H - 25: It's Not Just Him (Patreon)

For once, the soft warmth of Izayaroa cuddling against his side added to Kaln’s discomfort…but also alleviated it, paradoxically. Even when her proximity was a reminder of how carried away they’d gotten, she was a comfort and a pleasure to drape his arm around, one he couldn’t resist even as he resolved to control himself better from here on.

At least until they were safely back at their isolated mountain lair.

He welcomed the distraction when their carriage crossed a wide plaza, across which there stretched a most curious spectacle.

“What are they up to?” he asked aloud, craning his neck over Izayaroa’s head to observe a line of people stretched fully across the large square their carriage had just entered, her curls tickling him as she turned to look.

“Bucket train, m’lord!” their driver said cheerily. This one was a much younger man, but he had mastered the upbeat and outgoing tour guide persona that seemed to be a local requirement for his profession. “That’s for firefighting, that is!”

“But…nothing’s on fire,” Kaln said, mystified. The line of people, who to judge by their attire were a general cross-section of the city’s working-class folks of all ages, genders, and professions, were indeed passing buckets which were getting filled from a large public fountain at one end of the line and splashed into a sewer grate at the other, while young adolescents apparently too small for water-hauling instead ran the empty buckets back to the beginning. “They’re just…”

“Oh, aye, it’s a drill, m’lord. Most every weekend you’ll find folk practicing somewhere, both out in the villages and by neighborhood here in town. Every community does at least once a season. Gotta be ready! Never know when there’ll be a need, aye? And when there is, you can’t have well-meaning folk not knowing how they can pitch in. No crisis is so bad confusion can’t make it worse, see?”

“Very true,” Izayaroa agreed.

“Do they not do this in the south?” the driver inquired, glancing back over his shoulder at them. “I guess you folk have less reason to worry about stuff…bursting into flames, eh.”

“Ah. Well…firefighting is a profession in Rhivaak, actually. There are dedicated people who do it. Plus a system of alarm bells to summon them at need… Also, there are building codes that limit how structures can be made, and how close together they are, to impede the spread of fires. Also how flammable materials can be stored, in fact.”

“Aye, that’s what I hear!” the lad said brightly. “Rhivaak is a nation with lots of laws, that’s what they say! Some folk talk about it like they’d be afraid to live somewhere so oppressive, but that sounds like sour grapes t’me. I reckon it sounds very organized, and clean. I’d love to see that someday! Plus, sounds like your dragon’s a lot better company than hours, eh?”

“I’m sure she would be honored to hear you say so,” Kaln said solemnly. Izayaroa emitted the tiniest huff of amusement and cuddled in closer. “Oh, is that a steamworks?”

“This is the metalworking district we’re now passing into, m’lord! But by happenstance, no—all the smokestacks you’ll see beyond it are attached to smithies and factories of one kind or another, but that one is a temple of Machann. Most of those hereabouts pray to ‘im, so naturally the temple gets pride of place, eh?”

Kaln would definitely not have taken it for a temple had he not been told, but then he knew almost nothing about local religion. It looked like a latter-day imitation of some Timekeeper edifice, with highly-polished copper and bronze pipes forming a kind of exterior superstructure that, upon a closer look, appeared to be more decorative than functional. Between them he glimpsed endlessly turning gears of inscrutable purpose—or possibly none, if they truly were decorative. Machann was a god of craftsmanship, that much he did recall from his education back home; it was just the details of Machanite practice that were obscure to him.

“Hm, those are the first muskets I’ve seen here,” he commented, studying the uniformed men and women patrolling the temple’s metal facade. “And on temple guardians? Interesting, even the city gate guards didn’t have those. I wonder who they’re planning to shoot?”

“For conflicts between mortals,” Izayaroa explained before the driver could chime in again, “crossbows are nearly as effective, and take enchantments better. For others…well, firearms are not commonly used throughout the Evervales, husband, except in mostly ceremonial roles such as you see here. Powerful weapons that can be aimed skyward might be taken as a…provocation.”

“Ah.”

That dampened the discussion, of course, but it was still less awkward than before, so he’d take it.

Past the metalworking district, they actually passed through another gate, as their course took them inside another of Boisverd’s multiple layers of walls. City guards were posted and watching the traffic closely, but they were not stopped this time. Beyond the gate, they proceeded deeper into the city—in two senses.

Buildings here were larger and more elaborate in construction, not to mention taller. The street, however, began to descend at a gentle slope, until around the next turn they began to pass under bridges as other city streets proceeded overhead.

“I presume you’re lookin’ for the front entrance?” their driver asked, glancing back with a grin. “If it’s the freight entry you want, I’ll need to take a different route just up here.”

“The front, please,” Izayaroa replied.

“Then the front you shall have!” he said cheerfully.

It was not much farther, indeed, until they reached the front in question: an edifice that reminded Kaln of an elaborate fortress, unimaginatively square in shape but intricately decorated with rich carvings in its wooden pillars and stone walls alike. Even the windows were artworks, the glass not stained but framed in imaginative settings within the narrow frames, and defended by exterior iron bars which themselves were cast in decorative shapes.

He would never have taken this for the “front” entry; there was nothing to signify the purpose of the building aside from its square walls, and an actual tunnel at ground level. The driver steered their coach into this dark aperture, his horse snorting once in discomfort at these confines, and after the half-second it took his eyes to adjust Kaln realized this place had actually buried its entrance some distance inside the ground floor, surrounded by the rest of the structure. The main door looked like it must be somewhere near the middle, on this plan. For…defensive reasons, he supposed?

At any rate, the view down here was revelatory; the space was dark but not dim, with mirrored oil lamps lit even at this time of day in an understated display of wealth. There was a sign identifying this as the Silver Hound Trading Company (which sounded to Kaln like a better name for a dockside tavern than a merchant house, but he still had only the barest grasp of Verdi culture). More importantly, their arrival was clearly awaited. In addition to the two armed guards flanking the actual door, a line of no less than four blank-faced men and women in servants’ livery stood across the steps to the doorway with their hands folded before them. In front of them waited a man in his middle years, immensely dignified of bearing and far more expensively dressed.

As one, all five bowed deeply as the carriage pulled to a stop, both guards saluting.

Kaln suddenly had an ominous feeling about this.

“Lady Roa,” said the well-dressed man with the distinctive kind of understated effusiveness common to those whose living came from handling wealthy individuals, as he gallantly and unnecessarily helped her down from the carriage while Kaln paid the driver. “There are not words to express my delight at having you visit us again—which is fortunate, as I recall you don’t care for long flattery. Welcome back to our humble house.”

“Gracious as always, Master Champion,” she replied, smiling at him and then turning to take Kaln’s hand as he stepped down from the carriage. “May I present my husband, Ar-Kaln. Kaln, Champion is the master of this trading company, and a most agreeable and beneficial business partner.”

“Ah! What an honor, my lord. Truly, you are the most fortunate of men.”

“I never tire of people telling me that, having no idea just how right they are,” Kaln replied with a breezy smile to cover his deepening concern. The master of the whole company? Just out here waiting, with a whole entourage? “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. My wife’s endorsement is all the recommendation I could possibly require.”

“You are much to kind to say so, my lord, but in the spirit of hospitality I will not demur. Alas that I could not be the first, but however belatedly, welcome to Boisverd, my lady, my lord. Now, let us not stand out here in the gloom! Please, do come in.”

He bowed, turning to gesture them forward, and like a trained dancing troupe the servants neatly rearranged themselves into a short alley and then bowed nearly double, so that in order to reach the door the visitors would have to pass between their lowered heads.

This was a downright uncomfortable degree of obeisance by Rhiva standards, but Izayaroa was too poised to look troubled and Kaln did his best to emulate her. She took his hand and they followed Champion into the entry hall of the trading company.

They were followed in turn by the line of servants—and then by the two door guards. So they weren’t actually posted to guard the door, but had been brought out to greet them? Kaln’s unease was growing deeper by the second. How had they been anticipated? Their presence in this city was supposed to be discreet.

“I regret that our hospitality is no match for that of the Renaissance—one must always respect the skills of specialists—but nonetheless I would not dream of depriving you of any comfort, Lady Roa and Lord Ar-Kaln. Please do make yourselves at home, and partake of refreshments if you like.” Champion gestured, and two further servants had materialized bearing trays of tea and pastries, while yet another ghosted up behind them carrying a bottle of wine. “Or, if you would prefer, we can proceed directly to business. I know Madame Vourchel has been positively champing at the bit to show you our current collection, my Lady. It seems this has been a particularly rewarding year for the local adventuring guilds; the Silver Hound has acquired a number of absolutely fascinating treasures for your perusal.”

Another woman, a good decade younger than Champion but no less finely dressed, had appeared through a side door and now bowed deeply toward them.

“How delightful,” Izayaroa said with a benign smile. “I can never resist browsing a collection, as you doubtless remember. However, I fear this will be a somewhat unconventional visit, relative to our previous dealings.”

“Ah, so?” Champion looked diffidently intrigued, inclining his head toward her. “And how may the company be of assistance to you, my lady?”

“We have come to make a long-term business arrangement,” she said, gently squeezing Kaln’s fingers. “One of a rather…prosaic nature, even mundane. But one which must be administered with absolute discretion.”

“By all means! If discretion is what you require, my lady and lord, then the Company shall guarantee it.” He made a short, sharp hand gesture at waist level while emphasizing the word discretion, and as if it had been an incantation, all the servants and guards in the room immediately glided away as swiftly and silently as the ghostly soldiers Kaln had summoned back at the lair. Madame Vourchel bowed and actually backed up, disappearing through the curtains shrouding the doorway behind her. “If you will accompany me, I shall conduct you to a suitable chamber in which to conduct such discussions. I fear it is a bit of a walk from here—you know how we Verdi are about our security measures.”

No, Kaln did not know that, but he nonetheless put on a polite smile and inclined his head courteously. “It is no imposition, good sir. I assure you, we enjoy walking.”

“A minor price indeed to pay for the quality of security the Silver Hound is capable of providing,” Izayaroa agreed.

“Splendid! Just this way, then, if you please.”

He wasn’t kidding; the journey not only took them along several long hallways, but down multiple descending staircases in an obscure pattern that Kaln began to suspect was designed specifically to obscure their route and get them lost. They were going well below ground level, that much he could tell. It was just as well, though, as he very much needed the opportunity this prolonged walk provided.

Immediately he reached within himself for the well of power there, calling back to mind the spells Izayaroa had used the night before. Just as immediately, he discovered this was not going to work. Kaln could sense her essence and her power as she walked alongside him; he could recall clearly the sensation of the craft she had worked. But he couldn’t do it himself. The attempt was like trying to move his tail—a limb he simply did not possess. All his new powers truly were dependent on dragons to work. As long as he had one, he could seize any magic they cast for his own, possibly even control them outright, but without a dragon he was… Well, not helpless, he definitely had more stamina and resilience than he had as a mortal a few days ago, but there was little of his divine power he could actually use.

He hadn’t been trying to influence her directly, exactly, but whether the pressure of his intent alerted her or she just happened to have an intuition, Izayaroa glanced at him and then Kaln felt her exert magical influence. Focused on her as he already was, he could immediately sense the nature of the spell: a barrier granting them privacy, but even stronger than the one she’d used last night in the Roundabout. They would be able to have a full conversation with Champion none the wiser, despite walking right in front of them.

“Something troubles you, husband?”

“How exactly did they know we’d be coming?” Kaln asked, instinctively lowering his voice despite knowing it didn’t matter, thanks to her magic. “This whole trip was an impulse on no notice. And if you managed to send a message ahead at any point since we arrived in Boisverd…well, you’re even more adroit than I gave you credit for, which is really saying something.”

She laughed softly and squeezed his hand again. “No indeed, Kaln, I assure you my focus has been entirely on you since our arrival. This is not wholly unexpected, though. The Silver Hound does discreet business with a particularly elite class of clientele. I don’t doubt he made arrangements to be aware of known customers’ movements well ahead of time. We did after all take yesterday off to galavant about.”

“That’s…a seriously impressive information network he must have.”

“Oh, it’s not just him,” she said lightly. “The Verdi are like this—all the northern countries are. Quite justly famous for their espionage. Conditions here have not encouraged them to assert themselves through direct force, so as a culture they have adapted to prize discretion and subtlety. Boisverd undoubtedly has a spy network that would befit a far more powerful country in the more peaceful lands to the south, and private institutions such as the bigger merchant and adventurer guilds have espionage capability comparable to a similarly small nation in our part of the world. There are secret societies spanning the Vales which possess overall power greater than some of the kingdoms, and that’s not even touching on the abilities of the religious institutions. This is just what it’s like here, husband.”

Kaln very nearly missed a step. He actually faltered for a split second, quickly recovering and resuming his stride alongside her, but he kept his mouth firmly shut while painfully processing this new revelation.

They what? And the two of them had spent last night…

In Rhivkabat, northerners were often thought of as sly and untrustworthy, but Kaln had always dismissed such rumors out of hand. His own worldview had been shaped by the writings of the Empress and the coaching of the Lord Scribe, both of which emphasized that people were basically people wherever you went, including in their tendency to vilify outsiders.

But if this was some kind of city of spies… That actually explained a few nuances about the way people acted here; suddenly the professionals’ emphasis on discretion and the way food vendors and coach drives alike subtly fished for information shone in a whole new light in his recollections. To say nothing of how they’d been…overheard back at the inn, through what Kaln had taken for thick stone walls. That little detail had been bugging him, too, but the presence of hidden listening holes would certainly account for it!

Hells uncounted, they’d gone straight to an extremely upmarket inn, then spent a whole evening wandering around a pleasure district. She was going by Lady Roa, of all the magnificently indiscreet pseudonyms. And the whole time, they’d apparently been under observation by anyone who might care about the movements of important people in the city?

Suddenly it wasn’t a question of whether anyone in Boisverd knew who “Lady Roa” truly was, but how many, and what they might do with that information.

They were supposed to be concealing the fact that Atraximos was dead! And she’d just…

Among his several simultaneous reactions, Kaln found himself oddly…disappointed. Between Emeralaphine’s downright amusing lack of social acumen and Tiavathyris’s whatever the hells Tiavathyris’s deal was, he had been so relieved that there was one of the three he wouldn’t have to babysit when it came to interacting with people. And then she’d done this? Just…blithely, knowingly walked them into this without giving him a word of warning? He almost couldn’t process this, couldn’t reconcile such bullheaded recklessness with what he knew of his Empress.

But on the other hand…

Actually, it made a certain amount of sense, considering not only who she was, but what. The incredible arrogance of dragons was, after all, not unfounded. Upon consideration, he could well believe she was accustomed to moving through this city on her own private business and ignoring whatever ripples her passage might create. If her presence was discovered, what would that matter to her? It wasn’t as if anyone or anything here was a physical threat to her. Even trying to interfere with a dragon’s business was likely to result in catastrophic collateral damage and little else. No, it was in the interests of the local powers to keep her presence secret. Some, like the Renaissance and the Silver Hound, might be able to profit from her; everyone else stood only to lose if the dragon walking among them were discovered.

It still, he privately felt, reflected rather poorly on her that she had fallen back on this habit without considering the particular needs of their present situation…but, Kaln reminded himself, it was a given that she understood many things he did not, about most subjects, and it would be wisest for him to withhold judgment until he knew the full scope of her thoughts on the matter.

What was important now was that they undoubtedly had eyes constantly on them. If this trading company had seen her coming so early, it was a given that the local government had. And…who else? The local temples? Secret societies, what even were those?

Kaln began to wonder whether he could persuade Izayaroa to depart Boisverd immediately after their business here, without spending another night at the Renaissance. He suddenly had an itch between his shoulder blades that he suspected even her loving attentions wouldn’t scratch.

Their hike through the bowels of the Silver Hound company was long enough to give him ample time to chew on these alarming thoughts, but at least it came to a conclusion before he could work himself into a state of proper stress. Champion brought them to a dim, torchlit hallway which looked like it belonged in a prison, opened a heavy wooden door that looked likewise, and ushered them politely into a room which was utterly incongruous with its surroundings. The office was small but not cramped, brightly lit, and decorated as lavishly as anything at the Renaissance.

The guildmaster diffidently guided them into exceedingly comfortable chairs upholstered in rich green velvet positioned in front of a desk, then seated himself behind it. Folding his hands atop its surface, he leaned forward and gave them a polite smile which betrayed nothing of his thoughts.

“And here we are! My earnest thanks for your consideration, my lady and lord. Now then! What can I and my humble trading company do for you?”

Kaln wondered how many peepholes there were in this room.