.
“I think you are rich.”
“Well, but my brother’s wife, who owns three mines, well, her income is at least ten thousand imperials.”
“I cannot conceive of that much.”
“I have a good imagination.”
“Well, that is reasonable, my lord.”
“To return to my question—”
“Well?”
“Are the roads safe?”
“Oh, yes. The roads are entirely safe.”
“So the much the better.”
“Unless you are wealthy.”
“Oh!”
“Then you must be careful of the Blue Fox.”
“Who?”
“The Blue Fox. A most fearsome bandit.”
“Oh, I don’t like to hear that!”
“When he robs someone, he likes to make sure he takes every penny, and so—”
“Yes, and
so?”
“If he thinks you have not given him everything, he will hang you upside down from a tree, and cut you to pieces.”
“Oh! Oh! Oh! But, what if you give him everything?”
“Oh, then that is different. If he thinks you may be worth something in ransom, he will keep you safe and sound, treating you like a prince until the ransom is paid.”
“And if the ransom is not paid?”
“Why, then he will begin sending you back to those he thinks should pay. First a finger, then a toe—”
“Say no more, I beg you! What if the ransom is paid?”
“Why, then it will be just the same as if you were never held for ransom in the first place—that is, he will simply cut your throat in the neatest and most efficient possible way. He is not a cruel man.”
The merchant shuddered. “Does no one go free?”
“Oh, never. He pretends that dead men are unable to identify him.”
“You terrify me!”
“Bah. There is nothing to fear. Why, nearly half of the wealthy men who travel upon this road at night never even meet him, and arrive safely at their destination.”
“What about those who travel in the day?”
“Oh, that is much safer. Nearly two out of three wealthy men reach their destination with no trouble.”
“But what of the Empire? Does it do nothing?”
“Oh, yes. From time to time soldiers are sent in to look for the Blue Fox.”
“Well, and do they find him?”
“You perceive, soldiers are not wealthy.”
“And so?”
“And so he lets them pass, if they do not attempt to take him.”
“And if they do?”
“Why, then he sends them back a little more battered, that is all. I believe three or four soldiers have been killed, but no more; usually they are only wounded, even if they persist in attacking. I have never heard of him setting out to attack soldiers, which is kind of him.”
“He must be a demon!”
“Oh, not in the least. His band can be demonic, you perceive, but he is kindness itself.”
“His band? Then he does not work alone?”
“To be sure he has a band. There are perhaps a score of them, all told, who serve the Blue Fox, and would permit themselves to be roasted over a spit for him.”
“The trey! What are they like?”
“They are not like the Blue Fox.”
“In what way?”
“They are vicious and cruel, and only kept in check by their loyalty to their leader. Why, if it weren’t for the Blue Fox, the roads hereabout would be unsafe for an honest man!”
“The Gods! From what you tell me, they are sufficiently unsafe now!”
“Oh no, my lord. They are perfectly safe for an honest man.”
“But you said that if you are wealthy, you are likely to be robbed, hung upside down, cut to ribbons, held for hostage, carved into pieces, and have your throat cut!”
“Yes, you have understood exactly.”
“My friend—”
“Well?”
“It is possible, you know, to be wealthy and yet to be honest.”
“How, is it? You perceive, I had not been aware of this circumstance. But then, I am a poor peasant, and so, naturally, ignorant of many things.”
“Oh, it is true, I give you my word.”
“Well—”
“Yes?”
“Perhaps someone ought to inform the Blue Fox of this. He does not seem to comprehend it either.”
“What does he do with all of his money?”
“Oh, he and his band spend it freely.”
“Where?”
“All over the county. They purchase food and wine and pic-nic in the glades, or else they will come into an inn and buy out all the supplies for everyone present, and command that music be played. I have had the honor to be present at one of these, and I assure you it was a wonderfully gay time.”
“Perhaps I should post a reward for their capture.”
“Oh, there is already a reward for their capture. Five hundred gold imperials for the Blue Fox, and four hundred for each of his band.”
“Why, that is a tolerably round number.”
“I think so.”
“And has no one endeavored to get it?”
“Some have, yes.”
“Well, what has become of them.”
“Why, three of them are buried behind this very inn. Others are buried elsewhere.”
“Oh, oh! I shall never arrive in Adrilankha!”
“Adrilankha?”
“Why, yes. I have bank-drafts on the house of my lord Kentra, who is my second cousin, and has a very sound institution—his assets are over a hundred thousand imperials.”
“Impossible!” cried the Teckla. “There isn’t so much money in the world!”
“It is the simple truth. And I have two drafts, one for five hundred gold, and the other for three hundred, and I must present them. But, if I am robbed and my throat is cut, well, you perceive it would be utterly impossible.”
“Well, yes, only—”
“Well?”
“What is a bank-draft?”
“It is very much like note-of-hand, only with a guarantee of gold behind it.”
“Oh, my lord, you perceive I do not comprehend at all what you do me the honor to tell me.”
“Have you never had anyone give you a note in which he admitted that he was indebted to you?”
“Why, my neighbor once had use of my prize boar, and I received a note saying that, in exchange, I should have my choice of shoats—at least, I believe that is what it said; you perceive I do not know my symbols.”
“Well, but did you receive the shoat?”
“Oh, certainly—and a fine thumping sow she was, too!”
“Well, you see, the same thing can be done with money.”
“How, can it? I had never known. And then, you get the choice of imperials when they have bred?”
“No, no. That is not what I meant. Well, in a way it is. But a draft on a bank is promise to pay gold, you see, just as you received a promise to pay you a shoat.”
The Teckla clapped his hands. “I comprehend!”
“It is good that you do, only—”
“Yes?”
“How am I ever to reach Adrilankha with my drafts?”
“Oh. You must avoid the main roads, that is all, and travel by back roads only until you reach Covered Springs. From there it is safe, or else, if you are still worried, there are barges that go down the river until you reach Adrilankha as easy as picking berries.”
“Well, but—”
“Yes?”
“I do not know these back roads. I should become lost.”
“Ah, ah. I had not considered this possibility.”
“What shall I do?”
“If you become lost, ask someone.”
“Is it safe to do so?”
“Certainly, as long as you are not wealthy.”
“Well, and if you are?”
“Then it may be that you will be asking someone in league with the Blue Fox. I am reliably informed that there are many such on the back roads.”
“I am lost!” moaned the traveler.
“Certainly, it is difficult,” said the Teckla, who seemed to be moved by the Tsalmoth’s distress.
“But what do others do in this circumstance?”
The Teckla considered for a moment, then said, “Some of them pay some local as a guide to show them safe paths.”
“And does this work?”
“Oh certainly. It is the safest way.”
“And what sort of compensation is expected for this service?”
“I beg Your Lordship’s pardon?”
“How much does it cost?”
“Oh. Three or four silver orbs will usually answer.”
“Very well. I will pay you four silver orbs to guide me safely to Covered Springs.”
“Me?”
>
“Certainly, and why not you? You know the paths, do you not?”
“Well, that is true.”
“And then, you can use the silver?”
“Oh, certainly. I could buy my adored wife an entire bolt of fine linen with it.”
“Then, there you are. An evening’s work, and you have a bolt of fine linen for your esteemed wife.”
“Adored wife.”
“Yes, pardon me. Adored wife.”
“It is a tempting offer.”
“Well, have we a bargain?”
The Teckla frowned, began to shake his head, appeared to reflect, and at last said, “Why not? Very well, I agree. When would Your Lordship wish to leave?”
“At once!”
“Oh, but—”
“Well?”
“I have half a cup of stout before me.”
“Very well, then. After you have finished your drink.”
“I thank Your Lordship exceedingly for his courtesy.”
“After you, my friend.”
“No, my lord. After you. I insist upon it.”
“Very well.”
The Tsalmoth led the way out of the inn and recovered his horse, which was saddled and ready. He mounted it, and the Teckla mounted upon a pretty little mule.
“Now, my friend, you must lead, as I do not know the way.”
“Yes, my lord. I am leading.”
“And I am following.” They set off through the night. There was little conversation as the Teckla picked his way among roads that were little more than the ruts of wagon wheels, sometimes little more than animal tracks, but, as he appeared to know where he was going, the Tsalmoth gave no signs of worry, until the Teckla suddenly stopped, and held up a single finger in the universal gesture for silence, a finger the Tsalmoth was able to observe by the light of the single lantern that provided the illumination for the journey.
After a moment, the Teckla said, or rather, whispered, “I hear something.”
“What do you hear?” asked the Tsalmoth, also in a whisper.
“I believe—I fear we are being followed.”
“You think so?”
“I hear horses behind us.”
“You seem to be worried.”
“Well, my lord, aren’t you?”
“Not in the least. Let us go on.”
“How, you are not worried?”
“So long as they are behind us, and not before us, I wish to continue. Besides, I think it likely you are mistaken.”