Gowns
T he sun was westering when Robert stepped outside the guild house with a fuming Sir Karigan. Her meeting with the triumvirate of the merchants guild had not gone well.
“If only I’d had my sword with me,” she muttered.
He envisioned a massacre with the heads of the guild’s leaders on their high desk. “I understand how that must feel,” he said, “but might it be a rather extreme response?”
She halted on the marble steps and looked at him. “It’s an insult to my father and the clan after all he’s done for them.”
A breeze fluttered the hem of her skirts.
She’d dressed the part of a prosperous and prestigious merchant, as was to be expected when attending a formal meeting with the guild masters.
Robert observed how, with her every movement, the deep garnet velvet of her gown shifted with the light like the facets of a jewel.
A luxurious cloak lined with the snowy fur of an ice fox draped decorously across her shoulders.
And, of course, she wore the medallion of clan sub-chief around her neck and her clan rings on her fingers, along with the curious emerald birch leaf ring.
A fine gold chain woven into her pinned hair, which she wore in a coil, glinted with the setting sun.
The ensemble had been costly, Robert knew, and the clan could not really afford such extravagance, but her position demanded it. He’d made sure that he’d sold off the accoutrements of Stevic G’ladheon’s office for a very good return to help subsidize her attire.
“What right do they have to ban the clan from the guild?” she demanded.
“They haven’t done so yet,” he reminded her. Being banned from the guild would certainly make it impossible for the clan to do business in Sacor City and affiliated towns and villages. Without the guild’s approval, they’d be branded third-rate street peddlers at best.
“I don’t know where I’m going to get the currency to pay for our membership,” she continued. “I suppose I can begin by selling off this gown. And this.” She plucked at the gold chain in her hair. “And possibly father’s horse.”
Pity about the gown, Robert thought, as she looked rather stunning in it. “I thought you were going to attend the queen’s harvest ball. Won’t you need it then?”
She grumbled something unintelligible. “I’ll wear my formal uniform. That will be more than acceptable.”
Robert agreed that it would, but it would also be, to his mind, far less captivating.
“Well, well, the sub-chief of Clan G’ladheon,” said a woman as she strode right up to them and blocked their way.
Celesta Suttley, tall and imperious in bearing, and also richly attired for her day at the guild house.
She was, to Robert’s mind, however, far outshone by Sir Karigan.
Clan Suttley was a longtime rival of Clan G’ladheon.
“I never thought I’d see the day,” she declared.
“Stevic’s clan brought to the bottom of the barrel. ”
Robert observed Sir Karigan’s hand twitch as though she itched to grasp the hilt of a sword that was not there.
Celesta laughed. “Why, you and your family will be paupers before this is done. Time to sell off your mother’s jewels, eh? We all know how much Stevic lavished upon Kariny before her premature death, and she no better than a fisher’s daughter.”
A flush crept up Sir Karigan’s neck into her cheeks.
Uh oh, Robert thought. She looked ready to punch Celesta right in the face.
It was something he wouldn’t mind seeing, but it would not help the clan’s standing, and he could only imagine the reparations Clan Suttley would demand for injuries inflicted upon its chief.
“Celesta Suttley,” Sir Karigan replied in a cool voice, “I understand there has been quite the infestation of leaf beetles on your plantations.”
Clan Suttley traded largely in tobacco and maintained plantations in Huradesh.
“Alas, these things happen in agriculture. It is nothing.” Celesta tried to wave it off, but Sir Karigan had clearly scored a point. The infestation must be very bad indeed.
“Three years in a row,” Sir Karigan replied. “I also heard the king of Huradesh has levied heavy fines against Suttley for the misuse of his subjects on your plantations.”
“Easily alleviated by well-placed bribes.”
“Of course. I suppose bribes will also alleviate the ban on importing Suttley tobacco into Sacoridia, which King Zachary has proposed because of those same abuses?”
Robert’s mouth dropped open. Celesta’s mouth dropped open.
“Where?” Celesta demanded. “Where did you hear of this? Or, does the king tell you these things because of Stevic’s bribes to the crown? Such detestable favoritism must cease immediately.”
“First of all, the king tells me nothing of his policies. I’m just a common messenger.
Second, my father has outfitted the messenger service as a donation because his daughter is a messenger and expects nothing in return.
He need not bribe anyone. And who are you to accuse him of such after just bragging of the very same illicit practices?
Third, everyone is talking about the proposed ban on your tobacco. ”
“Everyone?”
Sir Karigan ignored and stepped around her, and continued down the steps to the street. Robert hurried after her, leaving behind Celesta who, after a few shocked moments, ordered her aides to her side and railed at them for their inadequacies in obtaining intelligence on the matter.
“You absolutely slayed her,” he told Sir Karigan. “The expression on her face was enough to sour cow’s milk.”
She gave him a brutal smile. “I overheard a few whispers while waiting for my hearing. It was the only good thing I heard in there.”
“It was certainly news to Celesta.”
“Whether or not the king and guild follow through with a ban,” she replied, “just word of it will cause Clan Suttley complications, but they’ll survive. They always do. Us, I am less sure about.”
“If I may be so bold,” Robert replied, “if anyone can bring the clan through, it is you.”
“Thank you for your confidence, Robert. I wish I could share it.” She sighed. “It’s time I returned to the castle.”
“Shall I find you a cab or escort you?”
“No, thank you. I have much to think about.”
Robert did not like the idea of leaving a lady to walk alone in the city as the dusk deepened, but he reminded himself she was more than capable of defending herself. Anyone who tried to accost her would be in for a rude surprise.
“Very well, madam. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Robert.”
K arigan was already deep in thought as she wished Robert a goodnight.
No doubt her aunts were going to confront a similar judgment from the Corsa merchants guild, that if they did not pay the exorbitant fees of guild membership, the clan reputation would be sullied and the exclusivity of belonging to the guild, with all its benefits, would be lost.
She had customers, but it was not easy working with suppliers when she hadn’t the currency to pay them.
And, she could not travel to see customers or suppliers to negotiate because of her duty as a Green Rider.
She’d hired a couple agents to do so on her behalf, but their services cost a percentage of sales, and she couldn’t know how well they were working out until much later.
Customers and suppliers preferred dealing with the man himself—her father.
It was his personal touch, his warm, generous, and persuasive manner that was the face of the business.
But her father was gone to distant lands and Sevano, who was often his proxy, gone with him.
She passed a lamplighter out on his rounds, but the streets were quiet with shops now closed and most folk gone to their suppers.
Her own stomach rumbled, and she thought she might dine in the Wayward Inn’s common room before she returned to the castle.
They drew a fairly good ale, which should help assuage some of the bitterness of the merchants guild.
She could not wait to change out of the gown into her comfortable rest day clothes in her father’s rented rooms, and snorted at the notion of returning to the castle in her elegant attire.
Tegan’s reaction would be priceless, and she wondered idly if her dressmaker was one Tegan knew.
Her amusing thoughts faded as she observed someone walking parallel to her on the other side of the street, skulking in the shadows. She fancied she also heard footsteps behind her. She picked up her pace, cursing her stylish but impractical shoes that wobbled on cobblestones.
The lights of the inn were nearing, but someone sat in a wagon before it. Friend or foe? She hesitated, thinking to dart into the shadows and use her special ability to fade out.
“Keep moving,” said a voice so close behind her she could feel the moisture of his breath on the back of her neck. “Go to the wagon.”
It shook her to think he, whoever he was, could close in on her like that without her realizing it. She considered whether she could take him on, or if she should make a run for the inn.
In these shoes? She shook her head.
“Go on,” he said when she hesitated too long. “I got a knife to yer back, and I’ll use it if I hafta.”
“Well, then,” she said, and strode on. His footsteps quickened to catch up with her.
When they reached the wagon, Edwin Turval looked down at her from the bench.
Of course. They must have been spying on her movements. She could kick herself for not being more careful, but she’d been so focused on not mixing clan business with Rider business when it came to the Wayward Inn.
“We are gonna go for a ride,” Edwin said.
“We are, are we?” she said. “Where?”
“Corsa,” Edwin replied. “Your Auntie Stace is real sick again.”
Cold fear clenched her insides. They’d nearly lost her, but the last Karigan had heard, she’d been on the mend and ordering the household around like a general. This was no doubt simply a ploy of Edwin’s to get her in the wagon without a fight. But what if it wasn’t?
“Really?” she said. “How would you know she’s sick?”
“Word came up. We know lotsa fisher folk, some traveling here in the city. They passed us word. We said we’d let you know and bring you home.”
“Did you now,” she murmured. “Funny that no one sent me a message.”
“We are,” he said. “We are giving you the message.”
Karigan frowned. “I see. And what did these fisher folk have to say about my aunt’s illness.”
“Not much. Just that she’s real bad.”
“Uh huh. Well, if it is that bad, I will go to my captain to request leave and take myself to Corsa. As kind as your offer of conveyance is, I do not require it.”
A big hand clamped down on her shoulder—the man behind her. Vernas appeared out of the shadows, and the man who had paced her from across the street joined them, fingering the hilt of a fisher’s knife.
“You’ll be coming with us,” Edwin said. “We’ll take you to Corsa real quick.”
Oh, she bet they would. If the story about Aunt Stace didn’t work, they intended to force her to go with them.
She considered her options. Four burly fishermen armed with wickedly sharp knives able to slice through thick trap lines and nets with a single stroke and then, their cutting edges still keen, scale and gut the day’s catch with ease, all against her alone and attired in her cumbersome gown with only her short knife strapped to her leg.
Knife fights were nasty, and though Arms Master Drent had trained her in such scenarios, he warned her it was best to avoid them altogether if at all possible.
It was too easy to get wounded, even when facing only one adversary, as opposed to four, and she did not fancy being maimed by a knife smeared with whatever nasty, rotten, fishy dross clung to the blade.
She’d heard of fishers having to saw off suppurating limbs as the result of simple cuts.
Now, if she had a sword or staff at hand, she’d lay the lot of them flat.
She didn’t think they wanted her dead, fortunately, but they did want her married to Vernas.
That didn’t mean they wouldn’t hurt her.
On the contrary, they’d do what they had to to get hold of the G’ladheon fortune, and Edwin had shown as much with his persistence, even now going against his king’s edict on the matter.
The positive to all of this was that Edwin’s story about Aunt Stace suffering a relapse was probably just that, a story. She decided she’d play along to see where Edwin’s scheme led until she could find a decisive advantage over the men. She had to admit to being curious.
Decision made, she said, “Well, would one of you fine gentlemen give a lady a hand up?”
“Help your intended up onto the wagon,” Edwin ordered Vernas.
Vernas gave her his rough but sweaty hand and she was pleased she seemed to make him nervous. Once she was aboard the wagon, she sat on the bench next to Edwin. Vernas and the other men climbed into the back.
“What a lovely evening for a ride,” she said, as if they were headed off on nothing more nefarious than a picnic excursion into the countryside. One she intended they would soon regret.
Before Edwin urged his mules on, she spied her other self, her dark aspect, standing beneath a street lamp wearing a gown not of garnet, but silvery black, who nodded to her in approval before fading into shadow.