The Four Forges (52 page)

He found a statue to lean upon, paved stones of the courtyard encircling it. The moments of waiting stretched out while he listened, stilled his own breathing, searching the night for what lay hidden within it.

A hand fell on his shoulder and he jumped, nerves unstrung. Jeredon laughed low. “Catch you sleeping on your feet, did I?”

“Too much wine,” he muttered. “I think the Petitioners intend to float their pleas into the Conference.”

“Better come with me, then. It all starts bright and early again tomorrow.”

Away from the courtyard and inside the massive inn which housed Lariel, Jeredon quirked an eyebrow at him and said, “I interrupted your hunting. Any idea who or what?”

“No. And how did you know?”

“I heard you stalking. You may have our blood in you, but your feet seem to be all Kernan, loud and clumsy.”

“I intended to be both seen and heard, and thought drunkenly harmless.”

“You nearly succeeded, then.”

“Ummmm. Would that I had. I have news for Lariel, and she’s not likely to want any of it. The Kobrir was spotted below the balconies late this afternoon.”

“And perhaps this evening, too, then?”

“Perhaps.”

“That might actually cheer her up. At least that one fights with blades and not words.” With a wry twist to his smile, Jeredon opened the doors to the apartments, and the two passed between guards who were not likely to be able to withstand any real threat, despite their vigilance.

Lariel put aside her reading and stood as they entered. She’d pushed her hair back from her face and knotted it at the back of her slender neck in a bun of spun gold and silver, and her expression seemed both tired and guarded. “I trust you’ve been seeding the fields I asked you to?”

“Yes, m’lady.” He bowed to her, kedant-laced scars rippling in fiery protest as he did so. “I wish I could gauge reactions for you, but everyone seems to be perfecting their masks for this Conference. I do have news, which I need to pass on, though I haven’t confirmed it yet.”

“Rumors, then?”

He shook his head. “Doubtful.” He waited to sit until she reclined once more, her shapely legs tucked under her, and he found himself thinking of the other, wondering how she’d look sitting before him. Sevryn inhaled. “First, the Kobrir is staking out the Petitioners. A clear sighting at least once, and perhaps later this evening. We’re all on notice, then, that his being in the city is no coincidence.”

“Not that we ever thought it was,” Jeredon provided. He sat on the floor, his back against his sister’s footstool.

“Secondly. A traders’ herald came to Bregan and gave him an urgent message at the gathering. I followed him to see if I could coerce him to repeat it.” Sevryn paused, a dry, unpalatable taste in his mouth. “I failed, but the Kobrir did not. The message was coded, although I think we’ll all agree as to its meaning.” He repeated the lad’s dying words and waited.

“Diort.” Jeredon shifted his lean body. “Finally making his move.”

Lariel lifted a finger. “This is what you haven’t confirmed yet?”

Sevryn nodded to her. She considered it. “Still, it seems likely. Word will come to us. And Kobrir again. Perhaps this was his assignment.”

“Again, I saw him later, so it’s doubtful. Assassination, not information is his true calling.” Sevryn watched as Jeredon kicked his boots off. He yearned to be in his rooms, garments off, scars bared without the ache of cloth touching them, no matter how fine, how sheer, it brought agony. Wine had dulled him for a while, but now as he sobered, kedant coursed through his body freely again.

“Agreed. What else?”

“Azel was mingling with the Petitioners.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I’d say he has brought something to the table this time. No idea what it is, but he is working the Petitioners, listening, weighing them.”

“Our historian is notoriously neutral.”

“Things change,” Jeredon told her.

“It’s true that he rarely attends a Conference. He sends others in his stead. Tomorrow,” she instructed Sevryn, “see what’s on his mind.”

He inclined his head.

“Anything else?”

“Nothing I can give credence to—yet.”

“All right, then.” She reached forward, gathering up the papers on her desk. A seldom seen weariness blurred her delicate features. “Perhaps the morning will bring us better tidings.”

Sevryn left, grateful for the dismissal. Stepping into his room, he heard both his footfall and a crinkle of paper. Looking down, he found a folded note that had been slipped under his door.

 
By early light, at the Plaza of Traders, for breakfast. Azel d’Stanthe of Ferstanthe

 
Sevryn smiled. He would have fresh tender bread and hot brewed defer for breakfast, the drink a Calcort delicacy, along with intriguing conversation. What more could he wish?

THEY DISCOVERED DINNER had been held for them, although not because of their lateness. The house smelled promisingly of dinner, but everyone occupied the receiving room instead of sitting in the kitchen, eating. A visitor sat in Tolby and Lily’s parlor, hands on his thick thighs, his vest buttoned tightly over his girth, but not an ounce of him was fat. A Dweller, obviously, who probably deserved the name of Barrel more than any of the Barrels Rivergrace had ever met, and a trader, too, by the mantle he wore and the richness of his appearance. She hesitated as she entered the parlor, for an air of menace lay about him just as the impending storm lay over Calcort. Nutmeg glanced at her in dismay and Hosmer shook his head. No, they couldn’t possibly know about the street brawl already, although the three of them stood in dusty and muddy disarray, Tolby had barely looked at them and Lily’s attention seemed equally distracted. She waved at them, saying, “Dinner is late.”

Their visitor responded, “And my apologies for that, young ’uns. I have business which seemed important.” He turned his thick neck and head back to Tolby. “I realize that this is not good news to be bringing you now, but my colleagues and I hope to work out reparation with you. Although, as you contend, the second papers are likely forgeries, we face going through two courts. Ours, for the payment of the loan on those second papers, would go through civil court. A speedier process in the case of debt repayment. The forgery cases would go through criminal court and by the time it reached a verdict, you could lose this brewery and vineyard through default on the civil judgment, even if you won. It would be like bringing buckets to the fire after the house has already burned down.”

The words whirled about as Rivergrace grasped to comprehend why this man sat like a thundercloud deposited in their home. Her knees bent and she sat down, almost missing the chair.

Tolby tamped a pipe evidently long gone cold, and studied it. “Your advice, then, is to pay the debt and hope for reparation later when the forgery is proven?”

“It seems the wiser, though disagreeable, course. You are admitting nothing by paying, but you are saving your business. The former managers ran it into the ground, but it has potential yet.” The visitor looked about him. “Which, I have noted, you’ve put a great deal of industry into already. This is the summer season. You should be getting contracts for supplying, and making some funds. My colleagues and I are prepared to send a little business your way, to help.” He leaned forward, breathing a little heavier because of the press against his girth. “I asked to bring this to you, myself, because I am Dweller also, and I know the hard work and honor that runs in our veins. Robin—Mistress Greathouse—spoke of the difficulties you’d already overcome. She untangled much of this mess before appointing me as a factor to work with you. She has paid my fees and will stand you a loan, if necessary.”

Keldan, standing quietly by Tolby’s shoulder, shifted weight then as if in slight disagreement, but Tolby did not look at him. Garner sat quietly, listening, taking notes as either Tolby or Lily had no doubt instructed him. He looked slim as a reed compared to the other sturdy Dwellers filling the room, and his hands moved swiftly, surely, as he scribed. Lily cleared her throat yet still sounded a little hoarse as she offered, “My business can help as well, Tolby.”

“Aye, I know that. It just crams my craw to pay a bad debt with good coin. I ran the fellow off, it should have gone no farther. Curse me for a half-witted goat, I know more of city scoundrels than that! And I’ve no wish t’ borrow money. We paid for this, to have it clear and not beholdin’.”

Lily tapped a packet on her lap. “Mistress Greathouse says that Simon carries good advice.”

The trader shifted his weight, and the chair under his bulk creaked with him. “It seemed best to consult with her first. I hope you do not hold that against me. Once aware of your situation, she urged me to help you with all haste.”

“Best not to make an enemy of Greathouse,” Hosmer muttered under his breath, and only the three of them heard him.

Tolby scratched his chin. “Don’t be misunderstandin’ me, Trader Simon, but I cannot for the life of me wonder if this proposal of yours is gift—or graft. Once burned, twice shy.”

The trader chuckled. “I would think considerably less of you if you didn’t.” He boosted himself to his feet. “Give it a day or two of consideration, Master Farbranch, then send a messenger to me. We haven’t much longer than that, I fear, before my colleague holding the paper will start proceedings to collect, but I think a man ought to be given time to think out his course of action.”

Tolby stood also and took Trader Simon’s hand. “Only fair. I’ll be in touch with you.”

Simon bowed to Lily and made his way to the door, with Keldan leading the way. Lily rubbed a hand over her eyes before frowning in Nutmeg’s direction. “You seem a trifle messier than I remember leaving you.”

“A bit of street revelry,” Hosmer said smoothly. “It swept us up for a little. Simon is right in that, Da,” and he swung about to his father. “This is a good time to be selling brew and cider. We ought to be able to pay a few debts and still rake in enough to tide ourselves through till thaw next year.”

“If we had enough to fulfill a decent-sized contract, which we haven’t.”

“Then,” Garner said, shuffling papers on his lap and looking up, “we offer better than that. Not quantity but quality. Private stock, for only the most discerning drinker.”

Tolby stared at Garner a long moment. Then he responded slowly, “My drink is good enough for that.”

“It’s the best, Da,” offered Nutmeg. “You know that.”

“This is no time to be humble.” Garner stretched his legs out, meeting his father’s long look.

“And, my dear, my shop is making money. I can help.” Lily refolded the reference packet from Mistress Greathouse, slipping it into her apron.

“I still can’t abide paying a debt that this land doesn’t owe!”

“It’s Greathouse who should be paying us.” Keldan’s surly words dropped like stones in a deep, quiet well, and the ripples spread out among them. “Well, it’s true. She sold us a bundle of trouble, and how is it she didn’t be knowing that?”

Tolby tugged on his vest a moment. Then he said grudgingly, “It’s my fault. She told me this was a business she’d neglected, that’s why th’ price was within my reach. She doesna know if these loan papers are genuine or forgeries, if we borrowed or not. It’s to her credit she sent Simon for aid. It’s my fault for forgettin’ the crooks who lie a-waitin’ in cities, schemers and such. I should have gotten our papers together earlier, and found a clerk t’ certify everything. I was too busy with my hands ta use my mind.”

“There’s no help for that, now. Pay now and sue. It should all work out in the end. Trader Simon offered us a fair chance. They could have served and taken our stock.” Garner put away his ink and pen as he spoke, then got up and put his hand on his father’s shoulder.

“And I,” Hosmer told him, “may get placed in the Town Guard. Surely there’s a coin or two in that.”

He drew sharp looks from everyone in the room, and his chin went up in answer as Lily inhaled steeply.

“Not only a coin but a story I think you have yet to tell us.” Garner traded looks with Hosmer over their father’s head.

“There is not enough money,” Tolby said mildly to Hosmer, “to be worth losing your place here. Still that leaves me with four strong children. It could be worse.”

Keldan coughed. “Could we talk over dinner? I swear my stomach thinks my throat has been cut.” He nudged Hosmer and Nutmeg toward the kitchen with its great plank table, and the aroma that had filled the room suddenly smelled savory again.

“Now that is an idea.” Tolby stuffed his cold pipe into his pocket and led the way.

Garner and Hosmer both jostled Keldan as they seated themselves, with Hosmer saying, “I’ve seen a cut throat or two. Trust me, your stomach shouldn’t worry.”

Rivergrace felt a chill run through her at his words, which carried an edge despite his teasing grin.

Lily pinched Hosmer’s ear, saying, “Stop that. I’ve good food on the table, if it is a bit colder than I intended, and this is no time for your militia stories.”

She had them all quiet and tucking into their dinner in good order, and Nutmeg leaned over to Grace to whisper, “The Town Guard could use her, too,” even as she picked up a fork and smiled innocently. Over her first bite, she said to Keldan, “Curly throws a mean punch. And Vevner is no slouch either.”

“Aye? How so?”

They spent the rest of the evening swapping news and opinions.

Her mind filled with worry, Lily shook out the clothes to leave them for laundry as the house settled down to sleep, Tolby calling out sleepily for her. Rivergrace’s and Nutmeg’s garments told more of a tale than Hosmer had, but she decided not to ask questions. They were safe, and she could think of far greater troubles than a scuffle with those who had been drinking overmuch.

A slip of paper fell to the floor. She scooped it up without thinking, and replaced it in the packet of news from Robin Greathouse, to be read more carefully at the shop in the morning. She would have to hire two more seamstresses, but Adeena offered two cousins with good stitching who wanted work and that seemed the best possibility. She had clients and fabric beyond her wildest dreams, but it seemed that those with money parted with it slowly. Perhaps she could speak with Trader Simon about getting her clients to pay on delivery or at least promptly. The little shop was indeed making a profit although she turned that back into fabric purchases almost sooner than she pocketed it. She would not place that weight on Tolby’s shoulders, though. She would deal with it, and help him besides.