Glade 14, 122
It had been a couple of days since Imogen had been traumatized by the new government’s rain of leaflets, but relatively little had actually changed- for her. Behind closed doors (actually a lack of doors, but the sentiment remains) at the Pfenning, she was aware that there had been a lot of hectic activity, both on the legal side of the Theater and in the Railrunners’ circle. The Kalzasi deal was obviously on pause, but nobody was yet sure what other actions the new administration might take to try to solidify their position. All was confusion and anxiety in the hidden halls of power.
In the Sanctuaries too, the worry was palpable. But for the Sunsingers, fear was both a curse and a blessing.
“I’m sorry but… are you certain they’re fine? Isn’t it getting late? They should have been back by now, surely.”
”Yes, ma’am, I’m certain.” Imogen did not look up from her diary. It wasn’t really recommended that smugglers keep a diary, but she wanted to have some written record she could leave with her possessions to Carina, in case the worst occurred. She doubted, at any rate, that the authorities could crack her cipher. It would almost be satisfying, to be caught, just for the chance to give the Order a smug look as they begged her in vain to explain the little book’s tremendous secrets.
“You can’t be, though, not really. You don’t know anything about this new Grand Marshal, and oh-”
It seemed her immediate problem wasn’t going to simply leave. Imogen looked up at the woman, a redheaded human who couldn’t be more than a few steps from her twentieth birthday. She wasn’t a witch, so far as Imogen could tell, nor any other kind of illicit magician, but her husband was some manner of professional scrivener from the sticks.
As tensions rose within the High City, the call for the services of the Sunsingers only grew. Imogen had gathered that this woman and her mage husband (she routinely boasted that he had been educated at the Tower, though Imogen had serious doubts) visited Zaichaer from the south several times a year, seeking various reagents and services from the covens. It seemed that with the sudden coup de etat, she had persuaded him at last to open up his purse and buy the services of her order.
”Ma’am, the witch who left with your husband could take a half-dozen Reconciliators and come out ahead. More than that, the moment he had to draw his sword, we’d have reports from the watchers. If they ran into trouble, we’d know, and we’d know right away.”
It was unfortunate that Imogen had to wait at the Sanctuary with the wife- she really was getting pretty good at Reaving- but it made perfect sense. Given how much exposure she had at the Pfenning, it wouldn’t be good for her to be spotted loitering in the streets by the nob guards. Her companion for the job was clean-looking, human, not known by any of the nobs or their staff, and almost fully healed of the drubbing she’d given him at the season’s start.
“But can’t you- oh! My darling!”
Imogen turned her head to see the scrivener husband walk in through the door, her compatriot Tilman just behind. The man was fuming; Tilman looked resigned, almost bored.
“You’d never believe it, Samantha,” the mage declared, ignoring her frantic ‘shoosh’-ing (they had chosen, pointlessly, to conceal their names in the city- neither of the Sunsingers cared) “They’ve only doubled the cost of sorcerer’s sand! How do they expect to sell at such a price? There aren’t any bloody nobles come crawling for their wares, you know, you’ve got to give an honest man an honest price.”
Nothing about the man’s economic analysis was quite sound, but Imogen also rather doubted that the covens had any intention of parting with their reagents right now. Sorcerer’s sand was a luxury to a witch in good times, but with all the talk of war on the horizon, every scrivener in the city wanted to stock up before any blockades were established.
“Immy.”
Imogen turned again. Tilman had somehow managed to relocate himself to a spot three inches away while she was lost in thought. She’d have to ask him to reveal how the fuck he kept doing that, someday. It could be a rather useful skill.
“I checked for letters on the way in, you’ve got one from our mutual master.”
Tilman offered her an envelope, which was marked with her sign. There was no return address, naturally- it had been deposited through Traversion, she was sure- but the sender’s name was filled in. “Ansel Gerhard.”
Imogen opened the envelope and unfolded the parchment. Sure enough, it was a letter from Master Gerhard. Oddly, it was styled like a personal letter, with no markings of rank at all.
Imogen read the letter, then re-read it, then a third time for good measure. Once she was certain she’d committed the instructions to memory, she tossed the message and envelope lightly into the Sanctuary’s fireplace.
“Well? Is it a job?”
”Yes, but… it’s weird. Again, it’s weird.” Imogen’s tone was nonplussed. It was a tall ask, to travel to Ecith just after she’d gotten back from Kalzasi, and she knew for a fact that the Sunsingers counted other speakers of that tongue among their members. She wondered whether this was, strictly speaking, something that Master Gerhard had consulted with… anyone else about.
“Weird?” Tilman gave Imogen a questioning look, “I’ve had weird assignments from time to time. Did you want to inquire about it, perhaps ask your uncle?”
”No.” Imogen didn’t understand why Master Gerhard was asking her to go, exactly, but that was a question she could address after she got back with the relic. After all, she had wanted, for some time, to see Ecith, and if Kalzasi and Zaichaer were actually going to start a full-on assault soon, she supposed the best time to check that off her list was now. Besides, what was the worst-
“Of course, since I was unable to find a supplier, I won’t be paying the entire fee.”
Imogen and Tilman’s heads turned in unison, focusing on the scrivener they had spent the last day ferrying around. He had gathered himself up to face them, and mustered what he surely thought was a stoney, commanding look.
”Well,” responded Imogen, ”I’m very sorry to hear that you feel that way.”
She peeled herself away from the wall, looking down at the magician. ”Let’s see if we can’t work this out right away.”
It had been a couple of days since Imogen had been traumatized by the new government’s rain of leaflets, but relatively little had actually changed- for her. Behind closed doors (actually a lack of doors, but the sentiment remains) at the Pfenning, she was aware that there had been a lot of hectic activity, both on the legal side of the Theater and in the Railrunners’ circle. The Kalzasi deal was obviously on pause, but nobody was yet sure what other actions the new administration might take to try to solidify their position. All was confusion and anxiety in the hidden halls of power.
In the Sanctuaries too, the worry was palpable. But for the Sunsingers, fear was both a curse and a blessing.
Glade 14, 122
Today, I bummed a ride to the market from the basement. I wanted to check with my regular contacts about the inquiries regarding Mr. W I placed at the end of Frost, as I hadn’t the chance to visit since my little fight with T in the hills. They told me that they placed my inquiries with the G, and have yet to hear back regarding Mr. W’s parentage or situation. Not sure if the G are ignoring me, have been affected by the chaos since the start of Glade, or are simply being twats like usual.
Would like to send Mr. W some kind of letter, but I’ve got nothing to say as yet. Mail out of the city scrutinized, but shouldn’t be too hard to get a letter to Mr. K. If only it had been any other group, I’d have a whole genealogy ready for him by now, but for all I know every scrap of relevant information in Zaichaer is down in that ca
Today, I bummed a ride to the market from the basement. I wanted to check with my regular contacts about the inquiries regarding Mr. W I placed at the end of Frost, as I hadn’t the chance to visit since my little fight with T in the hills. They told me that they placed my inquiries with the G, and have yet to hear back regarding Mr. W’s parentage or situation. Not sure if the G are ignoring me, have been affected by the chaos since the start of Glade, or are simply being twats like usual.
Would like to send Mr. W some kind of letter, but I’ve got nothing to say as yet. Mail out of the city scrutinized, but shouldn’t be too hard to get a letter to Mr. K. If only it had been any other group, I’d have a whole genealogy ready for him by now, but for all I know every scrap of relevant information in Zaichaer is down in that ca
“I’m sorry but… are you certain they’re fine? Isn’t it getting late? They should have been back by now, surely.”
”Yes, ma’am, I’m certain.” Imogen did not look up from her diary. It wasn’t really recommended that smugglers keep a diary, but she wanted to have some written record she could leave with her possessions to Carina, in case the worst occurred. She doubted, at any rate, that the authorities could crack her cipher. It would almost be satisfying, to be caught, just for the chance to give the Order a smug look as they begged her in vain to explain the little book’s tremendous secrets.
“You can’t be, though, not really. You don’t know anything about this new Grand Marshal, and oh-”
It seemed her immediate problem wasn’t going to simply leave. Imogen looked up at the woman, a redheaded human who couldn’t be more than a few steps from her twentieth birthday. She wasn’t a witch, so far as Imogen could tell, nor any other kind of illicit magician, but her husband was some manner of professional scrivener from the sticks.
As tensions rose within the High City, the call for the services of the Sunsingers only grew. Imogen had gathered that this woman and her mage husband (she routinely boasted that he had been educated at the Tower, though Imogen had serious doubts) visited Zaichaer from the south several times a year, seeking various reagents and services from the covens. It seemed that with the sudden coup de etat, she had persuaded him at last to open up his purse and buy the services of her order.
”Ma’am, the witch who left with your husband could take a half-dozen Reconciliators and come out ahead. More than that, the moment he had to draw his sword, we’d have reports from the watchers. If they ran into trouble, we’d know, and we’d know right away.”
It was unfortunate that Imogen had to wait at the Sanctuary with the wife- she really was getting pretty good at Reaving- but it made perfect sense. Given how much exposure she had at the Pfenning, it wouldn’t be good for her to be spotted loitering in the streets by the nob guards. Her companion for the job was clean-looking, human, not known by any of the nobs or their staff, and almost fully healed of the drubbing she’d given him at the season’s start.
“But can’t you- oh! My darling!”
Imogen turned her head to see the scrivener husband walk in through the door, her compatriot Tilman just behind. The man was fuming; Tilman looked resigned, almost bored.
“You’d never believe it, Samantha,” the mage declared, ignoring her frantic ‘shoosh’-ing (they had chosen, pointlessly, to conceal their names in the city- neither of the Sunsingers cared) “They’ve only doubled the cost of sorcerer’s sand! How do they expect to sell at such a price? There aren’t any bloody nobles come crawling for their wares, you know, you’ve got to give an honest man an honest price.”
Nothing about the man’s economic analysis was quite sound, but Imogen also rather doubted that the covens had any intention of parting with their reagents right now. Sorcerer’s sand was a luxury to a witch in good times, but with all the talk of war on the horizon, every scrivener in the city wanted to stock up before any blockades were established.
“Immy.”
Imogen turned again. Tilman had somehow managed to relocate himself to a spot three inches away while she was lost in thought. She’d have to ask him to reveal how the fuck he kept doing that, someday. It could be a rather useful skill.
“I checked for letters on the way in, you’ve got one from our mutual master.”
Tilman offered her an envelope, which was marked with her sign. There was no return address, naturally- it had been deposited through Traversion, she was sure- but the sender’s name was filled in. “Ansel Gerhard.”
Imogen opened the envelope and unfolded the parchment. Sure enough, it was a letter from Master Gerhard. Oddly, it was styled like a personal letter, with no markings of rank at all.
Dear Ms. Ward,
I hope this letter finds you in good health and welcome company. I was, naturally, very pleased to hear of your second initiation triumph, and that you have received instruction on the art of dancing your sword. Perhaps the two of us will have a chance to spar again before Wraedan finally catches up to these old bones. Doubtless you’ll have learned more tricks to take me by surprise.
Sadly, I do not write today simply for the pleasantries. You were recently sent to Kalzasi to retrieve an artifact for our order, and you delivered it just as required. I have a similar request today, though I fear the trip may be rather more onerous. The Order has reached an agreement with a dealer in the Ecithian capital city of Drathera, an Orkhan man by the name of ██████ ████. I am not personally acquainted with the factor, but from our correspondence he seems both jovial and straightforward, so I expect that you’ll take to each other at once..
The purchase was made under the false name “Albert Solnan,” and you need only introduce yourself as Mr. Solnan’s assistant. The item in question is a small item stolen from the ruins of Ailos during the Imperium’s siege, and later concealed within a plaster statuette meant to represent Syren. There is nothing illegal about the purchase of the statuette in either Ecith or Zaichaer, but it would be much better for all involved if they did not know that it contained anything further.
Our factor says that he will hold the statuette until the last day of Glade, so you should plan to leave some time prior to the 60th, at the very latest.
I understand that this places considerable pressure upon your public persona; unfortunately, you are the only agent available who is both fluent in Ecithian and has some plausible reason to be visiting the southern continent. Take whatever steps you deem necessary to prepare for the trip and to shore up your own legitimacy, but the importance of acquiring the statuette cannot be overstated.
This is a simple job, but any missteps could jeopardize many of the Order’s plans. I have confidence that you will manage the matter quietly and efficiently as ever.
Sincerely yours,
Gerhard.
I hope this letter finds you in good health and welcome company. I was, naturally, very pleased to hear of your second initiation triumph, and that you have received instruction on the art of dancing your sword. Perhaps the two of us will have a chance to spar again before Wraedan finally catches up to these old bones. Doubtless you’ll have learned more tricks to take me by surprise.
Sadly, I do not write today simply for the pleasantries. You were recently sent to Kalzasi to retrieve an artifact for our order, and you delivered it just as required. I have a similar request today, though I fear the trip may be rather more onerous. The Order has reached an agreement with a dealer in the Ecithian capital city of Drathera, an Orkhan man by the name of ██████ ████. I am not personally acquainted with the factor, but from our correspondence he seems both jovial and straightforward, so I expect that you’ll take to each other at once..
The purchase was made under the false name “Albert Solnan,” and you need only introduce yourself as Mr. Solnan’s assistant. The item in question is a small item stolen from the ruins of Ailos during the Imperium’s siege, and later concealed within a plaster statuette meant to represent Syren. There is nothing illegal about the purchase of the statuette in either Ecith or Zaichaer, but it would be much better for all involved if they did not know that it contained anything further.
Our factor says that he will hold the statuette until the last day of Glade, so you should plan to leave some time prior to the 60th, at the very latest.
I understand that this places considerable pressure upon your public persona; unfortunately, you are the only agent available who is both fluent in Ecithian and has some plausible reason to be visiting the southern continent. Take whatever steps you deem necessary to prepare for the trip and to shore up your own legitimacy, but the importance of acquiring the statuette cannot be overstated.
This is a simple job, but any missteps could jeopardize many of the Order’s plans. I have confidence that you will manage the matter quietly and efficiently as ever.
Sincerely yours,
Gerhard.
Imogen read the letter, then re-read it, then a third time for good measure. Once she was certain she’d committed the instructions to memory, she tossed the message and envelope lightly into the Sanctuary’s fireplace.
“Well? Is it a job?”
”Yes, but… it’s weird. Again, it’s weird.” Imogen’s tone was nonplussed. It was a tall ask, to travel to Ecith just after she’d gotten back from Kalzasi, and she knew for a fact that the Sunsingers counted other speakers of that tongue among their members. She wondered whether this was, strictly speaking, something that Master Gerhard had consulted with… anyone else about.
“Weird?” Tilman gave Imogen a questioning look, “I’ve had weird assignments from time to time. Did you want to inquire about it, perhaps ask your uncle?”
”No.” Imogen didn’t understand why Master Gerhard was asking her to go, exactly, but that was a question she could address after she got back with the relic. After all, she had wanted, for some time, to see Ecith, and if Kalzasi and Zaichaer were actually going to start a full-on assault soon, she supposed the best time to check that off her list was now. Besides, what was the worst-
“Of course, since I was unable to find a supplier, I won’t be paying the entire fee.”
Imogen and Tilman’s heads turned in unison, focusing on the scrivener they had spent the last day ferrying around. He had gathered himself up to face them, and mustered what he surely thought was a stoney, commanding look.
”Well,” responded Imogen, ”I’m very sorry to hear that you feel that way.”
She peeled herself away from the wall, looking down at the magician. ”Let’s see if we can’t work this out right away.”
~ Fin ~