“Oh. Well, I haven’t had time to see the bankers today; tomorrow will do, won’t it?”
“On arrival in Valdaire,” Arcolin said, trying for Kieri’s tone.
“But the banks—you don’t want to wander around with a sack of gold.”
“On arrival,” Arcolin said. “And we arrived before noon.”
Grumbling, the agent admitted that he did, indeed, have that part of their payment; Arcolin went with him to the Golden Fish, not really surprised the agent was staying at such an expensive inn. On the way, he told Jamis, one of his escort, to fetch a pack mule.
The Golden Fish advertised its elegance with fresh paint on the doorframes and shutters, pots of flowers out front, and two stout door guards alert to keep out anyone they suspected of not having enough money. They ignored the agent, Arcolin, and Arcolin’s remaining escort; Arcolin paused and told the nearer guard that Jamis would be coming with a mule to take away the ale he was planning to buy.
“He can’t block the entrance,” the man said.
“No, of course not.”
“In uniform?”
“Yes. Phelan’s Company.”
“Good enough. S’long as he don’t park a mule across the entrance, we won’t bother ’im.”
Inside, the floors shone with oil; the common room smelled of fresh herbs. The innkeeper came to meet the Cortes Vonja agent, then led them to the inn strong room with its impressively iron-bound door and heavy lockplate. Inside, shelves held labeled sacks and boxes. In the presence of the innkeeper the agent opened a box with Cortes Vonja’s city seal on the lid, and counted out the first installment of southern gold, natas and nas with the Guild League and Cortes Vonja mint marks. Arcolin and the agent both signed a paper stating Arcolin’s receipt of the money. The innkeeper signed as witness.
“As you see, Captain, I have a good, secure strong room and would be happy to protect your payment overnight, until the banks open tomorrow.”
“No, thank you,” Arcolin said. To his eye the strong room was not proof against anything but casual and incompetent thieves. Valdaire abounded in such, but also had a branch of the Thieves’ Guild. “I have ample guards. I will, however, buy two kegs of your best ale, if you have it to spare.”
“Certainly, certainly,” the innkeeper said, beaming now.
“And in a glass and a half, one of your side rooms for the evening. M’dierra dines with me.”
“Yes, of course, my—Captain.”
“You’re dining here?” the Cortes Vonja agent said, frowning.
“M’dierra’s choice,” Arcolin said. “You object?”
“Er … no. I just wondered.”
“Captain, Jamis is here,” Tam said.
“Excuse me.” Arcolin bowed and looked around the common room. How long would it take the innkeeper—? But there he was, behind two servants, each with a keg. “This way,” he said to the servants, leading them to the front door. As he paid the innkeeper, Jamis and Tam packed the money first, and then the kegs on top of them. Arcolin went on ahead. Kieri had an arrangement for after-hours deposit at his banker’s. Arcolin gave the coded knock, a guard opened the door, and when Jamis and Tam arrived, the money went into a vault far safer than the innkeeper’s strong room.
“So, when’s himself coming down again? Or is it true what I hear, that he’s become a king somewhere up north?” Fenin Kavarthin, the banker, gray-haired and a little stooped, secured the vault door while Arcolin looked politely the other way.
Part of the banker’s pay was information. “He’s the new king of Lyonya,” Arcolin said. “That much is true. He’s the son of—I think it was the second last king before the one that died this winter, sister of the last queen. But the whole story’s long, and I have an appointment.”
“So—who’s going to take over the Company? And his domain—he had a domain in Tsaia, didn’t he?”
“I am,” Arcolin said.
“So you’re a duke—the Duke—now?”
“Lord of the North Marches,” Arcolin said. “Nothing more now; the Council knows I’m from Aarenis. And not nobly born.”
“He wasn’t either, that they knew about,” Kavarthin said. They went up a flight of stairs; Kavarthin paused at the landing. “When will you want the money out, Captain?”
“Some tomorrow, to pay for expenses here.”
“You know we still have money Phelan deposited two years or more back. And it’s earned. You have his seal and authority—what should I do with that?”
“Send half north with the first Guild caravan, to his usual bank in Vérella,” Arcolin said. That had been Kieri’s practice: leave most of a season’s earnings in the bank in Valdaire, but once the first campaign money was paid, half went north. “Send it to Captain Cracolnya; he’s in charge up there for now.”
“Not that good-looking woman captain? I thought she was second to you.”
“By your leave,” Arcolin said, “that’s another long story. Tomorrow, if it please you, but now I must go.”
A soft mist drifted down as he came out into the street, the afternoon darkening to evening. Jamis and Tam had left with the mule and the kegs, to deliver ale to the cohort. Arcolin checked the hang of his sword and walked swiftly.
For a wonder, the streets were silent on his way to the Golden Fish, idlers urged back inside by mist that turned to drizzle, then to thin rain as he walked. When he arrived, he saw someone leading Aesil M’dierra’s horse away from the entrance; she was silhouetted in the doorway. Arcolin stretched his legs and caught up before the door wards closed the door behind her. He handed his damp hat and cloak to a servant and they followed the innkeeper to the private room Arcolin had reserved. It was nicely furnished, the table covered with a clean cloth and set with dishes bearing the golden fish emblem of the place, chairs cushioned with padded leather, a weapons rack on one wall, more sweet herbs scattered on the shining floor.
“Very nice,” M’dierra said, sitting in the chair to the heart-hand side; Arcolin took the other.
During dinner, they didn’t talk; both had the soldier’s habit of eating while food was available. But when servants had taken away the meager remains of the leg of lamb, the pastry stuffed with steamed grain, vegetables, and bits of chicken and pork, the buttered redroots, the bread, and brought in a compote of mixed fruits simmered in spices and honey, M’dierra said, “Well?”
“I didn’t see it myself, but I heard it from those who did,” Arcolin said, ladling a serving of dessert into the small bowls the servants had put down on fresh plates. “Including Tsaia’s prince. You remember Kieri’s wife, Tammarion.”
“Indeed I do.” They both understood the slight edge in her voice.
“At the wedding, he gave her a sword, a sword that Aliam Halveric had found in the forest up there in Lyonya. It was a pretty thing, they both thought, and fit for a lady.”
“The one with that green stone?”
“Yes.” Arcolin explained what he’d been told about the sword’s origin. “I don’t know more than that, but I do know that Aliam had no idea whose it was, nor Kieri, and Kieri had vowed not to hold it, when he gave it to Tammarion.”
“Why?”
Arcolin shrugged. “I never understood it myself, or why he didn’t use it after she died. But it hung on the wall at the fort all those years until the night the Duke’s steward and a priestess of Achrya tried to kill us all.” He hurried through that part. “Then Paksenarrion rode off with it, having a call from the gods, and the next thing we heard was a summons from the Council for the Duke to come to Vérella along with representatives from the village councils of his domain.” Aesil said nothing, but put a piece of fruit in her mouth. “Then I had his letter telling me he was going to Lyonya to be king. And when I got to Vérella, I heard from the prince about the Verrakai attacks, not only on Kieri but on the prince, his uncle, and the Marshal-Judicar.”
“The Girdish will be out for blood. What about the other Verrakai?”