The Nightblade Epic Volume Two: A Book of Underrealm, page 62
The innkeeper, a spindly man with a thin beard, took their coin without comment and directed them to three rooms where they spent the night. They woke before dawn, dragging Gem from bed as usual, and set off for the capital.
It was an hour’s brisk walk to the sewers. A small staircase led down from the riverbank to the opening of the pipes, but there was no platform leading directly inside. They had to take a few precarious hops from the end of the staircase along the water’s edge before they could get a handhold on one of the pipe’s edges. One by one they pulled themselves up and into the dark tunnel. Loren helped Annis make the climb, but Gem leaped up by himself, eschewing her help. His foot slipped, and his shoe came down in the sludge with a splash.
“Ugh!” he cried, lifting his foot up. “What do the people of this city eat? That smells ten times worse than the sewers of Cabrus.”
Wyle flashed an easy smile. “We spice our foods well in Dorsea, and nowhere more so than in the capital. Alas, our concern has never been what some foreigner will think of the smell of our shit.”
Annis blushed at the smuggler’s frank words. Wyle seemed not to notice, and he led them on through the sewers without a pause. The passages twisted and turned, intersecting with each other in such a confusing manner that Loren was lost almost at once. Soon the smell of the tunnels became little more than a background sensation in her mind. She focused on keeping one hand on the wall and her feet out of the muck that ran just below the narrow walkway.
After a time, she became aware of a noise. It grew steadily the farther they walked: a low, murmuring hum that echoed gently from the stone walls around them. Soon she placed it. It was the sound of many voices, human and animal both, as well as the low rumbling of wagon wheels. They were under the city.
“Have we passed beyond the walls?” said Loren. “When will we surface?”
“Soon enough,” said Wyle. “But I do not want to lead you back into the sunlight in the middle of some busy thoroughfare. It would not do to have King Wojin’s soldiers catch sight of us climbing out of the sewers in the middle of the street. There are back alleys where no one will observe us.”
“And the smell will be worse there, I imagine,” grumbled Gem. Loren shushed him.
The smuggler was as good as his word, and soon he led them up a ladder that took them into the open air. They had been in the sewer for hours by that time, and Loren gasped at the smell of cool, fresh air again. She could almost taste it on her tongue, and it seemed sweeter than honey.
Wyle paused for a moment to get his bearings. “There is a place not far from here where we may settle in,” he said. “The innkeeper always has a warm bath ready with perfumes on hand, and she knows better than to ask me very many questions.”
They came to the inn shortly, and Loren paid for their rooms. Some of the patrons in the common room turned their noses up as the party walked through, and the innkeeper offered them baths without being asked. They took turns, for there were only four tubs, but Loren commanded them to hurry.
“I wish we had not spent a night in Yincang,” she told them, “and I want to make up for it by getting straight to work. I would rather not rest until we have spent at least some time in the city learning what we can.”
After they were refreshed, they ate a quick meal and planned their next move. Wyle had many contacts in the city, but he did not think it wise to bring a large party with him when he went to visit them.
“Take Shiun with you,” said Loren.
Wyle put a hand to his breast, frowning. “Do you not trust me? I would neither run off on my own nor betray you, for I have always been—”
“—an honest businessman. Of course,” said Loren, raising an eyebrow. “My assurances, smuggler, that she will only be there for your own protection.”
His smile grew somewhat forced, but he bowed gracefully in his chair. “Of course. How thoughtful of you.”
“The rest of us will get a feel for the city’s mood,” said Loren. “Chet and Uzo, visit some taverns and inns, any place that the city folk gather to have a drink. See what they think about the new king, and whether or not anyone has noticed the presence of the family Yerrin within the city walls. I will take Annis and Gem with me and visit shops. We can tell them we are gathering supplies to go on a journey. Let us try to get a few tongues wagging while we barter for prices.”
WITH THEIR PLAN FORMED, THEY quickly finished their food and set off into the streets. Loren took Annis and Gem to a marketplace near the inn. They had lodged in one of the city’s finer districts, which must have been a deliberate choice of Wyle’s; the smuggler enjoyed a good bed and good wine. Now they passed between stores with fine luxury crafts displayed in the windows, which were often paned with glass and framed by ornamented wrought iron. Annis took the lead at once and led them towards the first shop—a tailor. Just before they reached the door, Loren paused and turned to her.
“Barter hard for everything we purchase,” she said. “And if the price is too high, let us take our business elsewhere. We are only here for information, and it looks like the goods here are expensive.”
Annis tilted her head. “We will have to spend some coin, Loren. We have plenty of it now, and a merchant’s tongue never wags so freely as when their purse is being filled.”
“We do have coin, but that was not the case a few days ago, and I did not enjoy it,” said Loren. “Our gold may have to last us a long while. I do not have an endless supply of magestones to sell, after all.”
Annis arched an eyebrow at her. “Do you think I would waste our funds? I am a Yerrin, Loren. I can buy information without emptying our purse. My mother taught me that much, at least.”
“Oh, let her handle it, Loren,” said Gem. “I should so love a new suit of clothes.”
Loren frowned. “You will only get them filthy. Indeed, I think you know some spell to coat your garments with grime, for it seems to happen instantly.”
Gem scowled. Annis giggled at them both. “Trust me, Loren,” she said. “This is why you have brought me along, after all.”
Loren sighed. “Very well. Of course I trust you—and I brought you because you are my friend, not just because you are useful.”
Annis smiled and led the way into the shop. Inside, they found the tailor to be a man both portly and incredibly short, a finger shorter even than Annis. At first he looked at them with disdain; though they had just bathed, their clothes were still worn from long leagues on the road, and were modest besides. But when Annis flashed a pair of gold weights in her palm, his demeanor changed at once.
“Of course it would be my pleasure to serve you,” he said, beaming a smile. “Do you want new clothes for further travel, or something a bit more elegant for functions within the city?”
Annis eyed the fine gowns displayed on mannequins along the walls. But after a moment she turned from them with a quiet sigh. “Indeed, we mean to ride from the city soon,” she said, “though it pains me to refuse such dresses as yours. Such fine craftsmanship is rare to see, though I should have expected it from an establishment as well kept as this.”
The merchant’s smile grew still wider, and he bowed. “You learned your manners too well, for they compel you to be overly generous. Mine is a humble shop. But let me see what insufficient garb I can clad you in. My only hope is that you remember this mean little place with some fondness.”
Shelves of fine cloth ran along the shop’s back walls, and there were more standing shelves in the center. He led them along the rows, bouncing on the balls of his feet and pointing out this or that weave and color, inviting them to feel the textures. Loren was glad she had just bathed, or she would have feared to smudge dirt all over the bolts of fine fabric.
Annis appraised everything in the shop with an expert eye. Loren remembered how they met almost a year ago, when she had snuck into a Yerrin caravan just south of the Birchwood. The wagons had been filled with fabrics, for the Yerrin’s chief trade was textiles—at least on the surface. Loren did not know much about clothing, but she guessed that the Yerrins trafficked in only the best, which must have been why Annis’ interest alighted only on the shop’s most precious samples.
At last Annis selected a few different materials. Once she had, the tailor took them back to the mannequins. He offered suggestions of various cuts, pointing to some riding dresses for her and a suit of clothes for Gem. The clothes were far too large for the boy, but the tailor promised he could deliver the same look on Gem’s slighter frame.
“And for you?” he said, turning to Loren. “A riding dress as well, mayhap? Or a shirt and trousers?”
Loren balked. “Me? I do not require anything new,” she said.
“Oh, yes you do,” said Annis. She pursed her lips, tapping them with a finger. “But something quite different for her, I think. Not a dress, certainly, but not a suit like Gem’s, either. Here.”
She went to the back corner of the shop. There stood a mannequin in fine clothes that yet seemed entirely useful—somewhere between a peasant’s garb, meant for hard work on a hot day, and a suit that a noble might wear. Loren could see at once that the tunic and pants would be easy to move in, and yet they had an elegant sort of flair. There was also a vest with many stylish pockets that buttoned shut.
The tailor turned to Loren with wide eyes, and a little smile played at his lips. “Ah, I see it at once,” he said. “Yes, of course. Perfect. And the material?”
Annis took him back to the shelves. She must have anticipated this, for she immediately pointed out a few bolts of cloth that were all black or dark grey. But then she went to the next shelf over and pointed at a bolt of muted green velvet.
“Trim it in this,” she said. “For the eyes.”
“Of course, of course,” said the merchant. To Loren’s surprise, he was very nearly bouncing in anticipation. “And might I suggest this for the inside of the vest? You will see only a flash of it when she moves, of course, but that will make all the difference.” He put his hand on a bolt of satin, green as well, but closer in color to the sea.
Annis gave a sharp clap, her eyes shining. “Sky above. It is perfect. Mayhap on the inside of the collar as well?”
The tailor snapped his fingers. “Just so. It is the final piece to make it perfect. You have a fine judgement for this, my lady. I am further humbled by your presence in my modest place of business.”
“Modest you may be, but not deservedly so,” said Annis. From the pouch at her waist she pulled four gold weights. These she placed in the tailor’s hand, and then she deliberately pulled forth another and added it to the pile. “I hope we can retrieve the clothing tomorrow.”
“I will delay some other orders to ensure it,” said the tailor. “But your offer is far too generous.” Yet Loren noticed his fingers closed over the gold at once.
“Not at all,” said Annis. “For the quality I see here, I think I make a more than shrewd bargain.”
The tailor bowed lower than ever before and drew them to the back of the shop to take their measurements. Annis went first, holding out her arms while he pulled out a ribbon and ran it along her limbs. She smiled as he did it, but then her brow furrowed for a moment.
“I do so hope the road is safe to the west,” she said. “What a shame it would be for our new garments to be endangered by bandits.”
The tailor frowned at that. “Things are uncertain these days, to be sure.”
Annis nodded. “Still, I am certain that Wojin—pardon me, King Wojin—will maintain order.”
That drew a snort from the tailor. But he quickly suppressed it, and Loren saw him look askance at Annis. He tried to pass it off by coughing quietly.
“It sounds so strange to say.” Annis shook her head. “King Wojin. My heart breaks for King Jun. I saw him once, you know. He was a good man.”
“He was that,” said the tailor fervently. “It was my great pleasure to make clothing for many members of the royal family—though never King Jun himself, of course. I was invited to the palace more than once, and though I never had the honor of meeting His Grace, I saw him on occasion. He was a regal man, and so handsome. Not like … well, I mean to say that we will not see his like again for a long time.”
“I can only imagine your sorrow at his passing,” said Annis. “Yet at least his kinsman sits the throne.”
“That is a blessing, I suppose,” the tailor grumbled. “And Wojin has what he wants, in the end. That is all for you, dear. Young master, if you would?”
Gem stepped into Annis’ place, his chest puffing out at the title of “young master.” Annis drew aside, her eyes widening.
“Do you mean to say that Wojin desired the throne already?” she said. Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. It was the voice of a girl sharing some bit of scandalous gossip with a close friend.
The tailor responded in kind, looking over his shoulder at her and giving a wink. “That is the most ill-kept secret in Dorsea, and mayhap all the nine kingdoms. Wojin was the youngest brother of King Jun’s mother, Min, of course.”
“Of course,” said Annis, nodding as though everyone knew it. Loren hid a smile.
“Well, everyone in Dorsea knows Wojin resented the throne passing to his nephew when Min passed away. Later, when King Jun’s son, Senlin, was born, they say Wojin flew into a rage that lasted for days.” The tailor sighed and shook his head. “Still, that was a long time ago. Long before King Jun met his end—at the hands of agents of the High King, or so they say.” He snorted again, louder this time, and rolled his eyes.
Annis’ eyes grew still wider. “Do you not believe it?” she said, her voice a sing-song.
The tailor’s eyes narrowed, and he paused before answering. “The intrigues of palace life are far above my station,” he said slowly. “Keep your head from the clouds lest it be removed, or so they say. Yet I have my doubts.”
A thought struck Loren all at once. “And what of those others?” she said. “They say Wojin has the support of some foreigners, recently arrived here at the capital. I heard the family name, but it escapes me … Yamen? Yarvin?”
The tailor went still. “Yerrin? The family Yerrin?”
Loren snapped her fingers. “That was it. Yerrin. Did they not arrive here only just ahead of King Jun’s death?”
“I had not heard that.” The tailor pursed his lips. “I wonder … hm.”
Over the tailor’s shoulder, Annis gave Loren a small smile, but she also shook her head. Loren shrugged and turned to look out the shop’s window. “I do not mean to suggest anything untoward, of course. I am a stranger to this city, after all. I only repeat what I have heard.”
The tailor went silent after that, and Annis deftly turned the conversation to talk of lighter matters. But after they left the tailor’s shop, she fixed Loren and Gem with a look.
“That was most telling,” she said. “If the first shopkeeper we met was willing to whisper of such rumors, that means many in the city must secretly believe them. And what a stroke of genius, Loren, to plant the idea of my family’s involvement. Dorseans are not fond of foreigners meddling with their kingdom. Word will spread, and when it returns to us we may learn something of my family’s plans.”
“Indeed,” said Gem quickly. “I had thought of doing the same thing, of course, but you beat me to it.”
“Of course you did,” said Loren, arching an eyebrow. “But what can we do with such information?”
Annis shook her head. “Nothing yet. But it is a start. Let us go to a few more shops and see what else we may learn.”
As it turned out, there was little else. They went to a cobbler, a carpenter, a steelsmith, and some other little shops of various trinkets and oddities. Most of the owners seemed to hold a similar opinion to the tailor, but none expressed it so plainly. Loren wondered if that might be because they did not spend their coin so freely at the other shops, but she did not encourage Annis to spend more. The girl clearly knew what she was doing.
A few hours before sundown, they made their way back to their inn. Uzo and Chet sat in the common room, and both had clearly had a few cups of wine. Chet’s nose and cheeks were ruddy, and when Loren asked Uzo how they had fared, the Mystic blinked three times before answering.
“We did well enough,” he said slowly. He leaned closer and dropped his voice. “Certainly there is some disagreement in the city about Wojin taking the throne. No one was willing to speak very plainly, but there was much to be read in their quiet words and sidelong glances. It seems King Jun is greatly missed.”
“It was much the same with us,” said Loren. “That is good for our purposes, I think. If we faced a happy populace with great love for their liege lord, I think it would be harder to seek information about the Yerrins.”
“I find myself ever more curious about the senate,” said Annis. “If the kingdom does not support King Wojin, the senate may be persuaded to take action against him. Hopefully Wyle’s contacts will know something of that. I am interested to hear what he has to say when he returns.”
Loren nodded—and then she noticed Gem sitting very still, his eyes darting furtively over her shoulder. She barely stopped herself from following his gaze.
“Gem?” she said quietly. “What is it?”
He frowned. “Mayhap it is nothing. Only there is a girl over there—no, do not turn and look, any of you. She seems very interested in us. I have caught her looking at our table often.”
Loren’s stomach lurched. What if it was some spy of Damaris’? That seemed impossible. The merchant could not have heard about their presence in Danfon so soon. Yet Loren had learned long ago that the Yerrins could not be underestimated.
“I will fetch us some wine,” she said. The others nodded.
Loren stood and made her way towards the bar. As she did, she stole a surreptitious glance at the girl. She wore the simple garb of a Dorsean peasant, loose pantaloons and a tunic that gathered at the wrists. She wore a wide-brimmed hat like many in the city, and her hair was black, as was common here. Yet her features were a bit softer than a typical Dorsean’s, and her freckles were unusual in this kingdom. The girl did not look up—indeed, she studiously turned her gaze away. But Loren sensed a tension in her.
