Loni, the elf, tapped Karlin on the shoulder and, with a serious look, tilted his head toward Magiere. Karlin reached into his vest, withdrew a piece of rolled parchment, and handed it to her. She frowned in confusion, then unrolled it and began reading.
Magiere's mild moment of happiness melted from her pale features.
Brows knitted in puzzlement, and then her eyes widened. When she lifted her gaze to Karlin, the clench of her jaw was plain to Leesil from across the room. The elf spoke, and Magiere threw the parchment at his chest as she began shouting. Several patrons at the bar shifted away toward the kitchen side as Leesil quickly pushed his way back across the crowded room.
He couldn't make out what she said, but he did catch "bastard," and some Stravinan term that sounded worse. Chap had somehow wormed through the room and beaten Leesil to the bar. The dog growled at Karlin and Loni-mostly at the elf, for Chap was as fond of the baker as anyone else living at the Sea Lion. Background noise began to fade as more and more people turned their heads toward Magiere's raised voice. Leesil planted one hand on the bar, vaulted to the backside, and caught her arm.
"Quiet, you dragon," he whispered playfully. "You're frightening the peasants."
Her pale skin was flushed, and the glare she returned made him think better of any further jest. She moved back from Karlin and Loni, and closer to him.
"Leesil, get them out of here… or I'll do it my way!"
Leesil abandoned any further thought of disarming the situation through humor, and slipped around Magiere between her and the end of the bar.
"Into the kitchen," he said softly, and then looked over his shoulder. "Karlin, you come now."
Leesil steered Magiere down the bar toward the kitchen's curtained doorway. He was thankful she didn't resist. She did, however, pull away from him and nearly rip the curtains off their rod as she swatted them aside on her way through. Leesil hurried after her.
"What's wrong?" he asked. He pulled a stool to the kitchen table and literally pushed her down to sit on it. When he did, he felt her shoulders shaking with tension. "This can't be about back taxes?"
The curtain pulled aside and Karlin entered, followed by Lord. The baker looked stricken and shamed, a troubling contrast to his cheerful nature. The elf stared at all of them, attentive and watchful but otherwise expressionless.
"You could just say no, Magiere," Loni said. "This drama is unnecessary."
"Get out," she answered with enough hatred that Leesil balked at her tone.
"And then what, send the offer back?" Loni tossed the parchment on the table in front of her. "You know this money could rebuild the old warehouse, this time to be operated as community property. More merchants working the coastal route would once again stop here. Commerce would flourish instead of wither. Dockworkers could earn a decent wage, forcing Master Poyesk and his like to pay well or close up. Outlying farmers and local crafters could collectively wholesale their goods once again."
"What is going on?" Leesil demanded, lost amid the argument.
Karlin stood in helpless silence.
"I can't believe you'd ask this of me," Magiere whispered.
Her gaze locked on Loni. She wrapped one hand on the table's edge, as if bracing for a lunge, her whole body tensed.
Leesil quickly stepped into her way, not the best place to be if Magiere succumbed to a fit of dhampir rage. Almost as tall as him, in such a state she could take down a trained undead warrior one-on-one.
"Show it to him," Loni ordered her, nodding at Leesil. "He burned the warehouse-correct? Perhaps he'll comprehend the potential of what you choose to ignore."
Leesil twitched reflexively at Lord's dispassionate barb, and then he felt Magiere's fingers pulling on his own. The touch drew his attention, and he looked down to find her pushing the parchment into his hand.
"Read it," she said quietly.
The rolled parchment was partially flattened from handling, but enough of the wax seal remained to see its imprint. In the center was the Belaskian royal crest under the tasseled banner of the king's city of Bela. Leesil's melancholy reared again. He unrolled the parchment.
To the council and governing members of the free town of Miiska in his majesty's kingdom of Belaski:
Through Sir Vidor Chasnitz, ship owner and member of our city council, we have learned of your recent economic difficulties related to the loss of your largest warehouse. We send our and his majesty's hope that your situation will improve. It is partially in this interest that we address you with a request which might be fulfilled best by one of your own citizens and in turn serve the recovery of your community.
From other sources, we have learned that in your respectable town resides one known as Magiere, a reported individual of special talents with whom we seek contact. We have heard with great interest of her skills put to the service of your town, and it is such skills and service that we in turn wish to engage from her. Our concern is that our great city of Bela may be plagued in the same manner as Miiska was until recently. The pattern of crimes pertinent has only of late come to the council's attention and by the worst possible means. The daughter of our prominent council chairman was killed upon the front steps of his home. The circumstances leave little doubt as to an unnatural perpetrator which continues to elude our city guard and constabularies.
We ask your council or its agents to bring this to the attention of Mistress Magiere, and that if she is willing, she should travel to the capital with all possible haste. To that end, we include documents to secure her, as well as the companion with which she is reputed to work, immediate free passage without question on any kingdom ship bound for Beta.
In exchange for her services, the council has been authorized to offer the sum of fifty gold sovereigns of the realm, notwithstanding any bounty offered by private parties. We anxiously await your reply and hope that our offer meets with acceptance, compassion, and duty.
With sincerity,
Crias Doviak, Secretary
Acting for the Council of Bela
Leesil set the parchment down and leaned back against the table, blankly staring at the floor. Loni allowed little more than two breaths to pass before breaking the silence.
"You do not seem surprised by this," he said.
"No," Leesil answered.
"But… how?" Karlin started, attention hopping between the others in confusion. "Darien just brought the letter to us this afternoon. And you already knew about it?"
"No," Leesil repeated. "I didn't know about the letter or what was in it. I knew something like this was coming… eventually, though it's sooner than I'd hoped."
"What are you saying?" Magiere's voice was harsh but quiet.
Leesil lifted his head just enough to find her looking up at him. Confusion filled her eyes, but her nearly white cheeks were still flushed.
"What did you expect?" he snapped more bitterly than intended. "If you think you had a reputation in the backwoods of Stravina, think again. We waged open battle with three undeads right before the eyes of an entire town… a port town sitting on the coastal sea lane of the whole nation, with sailors, merchants, and others passing through for two moons-even with the dropoff in trade. Worst of all, we won. This isn't peasant superstitions and rural rumors anymore."
Anger drained from Magiere's face as her large brown eyes filled up with barely suppressed panic.
The letter was only the beginning, and it was never going to be over.
Magiere sank in her chair with eyes closed. Leesil looked back at Karlin.