Map’s Edge Page 4

  ‘There’s only one other local with healing skills and she’s a church physicker, so I get to hear everyone’s stories,’ Dash assured him. ‘Believe me, if we can convince folk that the venture is real and has a decent chance of success, they won’t blab. We’ll need to slip away on the quiet, and once we’ve got the stuff, sell outside the empire – to the Zarros Archipelago in Shadra, for example – they’re still holding out. Play it right and we’ll be sunning ourselves there inside two years.’

  Vidar pursed his lips and gave a low whistle. ‘Sun and sand and lithe, dark-skinned women? I’m in.’

  ‘But what about home?’ Zar asked. ‘What about Mum?’

  Dash gave her a warning look. ‘While the Mandarykes rule, we have no home.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Don’t,’ Dash warned, and his daughter fell silent. ‘Istariol can change a lot of things. From Shadra, we’ll be able to reconnect with the resistance movement in Otravia for a start.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Vidar asked. ‘If we’re to be partners, I need to know what you’re planning.’

  Dash frowned at Zar, then explained, ‘My wife divorced me on the eve of the Mandaryke coup – they’re the traitors who seized control of Otravia, then sold us out to the Bolgravs. She’s now married to one of them.’ He was a little surprised at how much this admission still hurt him. ‘She did it to protect her family, but mine went to the gallows. I took Zar and ran.’

  Vidar took that in, then asked, ‘Did Gospodoi recognise you, Cowley?’

  ‘Cowley’s not my real name – but I think he might have been starting to guess.’

  ‘Fair enough. I won’t ask more.’

  ‘I’ll tell you one day – I’ll tell the world, when the time’s right.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Vidar said, ‘but let’s be clear: I’m not going to be a martyr to your cause. I’m in this for the money and I can’t imagine anyone else we recruit will feel differently. We band together and get rich, then we part and the rest of your quest for redemption is up to you. Understood?’

  ‘Understood.’ Dash kept his face stony as Vidar studied him.

  Finally the Norgan sighed. ‘All right, so what’s next?’

  ‘Next? We send out some messages, then we go to Gravis Tavernier’s tap-house and buy some drinks.’

  *

  If Dash peered closely into the darkest corners of the tavern’s rafters, he could see the glint of rat-eyes; he could certainly smell their droppings. The cockroaches were just about as big, and the wine was spit-worthy. But Gravis did brew the best beer for miles and he did decent business – or he would have, if any of his customers had been worthy of the credit he extended. The place was seldom full or boisterous, for half his clientele were fugitives from the empire with no desire to make an exhibition of themselves. Even so, it was by far the best tavern in the district.

  Tonight, after Gravis had passed the word to certain people about Dash’s desire to hold a meeting, it was packed. Dash lifted a hand in greeting to the publican as he entered, Vidar Vidarsson and Zarelda close behind.

  His daughter looked round a little shyly; she’d never been allowed in Gravis’ tavern before.

  Dash scanned the room, picking out faces; a healer quickly got to know who was who in any community, even one as loosely knit and secretive as this one. There were all sorts here, from villagers to smallholders, mercenaries to hunters – and they’d pretty much all come to escape the empire. Most people here would rather slit a Bolgrav’s throat than breathe the same air.

  He’d already identified the opinion leaders: Sir Elgus Rhamp was a Pelarian knight and half the room would do whatever he did. Elgus, a barrel-chested, shaggy, thickset man with a ponytailed beard, had his usual coterie of his men around him, all drinking hard. Involving Rhamp was unavoidable, but he’d inevitably want to run the show – and take the lion’s share. I’ll need to put him in his place and keep him there . . .

  The other person of importance round here was the local Deist priestess, Mater Varahana. In Magnia, taking vows was considered unmanly, so only women were entrusted – or condemned, in Dash’s view – to intermediating with Deo. But Varahana was an old friend of his, something they’d kept very quiet.

  He spotted the priestess, an angular, elegant woman wearing her hood up, sitting with the other healer in the region. In truth, Kemara Solus was the only real healer, as Dash had never been much more than a field surgeon.

  Dash leaned over the bar and said, ‘Gravis, beers all round, and three goblets of your best claret.’ He slapped down half a dozen argents – most of his remaining coin – and as he’d expected, the clink of metal drew many eyes. ‘And lemon ale for Zar.’

  ‘Right you are.’ He leaned in and murmured, ‘Here, that Bolgrav lord – Gos-whateverthefeck – he ain’t been back for his stuff. He staying at yours?’

  Dash feigned surprise. ‘He left three days ago – for Falcombe, he said. I guess he didn’t value what he left behind.’

  ‘Weren’t much, to be sure. Just travelling gear and trinkets.’ Gravis had clearly rifled through it all. ‘Reckon I can sell it?’ he asked hopefully.

  Dash was no longer paying attention; instead, he was scanning the room again, looking around to ensure that certain people weren’t here: specifically, Larch Hawkstone, the governor’s warden, or any of his Borderers. He’d heard they were currently at the southern end of the district. ‘I trust nobody we didn’t invite is here?’ he asked.

  ‘Only folk here are those as don’ like the empire, like ye asked,’ Gravis told him.

  ‘Good. Give me five minutes, then introduce me.’ Dash thrust an ale at Vidar, scooped up the red wine and walked to the table where Varahana and Kemara were sitting. ‘Mater Varahana, Mistress Kemara,’ he greeted them, handing each a goblet. Keeping the third for himself, he added, ‘Please – they’re on me.’

  Mater Varahana arched a perfectly curved eyebrow. ‘Blessings of Gerda be upon thee,’ she said formally, then she winked. ‘I do like a good red,’ she added, with a sideways glance at the redheaded Kemara that had Dash snorting into his wine. Then he did choke as Varahana dropped her hood, revealing a completely shaved scalp.

  ‘Gerda’s . . . uh . . .’

  ‘Dash, darling, didn’t you know that every six years all good priestesses shave their heads, to show our love of Gerda and our rejection of all earthly vanity?’ Her eyes were twinkling as she chided him. She turned so her face was in profile and asked, ‘What do you think?’

  He stared, trying to see past the loss of the abundant auburn tresses he’d known during the wars. Her scalp was as pale as a newborn’s, but her delicate features were accentuated and after a moment, he admitted, ‘Actually, it suits you.’

  ‘I know,’ she purred. ‘I take it you’ve met Novate Kemara?’

  ‘I have,’ Dash replied, turning to the lay sister. He’d always thought it iniquitous that male healers could operate independently, but a woman had no choice but to take vows. ‘Mistress,’ he said, dipping his head.

  ‘Master Cowley,’ Kemara Solus replied coolly. ‘I hope whatever you’ve summoned us here to hear is more credible than your alleged healing skills?’

  Kemara was a hard-faced green-eyed no-nonsense Ferrean in her late twenties. Her pugnacious face was framed by her scarlet ringlets. She had clearly been scarred by her past, but Dash approved of her no-nonsense air. His path had often crossed hers since he’d come to Teshveld – she’d quickly spotted his lack of formal training, but she’d been grateful for anyone who could lessen her burden, so they’d come to a cautious understanding.

  ‘We all have to make a living,’ Dash replied evenly, while Varahana snickered. ‘I know my limitations. And yes, I do have a proposition, for everyone here: the chance of a new life.’ He turned to the priestess and dropped his voice. ‘I need your support, Vara – you’re a known scholar and your help will be crucial.’

  ‘You know I can’t lie, dear.’

  ‘You won’t need
to. I just wanted to warn you that I’ll shortly be looking for your honest reaction to something I need to show people. Everyone here knows you’re an educated woman.’

  ‘Once a scholar, always a scholar,’ Varahana agreed sadly. She’d been trained in Magnia’s finest university before being forced into the priesthood.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ Kemara demanded. ‘If you’re recruiting for another rebellion—’

  ‘I’m not,’ Dash interrupted. ‘Those days are over. The empire won.’

  They shared a bitter look – they agreed on the subject of Bolgravia, at least. ‘The people of Teshveld came here to escape the fighting, and its aftermath,’ Kemara said. ‘No one wants to be dragged back into all that. We’ve all lost too much.’

  ‘As have I,’ Dash told her. ‘I lost everything – except my daughter.’ He glanced back at Zarelda, leaning nervously against the bar: a skinny teenage girl, a brittle mix of bravado and self-consciousness. The local lads were watching her with interest.

  ‘She’s growing up,’ Varahana commented. ‘She was such a little tearaway in Colfar’s camp, wasn’t she. Does she think before opening her mouth these days?’

  ‘Sometimes – unless she loses her temper.’

  ‘Like her father?’ Kemara enquired.

  ‘Me? No, I never lose my temper – I always know exactly where it is.’ He touched his goblet to Varahana’s and said, ‘I’d better get this show underway.’

  Halfway to the bar, he was intercepted by a smooth-faced man with lush black curls and bedroom eyes. ‘Boss,’ Jesco Duretto drawled, embracing him. ‘Good to see you. I couldn’t believe it when that messenger bird found me. Had to sharpen my blades again.’

  ‘I doubt they ever got much of a chance to get blunt,’ Dash replied, looking his old comrade over. Jesco was one of the few who’d got away from the messy end of Colfar’s rebellion, but he looked much the same: the prancing duellist, always living in the now. But he was still the best swordsman and the best shot Dash knew. ‘I worried the bird wouldn’t be able to find you.’

  ‘You can always find me, Dash,’ Jesco said. ‘Where’s young Zarelda?’ He peered about and spied her at the bar, wincing at her lemonade. ‘My, hasn’t she grown? When I was her age—’

  ‘I don’t want to know,’ Dash interrupted. ‘You’re in the borders now, Jesco: rein it in or you’ll have the whole room trying to rope you up.’

  ‘Ropes, how exciting. So what’s the gig, Dash?’

  ‘It’s about wealth beyond imagining – oh, and screwing over the empire to boot.’

  Jesco patted his sword-hilt. ‘You don’t need to go on – count me in.’

  Dash clapped his shoulder, then waved Vidar over. He introduced them, the silken swordsman and the hulking bearskin, before continuing to the bar, nodding at a narrow-faced woman who threw him a wink: Tami, another face from his past. Then he took a swig of wine to wet his tongue before murmuring to Gravis, ‘Let’s do this.’

  The innkeeper hammered on the bar, bringing the babble of conversation to a loose quiet. ‘Folks, can I have your attention? You mostly know Dash Cowley, our physicker. He asked me to spread word of an opportunity for us all. Fill your cups – on Dash – then drink to his health and listen up.’

  There was a low, attentive murmur of appreciation – a free drink was a free drink – and once all had been served, Dash stood on a bench and pitched his voice to the back wall. ‘Folks, believe it or not, I didn’t come to this place for the weather or the high life. I just wanted a bit of peace. I think most of you are here for similar reasons. Am I right?’

  There was a cautious murmur of agreement, which would do for now. He pulled out the cartomancer’s journal and brandished it. ‘But sometimes, opportunities knock on your door anyway, and that’s why I’m here now – with a proposal for all of you. It’s a one-time secret proposition, so if anyone here can’t swear to keep what I say next to themselves, please leave. I’ll not judge – I just don’t want you here.’

  No one left, though he knew that didn’t mean he could trust their silence. But he hoped he could trust their greed.

  ‘I recently came into possession of this diary,’ he went on. ‘I’d even go so far as to call it a treasure map. You’ll have heard rumours of the new lands the empire’s opened up to the northwest, the place they’re calling Verdessa?’

  His listeners chorused agreement, sounding curious but still sceptical.

  ‘The Bolgravs sent in a cartomancer to determine the potential wealth of those new lands.’ He waved the journal. ‘He didn’t make it back alive, but his journal did.’

  Gravis, putting two and two together, shot him a look, but the rest leaned forward, now fully engaged. ‘How’d you get it?’ someone called.

  ‘The cartomancer gave it to me,’ Dash replied. ‘He didn’t want the Bolgravs to know what he’d found, so he pretended his mission was a failure – but he told me the truth. I guess he must’ve liked my face.’

  ‘It’s a nice face,’ Jesco couldn’t resist throwing in. ‘Honest, kind of.’ It got a laugh, but everyone was clearly envisaging far bloodier ways by which it might have been obtained.

  ‘How do we know it’s genuine?’ Sir Elgus Rhamp asked.

  ‘How? We show a scholar, of course.’ Dash jumped down and deposited the journal in front of Varahana. ‘You all know Mater Varahana. She’s not just a priestess, but a former Nyostian scholar. She can verify my claims.’

  While Kemara eyed him with mute suspicion, Varahana opened the journal curiously and swiftly leafed through.

  ‘Is it genuine?’ Dash asked loudly.

  ‘It carries the imperial seals. It looks genuine,’ Varahana conceded.

  ‘And what about this?’ he asked, presenting her with the vial of reddish fluid he’d found on Lyam Perhan’s body.

  Varahana’s eyes narrowed, then widened. She opened the vial, sniffed, then tasted the water. ‘Istariol,’ she whispered.

  The whole room went utterly silent.

  Everyone leaned in towards the mater, straining to hear.

  ‘How pure is that sample?’ Dash asked.

  ‘It’s a high concentration – but one could create this with a pinch of istariol and some river water.’

  ‘But I didn’t – it came with the journal. May I guide you to the entry on the thirty-seventh page? I’ve marked it.’

  Varahana leafed through and read. ‘Truly? By the Lady Herself . . . In Verdessa?’

  ‘In northern Verdessa, taken from a river flowing out of the Iceheart. A no-man’s land.’

  ‘The Bolgravs claim Verdessa,’ Elgus Rhamp put in gruffly.

  ‘They have no right to,’ Jesco retorted.

  ‘Aye,’ Dash agreed, ‘but we’ll obviously need to work around them.’

  The look of naked greed was now present on almost every face save Varahana’s; she just looked troubled.

  Elgus Rhamp shouldered his way forward, visibly excited. ‘You’re saying there’s istariol out there – and the empire doesn’t know?’

  ‘That’s what I’m saying,’ Dash replied. ‘The most valuable substance in the world, just waiting for us to retrieve it. But you all know that the empire claims istariol as its own. If we have the vision – and the courage – to go after it, we will have to do so in utter secrecy. We mine it, then we get out, slip it in small quantities onto the black market and get rich. But I can’t do it on my own: mining istariol is a large-scale undertaking. That’s why I invited you all here. Let’s find it for ourselves, not just blaze a trail for the Bolgravs to follow.’

  That struck a real chord and in an instant, the taproom was buzzing with questions: how do they get to the istariol lode? How would they extract it? How would they get it back without the Bolgravian Empire smashing their operation?

  Dash did his best, but he could tell there was still plenty of scepticism. Trust wasn’t easily won in a place like this, but at least they were genuinely interested.

  Or mostly interested. ‘This
sounds like horseshit to me,’ Elgus Rhamp’s eldest son, Osvard, called out in a loud, belligerent voice. He was the sort who thrived on conflict and dissent.

  ‘What would Dash have to gain by lying?’ Jesco asked loudly, eyeballing the young Pelarian mercenary coolly. Osvard sneered, but no one else appeared to have an answer. Everyone knew how much exiled Otravians hated the empire. Mutual greed did the rest: they wanted to believe, so that overcame any misgivings.

  Dash threw a hopeful look at Vidar Vidarsson, who bared his teeth in a lupine grin.

  It’s really happening . . .

  ‘What about when the empire finds out?’ someone called.

  ‘If they ever do – well, we’ll have already gone,’ Dash replied.

  ‘So how do we sell it then?’ another man asked.

  ‘I’m sure one or two of you might know someone,’ Dash answered wryly, knowing half the men here probably had black-market connections. ‘Listen, I know this is no small matter: I estimate that we’ll need fifty or sixty men to mine this vein, and they’ll need their families for support. It’ll take us months just to find the istariol, let alone dig out enough to satisfy us all, then get back to civilisation and sell it. You’ll be uprooting your lives for at least a year, and it probably means you’ll never be coming back here. But there are fortunes to be made. No one who embarks on this will ever know poverty again. Some of you will be able to return to your homelands and get your real lives back. If you’ve ever prayed for a better life, this is that chance.’

  He looked around the room and finally asked the question. ‘Who’s with me?’

  Everyone fell silent, looking at each other.

  Then Elgus Rhamp stuck his hand up and declared, ‘I’m in, me and my folk. We’ve got enough muscle to get this done.’

  That immediately brought half the crowd around – then Mater Varahana rose, silencing the room. ‘Did not Deo place treasures in the earth for us all?’ she said, her lilting, educated cadences a sharp contrast to Elgus Rhamp’s rough accent. ‘Did he not say unto his people, “Go forth, reap the harvest and pluck the fruits of my hand, for these things are for all men.” All men, mark you, not just Bolgravs.’ She pointed to Dash. ‘I was a military chaplain and I know this man and I will vouch for him. I give my blessing to this enterprise.’