Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
As they walked back toward the inn, an upper floor window on the adjacent building slid open. Eunny poked her head out, waving to get Calya and Lowe’s attention. “Up here!” she called before disappearing back inside.
“The Foggy Window,” Lowe read off a carved wooden sign. A fresh breeze rose up, prompting him to sniff the air. “Smells good.”
“The wind’s seal of approval?” Calya deadpanned as she moved toward the door.
“Sometimes it’s just the wind.”
The bakery was oddly shaped, long and tall with at least three stories worth of height, yet the entire space was one large, open room.
Though there was an upper level for more seating and a lift built into the far corner, it was more of a mezzanine than a fully separate floor.
The ground floor’s seating area extended out to the edge of the bluff, the large glass windows giving spectacular views of the water.
A bell tinkled above Calya’s head, signaling her arrival. As she closed the door, a low voice sounded behind her.
“Returned already,” Froley said, standing in the short hallway that connected the inn and the bakery. “Your friends are upstairs. Bakery’s that way if you’re hungry. My wife’ll see you’re taken care of. Roxy!” they called in a louder voice. “Special guest.”
“Just guests,” Lowe said.
“I was being polite,” they replied. “The future director of Helm Naval Engineering, who sailed in on a windrunner full of Avenor Guardsmen, Sylveren folk, and a lone Sentinel? You’re trouble, I just don’t know what kind yet.”
“Oh, that,” Calya said. “Limited travel options.”
Froley turned away, a mutter of, “Sure,” tossed over their shoulder before they walked back into the inn.
Calya went to the bakery’s front counter.
It was the smallest part of the building, with a few kettles stowed up against a stack of assorted plates, all fighting for limited rear counter space.
A good chunk of the wall was taken up by a two-basin sink.
A single, long shelf held over a dozen tea tins, labels facing out, the varieties written in a clear, easily readable print.
The effect was somewhat spoiled by most of the labels’ remaining empty space being filled with drawings of flowers and hearts and other little sketches relating to the tea.
Countertop seating offered a few spaces next to a pastry case. The glass was clean and clear, lit well from a lightstone cleverly installed in the top. Offerings of sweet and savory baked goods were divided neatly in their respective halves, making a most inviting display.
A winding staircase led to the upper floor, which was empty save for where Calya’s friends had taken over a table at the back.
More tables and chairs of varying sizes were set up around the dining area.
A couple dressed in worn work clothes occupied one of the window-side tables on the upper floor.
They glanced at Calya before continuing with their chatter.
A few other tables on the main floor were filled.
A man sat at a table large enough for six, a pot of tea and a triple-tiered stand of half-eaten treats vying for space with a mass of papers spread out across the tabletop.
He hunched over the paper he was working on, scribbling furiously.
Farther on, a table of university-age girls eyed Calya and Lowe over their cups.
Their gazes lingered on the ranger. Calya scoffed, fighting back an irrational desire to lean against him.
Lowe noticed her stiffness. He glanced the source of her annoyance, and his lips twitched in what must be smugness. “Not feeling jealous, are you, Lady Heartless?” he murmured.
“It’s ingrained selfishness.” She pointedly slipped her arm through his. “Sharing is against my nature for all things. No matter how… trivial.”
“Really going to have to stretch yourself to think of something nice about me, aren’t you?”
Calya’s acidic reply was cut off as the proprietress arrived. A plump woman with the cheeriest countenance Calya had possibly ever seen greeted her as she popped behind the pastry case. “Hello! I’m Roxana.”
“Calya Helm,” Calya replied.
“Nocren Lowe.” He offered his hand and received a floury shake.
“What can I get for you?” Roxana asked, grabbing a plate. “On the house for a special guest. Any friends of Zhenya are friends of ours.”
“Whatever the house recommends,” Lowe said.
Calya allowed herself one longing gaze at a flaky pastry stuffed and drizzled with chocolate. She gave Roxana a tight smile. “I’m afraid sea travel doesn’t agree with me, especially at the speed of a windrunner. What do you suggest for a recovering stomach?”
The baker clucked sympathetically. “Let’s see how you do with the herb bread and butter.” She cut a hearty slice from a loaf speckled with dried herbs. “I’ve got a tea that’ll keep you soothed. Any reactions to anti-nausea magicks?”
“Only good ones.”
With Lowe carrying a tray of two personal-sized teapots and cups, and Calya bearing more bread and a fruit-filled hand pie for Lowe wrapped up in cloth, they made their way upstairs to join the others. A wooden canopy frame enclosed the nook where their table was placed.
Though the bakery never filled, it was also never empty.
A steady stream of people came through, either to make use of the inn’s mailing services or to have a quick bite from the pastry case.
A number of sailors stopped by with their own large flasks, filling from a large pot of the “brew of the day” before heading back to the docks.
For a town that was even smaller than Sylvan so far as a permanent population was concerned, both the bakery and An Honorable Pelf saw a hearty amount of traffic.
Calya quietly observed from her upper-level vantage, sipping her tea, the bread having been quickly demolished.
Roxana was kindly, greeting most everyone by name with good cheer—even the few Avenor Guardsmen who came by, though they were among some of the briefest visits.
A sizeable amount of business seemed to take place via the port.
Few large ships stopped, but smaller ones, both merchant vessels and the lighter craft used to ferry small goods or messages, came and went with regularity.
Far more than the records at any of Helm Naval’s offices would suggest, considering how much of the shipping they handled for Graelynd.
More than the Coalition ledgers would reflect, too, if she were to guess.
Setting aside her empty teacup, Calya looked around at her friends. “So, who’s going first?”
“Wait.” Zhenya leaned over to tug on a braided cord of brown rope next to her seat by the wall, and it released the ties holding up gauzy, cream-colored hangings that draped over the wooden canopy frame and down to the floor.
Woven in amongst the ordinary threads were thin strands that intermittently glowed a soft gold, forming a series of runes Calya didn’t recognize.
The ambient noise of the bakery warped for a moment, a strange heaviness to the air inside the canopy, before it normalized again.
Only this time, the outside sounds were the slightest bit muted.
“Fancy. When did you make these?” Eunny asked, running a finger across the glowing thread.
“On the trip over. They still need some work.” Zhenya squinted at the curtain closest to her seat. “Inscription work through thread isn’t my strong suit.”
“It’s safe to talk in this, then?” Calya asked.
“Enough. Just don’t shout.”
“This place sees far more activity than I would’ve thought.” She looked at Zhenya. “Froley’s a smuggler. That’s what you meant by ‘unconventional.’”
The inkmaker blushed, shoulders hunching up around her ears. “Yes, but they’re on our side!”
“Did you find out about our wards?” Anadae asked, gesturing to herself and Ezzyn.
“They arrived. I saw the proof of receipt myself, complete with my fucking name attached. Courtesy of Wembly, I’ve no doubt,” Calya snapped.
Anadae muttered a curse.
“We know Brint had a failed side project here that was shut down and handed off to someone else. But those offices down the street are practically empty.” Calya’s voice rose as her frustrations gained steam.
“Those were Coalition mages in Sylveren robes we met, I’d bet HNE on it.
And they’re blaming everything on a man who conveniently decided to disappear. ”
“The Sentinels had a message from him,” Lowe said.
“Matthias. He wrote last year, asking about how scope of authority might be handled in the event of malfeasance. We were looking into it, but then we got a follow-up message saying everything was fine. All communication since has been minimal, dodging our questions. With the distance, the border, no direct complaints… there wasn’t a lot we could do until now. ”
Calya gave him an incredulous look.
Lowe held his hands up in defense. “I was going to tell you.”
“We have some answers about the side project. Kind of,” Eunny said with a grimace. “The Coalition bailed out Brint’s fuckup and took over the project through a proxy. Brought in some Sylveren grads on contract.”
“Who’s overseeing it on the Coalition side?” Calya asked.
“It was my mother,” Eunny said quietly.
“But she’s been…”
“Yeah.” Eunny ran a hand across her mouth. “Which might explain why shit’s gone sideways without her here to run it.”
Bioon Song was certainly a force to be reckoned with, and Calya didn’t doubt that Eunny’s now-disgraced mother had likely been the glue holding together the mysterious project out here in the Landing.
But Bioon had only been caught and ousted from power within the last few weeks.
Was Brint’s fuckery out here truly so quick to collapse without her to steer it, or had it already been going wrong and he was too inept to handle it? Neither scenario boded well for them.