Forest For The Trees (Book 3) (25 page)

But when he arrived the next night, Shaw told him that
his two tenants had departed earlier in the day, paying their bill and leaving
no information in their wake.

Marik squeezed Ilona’s hand beneath the table of the
upper class establishment she had insisted they come to for dinner.  Across the
table, if Dietrik, through his typical efforts to be cute, so much as brushed
Rosa’s knuckles under the hanging cloth, Marik imagined the woman would give
him the rough edge of more than just her tongue.

This was a new experience for him.  Only city-dwellers
would have the time or luxury to dream it up.  When Ilona had expressed her
desire to find a meal, rather than have the Standing Spell’s kitchen provide,
he’d assumed they would find a tavern that employed a reasonably talented
cook.  Instead she had ordered him to dig out whichever clothing in his pack
bore the least stains or did not yet look fit to burn.  Rosa, the Spell’s
receptionist, had agreed to join them at Ilona’s invitation to augment
Dietrik’s presence.

Then Ilona had brought them
here
.  Marik
guessed it must be called a common room.  Guessed, because it looked like none
he’d been in before.  Tables filled it.  No countertop bar ran along any wall,
nor were you even allowed to find an available table on your own.  A server
escorted the customers to an empty table, as if the owner believed every
blighted soul in the city was a thief out to strip any of his valuables they
could steal, given the opportunity.  He might have taken affront at the insult
if Ilona’s battering ram gaze had not forced him to swallow his protests the
instant she sensed him on the verge of voicing them.

For the first time, Marik thanked the circumstances that
had forced him to master reading.  Asking the server what the kitchen had
available would certainly have been a mistake, given Ilona’s demeanor.  He was
mystified at how the cook could possibly make dozens of different dishes on
demand without any warning whatsoever.  Despite that, all four had ordered a
different dish after studying the list their server provided.  Marik expected
they would be forced to wait two or three candlemarks before the food arrived. 
It struck him as silly…but if it made Ilona happy, then…

The quiet atmosphere made him uncomfortable.  No one
spoke above a hushed tone.  What level of inefficiency would the nobility fall
in love with next?  A person came in and apparently waited half the night to
eat a simple meal with no other amenities.  He would have to go someplace else
to find a minstrel playing, or dice to roll, or entertainment of any variety. 
Leave it to the aristocracy to ruin a perfectly good system when they could. 
Give him a solid tavern any day.

Dietrik continued regaling a tale from his youth in a
Stygan Gulf port town.  This particular recounting described an event where a
trading ship from Vyajion had caught fire while berthed at the docks.  Ilona
listened with interest, as she always did when business matters of any sort
came up.  Rosa, who Dietrik hoped to impress, only paid polite attention.

When Dietrik ended with smoking pier fragments
floating out to the central gulf, Rosa registered only slight awareness that
she realized the story was over.  This hardly dampened Dietrik’s fortitude. 
Since the summer before, he had set his sights on the stoic lady.  She, as
adamantly, ignored his existence.

The silence unsettled Marik.  He had plenty to say
that could fill the void…except he wanted to speak to Ilona alone.  Making the
best sally he could under the circumstances, he mentioned, “I’m glad my letter
caught you before you left Kerwin’s.  I was afraid you might have already
gone.”

Ilona’s brown eye took him in.  She watched him
sideways.  Marik’s unease increased. Was she remembering the first letter he
had left for her when he departed along the Southern Road?  Since reuniting
with her earlier that afternoon, he had yet to find an opportunity to discuss
that particular missive with her.  It left him wondering where he stood in her
esteem.

“The ferry charged by the baggage.  You owe me half a
silver.”

“That much to carry one parcel up the river?” Dietrik
asked, incredulous.  “Perhaps I should retire and start a portage service!”

“It’s that much for thirty pounds of steel,” Ilona
elaborated.  “The ferrymen have started weighing baggage, rather than counting
the number.”

“Any angle they can work,” Marik grunted.  “They’re as
bad as rivermen if you give them any leeway to take what they can.”

Rosa stuck her oar into the water.  “Considering the
amount a standard ferryboat can load and maintain buoyancy through calm waters
or foul, then linking potential profit from a single journey to the cargo
rather than the number of passengers is the most sensible approach.”

“You see, mate?” Dietrik stated, his amused gaze fixed
on the curling ends of Rosa’s hair bobbing up and down under her chin.  “A
skilled talker can make anything sound reasonable.  All the more reason to have
her come work for me after I buy a few barges.”

She ignored that with the same efficiency she had
hitherto displayed regarding him.

The server stopped by to refresh Ilona’s and Rosa’s
wineglasses.  Earlier, the same man had reluctantly found enough ale in the
kitchen to fill two tankards for the men.  He had yet to offer a refill on
either.

“Business is about finding the best return on your
operations,” Ilona stated.  “Anything worthwhile in life is the same way.”

“I wouldn’t quite put it that way,” Marik answered. 
“There are times when you have to put in a lot of effort for only a minimal
gain.”

Dietrik met his eye.  Clearly he understood Marik
referred to the endless training sessions he engaged in while at Kingshome.

“If the gain was valuable,” Ilona countered, “then it
was worth the effort, whatever it was.  Having a tight hold over a niche in the
market is invaluable, and it requires harder work than you’d imagine to keep
others from gaining a foothold.  The slightest grip could allow others to build
a presence that quickly cuts into your profits.”

“That is if the others are playing by conventional
rules,” Dietrik observed.  “A clever chap can find ways to break into any
fortress.”  He glanced sideways at Rosa with a grin.

“Of course, “ Ilona returned.  “That’s why the
successful business operators spend their time thinking of ways to achieve what
they have already gained, then moving to ensure that others won’t blindside
them with it.  The best players are the ones who can think unconventionally,
and can see matters from perspectives that no one else yet has.”

“I suppose that’s why you’re obsessed with finding
every social loophole you can while you plan out your new location’s opening,”
Marik quipped.

“Have you ever run a serious enterprise?” Ilona
scoffed, her depthless eyes taking on her customary steely edge.  “Of course
you haven’t!  If you ever tried, I have no doubt you would hammer it into the
ground within a month.”

Marik felt the scowl crawling across his face.  Before
he could reply, Dietrik came to his defense.  “Hardly, lass.  Oh, given the
type of business you meant, I would say that is out of our waters, under our
current expertise.  But you could make an easy case that the present situation
is every bit a ‘serious enterprise’ as you could have.”

“And how is that running?” Ilona asked.  A quirk pulled
at her mouth.  Her amusement usually came at Marik’s expense, he had long since
noticed.  “I gathered the main points earlier.  What did the council say when
you addressed them this afternoon?”

“Nothing pleasant,” Marik revealed, his mood souring
fast.  He kept looking for an opening to talk to her about personal matters,
except every conversational foray she made led in directions too awkward to
steer the course he wanted.  “The only one who enjoyed it was the
knight-marshal.  He about broke his facial muscles smirking when I had to ask
for additional time.”

“How did Raymond and Torrance take it?” Dietrik wanted
to know.  “I still find it hard to understand why they expect anything from you
in the first place.”

“No one was happy.  Celerity was the only one siding
with me, explaining how the information we need isn’t being gathered as quickly
as they had hoped.”

“Well, that was right nice of her, seeing as she never
bothered to tell you much in the first place.”

“That’s what I was thinking, but it seemed best to
kept quiet about that.”

“Since you found time to come to the Spell,” Ilona
interjected, “I assume they granted you a deadline extension.  But no doubt you
intend to spend the night sweating over your labors, regardless of their
approval.”

Marik opened his mouth before the sparkle in her gaze
abruptly made him interpret the meaning of her words in a whole new light.  It
appalled him that, despite his age, a burn rose in his cheeks.  He shot a quick
glance at Dietrik, who, thankfully, devoted his attention to Rosa.  On the
other hand, Rosa looked past Dietrik to stare mercilessly back at him.

Despite saying nothing, he believed he could read some
sort of judgement in her silent appraisal.  She had said little all evening,
acting like the fifth wheel she was.  Why had Ilona wanted to bring her along
in the first place?

“I’m not sure how,” Marik forcefully announced to move
the moment along, “but Tru promised that his team was scurrying hard for
answers.”

Dietrik glanced away from Rosa’s helmet-like hairstyle. 
“Trask is finally sorting out who’s who in the prisoner camp.  It has been a
real job getting anything out of that bunch.”

“At least it gives you things to do during the day
instead of watching the army boys dance across the field.”

That brought a wry smile from his friend.  “It is not
much fun watching them go at it, no.  It reminds me too much of when I was
running those foolish drills as a recruit.”  He shrugged, leaning back in his
chair.  “We finally figured out that we could tell who understood Traders by
substituting the word for ‘rank’ with the one for ‘penis’.  In Traders, they
sound similar.  Wyman played the part of a blowhard army captain, stalking
around, demanding that the prisoners respect his rank and confess, or hollering
to be obeyed because his rank was far superior to theirs.  After a while, even
the card players with the best stone faces cracked a tad.”

“Uh…”  Marik glanced at the two women, who looked not
in the least discomforted by this talk, the way he felt.  “Yeah.  That’s pretty
clever, Dietrik.”

“Trask had the first one questioned this afternoon
while you were entertaining the council.”  Dietrik shook his head.  “A chap
should learn from his mistakes, I suppose.  That sounds the best order for the
day, all around.”

“What do you mean?” Ilona asked.

“Only that these folks take a rather serious view on
one of their own spilling secrets.  Or when they think one might have.  We put
the fellow we questioned back into the general area.  A mark later we found him
dead.  Broken neck.”

Marik winced.  “Did you get anything useful out of
him, I hope?”

“Not much.  You likely remember that Trask is not too
chuffed about the ways a prisoner is questioned.  We didn’t want to cross any
lines, on the other hand.  No sense alienating the whole lot of them right from
the get go.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“The only useful information was that the vast
majority of their forces will be tied down in Tullainia.  They have to hold
what they took, and they took too much at once during the last push.  I’d be surprised
if they can keep a firm grip on the entire lot without local rebels unseating
at least a handful of their garrisons.”

“There’s always hope for that.”  Marik glanced
sideways.  Ilona, as he expected, found this a less interesting topic than the
earlier matters.  He found her making eye contact with Rosa.  Slight twitches
signaled that they were in the midst of their own, unspoken dialog.

She stopped whatever communication they were engaged
in to return his attention.  “I heard you fought off another magic user in your
last battle.”

He winced.  Hard.  How had she learned about that? 
Certainly not from the scant retelling he had delivered during their short
reunion before leaving the Standing Spell.

“That’s…”

Ilona, knowing him well, pushed on after he trailed
off.  “I’d like to hear the details.  And from you as well,” she added,
focusing on Dietrik.  “You were there, too.  From the look of it, he didn’t
escape unscratched.”

Worried and self-conscious, Marik reflexively raised a
hand to the left side of his face while Dietrik answered, “Unscratched?  No,
lass.  That’s plain enough.  But he is still whole, still cranky, and still as
energetic as an old goat!”

Marik kicked Dietrik in his shin under the table,
which neatly put an end to his friend’s suggestive leer.

Later, after they paid for their meal, and a whole
silver
at that, Ilona said she wanted to take a post-dining stroll.  Dietrik offered
to escort Rosa back to the Spell.  When she made no plea for or against it,
they drifted away into the city’s night.

Ilona brought him to an Inner Circle square he had
never been to before.  Roads emptied into the vast space.  Trees, gardens,
fountains and open-walled structures filled the area.  It was a place where
harried nobles enjoyed coming for relaxation, to rest from the endless toil of
maintaining their position among the other court predators.  She brought them
up the stairs of what looked like a miniature bell tower transplanted from a
cathedral.