An alias. That would have been a good idea. He’d been trying to add a sense of credibility by giving his name, in case Lampson checked with the Navigator’s Guild, but in hindsight that was stupid. The alchemist wouldn’t be bothered to check his name, and an alias could save him trouble down the road. It was amazing how quickly you forgot the basics.
“It’s not in the Capital,” Calder assured him. “I’m setting sail for Vandenyas before the sun rises, if all goes right.” It was probably too late, but he’d decided to start throwing a few lies into the mix. Better now than never.
“Well, either way, I’m going to need to spread the marks around if we want to get this done. And as I don’t see a valise packed with paper anywhere, you should make a visit to the bank. While you’re doing that, I can take inventory and see what we have, but I’ll warn you now, it would be better if you had a real alchemist along. On your own, you’re more likely to blow your ship to splinters than to demolish your…wall.”
If Calder had an alchemist aboard, as many Navigators did, then he wouldn’t be begging in an alley behind a workshop. But at the moment, there was a more pressing issue in play. “That’s a reasonable concern, and I thank you for it. But on the matter of payment, I was thinking of something less formal.”
The alchemist’s eyebrows climbed so high that they vanished into his messy black hair. “You want me to give you a barrel of Othaghor’s Fire on faith and favors?”
It wasn’t as unreasonable as he was making it sound, Calder was sure. Favors were a common currency between the different Guilds, and typically considered a denomination higher than goldmarks. No amount of money would call the Blackwatch to your side when you wanted them; only a direct investigation followed by an official Guild action could do that. But if a Watchman owed you a favor, then you had someone to tell you if that shadow tapping your window is a rogue tree branch or a soul-eating minion of Urg’naut.
And among the Guilds, favors from the Navigators were prime quality. Navigators were required for any business on, in, or through the Aion Sea, so space on a Navigator’s vessel—at least, on the vessel of any Navigator not currently shackled by an Imperial debt—was worth an appropriate pile of gold. If Calder owed Lampson a favor, the alchemist could exchange it for rare Kameira corpses from Aion islands, for a free delivery to Izyria, or even for passage to virtually any coastal city in the Empire. It was practically a priceless coin, and one that Calder didn’t spend lightly. If he’d had any silvermarks to spare, he would have begun by negotiating a price.
But Andel kept a miser’s grip on the purse-strings, and anything that trickled to Calder was soaked up by the normal expense of a Navigator mission or by his endless debt.
It was a good deal for Lampson, which was why Calder didn’t entirely expect the man’s suddenly slumped shoulders or his dejected sigh. “I might have known. Well, I’m not your man, Captain. Try the next one of my colleagues who takes a visit to the dump.”
Calder glanced around, half-expecting to see some reason for the man’s sudden refusal. Maybe an Imperial Guard watching from the end of the alley, or the Kanatalia Guild Head on a sudden inspection. “I’m sure you’re aware, the service of a Navigator can be very valuable.”
“Sure, yes. But there’s two problems with that. First, you’re too young to be a Navigator Captain.”
Calder reached beneath his coat and into his jacket to withdraw his Guild crest, but Lampson held up a hand to stop him. “I don’t doubt you’re a member of the Guild, because you wouldn’t come this far without some kind of proof, but there’s no way in the Emperor’s good name that they’ve given you your own ship. So what good is your favor to me? That’s one problem, and the second is that you’re a Navigator.”
He spread his hands helplessly. “I’ve heard too many stories to trust Navigators in the bright light of day. And here you are in Urg’naut’s shadow, lurking in an alley to ambush me. I don’t think your captain knows anything about this, and I think once he does, you’ll already have a ship full of munitions for free.”
Despite his every effort, Calder had misplaced his business smile. “I’d be happy to draft up a contract, if you’d like.”
“I’m sure, but who would we get to enforce such a contract? This isn’t exactly a Guild-approved transaction. They’ll let me go my way as long as they don’t get involved, but if I have to have a Guild representative to witness a contract, they’ll want to know everything’s fair. All the more so if we hire a Witness. And if we don’t go that far, well, who’s going to defend my rights if you decide to drop anchor on the back end of Vandenyas?”
Calder did his best to salvage the situation, but it was clear that this ship had sunk. That was one prospect down, and Lampson would likely tell the guards to check more carefully behind the workshop tomorrow. But there were other workshops in the Capital, and he wasn’t willing to give up yet.
He’d crawl through freezing alleys every night, if it meant keeping his promise to Urzaia Woodsman.
Lampson finally escaped his grasp, slamming and bolting the door behind him as he returned to the workshop. Which left Calder standing in the wind next to a box of alchemical garbage.
Five years in a Guild, and look how glamorous his life had become.
Metallic thunder rolled out, like someone drumming on a steel can. At first he thought it was coming from inside the workshop, but he still reacted to the noise by glancing around the alley.
So he saw a dark, ragged shape clambering over the giant metal box toward him. It was a shadow surrounded by enough torn edges to completely obscure its shape, so in the split second he saw it, Calder jumped like he’d seen an Elderspawn wildcat.
His body was shocked into motion with a lightning bolt of panic, and he scrambled to pull his cutlass from its sheath. He had it in his hand, his training keeping the tip steady even though his hand felt like it was shaking, even as he cursed his own instincts. He should have gone for his gun. Why hadn’t he? Basic sword training from his father, advanced instruction from his mother, solo dueling drills on the deck of The Testament, and it all added up to him relying on a length of mundane metal instead of the miracle of modern weapons technology he kept inside his coat.
Since Dalton Foster had joined his crew, the man had done a complete upgrade on the ship’s small armory. If Calder ever decided to sell his sidearm, he could somewhat accurately bill it as a ‘Dalton Foster original,’ which he estimated would increase the value by at least a hundred goldmarks. But here, when he might actually need the carefully crafted weapon of a master gunsmith, he’d drawn his sword instead.
All this self-recrimination flitted through his mind in the beat of a hummingbird’s wing, while the creature of hazy darkness came to perch on the edge of the alchemists’ dump.
Tilting its head, it spoke.
“Um…hello,” it said.
She said. Judging by the voice alone, she sounded like a little girl.
A younger Calder would have immediately sheathed his sword for fear of scaring her, but he’d spent the past five years sailing the Aion Sea and most of the preceding two in the Blackwatch. He had enough experience with Elders to know that they could imitate human voices better than human shapes.