Chapter 42
They briefly considered camping under the windmill, but by unspoken agreement, continued until they were out of sight of the place where Tullah had fallen.
Instead, they stopped a league or two onward in a copse of oak, and didn’t bother lighting a fire. Fern lay back on a bed of leaves with her torn cloak for a blanket. She stared through the shadows of balding branches at a sky salted with cold stars and did not sleep for a long time.
Tullah would not leave her mind, and when she tried to think past her to tomorrow, she found only a void.
When they rose before dawn in chill blue light, sniffling with the cold, Fern briefly considered asking Zyll why she was still there.
She knew what sort of answer she’d get, though—cryptic and short and deeply unsatisfying.
The last, brief leg of their journey was uneventful as dawn claimed the sky and revealed their destination creeping ever closer. They stopped once at a stream so that Fern could wash the blood from her cloak.
Then, at last, Amberlin’s gates ushered them inside.
Fern reckoned the city was at least thrice the size of Thune, all plaster and ruddy tiles, with not a thatched roof in sight.
She’d never visited a place so huge, where nearly every structure had a second or third story.
The Summerdusk festival was still in evidence, with bunting and ribbons and vendors aplenty, although the celebrations were winding down.
Some stalls were shuttered or packing up, and there was a general air of the morning after a drunken carouse.
Astryx guided them through the streets in solemn procession. The roads were wide enough that they continued to ride side by side the entire way. The decorations, stages, and craft stands dwindled away as they passed into quieter districts.
When at last they arrived at the bounty office—Fern realized she had no idea what it was actually called—she studied the building. It looked like a small prison, with brutal, utilitarian construction and iron-barred windows. There wasn’t even a sign.
“Are we really doing this?” she asked.
Astryx dismounted and hitched both horses to the post out front. “I’m going to walk in the door and complete the journey. Beyond that . . .” She shrugged and glanced at Zyll in helpless perplexity. “I’ll do nothing at all.”
Making good on her words, she passed through the doorway and into the shadows beyond.
Zyll immediately slipped down from Persimmon’s back and trotted after her.
“Well, fuck, what am I going to do, stay here?” muttered Fern, and followed.
Inside, the impression of a prison was even stronger.
A cramped front office contained a battered counter, a small woodstove, three massive filing cabinets, a wallboard pinned with dozens of papers, two benches, and some very unfortunate mounted taxidermy of a pair of spineback heads.
Beyond the office, a hall lined with barred rooms extended three cells back on either side, with a tiny slitted window at the end.
To Fern, the place smelled of sweat and metal and the ghost of yesterday’s stew.
The woman behind the counter was as tall as Astryx, with the substance of someone who’d once carried a lot of muscle, but didn’t much use it anymore. A younger fellow, his face still spotty, sat behind her, laboriously perusing a stack of printed sheets and sorting them into piles.
Looking up with astonished recognition, the woman exclaimed, “Gods, the Oathmaiden in the flesh! That’s my good fortune used up for the year.” She extended a hand. “Tabba, pleased to meet you.”
Astryx shook it and nodded, but said nothing. Her fingers hesitated at her belt for a moment, then she unsnapped a pouch and withdrew a folded and stained piece of paper.
Before the Oathmaiden could present it, Zyll came to a stop beside her and stole Tabba’s attention. “Hang on, now.”
The goblin beamed back with her dangerous smile.
The woman’s eyes widened. “Hells, it can’t be. Hemp! Hemp, get the record!”
The kid turned in his chair. “The record? Which one?”
“The one, the crazy one!”
His mouth made an O of comprehension, and he sprang from his chair to fumble through the top drawer of one of the filing cabinets. It didn’t take long for him to triumphantly produce a big sheet of press-printed paper.
“Here it is!” he cried breathlessly, slapping it on the counter.
Astryx finished unfolding her own piece of paper and slid it onto the counter beside the other, much cleaner sheet. It was obvious they were from the same printing.
Tabba ran a finger down hers, then glanced up at Zyll with confusion. “That’s her, all right. Description checks out. Although she seems awful . . . unrestrained.”
She looked to Astryx for an explanation, which was not forthcoming.
Fern couldn’t help herself. “The crazy one?”
The woman seemed to see Fern for the first time. “The most ridiculous reward any of us has ever seen. Beyond ridiculous.” She shook her head. “Seemed a joke, if it weren’t for the filings. All done proper, county’s approval, a well-known client, and a hefty deposit to boot.”
Thus far, Astryx hadn’t uttered a single word. She was staring at Zyll with a troubled expression on her face. The goblin appeared oblivious.
Hemp leaned toward Tabba and whispered, “This is very strange.”
“Aye, that it is,” she murmured. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen the bounty stroll in and hang about.”
Then, nothing happened.
Astryx seemed incapable or unwilling to advance the issue. Tabba and Hemp grew increasingly uncomfortable.
Eventually, Tabba cleared her throat. “The, er, client will be paying. We don’t keep sums so large in the office, you understand.
Mister Delvyn is a highly regarded local solicitor, though, so he’ll like as not be available right quick.
” She nudged Hemp with an elbow. “Get on to his office and fetch him, fast as you can.”
He scampered.
When again Astryx said nothing, Fern prompted, “So . . . we just wait?”
“Well,” hedged Tabba, gesturing at Zyll. “Traditionally, the, er, bounty would be held in one of the cells. That’s the normal way of things.” She still appeared confounded by Zyll’s casual presence. Looking to Astryx hopefully, she asked, “What do you think, Oathmaiden?”
Astryx sighed, sat on a bench, and put her head in her hands. “I have no idea.”
“Right.”
Zyll trotted past her, opened one of the unlocked cells, and stepped inside, closing the gate behind her. She gripped the bars and peered out, the point of her sharp pink tongue poking between her lips.
“What in the hells,” breathed Tabba, drifting over to lock it.
It couldn’t have been more than half an hour before Mister Delvyn arrived with Hemp at his heels, although to Fern the wait seemed interminable.
Delvyn was thin, sharply dressed in an expensive-looking slate tunic and black breeches, his graying hair carefully coiffed, mustache neat. He wore a gold necklace of office and had a fine leather folio tucked under one arm.
Hemp bobbed around behind his shoulder like a baby owl.
The solicitor surveyed the room briefly, taking in Astryx and Fern on the bench. His brows rose as he noted Zyll at the bars of her cell.
“Thanks for coming so swift, Mister Delvyn,” said Tabba. “I have to say I didn’t see this day coming.”
“Mm,” he said, cracking his folio and perusing its contents. “Well, let’s get her out of that cell, shall we?”
“Yes, sir!” Tabba hustled down the hall and unlocked the gate she’d locked less than an hour ago. Zyll obligingly emerged and toddled over to stand before Mister Delvyn.
“And am I correct that you consider the terms executed?” he asked.
It took Fern a moment to comprehend that he was addressing the goblin.
“Yep yep,” said Zyll, nodding affably. “We are, how do you say, stuck with the fork.”
“Excellent,” said Delvyn. “Then all that’s left is to settle up.”
“What,” said Fern, flatly.
Tabba had a hand to her mouth and a look that said she’d be telling this story for the rest of her days.
Hemp mostly looked politely confused.
“You put a bounty on yourself?” Astryx’s expression had beached itself halfway between anger and disbelief.
Zyll shrugged.
“But why would you do that?” cried Fern, rubbing her forehead. The ache from Staysha’s clubbing days before had since subsided, but now returned with renewed purpose.
The goblin considered, then replied, “Tullah, she is wanting to whsscht.” She drew a finger across her throat illustratively. “She was very anger-ly. So.”
Astryx rose and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why didn’t you pay someone to escort you?”
Zyll blinked back at her. “Would the Oaths-maiden have been esk-e-lorting?
At the elf’s expression, it was clear she would not have been. Fern thought she might also be reviewing precisely how challenging it had been to apprehend the goblin in the first place.
Astryx pointed at Delvyn. “How did you let this happen?”
He seemed unperturbed. “There’s nothing legally preventing it. I’m merely an instrument of the will of the client.” He shrugged. “Now, as to the matter of payment—a sum this substantial is obviously not practical to carry in coin, so instead I have a stamped bank chit for the full amount.”
He withdrew from the folio an expensive-looking slip of paper and snapped it crisply. “As a friendly piece of advice, were I you, I’d transfer it to an account of your own, rather than hauling it around in saddlebags or whatever it is you’re accustomed to doing.”
Fern had some questions about how the goblin had amassed these apparently staggering funds, but on reflection, she decided that was the least improbable thing that had happened so far.
Delvyn offered the slip to Astryx, glancing between her and Fern. “I assume you’ll be able to attend to any divisions between the two of you?”
“Oh,” said Fern. “No, that’s not—”
“I’m sure we can,” replied Astryx at the same time.
A clatter arose from outside.
“Ah,” said Delvyn brightly. “That’ll be the last part of your request, miss.”