Chương 250: Chapter 271: Revelation

On Sevenday I left early, and the portal opened up into a small and ill-used home in Daropp.

"Hello?" I called out.

"Just out of the shower!" called a voice from another room, through an open door.

"Sorry, late start, we're an hour ahead here. Or is it behind? Time zones confuse me." I leaned against a wall and waited for Quarl to finish drying off.

"And you've got something nice to wear, but not too ostentatious?" I called back. Senses out, no people or unexpected scripts within earshot. Surprisingly thick walls. Three locks and a bar on the door. It's my first time in a safe house, but it's even more safe than I expected.

"I do," he said.

"Business-casual, like you said. What a strange concept."

"It'll catch on," I promised him. Talking through a half-open door, it was surprisingly cozy and familiar.

"So how did it go last night? All to plan?"

"Perfectly smooth, no flaws," he said back.

"You paid for top-shelf Duskare work, after all." In this case, that had included two weeks of advance reconnaissance, five lookouts, two safe-houses, a healer on standby and the services of a scrivener who could be counted on to keep her mouth shut. Despite Quarl doing the actual fighting, breaking in, the killing, and the escaping, he took a surprisingly small portion of the total fee. But, counting on just one man to handle a discreet killing of a guarded target without everything going to shit?

That's not feasible. Contract murder is like raising a child: it takes a village.

"That wraith key was amazing," he called to me.

"Is there any chance at all you've got another one?"

"Sorry," I said.

"I can talk to my guy, but I don't think another one comes available for several more years. The techniques to make them are long forgotten, and once one is used it's gone, so they only ever get more rare."

"Damn. Still, it worked perfectly. I wish more clients had tailored magic items to make a job so easy."

"Maybe, but you probably also don't wish that more clients have such ridiculous demands as I did," I called back.

"Showing up in costume, making yourself seen, theatrical use of magic-" He opened the door, looking fresh-scrubbed.

"Are you kidding me? That was the best part! I got to be him for a day. Or, you. Whatever. I walked in a legend's boots! Do we have time for a quick bite?"

"I was going to eat over there," I said.

"Perfect," he said, as I opened the portal.

"By the way, business casual? I'm not going to be meeting your parents today, am I?"

"Oh, no, not like that," I said with a smile.

"But you will be meeting my priest." He went shock-pale, and started stammering. I laughed and tossed him into the portal. It took a minute to get him settled in at the pub and convince him that he wasn't getting kidnaped into a wedding.

"It's not like that," I laughed, sitting down.

"I just want to make an effort, and get more people aware of the different parts of my life. I had kept everything really compartmentalized, but ultimately that was just holding me back. I think you should get to know more about me." The pub's windows were shuttered up to preserve the heat inside, and a fire was roaring in the corner. Crockery clinked and cookery clattered, breakfast was being served. Hearty meaty foods to keep energy up in the wintry weather.

It was the right kind of rustic, and Quarl looked around in interest as he unwound his scarf. Some of the village children came running by, calling out to me as they went, and a harried mother came after, holding one more in swaddling. A server came over from the bar with two plates of the breakfast hash and a carafe of water.

The minister's wife sat down across from us, introduced herself to Quarl, and immediately started regaling me with a roundabout complaint about the road conditions to the southeast, where silt deposits have raised the drainage ditches until the water rises high enough to wash out the road, and how it's been getting worse for ten years now but it's too big a job for any one village to dig out and fix on their own... I listened, asked if that was the jurisdiction of Baron Vyler, and it was.

He's a Kinghand urbanite who married into the barony and was known for skimping on public works. He answered to Countess Werona, and I'm going to see her this next Sixthday. I'll talk to her about it, have her jot out a letter to her vassal, and I'll bring it back so it doesn't need to wait on the mailbag from Hearstcliff. There's an unemployment problem in Gafferty, so maybe they could provide the manpower to fix the road.

Should be cleared in time for the summer rains, and we'll have a nice strong road by the time the harvests need to go to market. Quarl sat back, eating roasted potatoes with olive oil and diced sausage, and watched this conversation with an air of surprised amusement.

"I never would have guessed," he said. My fork clacked against my plate as I stirred it together.

"Probably my main asset is how easily I travel, and how many people I meet. It lets me put the pieces together to help people solve problems they couldn't have done for themselves. There's lots that I can do on my own, but it's nothing compared to just knowing who to talk to."

"And you could just fly to that road, use your magic to rearrange the dirt, fix the ditches and the roads?" I chewed, savored, swallowed.

"It'd take like an hour," I said.

"To do it right. But that wouldn't remind Baron Vyler that he has responsibilities he's neglecting, it wouldn't poke Countess Werona to keep a better rein on her vassals, it wouldn't help the unemployment in Gafferty. It wouldn't help build these communities together. It would teach them to be dependent on me, personally."

"But it would be a position of strength, for you."

"The strength to show up and fix their problems," I said.

"And they would owe me for that, and be grateful, sure. But if I'm the one that brokers the deal, then instead I've got the strength to show them how to fix their own problems. And every time they work together to a solution, they would owe me for that. Just as much credit, much less work, longer-term solution." Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. He thought about that while we ate in silence. I caught him using his fork to draw a small diagram in his gravy. He looked up at me.

"This really is the secret how you got so influential so fast, isn't it? Getting people to work together for their own benefit, and owing you the goodwill for just setting things up."

"Mobility, communication, foresight," I said.

"Not many people have all three of those." I spotted a local man with a deep tan and waved him over.

"Paum! You busy?" I glanced over at Quarl.

"Paum is probably the best hunter in the region, you've gotta hear some of his stories before the services." Quarl and the local hunters all started bonding over crossbows and shooting positions while I slipped a few feet away to catch up on local affairs, who had their baby, who's moving away for school. About half an hour in, I noticed Quarl's speech patterns shifting, slowly adopting the local accent and cadence. A real social chameleon, that one. Probably comes of the assassin's training.

Or he's just got that knack. I wonder if he's got a theater elective. He sat next to me for the services, and he really seemed to have way of it. He chuckled sensibly at the minister's small jokes and puns, he sang along with the hymns more than competently. He was great during the whole thing, and had nothing but kind words for the priest as we made our way out onto the street.

He smiled brightly at me outside, in a light sifting of snowfall, and tucked his head down to say, "I had a really great time and it was wonderful to get to know this side of you. Please don't ever bring me back here, I'm so out of place I could die." He had me laughing, and I handed him a blackhart mask to preserve his eyes before we teleported back home.

"What are you doing?" Elica asked. She stood in the doorway, staring at me in shock and dismay.

"There's only two more weeks of Winterwane," I said defensively.

"There's not many chances left to really snuggle in like this." When I left this morning I was wearing a nice day dress but not all that fashionable or daring. Church clothes. But now I'm probably more dressed-down that Elica has been in her entire life. Flannel with drawstrings, thick woolen socks. Approximately an acre of quilt. Knitted scarf and beanie, and a porcelain mug full of hot chocolate with cartoon cats painted on the side. I even conjured an oversized recliner for me to sink way down into.

At my side, a small wooden table with a spinning coin, an open book, an inkwell and a quill. Elica shut the door quickly like someone in the hall might see me. She bustled my way, a frown fixed in place.

"This whole building is heated, why would you ever need to wear-""Maybe don't get too close," I said.

"After all, the whole building is heated." She put her hand out towards me, and flinched back.

"Are you surrounding yourself with cold air just so you can wrap up with blankets like the room is cold?"

"Yes. You say that like it's weird."

"I feel like I've walked in on some kind of perversion," she scowled.

"Natalie! That is flannel."

"It's comfy!"

"It's plaid."

"It's checked, really. And it's comfy!" I snuggled in even harder, just to spite her. I did not stop working, the quill did not need me to take my hands off the mug to keep jotting down the script for Legally Blonde, as best I can remember it. It might go through a few drafts before I've got it translated and finished. I owe Vancy a cameo in a stageplay, but I rather think I could write her in as the lead instead. I glanced from the page, to look back outside, at the pallid light shining down on the quad.

Folks in heavy jackets walking past, heads down to keep warm. In Cliffside it's snowing right now, obviously it never snows inside this cave we live in.

"All of human civilization is dedicated to not being cold in the winter, and never going hungry. Everything else is secondary, except fine cosmetic products! But you are enjoying the cold, in winter. This is, literally and unironically, barbaric."

"There's hot cocoa." She wavered. She doesn't have quite the sweet tooth that I've got, but it's still enough to tempt her.

"With cinnamon." She stiffened up.

"I'll be sitting over here, where it is still warm and comfortable." I poured her a cup and sailed it over to her, she caught it from the air with long practice. Anyone that hangs around me gets used to things gliding around on their own, and learns to catch. She carried it over to her desk and sat there, sipping. She took off her bonnet and set it aside.

"So. Last night." The quilt tucked itself over my feet.

"I did not make nearly as much of a scene as usual," I pointed out.

"Yes you did and let's not fib," she chastised.

"But no, it turns out that I heard an interesting rumor. You know how I love those."

"It's been mentioned before, yes."

"It has to do with what some of the caterers overheard while they were serving at the party."

"They are hired specifically to never hear anything when they're on the job," I pointed out. She shrugged.

"Some new employees aren't good at their jobs. They might hear things they're not meant to hear. Also, significant bribes may have been offered. After all, you've been slacking off."

"What?"

"You just spin your coin and leave alone at that. Don't you ever want to know what he's up to?"

"I follow up all the time! I ask after him so much I'm worried people will think I'm some kind of creepy stalker! I investigate his actions constantly!" I protested, deeply wounded.

"Well then why do I know what he's up to but you don't?" she challenged.

"Because I'm not the bloody Queen of Rumors! I've got so much going on! Just tell me what Nathan's going to hit me with next." She smirked.

"So, as you very well know, one of the regular feature designers for Fashion Week has dropped off the map recently. After he attacked you and your brother abducted him." What an interesting way to phrase that. A very different view of events than mine, sure.

"So, there has been an opening in the Fashion Week schedule," she said, drawing it out, teasing the story. I lightbulbed.

"No," I said, deadpan.

"So, your brother, with what appears to be years of fashion design knowledge and training-""No!" I blurted, sitting upright. Cocoa spilled. I had a hard time caring about that.

"Apparently, a whole bunch of bold new ideas and a refreshing perspective-" I jolted into the air, chair and quilt vanishing in a second, the flannel morphing into a tanktop and a pair of jeans. My woolen socks were covered in leather boots by the time my feet hit the ground, and I started pacing around the room, unable to hold still. The bubble of cold air burst, wafting out, a breeze of chill washed over the room before it all equalized.

"That son of a bitch," I snarled, "he's going to use this to take control of Fashion Week itself. It lets him steer the narrative for the next six months at least-""You have the same mother," Elica pointed out. She was smiling like the sun coming out.

"I said what I said," I snapped.

"Dammit. Okay, this is going to look even worse, because everyone knows that this was offered to me but I turned it down. so whatever he manages to do just proves that I missed an opportunity-""By the way, what are you wearing there?" Elica asked, gesturing. So I glanced down. Buckled leather boots, rivet-stitched blue jeans, and a white cotton tank.

"Ass-kicking clothes," I said.

"I think I've seen a prostitute dressed like that," Elica said. She sucked her teeth.

"Not a good one." Obviously I recognize what she's doing, I'm fond of winding her up when she's upset about something too. There's something about us antagonizing each other that seems weirdly grounding. I might be pissed off about something, but as long as Elica is trying to make it worse, I know things haven't gone too far. It's when she sits back and meekly stays out of my way that I know I'm dangerously close to the edge.

"Gods, if he's one of the designers, he's going to have so many opportunities..." I muttered to myself.

"He's been so quiet! For weeks! Hardly a peep out of him in months! He's had so much time to plan, to set things up... he knows everything about the industry that Gharie knows!" And, shit. He knows about the Rapier Revolt. He's gotten that information from his sources, and he knows we're going to be on opposite sides of the fight. And so he knows this is the last Fashion Week before the Revolt starts. He's going to be positioned to shape the entire next six months of the social calendar.

I don't know how much he'll be able to do with that, but this is going to be really fucking ugly.