A smile flickered quickly.
"In fact," I went on, "I've been standing here asking myself the same question. Mostly, I'm passing through on the way to somewhere else. Or I guess from somewhere else. But I understand I have kin somewhere around here, and I'd like to find them."
"Oh. Who?"
"The name is Merss."
She turned her head and gave me a long, measuring look. I waited.
"I can't help you," she said at last.
I nodded. "I'm beginning to suspect they aren't here at all," I said, because a good lie can loosen tongues better than a bad truth.
"I know who would be will—that is, able to tell you many things about this town," she said.
"Oh? Well, that's the most hopeful thing I've heard today."
She hesitated, then said, "It'll cost you."
I looked at her.
She sighed. "Oh, all right. There's a public house called the Cellar Mouse."
"Yes, I saw it."
"In back of it are stables. Most nights, there will be a man there named Zollie. He's the coachman for Count Saekeresh. He knows everyone and everything, and he's the Lord's coachman so no one can touch him; or at least so he thinks. Get him liquored up a bit and he'll tell you anything."
I dug an imperial out, walked over and put it into her palm. She did that thing people do when judging the weight of a coin and said, "Is it gold?"
"Pure. Don't spend it all in one place."
She laughed. "I owe you, Vlad. Fenario, here I come!" She grinned and kissed my cheek. She was nearly as tall as I was. She was much more attractive when she was smiling. I watched as she walked away, a nice spring in her step.
After a bit, I took myself over to the Cellar Mouse, which was a lot like the Pointy Hat (as I'd started calling the other place in my head) except the room was longer and the ceiling a bit higher. The tables were all small and round. After the usual reserved but not-unfriendly nods, I took a glass of wine to a small table and set in to nursing it until the evening.
The place started filling up quickly as dark came, mostly with men who had both the look and the smell of the factory across the river. There were also a few girls, all of whom wore gowns with obvious ties down the front and ankles uncovered. Sometimes one would leave with a workman, heading into the back. A couple of them looked at me, but none came over.
I studied the people, for lack of anything else to do, and worked on memorizing the faces for no reason except that it's good practice. Eventually, I made my way out the door and around back. The stable was directly to the rear about fifty feet, and, from what I could see, connected to a sort of paddock. Outside of it was a tall coach, and even in the dim light that leaked out of the inn it seemed to glisten. There was a marking of some sort on the door, and no horses were attached. Where there was a coach, there would be a coachman. And where there's a coachman, there are stories. And where there are stories, there are answers to questions, and maybe even the right ones.
I went in.
It smelled of fresh hay, old hay, wet hay, moldy hay, and manure. It was a big improvement. There were ten stalls, four of which were occupied by horses of various colors and sizes, the fifth by a skinny fellow wearing black, with a high-domed forehead over thick brows, making him look, well, a bit ridiculous. His hands were folded over his stomach, and there were several odd white scars crisscrossing the backs of them. He sat on a low stool, and his eyes were closed, but opened as I came closer; I saw no trace of sleep in them, nor sign of drunkenness—the latter being unusual, if you believe all you've heard about coachmen.
"If you've come for a ride to the manor," he said in a clear voice, somewhat higher pitched than you'd guess from looking at him, "you're too late. If you've come for a story, you're too early. If you've come to buy me a drink, your timing could not be improved."
"I have questions and money," I said.
"Make the money liquid, and I'll answer the questions."
"Good enough. What do you wish?"
"Wine. White wine. And the better it is, the better your answers will be."
"I'll be back directly."
He nodded and closed his eyes.
He opened them a few minutes later when I returned with his wine as well as something red for myself. He sniffed his, drank it, nodded, and said, "Grab a stool." There were a few low three-legged stools like a cobbler uses; I took one and sat on it opposite him. The horses shifted around, and one of them eyed me suspiciously as I walked in front of him. Or her. Or it. Or maybe it was looking at Loiosh and Rocza.
I sat down and said, "My name is Vlad."
He nodded. "They just call me Zollie, Kahchish, or Chish." He took some more wine. "Good choice. All right, Vlad. You had questions?"
"Many, many, many."
His smile was friendly. I believed it, provisionally. So, where to start?
"Do you know a family called Merss?"
"Sure," he said. "About six miles north, the little road past the walnut trees. Big white house that looks like it's been added to a lot. Unless you mean the cousins; they moved away some years ago. I don't know where, but probably to Fenario. The city, I mean."
"Oh," I said. "Thanks."
"It's about a half-hour ride."
"I don't ride."
He looked genuinely startled. "You've never been on a horse?"
"I have been; that's why I don't ride."
"Mmmm. Very well. What else?"
"Why wouldn't anyone else answer my question about them?"
"They're scared of the Guild."
"Yeah," I said. "The Guild. That would be my next question."
"It's everyone's question. Mine too. No one quite knows how it came to be what it is."
"You must know some of the history."
He finished his wine and held the mug out to me. "Some," he said.
"Keep it," I told him. "I'll be back with a jug."
"I'll be here," he said.
The place had filled up a bit, so it took me about ten minutes to get back. I handed him the jug and settled down again. "All right," I said. "The Guild."
"Yes. The Guild." He studied me for a bit. "Why the interest?"
"I kept running into them while I was trying to learn about the Merss family."
He studied me more carefully. "They're kin, aren't they?"
"I always thought I took after my father."
"The way your nostrils flare. Most of them have that. Is that what brings you to Burz?"
"Yes and no," I said.
He waited for me to continue, and when I didn't he just shrugged.
"Fenario is old kingdom, Vlad. Very old. Two thousand years, the same people, in the same land."
I didn't comment on how short two thousand years would seem to Morrolan or Aliera, much less to Sethra; I just nodded.
He continued, "The borders have shifted a bit over the years, and other things have changed." I nodded, because he seemed to expect it. He continued. "For the last few hundreds of years, the King hasn't been too concerned with the outlying provinces. He's done what he's had to make sure the borders are secure, and other than that, pretty much left it up to the local Count to do as he would."
"Except for his taxes, I suppose."
"Sometimes yes, sometimes no."
"Mmm."
He shrugged. "Believe me, or not. As often as not, the King doesn't seem to care if the taxes are collected. At least, this far west. I suppose if he demands too much, he'll only encourage smuggling."
"All right," I said.
"So when things happened, we were on our own."
"What things?"
"The story is that the Count, the old Count, my Lord's grandfather, went off his head. Started thinking all the witches were trying to kill him or something."
"Were they?"
"Eventually."
"Hmmm."
"I don't know the whole story, of course. No one does. But somehow, the local witches split themselves into those who wanted to hide from the Count until his madness passed, and those who wanted to do something."
"Something like...?"