Vol 6, Chapter 6

"The weather has truly turned foul. Gentlemen, would you be so kind as to draw the curtains?" asked Nerd, without rising from his bed.

I obliged, and the bright flashes of lightning ceased to illuminate our little gathering. Not a single servant was present, given the delicacy of the situation.

Seated in a semicircle around his bed were several barons, two counts including my grandfather, and Marquis Klaus—who was now my… grandmother? Damn, I never understood these family entanglements, but she certainly didn't look the part of a grandmother.

"So, to sum up: you want to prepare for an invasion behind the King's back and save him at the critical moment by taking him out of the Capital?"

"We. Not you," grandfather corrected me.

I shook my head.
"You. Personally, I see no sense in taking part. Fine, we'll get the King out—but then what?"

"We organize resistance," replied a baron unknown to me. "As long as the King lives, the country will not fall."

"Kh-kh-khh—" Count Nerd was wracked by a heavy cough. "Kh-h! I do not think the invasion will be full-scale. If we disrupt their plans, they will move to negotiations, I am certain."

"But we need weapons, Randal," grandfather said, fixing his gaze on me.

"What weapons?" I feigned ignorance, inwardly anticipating something unpleasant.

"That weapon. The one that allows a common townsman to kill a mage. With such a trump card up our sleeve, we could not only save the King, but perhaps deal them such a blow that they will sue for peace."

I looked around at those gathered, simmering inside. In their eyes there was no surprise at all when they heard of the weapon.

"I see. You told everyone. Well done," I said in an icy tone to my grandfather.

"I will not tolerate such a tone in front of guests."

"Then don't," I said, rising from my chair and heading for the door.

"Randal. Stop. Sit down and listen," grandfather barked.

I stopped, but had no intention of sitting.

"From the moment I understood what was happening, I spent many months thinking of how to reconcile your weapon with the current system. And I found a way. It is right here before your eyes. If we save the King, we can force him to change the rules. To create a new estate. An estate of squires—un-gifted, but armed with new weapons, warriors. An estate that even a peasant could join, if he proves loyalty to the King. We would grant them rights equal to landless knights. We would once more follow the path of our ancestors, when all fought shoulder to shoulder. Heavy cavalry, the best on the continent. Deadly marksmen. Cannons. By combining all this, we could liberate all the former lands of the Empire. Unite everyone under the King's power. Every peasant of the Commonwealth would till the land in peace, not subjected to monstrous experiments, while our brothers in the Gift…"

"Kh-kh!" Nerd interrupted grandfather, embarrassed. "Forgive me, my friend, it seems you are getting carried away. But this weapon will give us a better chance to endure, of that I am sure."

"Believe me, Count. I have seen what it can do. We will endure without trouble, and more besides…"

"Nonsense." I shook my head. "Your system will not work. People will quickly realize that if a musket can kill a knight, then the knight's title will not be beyond their reach either. Granting a few rights to chosen loyalists is only postponing the problem, not solving it. Not solving it at all."

"Then think of something better!" grandfather exploded. "I worked on this for your sake, so our family would not look like ridiculous fools, handing out knighthoods not even to warriors, but to ordinary folk!"

"I will. Don't worry," I muttered, turning toward the door.

"You cannot just walk away—you swore an oath to the King!"

"Am I breaking it by acting against the King? If the King is so blind that he cannot see... does not want to see—the impending disaster, that is hardly my fault. When the King summons, I will answer. But I will not stop him from digging his own grave."

"A true vassal must correct the mistakes of his liege, even if the liege does not see them."

Typical grandfather, I sighed inwardly.

"That is your opinion, and you are free to act as you see fit. But do not tell me how to act. If we are right about the invasion, then I have such a damn heap of things to do that I have no time at all to play conspiracy club."

"Indeed, Karl. Kh-kh. If the boy does not wish to, then that is his… right. We will simply act as we discussed. We will alert the palace guard, put loyal men on the portal island…"

"Brother, the time," reminded the Marquise, pointing to the hourglass on the bedside table.

The upper half was empty, not a grain remained.

"Thank you," said Nerd gratefully, taking a sip from the mug on his bed, then flipping the glass. "Forgive me, the antidote must be taken at strict intervals."

"Excuse me as well, gentlemen. I have lingered," came a voice from the bedroom door. Judging by it, the speaker had been standing there listening for at least several minutes.

"Count Vitor Bull, delighted to see you," grandfather greeted warmly.

Our eyes met. I remembered that name and surname instantly; it still made my skin crawl.

"What is this man doing here?" we said almost in unison.

"The Viscount is already leaving. The Count is a representative of the Azure Guild, our eyes and ears. Fortunately, for a certain price, they aid us in our cause," Nerd replied.

"I would not advise you to work with him," I said, shaking my head. I knew more about that swine's perverse tastes than I ever cared to.

"Likewise. Think how unwise it is to let him go, if Lord Randal does not intend to take part in our… project?" Vitor smirked, and whispers began among the aristocrats.

"You mean to say I would betray my grandfather by reporting him to the King?" I curled my lips in scorn. "Your way of thinking is corrupt, and betrays your nature. Though I disagree with the head of my house, I swear that nothing said in this room will be repeated elsewhere. Is that enough for you?"

The barons frowned, Nerd nodded with dignity, the Marquise glanced sidelong at her husband. Finally, Count Condor too inclined his head ever so slightly.

"I regret that I raised a man insufficiently loyal to the crown. But I do not doubt your word. You may go."

The door closed.

A little pity I hadn't been able to speak with the former ambassador alone—I would have liked to learn more about what happened after I escaped through the portal. But excessive interest might be misinterpreted now. Besides, I hadn't lied when I said I had a mountain of matters to deal with.

There was a whole wagonload, and the first was to find Tamilla.

*****************************************************

Where do you find one hiding Hardanka girl in a city of hundreds of thousands? It might seem an impossible task.

But if you know who you are looking for, the answer is elementary.

She's at work.

I simply ordered the coachman to take me to the place where he had bought the rubber strip for the wheel, and that was that.

From the outside it was just an ordinary warehouse on the edge of the city, nothing remarkable. Only a sign "Cheap Protectors"—showed that we had arrived at the right place.

"Changing your look?" I whistled when I saw the bright orange curls.

"Just in case," she replied without lifting her eyes from the papers.

"Well, maybe you should have started with that?" I jabbed a finger at her chest.

"Mixing a reverse alchemical compound takes time. Dye applies quickly and costs much less."

I smiled. I was sure the real problem was cost, not the time.

"I was worried when I learned the delegation had returned without you. Are you all right?" She finally raised her gaze, though she didn't put down her quill.

I gently snatched the quill from her hand and set it on the desk.

"Not quite. We need to get out of the Capital—it will be getting hot here soon."

"You're joking? The money is only just starting to come in!" she protested shrilly.

An hour of persuasion and a bottle of schnapps later, I convinced her… No, not to shut down the business, but to hand it over to her assistants.

"These are all dolts, how can I leave everything to them? I at least need to write instructions."

"First tell me… I don't see wheels in the city, yet there are plenty of carriages with rubber strips. Your idea?"

She shrugged.

"Few want to change all four wheels at once—it's expensive. But producing strips is cheap, and I don't even sell them as a comfort measure, but as a way to save wheels from being shattered by the cobblestones. Many buy them. Lower price, higher demand."

"But those strips won't come close to cushioning like my wheels!"

"So what? Good cushioning is for premium solutions. By the way, don't even bother to look, all the expensive wheels are at another warehouse. I sell those through a company with a different name and cover. You can't have both cheap and luxury products sold by the same firm! What would the aristocrats say? Oh, your wheels are from the same merchants who sell to peasants? How disgraceful! So, two companies—only way. In fact, I was planning to buy out carriage production from scratch, but…"

"All right, all right, I get it. What about the finances?"

"The strips pay for themselves very quickly, at the current pace—in another two months. The company for aristocrats is harder. That market isn't easy to enter, it's long divided up. But even there, we're making progress little by little. An order here, an order there… In a couple years we'll be in the black."

"So, no money."

"Well… There will be. And those are very good figures. No investment pays off instantly!"

I pondered. Counting on long-term business when the next month is uncertain… not the best idea.

"Do you know any good moneylenders for large sums?"

"There are no good moneylenders, Randal. Trust my experience."

"Then how about ones who will at least lend to us?"

"Mm… And how large a sum are we talking?" Her hand reflexively reached for the quill.

"Hundreds of thousands of gold."

She whistled.

"Yes, I think there's one. But I doubt he'll lend you that much gold."

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Give me the address, I'll go to him right now."

"In the evening? No, such meetings must be arranged in advance. I'll send a letter, try to get you an appointment tomorrow morning."

"All right. That works."

I looked out the window. The rain had stopped, a blood-red sunset breaking through the dark clouds.

"Do you have a bed here?"

"A sofa in the warehouse. Quite comfortable. I bought it off a count who gambled himself into ruin. Just change clothes before sleeping—I still plan to resell it. The sofa, I mean, not the clothes. Though…" She smiled; looked like it was a joke.

"Won't you join me?"

The girl waved her papers.

"I need to leave so many instructions and things that even a week won't be enough. And you'll definitely drag me out of the Capital in the coming days, right?"

"That's right," I agreed.

Though for now it was relatively safe here, I needed to return to my own lands quickly. And if I didn't grab Tamilla by the scruff beforehand, she'd cling to her workplace until the last. Better to forgo a couple hundred gold than later send a rescue expedition to pull her out of a Commonwealth siege.

"By the way, guess whom I met today?"

"No idea," she replied absently, burying herself in papers.

"Vitor Bull, in the flesh."

"That's… strange. I specifically checked where he was, and my sources said he was in his castle."

"Then your sources aren't reliable."

"Maybe… maybe…" she muttered, scratching with her quill.

****************************************************

"All right, let's agree beforehand—I'll be the one speaking. Uncle Avram is one of the richest and most influential men in the Kingdom. Heaven forbid you blurt out something wrong! He'll strip us down to our underwear!"

"I wouldn't mind… Ow!" I yelped as Tamilla elbowed me in the ribs.

"Be serious! Money is no joke."

"Fine, fine. I promise I won't talk… much."

She gave me a suspicious look.

"May luck be with us!"

A servant opened the gilded doors before us. By the way, the moneylender's entire house gleamed with gilt, as if it belonged to some gypsy who had suddenly struck it rich.

But the owner was no gypsy. He was a pure-blooded, fair-haired Hardan, his back bent with age, and his nose crooked—whether from a fist or by birth, it was hard to say.

"Uncle Avram! I'm so glad to see you!" Tamilla beamed.

"I too, girl. Here for a loan for those wheels of yours?" the old man grinned with a gap-toothed smile.

"No. I need half a million gold by the end of the month, for a term of two years," I cut in.

From the side came a resigned sigh and the sound of a palm slapping a forehead.

The old Hardan tilted his head slightly, studying me.

"Girl, tell me, who is this young man with you?"

"This…" Tamilla faltered, clearly unable to find a non-profane expression that would describe me best.

"Randal Condor, Baron of Reikland, as well as Viscount of Eagle's Cliff and the adjoining lands."

"Hm. I see. And why should I listen to you, rather than throw you out?"

"Uncle…" Tamilla began, but Avram cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"I will speak with you later. For now, be so kind as to leave us alone."

Tamilla leaned close, whispering reassuringly, "Don't worry. When he throws you out, we'll just go to another moneylender," and left the office. She really didn't believe in me, eh!

"Well then, I am listening."

"Good that you are listening to me. But are you listening to the city? Do you hear the drums of war? They are drawing nearer."

His eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps," he answered vaguely.

"You know I do business with Saret, and Tamilla is my dear partner."

A barely perceptible nod.

"I have nothing against you and have already proven myself trustworthy. Perhaps the coming turmoil will give you a chance. I need money. You need weapons. I am ready to supply them."

The old man pondered. He didn't deny it. Just as I thought—if a Hardan rises so high, he cannot but be involved in the underground.

"What kind of weapons, exactly?" he finally asked.

"Steel swords. The steel is rather mediocre, but I think you care more about quantity than quality."

"How many?"

"A thousand units…"

He smiled indulgently.

"...every day," I pressed.

The smile slid from his face, replaced by the indifferent mask of a businessman.

"I am listening to your terms very carefully, young man."

***********************************************

"I can't believe Uncle Avram actually gave you money! And three hundred thousand at that! He must have gone mad or lost his business sense entirely," Tamilla exclaimed, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Believe me, his sense is intact," I said with a satisfied smile.

A market had been found for the already running lines stamping out shoddy swords. And if Pit applied himself and improved the quality, perhaps the debt wouldn't even need to be repaid—the sales of blades would cover it, especially since I'd managed to push the repayment terms far back.

The first two tasks from the pile were done. Now for the third.

"I need alchemists. Lots of them."

"Then we had better go to Renvel. There's no better place to recruit alchemists," she sighed, mentally saying goodbye to her papers. "But first we'll need a caravan. And good guards. We'll be transporting far too much gold—lest something go wrong."