The Painted Man d-1 Page 3

  'Maybe they'd be less inclined to fight if they looked at their women more,' Rusco mused. 'How about Angiers and Miln? The dukes still bickering?'

  'As always,' Ragen said. 'Euchor needs Angiers' wood to fuel his refineries, and grain to feed his people. Rhinebeck needs Miln's metal and salt. They have to trade to survive, but instead of making it easy on themselves, they spend all their time trying to cheat each other, especially when a shipment is lost to corelings on the road. Last summer, corelings hit a caravan of steel and salt. They killed the drivers, but left most of the cargo intact. Rhinebeck retrieved it, and refused to pay, claiming salvage rights.'

  'Duke Euchor must have been furious,' Rusco said.

  'Livid,' Ragen agreed. 'I was the one that brought him the news. He went red in the face, and swore Angiers wouldn't see another ounce of salt until Rhinebeck paid.'

  'Did Rhinebeck pay?' Rusco asked, leaning in eagerly.

  Ragen shook his head. 'They did their best to starve each other for a few months, and then the Merchant's Guild paid, just to get their shipments out before the winter came and they rotted in storage. Rhinebeck is angry at them now, for giving in to Euchor, but his face was saved and the shipments were moving again, which is all that mattered to anyone other than those two dogs.'

  'Wise to watch what you call the dukes,' Rusco warned, though he was smiling.

  'Who's going to tell them?' Ragen asked. 'You? The boy?' he gestured at Arlen. Both men laughed.

  'And now I have to bring Euchor news of Riverbridge, which will make things worse,' Ragen said.

  'The town on the border of Miln,' Rusco said, 'barely a day out from Angiers. I have contacts there.'

  'Not anymore, you don't,' Ragen said pointedly, and the men were quiet for a time.

  'Enough bad news,' Ragen said, hauling his satchel onto the bar. Rusco considered it dubiously.

  'That doesn't look like salt,' he said, 'and I doubt I have that much mail.'

  'You have six letters, and an even dozen packages,' Ragen said, handing Rusco a sheaf of folded paper. 'It's all listed here, along with all the other letters in the satchel and packages on the cart to be distributed. I gave Selia a copy of the list,' he warned.

  'What do I want with that list, or your mail bag?' Rusco asked.

  'The Speaker is occupied, and won't be able to distribute the mail and read to those that can't. She volunteered you.'

  'And how am I to be compensated for spending my business hours reading to the townies?' Rusco asked.

  'The satisfaction of a good deed to your neighbours?' Ragen asked.

  Rusco snorted. 'I didn't come to Tibbet's Brook to make friends,' he said. 'I'm a businessman, and I do a lot for this town.'

  'Do you?' Ragen asked.

  'Damn right,' Rusco said. 'Before I came to this town, all they did was barter." He made the word a curse, and spat on the floor. 'They collected the fruits of their labour and gathered in the square every Seventhday, arguing over how many beans were worth an ear of corn, or how much rice you had to give the cooper to make you a barrel to put your rice in. And if you didn't get what you needed on Seventhday, you had to wait until the next week, or go door to door. Now everyone can come here, any day, any time from sunup to sundown, and trade for credits to get whatever else they need.'

  'The town saviour,' Ragen said wryly. 'And you asking nothing in return.'

  'Nothing but a tidy profit,' Rusco said with a grin.

  'And how often do the villagers try to string you up for a cheat?' Ragen asked.

  Rusco's eyes narrowed. 'Too often, considering half of them can't count past their fingers, and the other half can only add their toes to that,' he said.

  'Selia said the next time it happens, you're on your own,' Ragen's friendly voice had suddenly gone hard, 'unless you do your part. There's plenty on the far side of town suffering worse than having to read the mail.'

  Rusco frowned, but he took the list and carried the heavy bag into his storeroom.

  'How bad is it, really?' he asked when he returned.

  'Bad,' Ragen said. 'Twenty-seven so far, and a few still unaccounted for.'

  'Creator,' Rusco swore, drawing a ward in the air in front of him. 'I had thought a family, at worst.'

  'If only,' Ragen said.

  They were both silent for a moment, as was decent, then looked up at each other as one.

  'You have this year's salt?' Rusco asked.

  'You have the duke's rice?' Ragen replied.

  'Been holding it all winter, you being so late,' Rusco said.

  Ragen's eyes narrowed.

  'Oh, it's still good!' Rusco said, his hands coming up suddenly, as if pleading. 'I've kept it sealed and dry, and there are no vermin in my cellar!'

  'I'll need to be sure, you understand,' Ragen said.

  'Of course, of course,' Rusco said. 'Arlen, fetch that lamp!' he ordered, pointing the boy towards the corner of the bar.

  Arlen scurried over to the lantern, picking up the striker. He lit the wick and lowered the glass reverently. He had never been trusted to hold glass before. It was colder than he imagined, but quickly grew warm as the flame licked it.

  'Carry it down to the cellar for us,' Rusco ordered. Arlen tried to contain his excitement. He had always wanted to see behind the bar. They said if everyone in the Brook put all their possessions in on pile, it would not rival the wonders of Hog's cellar.

  He watched as Rusco pulled a ring on his floor, opening a wide trap. Arlen came forward quickly, worried old Hog would change his mind. He went down the creaking steps, holding the lantern high to illuminate the way. As he did, the light touched on stacks of crates and barrels from floor to ceiling, running in even rows stretching back past the edges of the light. The floor was wooden to prevent corelings from rising directly into the cellar from the Core, but there were still wards carved into the racks along the walls. Old Hog was careful with his treasures.

  The storekeeper led the way through the aisles to the sealed barrels in the back. 'They look unspoiled,' Ragen said, inspecting the wood. He considered a moment, then chose at random. 'That one,' he said, pointing to a barrel.

  Rusco grunted and hauled out the barrel in question. Some people called his work easy, but his arms were as hard and thick as any that swung an axe or scythe. He broke the seal and popped still be heard. 'Out here, if you can't eat something, or wear it, paint a ward with it, or use it to till your field, it's not worth much of anything.'

  He returned a moment later with a large cloth sack he deposited on the counter with a clink.

  'People here have forgotten that gold moves the world,' he went on, reaching into the bag and pulling out two heavy yellow coins, which he waved in Ragen's face. 'The miller's kids were using these as game pieces! Game pieces! I told them I'd trade the gold for a carved wood game set I had in the back, they thought I was doing them a favour! Ferd even came by the next day to thank me!' He laughed a deep belly laugh. Arlen felt like he should be offended by that laugh, but he wasn't quite sure why.

  He had played the Millers' game many times, and it seemed worth more than two metal disks, however shiny they might be.

  'I brought a lot more than two suns worth,' Ragen said, nodding at the coins and then looking towards the bag.

  Rusco smiled. 'Not to worry,' he said, untying the bag fully. As the cloth flattened on the counter, more bright coins spilled out, along with chains and rings and ropes of glittering stones. It was all very pretty, Arlen supposed, but he was surprised at how Ragen's eyes bulged and took on a covetous glitter.

  Again they haggled, Ragen holding the stones up to the light and biting the coins, while Rusco fingered the cloth and tasted the spices. It was a blur to Arlen, whose head was spinning from the ale. Mug after mug came to the men from Catrin at the bar, but they showed no signs of being as affected as Arlen.

  'Two hundred and twenty gold suns, two silver moons, the rope chain, and the three silver rings,' Rusco said at last. 'And not a copper light more.' />
  'No wonder you work out in a backwater,' Ragen said. 'They must have run you out of the city for a cheat.'

  'Insults won't make you any richer,' Hog said, confident he had the upper hand.

  'No riches for me this time,' Ragen said. 'After my travelling costs, every last light will go to Graig's widow.'

  'Ah, Jenya,' Rusco said wistfully. 'She used to pen for some of those in Miln with no letters, my idiot nephew, among them. What will become of her?'

  Ragen shook his head. 'The Guild paid no death-price to her, because Graig died at home,' he said. 'And since she isn't a Mother, a lot of jobs will be denied her.'

  'I'm sorry to hear that,' Rusco said.

  'Graig left her some money,' Ragen said, 'though he never had much, and the Guild will still pay her to pen. With the money from this trip, she should have enough to get by for a time. She's young, though, and it will run out eventually unless she remarries or finds better work.'

  'And then?' Rusco asked.

  Ragen shrugged. 'It'll be hard for her to find a new husband, having already married and failed to bear children, but she won't become a Beggar. My Guild brothers and I have sworn that. One of us will take her in as a Servant before that happens.'

  Rusco shook his head. 'Still, to fall from Merchant class to Servant…' He reached into the much lighter bag and produced a ring with a clear, sparkling stone set into it. 'See that she gets this,' he said holding the ring out.

  As Ragen reached for it, though, Rusco pulled it back suddenly. 'I'll have a message back from her, you understand,' he said. 'I know how she shapes her letters.' Ragen looked at him a moment, and he quickly added, 'No insult meant.'

  Ragen smiled. 'Your generosity outweighs your insult,' he said, taking the ring. 'This will keep her belly full for months.'

  'Yes, well,' Rusco said gruffly, scooping up the remains of the bag, 'don't let any of the townies hear, or I'll lose my reputation as a cheat.'

  'Your secret is safe with me,' Ragen said with a laugh.

  'You could earn her a bit more, perhaps,' Rusco said.

  'Oh?'

  'The letters we have were meant to go to Miln six months ago. You stick around a few days while we pen and collect more, and maybe help pen a few, and I'll compensate you.

  'No more gold,' he clarified, 'but surely Jenya could do with a cask of rice, or some cured fish or meal.'

  'Indeed she could,' Ragen said.

  'I can find work for your Jongleur, too,' Rusco added. 'He'll see more custom here in the Square than by hopping from farm to farm.'

  'Agreed,' Ragen said. 'Keerin will need gold, though.'

  Rusco gave him a wry look, and Ragen laughed. 'Had to try…you understand!' he said, echoing Hog's earlier words. 'Silver, then.'

  Rusco nodded. 'I'll charge a moon for every performance, and for every moon, I'll keep one star and he the other three.'

  'I thought you said the townies had no money,' Ragen noted.

  'Most don't,' Rusco said. 'I'll sell the moons to them…say at the cost of five credits.'

  'So Rusco Hog skims from both sides of the deal?' Ragen asked.

  Hog smiled.

  Arlen was excited during the ride back. Old Hog had promised to let him see the Jongleur for free if he spread the word that Keerin would be entertaining in the Square at high sun the next day for five credits or a silver Milnese moon. He wouldn't have much time; his parents would be readying to leave just as he and Ragen returned, but he was sure he could spread the word before they pulled him onto the cart.

  'Tell me about the Free Cities,' Arlen begged as they rode. 'How many have you seen?'

  'Five,' Ragen said, 'Miln, Angiers, Lakton, Rizon, and Krasia. There may be others beyond the mountains or the desert, but none that I know have seen them.'

  'What are they like?' Arlen asked.

  'Fort Angiers, the forest stronghold, lies south of Miln, across the Dividing River,' Ragen said. 'Angiers supplies wood for the other cities. Further south lies the great lake, and on its surface stands Lakton.'

  'Is a lake like a pond?' Arlen asked.

  'A lake is to a pond what a mountain is to a hill,' Ragen said, giving Arlen a moment to digest the thought. 'Out on the water, the Laktonians are safe from fire, rock, and wood demons. Their wardnet is proof against wind demons, and no people can ward against water demons better. They're fisherfolk, and thousands in the southern cities depend on their catch for food.

  'West of Lakton is Fort Rizon, which is not technically a fort, since you could practically step over its wall, but it shields the largest farmlands you've ever seen. Without Rizon, the other Free Cities would starve.'

  'And Krasia?' Arlen asked.

  'I only visited Fort Krasia once,' Ragen said. 'The Krasians aren't welcoming to outsiders, and you need to cross more than two weeks of desert to get there.'

  'Desert?'

  'Sand,' Ragen explained. 'Nothing but sand for miles in every direction. No food nor water but what you carry, and nothing to shade you from the scorching sun.'

  'And people live there?' Arlen asked.

  'Oh, yes,' Ragen said. 'The Krasians used to be even more numerous than the Milnese, but they're dying off.'

  'Why?' Arlen asked.

  'Because they fight the corelings,' Ragen said.

  Arlen's eyes widened. 'You can fight corelings?' he asked.

  'You can fight anything, Arlen,' Ragen said. 'The problem with fighting corelings is that more often than not, you lose. The Krasians kill their share, but the corelings give better than they get. There are less Krasians every year.'

  'My da says corelings eat your soul when they get you,' Arlen said.

  'Bah!' Ragen spat over the side of the cart. 'Superstitious nonsense.'

  They turned a bend not far from the Cluster when Arlen noticed something dangling from the tree ahead of them. 'What's that?' he asked, pointing.

  'Night,' Ragen swore, and cracked the reins, sending the mollies into a gallop. Arlen was thrown back in his seat, and took a moment to right himself. When he did, he looked at the tree, which was coming up fast.

  'Uncle Cholie!' he cried, seeing the man kicking his feet as he clawed at the rope around his neck.

  'Help! Help!' Arlen screamed. He leapt from the moving cart, hitting the ground hard, but he bounced to his feet, darting towards Cholie. He got up under the man, but one of Cholie's thrashing feet kicked him in the mouth, knocking him down. He tasted blood, but strangely there was no pain. He came up again, grabbing Cholie's legs and trying to lift him up to loosen the rope, but he was too short, and Cholie too heavy besides, and the man continued to gag and jerk.

  'Help him!' Arlen cried to Ragen. 'He's choking! Somebody help!'

  He looked up to see Ragen pull a spear from the back of the cart. The Messenger drew back and threw with hardly a moment to aim, but his aim was true, severing the rope and collapsing poor Cholie onto Arlen. They both fell to the ground.

  Ragen was there in an instant, pulling the rope from Cholie's throat. It didn't seem to make much difference, the man still gagged and clawed at his throat. His eyes bulged so far it looked as if they would pop right out of his head, and his face was so red it looked purple.

  Arlen screamed as he gave a tremendous thrash, and then lay still.

  Ragen beat Cholie's chest and breathed huge gulps of air into him, but it had no effect. Eventually, the Messenger gave up, slumping in the dust and cursing.

  Arlen was no stranger to death. That spectre was a frequent visitor to Tibbet's Brook. But it was one thing to die from the corelings or from a chill. This was different. Arlen didn't need to be told that Uncle Cholie had taken his own life. He understood that instinctively. What he didn't understand was…

  'Why?' he asked Ragen. 'Why would he fight so hard to survive last night, only to kill himself now?'

  'Did he fight?' Ragen asked. 'Did any of them really fight? Or did they run and hide?'

  'I don't…' Arlen began.

  'Hiding isn't alw
ays enough, Arlen,' Ragen said. 'Sometimes, hiding kills something inside of you, so that even if you survive the demons, you don't really.'

  'What else could he have done?' Arlen asked. 'You can't fight a demon.'

  'I'd sooner fight a bear in its own cave,' Ragen said, 'but it can be done.'

  'But you said the Krasians were dying because of it,' Arlen protested.

  'They are,' Ragen said. 'But they follow their hearts. I know it sounds like madness, Arlen, but deep down, men want to fight, like they did in tales of old. They want to protect their women and children as men should. But they can't, because the great wards are lost, so they knot themselves like caged hares, sitting terrified through the night. But sometimes, especially when you see loved ones die, the tension breaks you and you just snap.'

  He put a hand on Arlen's shoulder. 'I'm sorry you had to see this, boy,' he said. 'I know it doesn't make a lot of sense right now…'

  'No,' Arlen said, 'it does.'

  And it was true, Arlen realized. He understood the need to fight. He had not expected to win when he attacked Cobie and his friends that day. If anything, he had expected to be beaten worse than ever. But in that instant when he grabbed the stick, he hadn't cared. He only knew he was tired of just taking their abuse, and wanted it to end, one way or another.

  It was comforting to know he wasn't alone.

  Arlen looked at his uncle, lying in the dust, his eyes wide with fear. He knelt and reached out, brushing his eyes closed with his fingertips. Cholie had nothing to fear any longer.

  'Have you ever killed a coreling?' he asked the Messenger.

  'No,' Ragen said, shaking his head. 'But I've fought a few. Got the scars to prove it. But I was always more interested in getting away, or keeping them away from someone else, than I was in killing any.'

  Arlen thought about that as they wrapped Cholie in a tarp and put him in the back of the wagon, hurrying back to the Cluster. Jeph and Silvy had already packed the cart and were waiting impatiently to leave, but the sight of the body diffused their anger at Arlen's late return.

  Silvy wailed and threw herself on her brother, but there was no time to waste, if they were to make it back to the farm by nightfall. Jeph had to hold her back as Tender Harral painted a ward on the tarp and led a prayer as he tossed Cholie into the pyre.