Sethra Lavode (Viscount of Adrilankha) (12 page)

In this way he was rewarded, because the inn’s servant had hardly cleared away the bowl and received the order for a second glass of wine before Khaavren was joined at his table.

“I wish you a pleasant morning, Pel.”

“Morning? It is after noon, my friend.”

“Is it? Well, so much the worse; there is half a day wasted.”

Pel gave him the smile that only Pel, or perhaps another Yendi, was capable of giving. “I would not say it was wasted, my friend.”

Khaavren looked up. “You have put the day to good use?”

“Certainly. Even very good use.”

“Then you have—”

“Made a discovery.”

“How, so soon?”

“Why else do you imagine I am here?”

“I had no idea. For my part, my errand failed entirely.”

“I think not entirely.”

“No, that is true; it occurred to me to request of them to ask Piro if he would consent to let me know his whereabouts.”

“Would you consider it boastful, my friend, if I were to say I had guessed it would come to that?”

“Not in the least, Pel. You know me, perhaps, better than I know myself.”

“Exactly. I not only guessed it would come to that, but—”

“Well, what else?”

“I thought to use that knowledge.”

“But, in what way did you use it?”

“In a way that you would not have approved if I had told you ahead of time I planned to.”

“You must understand, Pel, that I do not at all understand what you do me the honor to tell me.”

“Then permit me to simply relate my history, and then, well, you will understand everything.”

“Very good, I will be as mute as an Ekrasanite.”

“That is best, believe me. So then, you had not been gone half an hour before the maid-servant left, evidently on an errand. Apropos, did you notice that she is a very pretty girl?”

“How, you were there?”

“Outside of the house, yes, while you had your interview.”

“But … well, go on, my friend, go on. Where did this maid-servant go?”

“Where else, but to the posting house on Settled Way, near Nine Stones.”

“Ah, ah! She was posting a letter!”

“Certainly. And the proof was, it was in her hand as she walked.”

“Posting it for her master or her mistress?”

“So we can assume.”

“To Piro!” cried Khaavren, understanding of Pel’s ploy coming to him at last.

“That is very nearly a certainty.”

“So then, what did you do?”

“What did I do? Well, I followed the girl.”

“Yes, and?”

“And then I became lost.”

“You, lost?”

“Certainly. You know that I have only lived in Adrilankha this last year, and have never been in this part of the city.”

“Well, but what did you do?”

“What anyone would do when lost: I asked for help.”

“Of whom?”

“Of Macska, of course.”

“Macska?”

“The pretty maid-servant.”

“Ah, ah! And was she able to help you out of your plight?”

“Oh, she had not the least difficulty. She pointed out exactly the turns I needed to make in order to get to my destination.”

“And what destination was that?”

“Why, this charming little inn where we now find ourselves.”

“Of course. Well, so she was able to direct you?”

“It required a certain amount of gesturing and pointing.”

“And, during this gesturing and pointing?”

“Why I just happened to get a glimpse of the address.”

“Ah, you are remarkable.”

“And I got more than that.”

“What, more?”

“Yes. I got a promise from Macska to permit me to show her an evening’s entertainment.”

“What? You, Pel, with a Teckla?”

“I give you my word, I have no intention of marrying her.”

“Nevertheless—”

“But do you wish to hear the address?”

“Indeed, I wish it more than anything else.”

“The letter was addressed to a certain Kékróka, in care of the Deepwell Inn, Mistyvale County.”

“So then, it wasn’t to Piro!” cried Khaavren.”

“Ah, my friend. Do not be naïve. Do you think it probable that your son is having letters sent to him in his own name?”

“Ah, that is true!”

“And then?”

“Pel, you continue to astonish me. I tell you so. And you are right, had you told me what you were planning, well, I should certainly not have approved.”

“But now that it is done?”

“Well, I do not know about approving, nor do I know what our friend Aerich would say, but I cannot help but use the information you have provided. And, moreover—”

“Yes?”

“Now I understand why you had such confidence we would learn where he was by to-morrow.”

“And so?”

“I am in your debt once more.”

The Yendi bowed and said, “Well, it now but remains to collect our friends, and to learn where Mistyvale County is, and, well, we are on our way.”

“Our friends did not anticipate our setting out before to-morrow at the earliest.”

“Perhaps, but I believe they will be ready in any case.”

“So then?”

“Are you packed, my good Khaavren?”

“I have everything I need with me. And you?”

“Oh, you know that I am always ready to travel on short notice, or no notice whatsoever.”

“Then I will pay the shot, and we will be on our way.”

“Will you finish your wine first?”

Khaavren shrugged and, still holding his wine, signaled the host, who scrupulously calculated what was owed him. Khaavren paid it and thanked the host for the service he had received, which was both prompt and cheerful. The host was delighted, and assured Khaavren that, should he ever grace his house again, there would be klava.

Khaavren tipped his hat, his host, and his wine-glass, after which he followed Pel out the door.

How Matters Transpired at the
Deepwell Inn

M
istyvale County—that is to say, the Mistyvale County between Adrilankha and the Shallow Sea, as opposed to one of the other three—took its name less from any romantic notions engendered by this name (though no doubt the name is, indeed, tolerably romantic) than from simple observation. It is one of the handful of counties nestled between Southmoor and Bra-Moor, south of the Collier Hills, and twenty-five or thirty leagues west and north of Aerich’s home of Brachington’s Moor. The entire region is hills and valleys, with the Adrilankha River cutting through them like an orange ribbon; most of the hills being grass-covered, but some showing only bare rock. The hills and valleys are all modest, even compared to the Collier Hills, but, perhaps because of the ubiquitous river, or perhaps because of some strange effect generated by its hills, the valleys are filled with a thick carpet of fog nearly every morning. Perhaps the most striking effect of this fog is that the district has nearly as many stories about it as the Kanefthali Mountains or the desert of Suntra; indeed, Dewers’s famous
Tales of the Landlocked Harbor
are set there, and many of the landmarks referred to in his tales of supernatural wonder are in fact real (although, to be sure, the events he described seem to come from his own fertile imagination).

Numerous roads crisscross Mistyvale County: from Riverwall to Steps, from Brambles to Crossway, from Nacine to Gridley, from Hillcrest to Ripples, from Lottstown to Gorge. Moreover, these roads have not been carefully named; to be sure there is the Gridley Road, and the Lottstown Road, but there are three distinct roads called Hillcrest Pike and two that are known generally as the Brambles Road, so traveling in the region was problematical for a stranger, especially since the Disaster, as the various signs and markers had fallen apart and not
been repaired; yet, even during the height of the Interregnum these roads had been used, as there continued to be a certain amount of trade in coal and ore even with the refineries long closed and abandoned.

Inns and taverns were built, flourished, and died with a brutal regularity along these roads, the average lifespan before the Disaster being only a few hundred years, and during the Interregnum perhaps a few score. Of course, there were exceptions: the Feathers, in Brambles, has been in existence for at least six thousands of years, and the Pins, between Crossway and Hillcrest, has been in existence for so long that this historian cannot learn its origins (and does not care to accept the word of its present owners). Another exception, to be found on the Hillcrest Pike not far from Deepwell, is the Deepwell Inn, which claims its date of origin as the Fifteenth Tsalmoth Reign—certainly long enough ago to be respectable by any standards.

The Deepwell was a narrow, two-story building—indeed, it had been built to have three stories, but it had been constructed so well, of stone reinforced with iron braces driven into the stone, that, over the millennia, it sank into the ground rather than falling apart, and several hundreds of years ago the owners had been obliged to tear out the bed-rooms and create a jug-room from them. As a result, it had one upper story of bed-rooms to let; the main floor which held the jug-room; kitchen, pantry, and storage below; and additional storage yet further below, in what had been the original basement and wine-cellar. The main floor had two windows looking out from the jug-room, one looking west and the other north, and two doors, one opening to the west and the other to the east. In addition, it had a third door, which opened from the kitchen, below the ground, and into a tunnel that went south and emerged in the stables.

According to what sources we can find, the Deepwell had been a welcoming home to highwaymen since its erection, and no matter how many times its owner was taken by the Count, or occasionally the Duke (Mistyvale had been part of Arylle, Luatha, and even Hampers at various times), and fined, imprisoned, or even starred for aiding road agents, the new owner would continue the practice without the least hesitation. In the words of the owner at the time of which we have the honor to write, a certain Dunnclay, “I can help my friends, and I am assured of as much custom as I could wish as well as not
infrequent gifts; or I can turn them in to the authorities, in which case I will petition for Protection of Debts in a month and be dead in a year. I know which end of my cup has the hole.”

At the time of which we write, Dunnclay did, indeed, have as much custom as he could wish: the over-sized jug-room was tolerably crowded, nearly all of them Teckla, though there were one or two Chreotha or Tsalmoth merchants. One of these, a Tsalmoth, was engaged in an earnest conversation with one of the Teckla.

“But my friend,” said the Tsalmoth, “for so I hope I may call you—”

“Oh, certainly. Why, if you buy me another cup of this excellent stout, you may call me anything that comes to mind!”

“So much the better,” said the Tsalmoth. “Then, you will answer a question?”

“For this splendid stout, I will answer ten.”

“Then, if you please, tell me of these road agents I hear so much about.”

“Well, what do you hear?”

“That for one such as I, travel can be dangerous.”

“One such as you? You are, then, a wealthy man?”

“Oh, by no means. I would not say
wealthy
. It is true that I own a small, that is, a modest iron mine that employs some two hundred miners, and another twenty smelters, and brings me an income of three thousand imperials—”

“Three thousand imperials a year?”

“Please, not so loud.”

“But, that is riches beyond belief! In the old days, Count Mistyvale, I am told, only received an income of two hundred imperials, although, to be sure, this was augmented by a certain amount of livestock, and the odd bushel of rye.”

“That is a good income,” said the Tsalmoth complacently.

“I think you are rich.”

“Well, but my brother’s wife, who owns three mines, well, her income is at least ten thousand imperials.”

“I cannot conceive of that much.”

“I have a good imagination.”

“Well, that is reasonable, my lord.”

“To return to my question—”

“Well?”

“Are the roads safe?”

“Oh, yes. The roads are entirely safe.”

“So the much the better.”

“Unless you are wealthy.”

“Oh!”

“Then you must be careful of the Blue Fox.”

“Who?”

“The Blue Fox. A most fearsome bandit.”

“Oh, I don’t like to hear that!”

“When he robs someone, he likes to make sure he takes every penny, and so—”

“Yes, and so?”

“If he thinks you have not given him everything, he will hang you upside down from a tree, and cut you to pieces.”

“Oh! Oh! Oh! But, what if you give him everything?”

“Oh, then that is different. If he thinks you may be worth something in ransom, he will keep you safe and sound, treating you like a prince until the ransom is paid.”

“And if the ransom is not paid?”

“Why, then he will begin sending you back to those he thinks should pay. First a finger, then a toe—”

“Say no more, I beg you! What if the ransom is paid?”

“Why, then it will be just the same as if you were never held for ransom in the first place—that is, he will simply cut your throat in the neatest and most efficient possible way. He is not a cruel man.”

The merchant shuddered. “Does no one go free?”

“Oh, never. He pretends that dead men are unable to identify him.”

“You terrify me!”

“Bah. There is nothing to fear. Why, nearly half of the wealthy men who travel upon this road at night never even meet him, and arrive safely at their destination.”

“What about those who travel in the day?”

“Oh, that is much safer. Nearly two out of three wealthy men reach their destination with no trouble.”

“But what of the Empire? Does it do nothing?”

“Oh, yes. From time to time soldiers are sent in to look for the Blue Fox.”

“Well, and do they find him?”

“You perceive, soldiers are not wealthy.”

“And so?”

“And so he lets them pass, if they do not attempt to take him.”

“And if they do?”

“Why, then he sends them back a little more battered, that is all. I believe three or four soldiers have been killed, but no more; usually they are only wounded, even if they persist in attacking. I have never heard of him setting out to attack soldiers, which is kind of him.”