Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Interlude: Ticking Clocks Pt. One

 Notes: Picking up the plottiness after this, we're almost there!

Title:  Interlude: Ticking Clocks Pt. One

***

Three Days Out

 

“We’ve no room for another at this point.”

“Filian, come now.”

“I’m serious!” The lanky Healer paced back and forth in the small amount of fireside he’d been allotted, all of the representatives of the Thread come together late that night to discuss the next part of their route, as they always did. And as usual, whenever Filian was part of their number, the discussion revolved around scarcity. Of resources, of time, of his own sanity. He was the worst person the Temple of Bayd could have sent to represent them, as far as Wynne was concerned.

But then, they rarely remembered to ask for her input.

“We’ve ten initiates already. Ten! And only three of us to take them on!”

“Four,” Trew, a half-troll Druid from the northern mountains, grunted taciturnly. He was smaller than his trollish kin, but just as sparing with his words. “If Robb would bother.”

Five, Wynne thought about saying, but in the end she didn’t bother. Alissa would steer them back on track.

Eventually.

Robb, their resident Bard for this season, strummed a chord on his pear-shaped, five-stringed lute. The sound was pleasing, the hand that made it smooth and elegant. Robb was as sleek and handsome as any Bard could hope to be, but with even less motivation than most of them walked around with. And that was saying something, as far as Wynne was concerned. “It’s not my fault none of the tykes show the slightest hint of musical ability,” Robb said carelessly.

“There have been several excellent singers that—”

“Holy Razomme  doesn’t need a choir to sing her praises,” Robb interjected. “She needs pious and loyal musicians who can master every aspect of how music touches the soul of the beholder. No one has been competent enough to consider on her behalf.”

“You haven’t exactly given many of them a fair chance.” Alissa finally looked up from where she’d been writing in her latest grimoire, monocle making one of her eyes appear enormous. “Your auditions last less than a minute apiece on average.”

Robb smiled at her. The expression was somehow both charming and slightly pointed at the same time. “Alissa, darling. Are you monitoring me so closely because of a hidden interest in my unworthy self?”

As always when Robb flirted with her, Alissa made a face like she wanted to vomit. Everyone knew that sort of attention bothered her immensely, but Robb just had to keep pushing it. “Not in the slightest. I’m keeping statistics on our practices so that I can compare them to previous Threads.”

Trew huffed and scooped up a spoonful of his mushroom stew. Next to him, his stag companion nudged him with one enormous, seven-point antler until he put the bowl down for the beast to help himself from. “The High Priest of the Pantheon in Galenish only wants that so he can try to justify givin’ us even fewer funds next year.”

Alissa shrugged. “It’s my responsibility to keep the records regardless.” She frowned. “Filian has a point, though. We’re on the verge of being overextended already, and we’ve two towns left to go.”

“Garrison doesn’t really count,” Filian said immediately. “Anyone we find there we can remand to the custody of the local temple. They have representatives of every denomination there, and our recommendation carries enough weight to give a potential initiate a leg up, at least. Lollop is the problem.” His voice took on a bit of a whine. “Can’t we just go around it?”

It would be highly out of the ordinary to skip a town on their route, but frankly this had been one of the least enjoyable Threads Wynne had ever participated in. She’d long considered leading their caravan one of the highlights of her year, but this trip was straining her goodwill in a way she’d never experienced before. Everyone had a shorter temper, and even the joy of the children who’d been chosen had worn away faster than usual as they wound their way across the countryside. It should have been fun, but more and more it simply felt like another chore.

Perhaps I’m simply getting too old for this. Maybe we should skip Lollop.

“We can’t skip Lollop!”

Everyone turned and stared at Robb, who stared right back, shameless in the wake of his outburst. “Our duty requires us to follow the official route,” he said. “We can’t abandon it simply because we’re a bit strapped. It would be negligence.”

Filian gripped the edges of his sleeves and pulled disconsolately. “Why do you care? You haven’t even found an initiate yet! Odds are good you won’t find one there either, so why—”

“And what will happen if we avoid Lollop and then get audited at the end of this?”

Ah. Good point. Wynne was a bit abashed she hadn’t thought of that. The threat of an Imperial audit was almost a given these days, considering how money-pinching they were being. If they skipped a town, they’d be required to pay back some of their already meager funds. They were getting a bit tight on supplies, but…

“We’ll take our normal path,” Wynne said, effectively shutting everyone else up. They couldn’t argue with her final decision; she was the Guide, after all. “With a stop in Lollop. The Gods don’t give us more than we can handle.”

Robb smiled at her, his pale, shining eyes reflecting the campfire flames almost as brightly as a mirror. “As you say, Wynne. Just as you say.”

 

One day out

 

Pa was yelling again. Rickie liked it better when Pa was quiet, because it meant he could walk across the middle of the floor without getting something thrown at him or being shouted at for being in the way. Rickie had learned to only ever walk across the middle of the room when Pa was asleep, or at the bar, or if Baby Davey needed someone to protect him.

“—keep wasting your time with that bastard Emblic, he’s no good—”

“Pa, he paid you in gold for my time! I still owe him a week, I can’t walk off for no good reason!”

“Even more suspicious! What kind of man pays for a useless village girl like you for so long, eh? Are you bedding him, then?”

“No, Pa!”

Last week, Baby Davey was working on crawling, and he decided to crawl across the middle of the floor while Mama was at the oven and Pa was asleep in his chair. Rickie had sat down in the shadows on the side of the fireplace and whispered to him that he was a good baby and held his arms out to beckon him close, but he’d knocked over the poker when he reached out toward Davey, and Pa had woken up. He’d seen Baby Davey and thought he’d made the noise and been real mad, and he’d grabbed the poker and Mama had screamed but she was too far away to help. So Rickie had crawled over to Baby Davey and covered him up himself before the poker could hit him, because Davey was just a baby.

It had hurt, but Rickie could take one hit. The next one hurt worse, but then Mama had been there, scooping both of them up and putting them in Millie’s arms and sending them all outside while Pa raged, and Rickie had left Davey with Millie and run into the forest, and that had been the first time Esme found Rickie crying.

Esme didn’t ask him what he’d broken or yell at him for running away, she just curled her long, furry body around his and licked the side of his face, then purred in his ear, “What mends the cracks in bone and sinew alike? Time.” All of a sudden Rickie’s back had stopped hurting, and the hitch in his breathing evened out, and then he was nothing but warm and tired and happy in Esme’s embrace.

“Esme,” he’d whispered, wrapping his arms around her neck and nuzzling into her coat. She licked him again, her tongue somehow both gentle and rough on his skin.

“Yes, cub?”

“You found me.”

Esme laughed. “I always find you, little cub.”

Yes, she did. Rickie looked up at Esme, at her eyes that shined like emeralds and her stern, human face that held a kitty cat’s tongue, and the many fangs in her smiling mouth, and his heart filled with love for her. She was as dear to him as Mama, as Baby Davey, as Letty. “Esme,” Rickie told her, “you’re my best friend.”

Esme went still for a moment, then bent her head so that it rested on top of his. “I am as ancient as the deserts, old enough to remember grains of sand when they were still rocks,” she murmured. “I am the Shayin, the Glorious Burning Desert Star, mistress of the oases and prowler along the sacred path. I am a power in this world, and I have learned at my peril what it means to have friends. And you,” she turned and kissed the top of his head, “are only the second person ever bold enough to befriend me.

“You are as my own dear cub, Rickie, and I shall ensure no harm touches you from this day forward.”

“Mm.” He rubbed his face on her shoulder. “Okay.”

Esme had just laughed again.

Pa was still yelling at Letty. He yelled at her a lot, more than anyone else. He never yelled at Rickie anymore; he barely even noticed he was there. Rickie liked that. He wished he could make Letty invisible too.

“Tomorrow’s your last day in that man’s company,” Pa announced, shaking one of his thick fingers in Letty’s face. “The last one, you hear me? I won’t have you be unsellable because no one trusts your maidenhead to be intact.”

Letty’s voice broke. “I’m not—Pa, I’m not for sale. I’m—I’ll keep helping you and Ma with the rabbits, and keep the house up, and look after the other kids, and—”

“For now,” Pa said menacingly. “Better work hard here, girl, or I’ll start asking about bride prices and I won’t be choosy about it. Understand?”

Rickie watched Letty shrink in on herself. “I understand.”

“Good.” Pa tossed his cup at her, sneering when she almost fumbled it. “Take the rest of these brats with you to watch that spectacle tomorrow. Your ma has a lot to do here, and it’ll be easier with everyone out from underfoot.”

“Yes, Pa.”

“I’m off to the pub.” He finally left, and Rickie watched his biggest sister sink down to the floor, face desolate, eyes brimming with tears.

He went over to her and climbed into her lap, wrapped his arms around her neck, and said, “Don’t worry. Esme will help you, too.”

Letty just cried louder.

Huh. Rickie would just have to convince Esme to show her.

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Interlude: Ticking Clocks Pt. One

Notes: Wowza, plot actually starting to coalesce! That doesn't mean we're close to the end, but we're not far from it either, if you get my drift.

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Interlude: Ticking Clocks Pt. One 

 

***

 

Interlude: Ticking Clocks Pt. One

 

Photo by Victoria Chernitsova

Twelve Days Out

 

It was odd to feel young again.

Avery wasn’t naïve; he knew in the span of years many races lived, even humans with no magic at all, he was still relatively young. At thirty-five, he was entering what would have been the prime of his career as a rogue: youthful enough to carry all the athleticism of his earlier self, but with the experience to more than carry his weight on any job. If he’d stuck with his last crew, the way he’d once dreamed of doing, he might have been leading those jobs by now. Lissette had been disinclined toward planning, chaos-worshipper that she was, and Brok wasn’t a thinker by nature. He’d made an excellent battering ram, but he preferred to be pointed in a direction and let loose. Whaley had only stayed a few years after Narion’s forced retirement, and Marlon…

Well, Avery in his current incarnation was the result of Marlon’s planning skills.

That’s not fair. He didn’t push you into that trap, you threw yourself into it.

And look what had come of that.

There had been a time when just thinking about Marlon would send Avery into a mixture of loathing and longing that made him nauseous, not to mention disappointed with himself. When he’d come back to Lollop, drawn in by Narion because Narion was the only one left who could tolerate his curse, Avery had expected to fade into a shell of himself until the elf was eventually forced to give him a merciful death. Instead, he’d been drawn out of his self-imposed exile and slowly, painfully learned to reintegrate himself into the rhythms of village life. Becoming a teacher had been a surprise, but it was the great joy of his life these days. Being around the children reminded him what it was to be young and full of hope.

Then he met Hiram, and hope took on a more specific form—along with flutterings of his heart and tremblings of his fingers and the affection of his beast shape, which seemed impossible. And yet Hiram, for all he was just a man, seemed to embody the impossible. He made Avery feel safe just by being with him, even when he was unconscious. There was something steadying about him, a depth of presence that calmed his curse even when it was most rapacious.

It didn’t hurt that he was so handsome. He probably had a decade on Avery, judging from the gray streaks in his long black hair and the speckles in his short, tidy beard. There were deep lines around his mouth and the corners of his eyes that spoke of many years of laughter, and a liveliness and energy that had him carrying himself like a man in his twenties. He was knowledgeable, clearly gifted at his profession, and did well enough for himself to rent the Widow Shore’s house all on his own.

And a unicorn considered him honorable enough to serve, which…perhaps he’d been a soldier once, seen action of some kind or run off poachers or something. It was a mark in his favor that the unicorn used its inherent ability to disguise its species for the sake of staying with Hiram, and yet it would be so much easier to court the man if Avery could go to Hiram’s house.

Court him? No, he wasn’t—what? Visit with him. Spend a bit of time with him. Enjoy his company in private, instead of vying for his time during the brief break Hiram took in the middle of Market Day.

Avery stood back and waited to see if Hiram noticed him as he wrapped of his latest purchase. He’d put himself forward if he had to, but there was a part of him that wanted to be noticed, that wanted to be just as interesting to the other man as he was to Avery.

He wasn’t disappointed. Instead of having to step up, Avery had the pleasure of hearing, “Thank you kindly for the offer, Mistress Dallagh, but my companion for the midday meal has just arrived.” He looked over her shoulder at Avery and smiled, and it took all Avery’s control to keep from blushing.

“Oh.” The woman, a middle-aged widow of substantial property and numerous children, looked sharply disappointed for a moment before her expression brightened again. “I’d be happy to welcome both of you at my home in town for lunch, actually. We could—”

“Forgive me, Mistress,” Hiram interrupted her as he got to his feet, “but I’ve already booked a table nearby for the two of us. Perhaps another day.” He closed up his cabinet of supplies, locked it, then came over and held his arm out to Avery. “Shall we, darling?” he asked, the twinkle of mischief in his eyes so intense that Avery nearly broke out in laughter.

“Of course, dearest,” he managed, and let Hiram lead him through the still-bustling crowd without a single person bumping into them. The earring he wore glittered brightly in the early autumn sunlight, the magpie shine of it the focus for a lot of passersby, but all of Avery’s attention was on the feel of Hiram’s hand on his, warm and calloused and comforting. He felt giddy over it, and even though he knew full well that Hiram hadn’t booked them a table anywhere because he hadn’t known Avery was going to be there, he was—

“Wait,” Avery said as Jonn’s little son Roddie waved them over from the side of the Yew Brew. There was a small staircase on the outside of the tavern that led up under a portico at the apex of the roof, a place that Avery had always assumed belonged to pigeons for the most part. “Did you actually plan something for us?”

“I did,” Hiram confirmed, easy and confident.

Avery was confused. “But you didn’t know I’d come to see you.”

“True, but luck favors the prepared.” Avery blinked at hearing the old rogue’s maxim fall so easily out of Hiram’s mouth. “I wanted to be ready, and when Jonn mentioned to me that he had a private room at the top of the tavern, I thought it would make a novel place for us to pass some time together.”

Avery gaped for a moment. “You…” They got to the top of the building before he had a chance to figure out what he wanted to say. Far from a pigeon-infested mess, he found an open-walled cupola with clean wood floors, a tiny table in the center of the space with two tankards on it, and two tables tucked in at the sides. It was a gnome-sized space, which meant they had to stay hunched over until they sat down, but once they were seated Avery could still stretch his legs out.

Roddie beamed at him. “Da’s got the food all ready! I’ll go get it!” He vanished down the stairs almost faster than Avery could track, leaving him alone with Hiram and a glass of what he detected was fresh-pressed cider. The view was spectacular, a vantage he’d never had on Lollop before, and the company…

“You can be quite astonishing at times,” Avery said quietly.

There were layer’s to Hiram’s smile that Avery knew he didn’t understand. “You’ve no idea,” he said.

Not yet, he didn’t. But Avery intended to.

 

One week out

 

The crystal remained clouded. Despite how strongly Keleyn tapped into it, no matter how deeply connected it was to the essence of his prey—and as a crystal used by the former royal wizard for years, the connection was truly deep—there was no way to pinpoint it. He had a general direction, and despite the bell-like clamor that had arisen a week ago from Xerome’s magic, the intensity of it had subsided just as fast.

The hunt for Xerome, Wizard of the First Order and former Shield of the Vordurian Empure, hadn’t fallen to those who knew him best. His two students had fled the city in opposite directions, one of them leaving a trail of ice, the other of fire. Pursuing them had led to nothing but pain, and after careful scrying it had been shown to be fruitless anyway. He wasn’t with them. No one could ask the vanished princess either, who had been like a daughter to him. Her energy on the ethosphere was so well-obscured that she left no trail at all.

No, the hunt for the traitorous bastard was given to Keleyn Zar instead. A shadow walker by heritage and a wizard by schooling, there were stronger magic users in the service of the emperor, but none of them were better suited to tracking wisps of energy across the ethosphere than him. He was the leader of the emperor’s private police, a man who’d spent the last decade hunting down every charismatic leader who looked to be putting their talents to ill use and ending the threat. He’d handled some of the most powerful people the world had ever seen, and he’d done it through guile, secrets, and the occasional blade emerging from the darkness.

And there was a great deal of darkness ahead of him.

The Tower of Gemmel, hmm?

This place might defy his visions, but it wouldn’t defy his ability to step into it through the shadows. A few more weeks of steady travel and Keleyn would arrive there himself, and see what it was about the place that had brought a man like Xerome out of hiding.

And once he’d satisfied his own curiosity, Keleyn would drag Xerome from the Tower into darkness. The shadow realm held one of the few magics that the wizard had little experience in, and Keleyn knew it like the back of his own eyelids.

He would trap Xerome there and hold him in stasis until Andurion decreed his death. Then there would be a new First Wizard for the empire.

And his name would be Keleyn Zar.

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 15 Pt. 2

 Notes: What does the future hold? No one knows for sure, but it's going to be interesting ;)

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards Ch. 15 Pt. 2

 

***

 

Chapter Fifteen, Part Two

 

Photo by Karthik BK

 

Slow and Steady

 

It didn’t take much effort to convince Letty that he was under the weather the next day. She was already inclined to mother him after his illness, and even the slightest hint that he was feeling down was enough to make her frown at him. “We need to make one of your teas,” she said, casting a glance at his shelves full of jars. “Which one is best for a sore throat?”

Hiram waved her off. “I’ve already had tea,” he said, smiling as Knight hopped over to Letty and nudged her knee in greeting. Her frown vanished as she bent down to pet him. “I’ve actually got to go to town today to collect some supplies for upcoming orders.”

“You can’t do that if you’re sick!” she said, hands flying to her hips.

“I’m not that ill,” he protested, trying to modulate how he was presenting himself to her—a bit ill, not so sick he needed to be in bed. “Mostly tired, I’m sure. Actually, if you cared to come with me, that would be a great help.”

Letty narrowly looked him over. “You could just make a list for me and I could fill it for you,” she pointed out very reasonably. “I’ll probably get better prices for a lot of it anyway.”

She probably could, curse this child and her ineffable logic. “I’d like to get out of the house. I’m tired of lying around.”

“Da said he saw you leaving the tavern yesterday.”

That rotten bastard. “I was just checking in with Mistress Tate,” Hiram assured her. “I didn’t want to make her come all the way out here again.”

“It would be better for her if you did,” Letty said with her customary directness. “I hear that Mayor Hurst has people telling him every time they see the two of you meet up in town.”

Hiram frowned. “Why would he even care?”

“I don’t know, but it’s no secret he’s not fond of you, and of course he’s had it out for Mistress Tate for years.” She lowered her voice a bit, even though there was no one to hear other than the two of them—that she knew of. “I was talking to Karla who was talking to Glen, he’s one of the initiates at the Temple of Melemor, and she said that he said that Mayor Hurst is furious that High Cleric Velagros isn’t going to help him figure out a way to drive you from Lollop anymore. He’s actually going on a mercy mission soon! He’ll be gone for a whole year in the north, Glen says, and his replacement isn’t nearly as fond of the mayor.”

Goodness. Hiram should have thought to ask Letty about this issue earlier; clearly she had all the good gossip. Still… “I’ll take that under advisement, but I don’t care to design my life around the will of petty tyrants,” he said.

Letty rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

What? “I am not.”

“Listen to you! ‘I don’t design my life around the will of petty tyrants, for I am Hiram Emblic, lord of the leaves, master of mosses, purveyor of purgatives, rar rar rar…’” She pasted a smile on her face and turned her nose up in the air. “Now bow, peasants!”

“I don’t talk like that,” Hiram protested. “I certainly don’t call people ‘peasants!’”

Letty broke down in snickers. “No,” she agreed, “but you talk like you’re someone out of a ballad sometimes instead of just another person.”

Huh. Come to think of it, she wasn’t as wrong as he wanted her to be. Hiram would have to work on that. “Needless to say,” he pressed on after a moment, “I’m well enough to go to town with you. The fresh air will do me good, and I’d like to watch the mistress of dealmaking at work.”

The compliment struck home, and Letty flushed with pride even as she went over and got his sweater down from the hook by the door. “Fine, but you’re wearing this. It’s getting sharp out there. And we’re taking the wagon, so you don’t have to walk the whole way. No arguments!”

“I don’t—” His voice trailed off as he saw a dire light enter her eyes, and put the sweater on in obliging silence. As Letty harnessed Mule to the wagon, Hiram laid a fresh bowl of water down for Knight.

“This is going to take forever, isn’t it?”

“I doubt it will take her any longer than it would be,” Hiram said as he straightened up with a little wince. Curse his creaky right knee, he was going to have to get it looked at sometime soon.

“How do you think she gets all her gossip, hmm? By gossiping. This is going to take forever.”

“Then at least we’ll be in it together.”

“That’s not comforting.”

Hiram didn’t mean it to be, either. He was looking forward to seeing how Letty handled herself in town. “Chin up, my dear,” he said right before stepping outside, thus cutting off Phlox’s usual diatribe about how he didn’t have a chin anymore, thanks to Hiram. “All set?” he called out to Letty, then quickly followed it with a cough.

“All set!”

He let Letty keep the reins, and she proceeded to expertly drive them to town. The only break in her composure came when she passed her house, but no one ran out to yell or summon her inside, so she gradually relaxed once more. By the time they got to Lollop, she was bursting at the seams with energy. “Where do you want to start?” she asked as they entered the square.

“How about the carpenter? I could use another chair for home,” he said.

Letty brightened. “Are you going to have a party?”

Oh, hells no. “I like to be prepared for every eventuality,” Hiram replied. They stopped in front of the dwarf’s shop, hitched a complacent Mule to the post out front, then walked inside.

The shop was well-lit, and the entire front room smelled of freshly cut wood and varnish. There were shelves with stacks of wooden bowls and other kitchen items, a few sets of basic furniture, and a marvelous clock on one wall that appeared to be moving. Hiram moved closer to it while Letty rang the bell and saw that it was moving, a series of interlocking gears connected to a rotating wooden circle that had a dozen different animals carved into it. Hiram watched with fascination as the animals shifted position in time with the ticks of the clock, taking shapes that, if he remembered correctly, were dwarvish symbols for numbers.

Brilliant, and no magic needed at all. Hiram felt heartened just looking at it. Amazing things could be done without using magic—were done every day, in fact. He could do them too. He could live without it, thrive without it. He could.

He had to.

“Letty! And Master Emblic!” Karla came into the front room wearing a leather apron covered in sawdust and sporting a beaming smile. “How lovely to see you both. What can we do for you today?”

“Hiram needs another chair,” Letty said, getting right into it.

“Oh, does he? A match to the others?”

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary. He’s got an eclectic style,” Letty said, and Karla…

Immediately accepted that. She didn’t even look at Hiram, just proceeded to talk the order through with Letty as though it was completely expected that she’d be handling everything. Hiram watched, bemused, as they settled on a simple but comfortable wishbone-style chair with a spun-cord seat, going so far as to look at the ones in stock and have Hiram sit in them, all without saying a word.

“I think this one works very well,” Letty said. “Comfortable for him, but it would be suitable for someone with a slightly taller build as well.”

“Like Master Surrus,” Karla said, and the girls giggled together.

Wonderful. Now he was part of the gossip.

Letty proceeded to talk Karla down from a price that seemed perfectly reasonable to Hiram to something half that, all without a single frown. It was suggestive, but it could be as simple as the girls being friends. He needed more evidence before he could speak to her definitely having a spark.

The rest of the afternoon passed much the same, visiting half a dozen other merchants. By the end of the second interaction, Hiram was not only sure that Letty had a spark, he was certain it was strong enough to merit training. Letty and Karla were friends, but she was no more than “one of Granth’s sprogs” to many of the others, and they’d all been asked by Tilda to give her a hard time. The interactions started hard, almost antagonistic in some cases, but in under three minutes Letty managed to talk each of them around to not only being polite, but giving her the discount she was looking for. None of the prices were scandalously low, but if Letty did become a Rogue, there was no doubt her natural strengths would lead her toward deception, perhaps even thievery.

That wasn’t the fate he wanted for her. Rogues caught thieving were subject to the same laws as everyone else, only with more public condemnation since they used magic to help them. The thought of Letty being whipped in a public square made Hiram shudder, and by the time they got to the last merchant he was on the verge of calling the whole thing off.

“Master Spindlestep?” Letty called out as they entered the tailor’s shop. “We’ve a delivery for you.”

The elf looked up from where he was pinning a mannequin. “Finally. I’ve been waiting for long enough.”

Letty stopped in her tracks. “Sir,” she said a bit coldly, “have some understanding. Master Emblic has been ill.”

“It would have been a trivial effort for him to send you or one of his other little admirers to bring my silk to me when he first got back to town.” He came around the mannequin and held out a hand imperiously. “Well, give it here.”

“It was very expensive,” Letty parried. “Perhaps you’d best prove you can pay for it first.”

This was where anyone else would have folded to her spark. Narion, however—

“I have to check the quality first, obviously. Master Emblic has no head for fabric, after all. It would be a simple thing to trick him.”

“He wasn’t tricked!”

“Prove it.”

Hiram watched bemusedly as Master Spindlestep proceeded to give Letty absolute hell over the quality of the silk, the quantity of it, and the final price to be paid. In the end he handed over exactly what Hiram had paid for it, no more and no less. Letty was almost huffing with anger, and excused herself to look after Mule the moment the transaction was done.

“It’s a good thing you’re doing for her,” Master Spindlestep said as he set the bolt of Lancre silk on his cutting table.

Hiram raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“It’s clear she’s got a talent to be developed,” the old elf replied. “You plan to use the Thread to test her, yes?”

“It was my thought,” Hiram said, too tired to dissemble. Maybe he was still a bit sick after all. “But the thought of her as a Rogue…”

“It wouldn’t suit her,” Master Spindlestep agreed. “Neither would being a Bard. But I have it on good authority that a third designation will be available in this particular party. You’ll have to go out of your way to expose her to it, though.”

Hiram leaned in. “What are you referring to?”

Narion told him, and a second later Hiram began to laugh.

Of course. Of course. That was perfect for Letty. It would be a hard sell, but he would do his damndest to try. “Thank you, Master Spindlestep,” he said genuinely as he held out his hand. “For helping me clarify things.”

The blind tailor shook without missing a beat. “Thank you for your service to our community.”

And on that vague and suggestive note, Hiram had to be content.