Weekly Digest 110 - (#353 - #355) (Patreon)

A Night Out In Covehold

Covehold Demesne was bright at night.

Light shone from seemingly random locations high up on walls, just barely out of reach. The last time I was here, I'd learned that the demesne employed Whisperers as streetlighters, who spent all day imbuing a certain number of bindings of lightwisps. At dusk, they anchored the bindings in the areas they were assigned. Many Whisperers also made a side business of selling light to people, where they would imbue bindings and people would pay them some beads so they could anchor the binding to a bowl of water or something so that their house would have light for the night. Other people with more beads or less concern about fire had oil lamps or candles, which were brighter and lasted longer and could be put out to keep it from being used up.

I saw both kinds of light among the streets stalls that seemed to spontaneously appear as night fell. Some were barely more than someone with a stool, a large-mouthed jar full of coals, and a bucket of questionable meat in questionable marinade of questionable cleanliness. Others had wheeled stalls, where skewers of recognizable meat cooked on a wire grill… from a bucket of questionable marinade of questionable cleanliness, but I suppose that was what cooking was for.

It would probably be a good idea to set aside some beads for if we needed to go see a Deadspeaker for any upset stomachs.

People thronged the streets, and the air was filled with the cries of street vendors offering food, soap, candles, and whatever else; the subtle of ringing of bells as we passed women with their skirts pinned high on one side and blouses cut low or unbuttoned, and men with shirts open to the waist or simply shirtless; the distant screams as someone realized they’d had their pockets picked or their belt pouch cut.

I sighed happily as it felt the cool night breeze flowing from the bay as Multaw and Cyuw walked with me, heading towards the tavern we’d gone to for information when we’d visited Covehold before last winter. There’d been wizards there last time, as it was near several boarding houses and apartments. I was hoping to find one who I could recruit, and if not perhaps they knew someone that would be amenable. The place was relatively clean and brightly lit with a mix of lamps and little wooden cups of water with a binding of lightwisps floating on top of it, which was a good indicator of the Shady Stand's relative prosperity. Once, it had been built next to a stand of shady trees, hence the name, but the trees were long gone. I know this because I had shared a table with a nice old man who'd been drinking there since those days, and had been happy to tell the story to me.

Inside, the Shady Stand smelled of frying meat, other cooking foods, and sweaty bodies. There were several tables, as well as a raised gallery on three sides with more tables, held up by stone pillars—or more likely wooden posts that had been faced with Whispered stone—that were very solid, as the galleries didn’t shake at all. Several tavernhands were walking around carrying trays of food or drink, or cleaning up tables and plates from vacated tables.

By the standards of Covehold, the place was slightly pricey but still well within the means of most working people. I’d probably have better luck with a cheaper place, since people down on their luck were more likely to go there, but if I recruited in such a place, I might come off as highly suspicious. Besides, last time I’d managed to hear of several promising recruits just by listening. Hopefully I would do so again this time.

When we arrived, we ordered a light dinner—we’d mostly already eaten, after all—as well as drinks. Multaw and Cyuw ordered booze, while I asked for a cup of beast-meat broth. I got some strange looks for that. Broth was an autumn and winter drink, and we were in the middle of summer. Still, I knew they would have it. The broth was the base they used for some of their dishes, and while I wasn’t happy about drinking something hot, being boiled meant it was safe to drink, and it was better than tea. I could only drink tea with a lot of honey in it. I already got enough grief for not drinking booze, I didn’t want to seem childish as well. Broth, while strange, wasn’t childish. The latter would make people think I didn’t know what I was doing and incline them to not take me seriously.

“You sure you wouldn’t rather have one of these, Rian?” Multaw said in the tone of someone doing his due diligence of being a good drinking companion as he held up his wooden mug.

I shook my head as I waited my broth to cool. There was a smell not unlike the glue the carpenters used coming from it, which meant it was also a bone broth. The smell wasn’t a problem, as the taste was completely different, and it would fade as the broth cooled. “We’re not getting too drunk, remember?” I reminded them. “Nurse those drinks, we don’t want get in trouble on the way back.”

The two sighed, but nodded. I chose to pretend not to hear that mutter about me acting like everyone’s wife.

Since there were only three of us, we shared a table with a group that was friendly enough but had to leave as we were waiting for our orders. It wasn’t long after the tavern woman took away their dishes and wiped down their side of the table that a new group joined us.

“Good evening,” I greeted with a smile. Beyond the seemingly being less sweaty—though that might have just been my imagination—the new arrivals didn’t smell of anything in particular to help me narrow down their professions, though a casual glance tentatively had me putting them down as friends. Their builds weren’t all that big but healthy enough to handle regular labor, they had no ink stains on their fingertips… still, they smiled back pleasantly enough as they sat down. “Rough day?”

Of course it was. The day was always rough.

It turned out they worked at an ice house, cutting, moving and delivering blocks of ice to the local butchers, eateries, and some of the more well-off homes. I nodded and listened at that, and felt better when two of the five-man group also ordered broth when they saw I was drinking some. Technically a failure, since none of them were Deadspeakers or seemed to know Deadspeakers, but people would know people would know people. All I had to do was talk and listen. Occasionally, I had to move that talking along by offering to buy the booze for our new friends.

I learned a lot, not all of it relevant, but most of it interesting.

It turned out the ice houses get bothered by request to make ice boats so often they had a quote ready for how much it would cost to make one the size of the little boats we saw on the bay, which was very expensive. Most of that expense, however, was because of the wispbeads it would take to let a Whisperer make that much ice in those dimensions and keep it from melting for at least a day.

However, once I’d established that I was a good listener and genuinely interested in their stories—as did Multaw and Cyuw, who knew how to listen to a tavern after-work story—I’d have the opportunity to point their stories in general directions. For example, a comment like, “Making a living is hard these days, isn’t it?” would have them talking about the difficulties of their job, but an additional prod of “well, it could be worse” would usually be enough to prod them towards talking about people they know who are having a harder time. No job, worst job, terrible job, sick child, dead wife…

“Colors,” I sigh at one point. “I wish I was a wizard or something. They probably never have to worry about not finding work.”

It took a while, but I got a lot of stories about wizards who were out of work or were in need of better or more work eventually. Many of them were Horotracts, since it took a lot of magic to maintain their vistas, at least as the dimensions they were usually hired to make them.

"I heard that one of the room stretchers got desperate and actually became a Dungeon Binder just so they'd have enough magic to make big rooms," one of our new drinking friends said, shaking his head. Alren worked at a lumberyard, and we'd bonded over how hard it was to maneuver long beams though narrow and short streets, ugh. "Made a little demesne somewhere, built a small house, rented some of the land so people could build houses and farms on a small plot of land, but worked in the city to make vissies and keep them together. Died in the last dragon because he left his big ball just standing around."

"That's terrible," I said, as everyone else shook their heads with me. I wasn't sure if the story was true, but it a simple chain of events that sounded disturbingly plausible. "Are there a lot of people who do that? Just… make a demesne just to be a Dungeon Binder so they can work?"

"Used to happen a lot back in the old days," an older man said. "All the magic, none of the work, you know? They'd work here in the town, and let know-nothings live in their little demesne who think there were safe because there were no colors. Then a dragon would come by and their farm would be gone, the colors would come back, and their core broke because the lazy uhogs didn't bother to build a decent dungeon around it…"

Deadspeakers were unfortunately among the most well-employed people in the demesne. Even a small talent had a use, even if it was just to imbue a meaning for a more experienced Deadspeaker to manipulate. Those who didn't know how to do the useful meanings that everyone wanted done were well-motivated to learn.

However, that didn't mean there weren't any Deadspeakers to recruit. After all, just because they were sought after and employed didn't mean they liked their employment. Some actually wanted to move to another demesne because they didn't like their circumstances in Covehold. Those people were probably our best bet. They wanted to move out to a different demesne anyway, but from what I was able to learn, the difficulty was finding a demesne that was both decently established, could protect itself against dragons, and offered enough of an improvement over their circumstances in Covehold.

As much as I was hoping for it, I wasn't able to find a lead on anyone like that tonight, but I'd ask several of my new friends to keep their ears open and let me know if anyone new came to mind. Most would probably forget in the morning, but hopefully they'd remember if we met again tomorrow night.

We left when the mood changed. The people coming in were less talkative and more serious drinkers. The talking became subdued. I paid our tab, asked if we could have them fill a jar we brought with booze—they would, so I resolved to bring one tomorrow—and Multaw, Cyuw and I headed home, my belt pouch a lot lighter, though only because I didn't put a lot into it.

Outside, the streets were clearer than before, with several of the food stalls gone now. Bellgirls and bellboys lingered in a few corners and doorways, but they looked tired, the sound of their bells almost perfunctory. After relieving our bladders on a handy wall, we walked towards the docks. None of us spoke, our heads turning back and forth to watch for possible muggers waiting in ambush. I even glanced above, because there was no reason a Mentalist couldn't turned to that line of work either.

"Did you two have fun?" I asked quietly, turning to look at Multaw next to me and using that to cover the quick glance I shot behind us. The group of three men behind us were still there. They looked like they were just walking the same way we were, minding their own business, and there was nothing to mark them as different at all. If I knew the area better, I'd have turned into a side street and see if they'd follow us, but I didn't.

"Nothing like a booze after a long day," Multaw said, seeing my glance but thankfully not turning his gaze that way himself. His eyes were eyeing the doorways and alleys ahead of us, also wary.

"You sure I couldn't have one more?" Cyuw said in a voice that sounded drunk, even though I know he'd only had the two mugs, which had been watered slightly with ice.

"Sleep it off, Cyuw," I said as I turned towards him, taking another glance. The three men were turning into another alleyway, finally leaving the street. Well, at least we could potentially run back that way…

Thankfully, our watchfulness was for naught. Besides some tough leaning against a wall who took one look at us but didn't move, there were no people lingering in an of the side alleys along our way.

That would probably change in the following nights if how I bought booze for other people was noticed, but tonight, we made it back to the ship safe and sound.

Tomorrow, I would be meeting with Ravia again, then go see the lawyer that the Golden Sweetwood Company had retained to hear if word had arrived earlier this spring. Since at least one boat had arrived, there was a good chance their reply had arrived.  The day after that I would see if Master Yhosed had any good news.

I should probably get a walking stick or something tomorrow.

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The Lawyer And The Letter

In the end, we still had to wake up early. Even with the bound tool for moving the air around to help cool the hold, we all still woke up sweaty. The water of the bay was not an option for bathing. Even if it didn't smell, all the demesne's liquid waste had to go somewhere, and I doubted they had the sort of water cleaning infrastructure the demesnes in the old continent had for fertilizer and drinking water.

We didn't really need to take a bath. After all, it was just us on the ship, and most people in the city probably stank as strongly as we did. More, since they probably worked in indoor places where they marinated in their own sweat. Call us spoiled, but we'd gotten used to having a wash in the morning and the evenings. Last night, everyone had been happily full and had been fine not washing since they hadn't worked that hard, but after a night marinating in our own juices…

Well, we undocked and went out of the way, putting enough distance that we could finish our business before the salt boats arrived. The clean salt water was refreshing to splash over us, and a last wash in some of the distilled water was enough to keep them from getting crusty when they dried. Once we emptied ourselves, we headed back to the dock. Hans, Liggs and I were dropped off before the other turned around again and went out to refill our water barrel and get more salt, breakfast just starting to be made on the bound tool stove.

I paid Yhoe for the day's docking fee, and promised the dockmaster that I'd bring back food that evening. Hans was carrying a pack with three waterskins in it, as well as another pack so that we didn't need to repeat yesterday's suffering with the food, and so we didn't need to stop anywhere to drink since I didn't trust their water and I'd rather not have to try to drink the booze. Carrying the leather folder I got yesterday, I led Hans and Liggs as we headed for Emborin and Sons. When we arrived, we were told that Ravia was busy with someone else. Rather than interrupt him, I told the runner that we'd be back later in the morning, and were willing to wait until Ravia finished his business.

After all, I wouldn't like it I my discussion with him was interrupted for someone else.

With some time on our hands, I took Hans and Liggs to breakfast, getting us a couple of hot salted bread rolls each and some meat dumplings. The latter had the ratio of dumpling to meat skewed towards the former a bit more than I'd like, but it tasted good and it was still a decent amount of meat.

After that we checked in with Emborin and Sons again, but Ravia was still occupied. I decided to stop lingering and told him we'd be back much later, probably after noon, and set off to do our other errands.

Master Yhosed was quite amenable to making three 'walking canes' on their now usable-lathe. The look he gave me said he knew what I wanted them for, but he said nothing. While swords weren't banned in Covehold, I wasn't wearing mine here. Swords got stolen and resold for their metal. Sticks, even lathed ones, weren't something people would really go out of their way to steal, and I could use one like a sword. Getting it to look like a cane was more for my benefit, in case I needed to take weight off my feet. I had no illusions about how much walking I was going to have to do.

He told us to come back for them later. I paid him a small deposit for the work, and then we were off to visit the lawyer.

Unfortunately, getting to the lawyer took more walking. They were located closer to the dungeon in the center of the demesne, at an older part of the demesne, on the other side of the thoroughfare. There were more stone-faced buildings there, with many having plaster on their walls, and even old buildings where the walls of the first floor were actually stone instead of just stone and plaster. Many buildings were stained, whitewashed or simply painted with oil to better preserve the wood, and a few buildings had actual colorful paint on them, although those were mostly on the buildings of other merchant houses, or what seemed to be other successful businesses… including an alchemist who made paint. Well, I suppose they wanted to let people know how good their product was…

The lawyer worked from a building that, to my eye, looked like it had started life at last ten years ago as a small warehouse that had been converted. The wide double doors big enough for a cart to fit comfortably through was a big clue. One of the doors had the secured appearance of a permanently closed door, leaving the entrance only half the size an almost uncomfortably narrow. Outside, a large sign was full of names with understated titles next to them, like 'Wylok - Surgeon', or 'Taluk – Deadspeaker, Dentist' and such. In the old continent, the insides would have been expanded by a Horotract, but that wasn’t the case here.

The lawyer wasn't in his office, which was locked. Helpfully, he'd left a note written on the door in chalk that said, 'I'm in the back'. As a matter of fact, a lot of the doors has the same note on them. Some soul had helpfully drawn an arrow on the floor with the words 'the back' next to it.

I had Hans and Liggs and wait outside as I went in, following the arrow. The inside was distressingly hot, even for me, giving me a good idea why the lawyer was away from his office at the moment. I followed the narrow hallway, past other closed doors, turning left twice. Someone had really tried to cram in as many little offices as they could. I applauded their ingenuity and cursed their cheapness. The walls on either side of me rose up to not quite to the ceiling, which probably kept people from suffocating in their offices but meant that people could hear the discussions in the rooms unless you went out of your way to speak softly.

At the end of the hallway was another door that stood open, and I could hear people chatting pleasantly beyond it as weak sunlight came through. I exited warily, and found a small space between the building and what looked like the building behind it, which also looked like an old warehouse. The space was open to the sky, and at the moment the sun wasn't shining down into it directly, but that would change at noon.

There were benches on the edges of the space, and several men and women sat among them, many fanning their faces with… well, anything they could get their hands on to fan themselves with. There were a few reed hats, a hard piece of leather, a small sheet of wood, things like that. A couple were playing a game of lima on a board that, on examination, had been drawn on a sheet of paper.

They all glanced at me as I came in, their expressions a mix of annoyance at me intruding and hope that I was looking for them.

"I'm looking for Master Tend?" I said.

There were disappointed sighs, but many went back to leaning back and fanning themselves or returned to their game. The only exception was a man sitting on the end of a bench two faces to my right. He got to his feet, taking a moment to fruitlessly wipe the sweat off his face. His face had the sort of roundness that would make you think he was fat if you couldn't see his thin neck and arms. His red hair was lank on his head, and he looked both eager and dreading what was to come. "That's me," he said. "What can I do for you?" Then he squinted, frowning. "Have we met?"

"We spoke last before last winter," I said. "If we can speak in private?"

He sighed. I could almost literally see him thinking 'please let this be quick' as he walked towards me. I backed away to give him room and led the way to his office. When we got back to it, he pulled a few from his pocket and unlocked the door, leading me inside. In the office was a table that serves as a desk, three chairs, and a chest that took up a corner. The desk had a small sheet of leather on it—presumably a soft writing surface—a bottle of ink, a stoppered jar, a dry seal press, a bowl of sand with a little coal in it, another small bowl with a pile of loose wax, some feather quills, and other odds and ends.

"It's too hot for either of us, so I'll try to be quick," I said, reached into the folder I'd been carrying. "My name is Rian and I'm here on behalf of the Golden Sweetwood Company. I'm here to check if anything has come in from the Company in the old continent?"

"I'm afraid I'll need proof of that," he said, sweat beading on his forehead. "I've had these beggars coming at me claiming to be from the company asking for a loan in the company's name."

Ah. Well, uh… nice to know they were still alive? "I think I know who those are. They're no longer affiliated with the company. When did you last hear about them?"

"Back… when the snow started, I think. Haven't heard from them since." His tone said they were not missed.

Oh. Well, that was… ominous. "I see." I reach into my folder and pull out the later that Yllian had drafted. "Here's my identification letter."

Tend wiped the sweat off his face and hands again before reaching for the letter. He laid it down on the table, weighing it down with an ink bottle, a rock, and a fork that I hoped was clean, before he took a magnifying lens to read the text. Either he had bad eyesight or he was doing this to not get sweat on the paper. "Hmm…Just a moment."

He turned to the chest and unlocked it with another key before opening it. With a grunt, he knelt down and rooted around inside before eventually coming back up with a stiff paper folder. It… wasn't all that full. Sitting back down, Tend opened it and took out another letter, laying it on the table and also examining it with the magnifying lens. Eventually, he grunted. "All right, everything matches up." Picking up a quill, he tested the tip, then reached for the ink bottle and opened it. After a quick dip, he wrote something on my letter before sliding it back to me.

I accepted it, mindful of the still-drying ink. He'd written his name, what I presume was the date, and an acknowledgement that the letter had been read and acted upon. Presumably, it was so that someone couldn't just steal the authorization letter and use it again in the future. I hadn't even thought of that.

"Here you go," he said, pulling out an envelope sealed with a band of paper from his folder and handing it to me before putting the folder back in the chest. "It came on the first boat of the spring. The date of receipt is written on the back."

I flipped it over to check, then nodded. "Thank you, Master Tend. I might be by later this week if I need to send a response."

He grunted. "Come yourself, and bring the letter to remind me," he said.

I nodded. "Do you like micans?"

He blinked at the strange question. "They're all right…? Why?"

"I'll bring you some when I come back next," I said, getting to my feet. "Well, I won't take up anymore of your time, Master Tend. Good day to you."

He was already getting to his feet. "And to you, Master Rian," he said as unstopped the jar and poured himself a cup of water, which was quickly drunk. Walking around the table, he didn't quite chivy me towards the door, but I took the hint and exited quickly.

Outside, it probably wasn’t any cooler, but the open sky and moving air certainly felt better than the cramped confines of the building. Hans and Liggs got to their feet as I came out, and I motioned them to follow me. “Back to Ravia again, men,” I said. “Hopefully he’s free by now.”

As we headed back, I was very conscious of the envelope in the folder I was holding. The Golden Sweetwood Company’s reply. Whatever it said, I was fairly sure Lori wasn’t going to like it. The only questions were how much she wasn’t going to like it, and what I would have to do about it.

Keeping my back straight and a little spring in my step for the benefit of the men—I can’t let them see me worried—we walked back the way we’d come.

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Installments, Bound Tools And A Deadspeaker

When I finally got to talk to Ravia, the news was good. The materials we'd asked them to procure were coming in, albeit slowly. Honestly, I wanted to buy more things, but we also needed the space for those we'd be recruiting, especially if they had a family accompanying them. And while what we were buying was a lot, it only used up a significant amount of the beads we made from selling the salt, skins, and furs, not all of it. That wasn't getting into the profit from the wispbeads.

"I actually wanted to discuss that with you," he said.

"You don't actually have that much in beads on hand," I said.

The merchant nodded. "Yes. Do not fear, we will honor our agreement, but… well, at the moment it's physically impossible for us to gather enough double-large beads to do so, at least in the time remaining."

I nodded. "I realize." Then I chuckled. "You realize this makes you a bank, right? Holding my beads and keeping it safe?"

"Should we charge for keeping your beads safe then?" Ravia said dryly.

"Please don't," I said. "I'm perfectly willing to accept payment in more goods, it's just we don’t have enough space in our ship for it. Personally, I'm inclined to take all those beads and use it to fund building a boat, but… not my decision. We'll simply have to put the transaction in abeyance, and slowly transform it into goods as we go."

"We'll probably have enough beads for the full amount when you return in a month or two," Ravia said. "If you're willing to accept a partial amount, we can accomplish that now."

"Payment in installments?" I said thoughtfully, then nodded. "I believe I'll take you up on that. It will make explaining the situation to my Dungeon Binder easier." I grinned. "And to save us all headaches, I won't even bring up interest."

"How generous of you," Ravia said.

"It's the least I can do for being a bank that doesn't charge to keep my beads safe for me."

The two of us shared a laugh. While I still only knew Ravia in a professional capacity, I was a getting a better understanding of his personality, and he was probably doing the same. Better, most likely, since he did this for a living. I technically did as well, but I these days I already knew all the people I usually had to deal with, and had the implied threat of Lori's anything if my sweet reason didn't work. I would have to be careful of Ravia influencing me, but I'd be influencing him too. It was all the usually circle of people talking to people. He and I were just more aware of it and less offended when someone tried to do it to use as a result—within reason, of course.

"Speaking of which," I said, "I know it's early but how has the bound tool market been?"

Ravia smiled in the self-satisfied way of someone's plan coming together. "We've managed a respectable early haul. Various pawnshops had bound tools they couldn't unload in their inventory that they were willing to part with. Most are functional. I believe you you've expressed an interest in wisplights and hand tools?"

I felt myself smiling as well. "I don't suppose you have a list of what's available?"

"Well, I could go get you the list…" Ravia said, then winked. "But wouldn't you like to see the bound tools yourself?"

See, that was manipulation right there!

The merchant house's stockyard had a warehouse for the materials that couldn't just be left outside, or for gathering together orders. In one of the smaller rooms, the bound tools that the merchant house had already bought were already in the middle of being refurbished. Metal was being cleaned, wood elements were being examined for replacement or reinforcement, reflectors were shined and whatever else were needed. Ravia led me to where the ones that were finished and waiting to be examined were set aside.

The wisplights were obvious. They'd been shaped to resemble oil lamps or candle holders, depending on whether they were meant to stay put or be carried around. They actually weighed only a little bit more than the wisplights Lori had made. Unlike hers, some of the wisplights had mesh of metal-bottomed glass receptacles so that the size of the bead remaining was visible. All had a switch to activate and deactivate them, and a few had a knob to adjust the brightness of the wisplight.

The hand tools were more varied. There were bound tools that rotated circular saws to cut through wood, like the one on Master Yhosed's bound tool. Others had rotating cylinders with blades mounted on them which I recognized as planers, cylinders with a rotating mount on the end and a handle on the side that were probably drills, what looked like a water cutter that was either handheld or had been detached from a larger bound tool…

"Any chance you found a bound tool that blows out cold air?" I asked.

"If we did, we're keeping it."

That was fair. "That's fair," I conceded. "Do they work?"

Ravia nodded. "Endlew has tested all the ones here and confirmed all their functions work properly."

I nodded and picked out two of each bound tool that I recognized the carpenters might want to have, as well as a dozen of the wisplights shaped like lamps. We should be able to find the space for those, and it would let Lori reconfigure some of the wisplights she'd already made into something else. For example, a bound tool that moved air around!

"Could you deliver these with the rest?" I said to Ravia as he wrote out something on what was presumably their bound tool inventory. "It'd be suspicious if we were walking around with these outside."

"Of course, Master Rian," he said. "Set them aside here, and I'll add these to the list."

Once we were back at the negotiating tables, Ravia updated our order, marking the bound tools as fulfilled, and I sighed off on the changes.

"By the way," Ravia said as he tucked away the sheet, "I have a recommendation for you, as per our wager."

I blinked. "That was fast." A thought occurred to me. "You didn't just post at a job-placement office, did you?"

"I had the thought, but decided it was against the soul of the wager," Ravia said. “No, this is someone who was recommended to me by one of our lumberyard workers, Firif. They’re friends who came here aboard the same ship. Telref fell sick earlier this season and as a result lost his employment at a carpentry workshop.”

“Wait… he’s a Deadspeakerfell ill?” I said incredulously.

Ravia nodded grimly. “From what I’ve heard, the workshop master drives all who work for him a bit too hard. They are well-compensated, hence why Telref stayed for so long, but…well, I suppose he put off tending to his own needs for too long and got sick as a result.”

“I get the idea,” I sighed. “Pays well but wants his money’s worth, and maybe a little bit more.”

Ravia nodded. “Telref recovered, but he was bedridden for some time as he worked to cure himself and then had to spend some time to make sure his family didn’t become as sick as he had. That time away led to him losing his job. He’s looking for employment again, which is what brought him to my attention. If you wish, you can meet with him beforehand and see if he’s willing to be recruited by you for your demesne? If not, then we can consider offering him a job here instead.”

I tilted my head. It was a silly habit, but the familiar movement was comforting as I thought. “Well, I wouldn’t want to make your hard work go to waste. When is a good time?”

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The good time turned out to be after lunch.

That meant we had to go out early and have our own lunch. I let Hans and Liggs pick, though I limited them to one cup of booze. The food was delicious, some sort of meat in a dark sauce that was not, in fact, stew. It had flavor and spice, even if it was just simmered vauang and sharrods. While we had some of both back home, it was still a seed crop. With so many people to feed every day, we’d need a lot before we’d be able to notice the difference, so I'd had the farmers focus on just growing a lot for now and replanting as soon as viable.

After lunch, Ravia had me wait at one of the merchant house's negotiating tables. I sat there nervously as I waited for the prospective recruit to arrive. This wasn't something I'd ever really done before, recruiting someone for the demesne, but as the lord most likely to be sent to Covehold I would probably be doing this more in the future.

I reminded myself of the positive reception I'd gotten last time when I'd told people what our demesne was like. Sure, some of the people I talked to probably didn't believe me, but they seemed to like the idea. I just… had to do that again. After all, the worst that could happen was that they turned me down and I had to keep looking. At the very least, I'd get practice on how to recruit.

Eventually, someone hesitantly approached the table I was sitting at. He was wearing hardy cloudbloom trousers that seemed in good condition, a clean shirt, and leather boots that appeared to be both very well-worn but in good repair. For a Deadspeaker, that probably wasn't hard. Actually, shouldn't a Deadspeaker be able to manipulate the threads in clothes as well? They were usually dead plant material, weren't they? Or was it like using Deadspeaking on paper, where there was a distinct difference in the deadspoken material?

The man himself looked about my age, but that didn't mean much. I'd gotten very bad at being able to tell how old people were as I'd gotten older. Of average height, he had dark hair that initially looked black but, on closer observation and by the edges where the light was through it, was a very dark shade of green. For a man who'd gotten so sick he'd been bedridden he seemed healthy enough, even if his limbs weren't notably muscular or fat. His eyes were a very bright and striking pink.

"Are you Master Rian?" he asked hesitantly as he reached my table.

I nodded, smiling briefly to try to put him on his ease. "I am. Wizard Telref, I presume? Please have a seat."

With visible nervousness in his body language, he sat down as he nodded. "Yes, that's me."

"Thank you for meeting with me. May I ask what were you told about me so I know what your expectations are?"

"Just that you were looking for a Deadspeaker to come back with you to your demesne, and that they would like me to talk to you first," Telref said, licking. He was starting to relax, and I recognized the way he was breathing as the same as what Lori did when she was calming herself down. I suppose it was a wizard thing. Still, he looked tired and not just from a lack of sleep. "They said if I refused you, or if you found my unsuitable, they would still be willing to consider hiring me on as a wood presser."

I nodded. "That's correct. We're looking for a Deadspeaker for our demesne, and if we both like what the other is offering, we're willing to help move you and your immediate family to our demesne at our own expense."

"Immediate family?"

"Your spouse and any children," I clarified. "If you happen to have an unmarried sister-in-law or something… well, we can talk about it."

"That's… very generous…" he said cautiously.

"In addition, we will provide you with a house to live in for as long as you choose to be part of our demesne.” I said. Then, because I’d seen the quality of the housing in the area, I added, “It will be solid Deadspoken wood, the roof doesn’t leak, and there’s a firepit in place for warmth in the winter. It will be provided rent-free, and you will have assistance when it comes to repairs from storm and dragon damage."

He blinked and those tired pink eyes glinted. "Rent-free, you say?"

I had to struggle to keep my smile from getting wider. "Yes. I can personally attest to that, and so can my friends." I nodded to where Hans and Liggs were sitting against the wall. The latter had taken the opportunity to take a nap, his head lolling as he slouched with his arms crossed.

"What sort of Deadspeaking are you looking for, exactly?" Telref asked hesitantly, and the smile I was still suppressing wanted to widen at his too-casual tone.

"Why don't you start with telling me what you think your strongest skills are and we'll go from there?" I said.

I was sure my casual tone was much, much better than his.