The Thieves Guild Friday Binge - Chapters 23-27

The Thieves Guild, written by Jake Kerr, chapter twenty three. Rebecca's influence. For some reason, and despite having visited before, Raylen always expected Goutland to be a reflection of nests, perhaps dirtier, perhaps poorer, but similarly thriving, with people doing things and buildings to house them. He was wrong. Goutland was not a city. It was a hungry mouth. The streets were paved with cracked clay that shifted under foot, dusted with the gray grit of the plains. The buildings were low, huddled together as if seeking warmth, their walls patched with mismatched stone and timber. There was trash in the gutters, bones, broken pottery, the detritus of desperate life. Wives, beggars didn't just sit on the corners, They lined them, their eyes hollow, their hands grasping. Even the sunlight seemed harsh here, baking the despair into the very bricks. It stood in the shadow of ness and wore its poverty like a shroud. And through it all they walked himself, Phelos and Rebecca, amidst the teeming poor of Goutland. Their group was just another sad collection of those in need, Raylan's finery was ruined, stained with the dust and sweat of the road. Felo's was a towering wall of battered armor and silent menace, his great sword sheathed but still unmistakably a weapon of war. They looked like what they were, desperate travelers who had crawled out of the wild, except for Rebecca. Raylan watched her confident stride. She could make rags look elegant, he thought. She walked a half step ahead of them, her head high, her strides purpose. She had washed the worst of the road from her face and hands at a public fountain at some intersection, and though her red dress was torn at the hem and stained, she wore it like royal vestments. Keep your heads up, Do not look like you're lost. Look like you're exactly where you intend to be. I intend to be in a bath soon. They turned a corner onto a wide avenue lined with statues of stern faced men holding books and scales. This was an area of the city where the desperate apparently didn't tread, and the city's response made that clear. A patrol of city guards marched toward them. Six men in gleaming breastplates, harbards resting precisely on their shoulders. Raylen instinctively tensed. He saw Felo's hand drift toward his sword hilt. Halt, No vagrants are permitted here. You should know this. Rebecca didn't stop. She didn't and even slow down. She simply turned her head, locking eyes with the guard captain. She raised her right hand, fingers curled in a specific, odd gesture. Raylan tried to catch what Rebecca was doing, but while he failed, the captain didn't. He froze. The casual aggression drained from his face, replaced by a sudden pale shock. He snapped his heels together, lowered his head, and stepped aside. My apologies, lady, pass. Rebecca swept past him without a word. Raylan and Pelos hurried to follow in her wake, Raylan catching the captain's eye as he passed. The man was staring at the ground, terrified. What was that local custom? That wasn't a custom? That was fear? Raylan stopped, and Rebecca, realizing it, stopped and turned around to look at him. You're hiding something up here, Raylan. I told you that. Rebecca shrugged. Raylan decided to drop it, even though they were stopped twice more, each with the same result. It is strange to see you command with a mere snap of your fingers. The implication was clear. Rebecca had real power here. She may have been the granddaughter of the imprisoned Pietro, with parents who had died, but her adoptive parents had influence. It's the sign of a powerful family. Raylan recognized where they were. It was the northwest part of town, a wealthy quarter full of large houses, none as large as his father's, but certainly mansions within the context of this city in the plains. The large government building on the northern edge was where Raylan had been imprisoned in Pietro's cell. Rebecca was taking them directly to the books where the wand would finally unlock their secrets. It was when and a large guard patrolling the courter confronted them that Raylan lost his patience. The guard didn't even wait for Rebecca's sign. He had a moment of dawning comprehension as he looked at her face, and then backed off full of apologies. He knows you. Yes. Rebecca stopped this time, and as Raylan watched her, he could tell that she was debating whether to share something with him. Finally, she sighed, walked over and stood in front of Raylan. My nanny, the woman who raised me. She was Wilhelm's sister, Wilhelm the the crown. Yes, she never married, never had children of her own. She poured all of that into me. She hesitated, then looked at Raylan and my parents, my adopted parents. They are Wilhelm and his wife. Raylan felt the air leave his lungs. You're Wilhelm's door in name, in name only. Wilhelm did love my grandfather and my parents. Death was hard on him. They were close to Wilhelm before he ascended to the crown, so when they died, he and his wife took me in. Rebecca's tone turned dark. But I was never their daughter. I was a burden, a debt repaid, or an image to be maintained. My real mom was my nan. She took care of me, She loved me. She started walking up the steps again. But being Wilhelm's daughter has its advantages, and with the wicked smile Raylan had known her for, she opened the large door that led to the building that housed Pietro's secrets. Rebecca escorted them directly to the study. No one stopped them or even gave them a second look, that is, until they reached Pietro's and Raelan's former cell. A board guard stood in front of the door. Rebecca approached him, her chin high. Step aside, we have business in Pietro's study. You'll need to talk to the captain. My lady, there are prisoners inside. Rebecca paused, her brow furrowing, excuse me. Raylan couldn't tell if Rebecca was more stunned. Some one told her no or that there was some one in Pietro's cell and that person's name wasn't Raylan. Who's in there? Raylan asked, stepping forward. The guard looked Raylan up and down, his eyes flicking over the ruined clothes. Then he looked at Felos, taking in the size of him the battered armor. These are indeed strange days. We have odd folk both inside and outside the cell. Who's inside? Rebecca looked like she was going to shove the man aside out of impatience. A dirty goblin and his assistant a goblin. What's a goblin? Rebecca put her hand on Raylan's shoulder and squeezed. She looked at the guard, her face stern and intimidating. How impolite of you they wished to be called dwarfs. Becca stepped forward. I shall talk to this dwarf. Let us in, and if you must lock the door behind us, so be it. Presumably not seeing a risk in imprisoning more people, the guard unlocked the door and stood wary as Raelan, Pelos and Rebecca walked past him and into Pietro's study. Before Raelin could even take in the odd sight standing in the room before him, the door's lock clicked behind them. Chapter twenty four, A Reunion in a Cell. The click of the lock was loud in the silence of the room. It was a shocking sound, a so sudden and oddly welcome interruption to the frustration that had been ever present in Pietro's study For what felt like weeks now, Rafe had been pacing. Cray sat on the bed, The bed piled with volumes from Pietro's library, one of which was open in his lap. His snow white beard was tucked into his belt and out of the way. Cray didn't complain about Rafe's pacing any more, though Rafe suspected it grated on him. Raf turned at the sound of the lock. It wasn't time for their meal yet. Instead, the door opened and Raylan walked in. Rafe froze, his mind went blank, a slate wiped clean by the sheer impossibility of it. Raeln here in Goutland, in Pietro's cell. It had been weeks, weeks since Rafe had left Ness in Chaos, since he'd watched the fires burn, since he'd chosen the mission over the guild. He had imagined this reunion a hundred times, awkward apologies, joyful embraces, bitter accusations. But those reunions all happened in the tower, with Rafe triumphantly exclaiming that he had found the answers. But this he had not imagined this. Raylan looked like he'd been dragged through the plains by wild horses. His fine guildmaster's coat was torn and filthy, his face gaunt and smudged with dirt. Behind him stood Felos, looking grim and not his normal bemused, mighty self. And there was a woman in a torn red dress who seemed to have found the bemused look that Felos had lost for a long moment, neither of them spoke. Raithe you're you're alive. I sure, hope so. Rafe and Raylan laughed. It was as if no time at all had elapsed, even with the impossible circumstances to meet again in Pietro's cell, locked in by the very people who had imprisoned Raelan months ago, Raylan took a step forward and then ran directly to Raife and grabbed him in a big hug. There was no awkwardness, no bitterness, just joy that the two friends were reunited. They parted, and Raylan's eyes scanned the room, landing on Cray, who had not moved. He sat there, a quiet sense of peaceful observation on his face. Who Raylan, this is Cray, law master of the Order of the Dragon, master of arms, keeper of history. He gestured to the ancient dwarf with something close to war. Cray, this is Raylan, guild master of the Thieves, Guild of Nests. Well met Guildmaster. Cray's eyes fixed on Raylan with an intensity that made the young guildmaster take an involuntary step back. Cray studdied him in silence, his expression unreadable. Pietro's successor, He set the journal down with care and pushed himself to his feet with a slowness that spoke of age and aching joints and a long journey. Are you following in his footsteps? Guildmaster Pietro was a great man. Inscrutable, perhaps foolish. That is yet to be discovered, but he was a great man. You knew Pietro. I met him. I didn't know him. Rebecca, who had been silent, stepped forward. You are studying the journals, ay, But to call. It studying is a disservice to the word. They are written in a code or another language. I have worked tirelessly to translate it, but it has evaded me so far. We know, Raylan said enthusiastically, which Raife found odd to be excited about an impossible block to moving forward. But then he said the words that nearly brought Raife to tears. But we bring the wand this is the key. We are sure it is what had been placed there originally. Raylan pointed to the empty box on the wall. Cray's expression shifted. The cold appraisal melted into something Rafe had only seen once before, when he first discovered the journals existed. A youthful excitement of discovery ahead the wand he scrambled over with surprising energy. As he walked forward, the woman slid it out of her pack. She stood, holding it in her hand like a present. She was going to hand to some lucky boy. I'm Rebecca, by the way, Well met. Rebecca, Cray replied, as he stood before her, his arms behind his back. You wield the most important item in the world at this moment. He pulled one hand from behind his back and held it out. May I see it for the law master of Dragon's Watch. Indeed you may. She handed the one to Cray, who nodded, took it in his hand, and immediately went to an open book on the bed. He leaned forward and touched it with the wand nothing. He grumbled and turned a page. He then ran the wand along the words nothing again. Perhaps the guild master needs to wield it. Cray looked up, and Raylan walked over. Cray handed the one to Raylan, but Raylan had no more luck than he did give it to me. Rafe said, out of impatience, nearly snatching it from Raylan's hand. I can do this if there is a secret to unlocking knowledge. I will be the one to unlock it. However, his efforts were just as useless. Everyone was quiet. Rebecca, you said I needed to speak the oath. Could that be it? Yes, that is one of the keys, the oath. She looked at Raylan. The oath of the Guildmaster. Perhaps there is no oath of the thieves Guild. Raylan took the wand back from Raefe. He looked it over. Wait, everyone stared as Raylan closed his eyes. We take, so we can give. Nothing seemed to happen, but Raylan dropped the wand. It's hot. You did it. Raf slapped Raylan on the back. As Raylan picked up the wand and repeated the exercise of touching the book and running it over text. But nothing happened. Is it different, cray asked, as Raylan stood amidst them, looking crestfallen. No, it just doesn't work. The room was silent once more, before Raylan exclaimed. Wait, it feels different. He looked at the Wand and his eyes went wide. There are more runs. Rafe ran over and held out his hand to him, and Rafe gently took it in his hands and examined it closely. Rafe turned the wand over his eyes, tracing the runes, and suddenly it was all clear to him. This was it. This was indeed the key. The runes carved into the grain itself. This is not a tool of magic. This is a codex, a what. Rafe moved closer, his scholarly instincts overriding the shock of the reunion. A codex, a translation guide. It had only one set of words until you held it and said the guildoath. Then the matching runes appeared. Raylan ran into the study wand in hand, and everyone followed. He sat at the desk and pulled a journal. Close. I've been studying this intently, I felt, I was so close here, let me look. He rolled the wand in his fingers. As he looked from journal to wand to journal. Well, Raylan sounded both excited and impatient. Rafe looked up four faces staring intently at him, full of hope, full of complete attention. To Rafe, he smiled, and in a moment he would never forget for the rest of his life, said the. Words, I can read it. Chapter twenty five, The State visit. The Ledger was a monument to Larsan's dumbfoundingly poisonous ego. Karch ran his finger down the column of numbers. Each won a nail in the coffin of the Merchant Guild. He had read it a dozen times, and each time the truth grew more absolute. The Merchant Guild owed everything to the Craft Guild. Karch had wondered how Larsen could afford the bribes he had delivered, the captains he had paid off, hell Saxe's loyalty certainly had a steep price. And now the warehouses, the ships, the tower itself, every brick, every beam, every coin in the vault belonged to the Craft Guild, which meant it belonged to Vesper, and Vesper belonged to Karch. His incredibly far fetched plan to install Vesper as guild master craft had worked. A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts. Before he could answer, the door creaked open, and Hemley shuffled in, clutching a fresh stack of papers to his chest like a shield. The money counter looked even more pale than usual, which Karch had not thought possible. Guild Master, you summoned me, I did. Karch pushed the ledger aside and gestured to the chair across from his desk. Sit. I have a task for you. Hemley sat, though he perched on the edge of the chair as if ready to flee at any moment. His eyes darted to the ledger, and Karch saw the fear in them. The man knew what was in those pages. He had been the one to show Kash the truth of Larson's folly. I need you to draft a document. A document, sir, yes. Karch pulled a blank sheet of parchment from his desk and slid it toward Hemley. A document that forgives all debts owed by the Merchant Guild to the Craft Guild. Hemley stared at Karch, his mouth opened, closed, opened again. He looked like a fish that had been plucked from the water and tossed on to a hot stone. Guild Master, I I don't understand. It's a document, you write it. What's to understand. Ah, it's not that, sir, it's how you expect them to just forgive the debts. They have a new guild master, you. Know, Carch sighed. Hemley was brilliant at numbers, but simple minded at practically everything else. It's simple. The craft Guild holds our debts. The new craft guild master will sign a document releasing us from those debts. You will draft that document. But Hemley's voice cracked. But sir, the debt is it's everything, it's the entire guild. He won't just he can't just. Forgive ah, Hemley, he's the guild master. He can forgive the debt. That's why you are writing that document. Emly's face went through a remarkable series of expressions, confusion, dawning, comprehension, horror, and finally a flicker of something that might have been hope. You mean Vesper. You expect Vesper to forgive the debt? Yes, Hemley, I do expect that. To Hemley's credit, he didn't just leave it there. Why would he do that. The craft guild could own us, they could take everything. Karch smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. Let's just say that Vesper the man owes me enough that he'll sign whatever I put in front of him. Before Hemley could ask another question, Karch held up his hand. But let's not take anything for granted, shall we. Tapping the paper with a thin finger, Karch added. Draft the document. Fill a few pages with every legal term you know make it look like the most boring, routine piece of guild business ever put to parchment. Hemley nodded slowly. His hands were still shaking, but there was a new light in his eyes, the light of a man who had been given a lifeline. Yes, killed Master, I'll have it ready within the hour. The Craft Tower stood next to Founder's Park, like one of the buildings where park attendees could relieve themselves. It was larger than Harvest House, but had none of its mystical aura. It was a sad building for a sad guild. The guards at the door recognized Karch and stepped aside without comment. He climbed the stairs, the document tucked inside his coat like a viper waiting to strike. He had read it three times on the way over, making sure every clause, every sub clause, every carefully buried provision was exactly as he needed it to be. Hemley had done well. The document was a masterpiece of bureaucratic obfuscation. On the surface, it appeared to be a simple adjustment to a payment schedule, a minor note, but a complex one encompassing shops and merchants and stock, the kind of thing a new guild master might sign without reading too closely. But buried in the middle of page three, in language so dense it would make a lawyer's eyes bleed was the key phrase hereby releases and forever discharges all claims, debts and obligations. Carch reached Vesper's office and knocked enter. Vesper sat behind Orion's desk. No Vesper's desk now looking remarkably uncomfortable for a man who had just seized control of one of the most powerful guilds in ness. Papers were scattered across the surface, and the assassin turned guild master was frowning at them as if they had personally offended him. Carch. Vesper leaned back in his chair. He did not offer a seat. This is a. Surprise, a pleasant one, I hope. Karch produced the document from his coat and set it on the desk. I had hoped to have my first state visit be more full of pomp, but alas this is more a practical. Matter, Vesper peered at Carch, What is it? Karch took a seat A routine matter, normally one that I would have a deputy or money counter handle. But as you're so new, I wanted to welcome you to the boring part of the job. Personally, Carch laughed, hoping that his casual demeanor and personable outreach would hide his true goal. He pushed the papers toward Vesper. It's an adjustment to the payment schedule between our guilds. It's necessary due to. Thee Karch waved his hand out toward the city. Unfortunate recent events. I would say, read it and let me know what it says, but I'm sure it will make your eyes bleed out of boredom, as these things do mine. I'll review it. Vesper shoved the papers on top of the others. I could save you some time. Just sign them and I'll return with them so you don't have to bother with keeping track of another document in a pile where you need to keep track of which needs to go to whom. Vesper picked up the document and looked it over and then, to Kartch's immense relief, dropped it back on his desk without reading it. But he didn't reach for a quill or his guild seal. He just shoved the document back to the pile. I'll sign it as soon as I have a seal. Sh blinked a seal. Vesper gestured vaguely at his bare hands. I don't have it, or Ryan took it with him under the waves of the North Fork. The North Fork, of course, the one thing Karsh hadn't considered, the guild seal was at the bottom of the river, wrapped around a dead man's finger. That is unfortunate, Yes it is. Vesper's expression was unreadable. I'm having a new one made. It will take time. How much time? A few days, perhaps a week? Vesper waved his hand dismissively. Don't worry, Kuch, I'll sign your document as soon as I have the means to do so. Leave it with me, Leave it with him. Leave the document that would save the Merchant Guild in the hands of a man who had every reason to read it carefully, to discover what Karsh was really doing, to use it as leverage. But Karch had no choice, of course. Karch forced a smile. I understand you have much on your mind, guild Master. Vesper, standing up, Karsh turned to leave when Vesper finally presented some element of gratitude towards him. Thank you for my first state visit, guild Master. May it be the first of many. Karch walked back to Merchant Tower, his mind a battle between despair and confidence. A few days, perhaps a week, a week for Vesper to read the document closely, a week for him to discover the buried clause, a week for Kasche's careful plan to unravel completely. Or a week to freedom and a new day. All he could do was wait. Chapter twenty six, the fine print. The boots were wearing thin. Vesper had noticed it that morning, a slight roughness where the soul met the cobblestones. He had owned these boots for three years. They had carried him through countless missions, silent and sure. Now they were betraying him, one step at a time. It was, he reflected, a fitting metaphor for his new life. The sun was setting over the Craft Quarter as Vesper climbed the steps to his tower for the fourth time that day. His legs ached, his back ached, even his eyes ached from squinting at ledgers and lists and the endless stream of faces that demanded his attention. Being a guild master was exhausting. As a blade, Vesper had been invisible. He had moved through the city like a shadow, noticed by no one, answerable, to no one except Orion himself. His work had been simple, find the problem, remove the problem, disappear. Now every one wanted a piece of him. He had to vet candidates for empty captain positions, a job full of glad handing and politicking, exactly the things he hated. The regular craft guild members wanted assurances. Who was this new guildmaster? How come we had never heard of him? Was it true? He was Orion's blade and the jewelers were taking on the task of creating the new guild seal with the reverence it probably demanded, but with a time frame, Vesper found unbearable the seal, that bloody seal. Without it, he was a guild master in person only. Every order he gave had to be delivered by himself. Every decision had to be witnessed. He couldn't send a simple note across the city without walking there himself to confirm its authenticity. To day alone, he had traveled to the weaver's district to settle a dispute over loom allocations, then to the smith's district to name a new captain. A gruff woman named Hera who looked at him like he was something she'd scraped off her Anville, then back to the tower for a meeting with Odo, the ancient clerk, who seemed determined to bury him in paperwork. Then out again to the docks to inspect a shipment of iron that someone claimed was substandard. That person was right, it had been substandard. Vesper had no idea what to do about that. If he had a seal, he'd send a note to Polo to alert him to issues in the mines. But now he told them to sort it out and walked away. Now he was back in his office, slumped in the comfortable chair. That was the only good thing about this job, staring at the pile of papers on his desk. They had multiplied while he was gone. They always multiplied. Right to work. He reached for the top document, some complaint from the chandlers about candle wax, and set it aside. Then another, a request for additional workers to add defenses to the tower. Another a proposal to expand the apprentice quarters, which in turn would require more defense requests and more guards. Another he stopped Carch's document, the one from this morning, the routine matter that the merchant Guild muster had been so eager for him to sign. Esper picked it up, turning the pages in his hands. It looked dry and indeed boring, but it was at least something that wasn't craft guild business. He had barely glanced at it earlier and passed it over, but he had been tired, overwhelmed, desperate to get at least some things of practical importance done. Now, in the quiet of the evening, with nothing but a guttering candle for company, Vesper began to read. The first page was as dull as Carch had promised. Payment schedules, interest calculations, a list of shops and merchants, and stock values that meant nothing to Vesper. His eyes began to glaze over. The second page was worse. Legal terminology piled upon legal terminology, each clause referencing three others, each paragraph dense with words that seemed designed to confuse rather than clarify. It reminded him that he would need to name a captain of state for such matters, and if none existed, he'd create it. Then. Then there was a continuation on the next page with language that essentially said nothing that didn't necessarily surprise him, But the paragraph was so dense and longer than the rest of the document that it looked odd. Vesper looked closer and immediately had a suspicious thought. Karch was definitely hiding something. He forced himself to slow down, to read each word carefully, to trace the references from clause to clause. It was tedious work, the kind of work that made him long for the simple clarity of a blade in the dark. And then there it was a reference not to other clauses, but an explicit statement of all debts and obligations. Vesper wasn't a statesman or money counter, but he knew what the word all meant, and staring at him, buried in text was an acknowledgment that, due to the illegal nature of previous guild master commitments, the document releases and forever discharges all claims, debts and obligations. Vesper read the sentence again, then again. Then he flipped back to the beginning of the document and read the whole thing from the start, his understanding now colored by what he had discovered. Ita was elegant. He had to admit. The document appeared to be a minor adjustment to a payment schedule between the guilds, but buried in the middle, disguised by language so convoluted it would make a lawyer weep. Was a clause that would forgive every debt the merchant owed to the craft Guild, every single debt. Vesper set the document down and stared at the wall. His immediate thought was how much debt there actually was. He knew in general terms that the Merchant Guild owed money to the Craft Guild. Everyone knew that Larsen had borrowed heavily to fund his schemes, and those debts had passed to his successor. But until this moment, Vesper had not understood what that meant. If this document was real, if the debts were significant enough that Carch would go to such lengths to erase them, then the craft Guild didn't just have money owed to them. They had leverage over the merchants, perhaps significant leverage. Vesper laughed. It was a quiet sound, barely more than a breath, but it echoed in the empty office like a thunderclap. Carch, the great spider at the center of his web, the man who had installed Vesper on this comfortable chair, who had beat Polo at his own game, who had created this whole leadership dynamic within ness. Did it all for one reason? He was desperate. Vesper wanted to know how desperate. Oda would know, or he would know who would know. Vesper picked up the document again and weighed it in his hands. Such a small thing, a few pages of paper, and yet it represented more power than Vesper had ever held in his life. He could sign it, honor his own personal debt to Kash for making his guild mastership happen, release the debts, and maintain the alliance that had put him in this chair. Or he could refuse, hold the document over Karch's head, use it as leverage to extract whatever he wanted from the Merchant Guild. Vesper set the document carefully on the corner of his desk, separate from the other papers. He would need think about this, consider his options, decide what kind of guild master he wanted to be. But first he needed to know just how desperate Carch was. He now knew he had leverage over the Merchant Guild. The next step was to know how much he called out a new found excitement in his voice Odai, Chapter twenty seven. Recognition the coin was strange. Dahla turned it over in her palm, studying the unfamiliar face stamped into the metal. It wasn't copper or silver or gold. It was something else, a dull gray metal that felt too light in her hand, possibly like the tin she had seen smelted in the large forges outside the mines. They used different currency here. Wonderful Darla dropped the coin back into the pouch they'd taken from the dead guards. There were perhaps two dozen of the strange discs, along with a few that looked like copper but had an odd sheen. So we have money that might be worthless, clothes that mark us as guards, and no idea how anything works. We'll figure it out. Maeler was already pulling on her red cloak, adjusting the hood to shadow her face. I'll go find work. Stay here with prosper don't draw attention. They had found a room above a tavern, a cramped space with two narrow beds and a window that overlooked a courtyard. The price was two of the tin discs, so they had at least some understanding of currency value like the currency. However, the city beyond was nothing like ness. The buildings were taller, the streets cleaner, and there was magic. The magic wasn't omnipresent, but it appeared in surprising places. Lights that burned without flame, signs that changed their letters. As Darla watched, it was beautiful and terrifying and utterly foreign. Be careful. Miela kissed her, quick and fierce, and then she was gone. Darla turned to Prosper. The wizard sat on the floor by the window, doing what he always did, arranging pebbles into patterns. Only he understood. His hair was wild, his eyes distant. He hadn't spoken since they'd entered the city, which was probably for the best. Prosper, are you hungry the stones? Remember right? I'll take that as a no. She needed air. The room was too small, too close, and the weight of this strange city pressed down on her like a physical thing. She couldn't leave Prosper alone, but perhaps she could take him downstairs. A drink would calm her nerves. Come on, we're going to the common room. Look normal. Don't speak to anyone. Prosper blinked at her, his eyes focusing for just a moment. The stones are different here, they sing a different song. That's fine, Just don't mention the stones to anyone else. The common room was half full, a mix of locals drinking and eating and talking in low voices. Darla guided Prosper to a table in the corner, her back to the wall, her eyes on the door, old habits. She ordered two cups of whatever. The locals drank and tried to pass the coins the bar keep wanted. She overpaid. She could tell by the way the man's eyebrows rose. Damn, are you rangers? Yeah, we don't get to town very often. The bar keep grunted and moved away. Darla let out a breath. One crisis averted. Prosper was staring at the table, his finger tracing patterns in the wood grain. The lines convey urge, always converging, never touching. Drink your whatever this is. Darla pushed a cup toward him. It smelled like honey and burned like fire when she took a sip. It was not unpleasant. They sat in silence for perhaps a quarter of an hour. Darla watched the room, cataloging faces, noting exits. This place was different, but people were the same everywhere. The way they clustered, the way they avoided eye contact, the way power gathered around certain tables and not others. She was studying a group of men in red robes when one of them stood up. He was older, perhaps fifty, with a close cropped beard and sharp, intelligent eyes. He had been watching them. Darla realized it too late. She had been so focused on reading the room that she hadn't noticed she herself was being read. The man walked toward their table with the confident stride of someone who expected to be obeyed. Forgive my intrusion, but you look remarkably like someone I wanted new. Darla's hand drifted toward her knife. He gets that a lot. He has a common face, I see. The man didn't look convinced. He leaned closer, studying Prosper's face. What's your name, friend? Prosper looked up. His eyes were empty, unfocussed. The roads, Remember they remember when they were one road before the mountains fell. The man froze. Something flickered across his face. Recognition, fear, hope, all tangled together. Prosper, is that you. Darla's blood went cold. She had to act now. His name is Raffi. He's not well, as you can see. His mind wanders. He says strange. Things, but he looks exactly like. I'm sure your friend was a fine man. But Raffi has never left the forest before. Now he was an axe man before the fever took his wits. We're here seeking a healer. The man hesitated. He wanted to believe her. Darla could see it in his eyes. The alternative was too complicated, too dangerous. But Prosper's face, that face he clearly remembered, was making it difficult. Prosper chose that moment to speak. The fish don't swim here. The water runs the wrong way up instead of down. How do the fish know which way to go? What? The birds fly differently too. Their wings catch the light wrong. Everything catches the light wrong. It's the wrong sun you see, not the same sun at all. Dalla saw the transformation happen in real time. The recognition in the man's eyes faded, replaced by uncomfortable pity. Whatever he remembered of Prosper, a colleague, perhaps a fellow guard, someone who had been sharp and capable, This rambling fool was clearly not that person. I'm sorry I was mistaken. The resemblance is remarkable, but clearly this is not who I thought it was. It happens sometimes strangers think they know him. It's the eyes. I think he has kind eyes. Yes, yes, I see. I apologize for the intrusion. I hope you find your healer. He walked back to his table, and Darla saw him shake his head at his companion's a mistake, a coincidence, nothing more. Darla waited until her heart stopped pounding before. She spoke, Prosper, that was well done. He looked at her, and for just a moment, his eyes were clear, sharp, present. Then the clarity faded, and he returned to tracing patterns on the table, lost in whatever landscape existed inside his broken mind. Darla drained her cup and ordered another. When Maeler returned an hour later, Darla told her everything about the man, about the recognition, about Prosper's strange, perfect intervention. We need to be more careful. He's known here. We should keep him hidden. Agreed, But I think I think there might be more left in there than we realized. What do you mean he saved us, Maeler, whether he meant to or not, his ramblings convinced that man he was wrong. It was almost like, almost like he knew what he was doing. Maeler was quiet for a long moment. Then we'll have to hope he knows what he's doing again, because we can't afford any more close calls. Darla nodded. She looked at prosper at his peaceful, dreaming face, and wondered, not for the first time, what secrets still lived in those empty, wandering eyes. The podcast Alchemy production