Chapter 5

Wet Quagoa stank.

Perhaps it wasn’t appreciable to Humans, but was very apparent to Ilyshn’ish. The underground was warm and damp, but one did not become soaked unless they fell into a river or lake. Something about the mole Beastmen disagreed with too much water, and the result of that disagreement suffused the air of their room at the Angel’s Rest – their merchant inn.

The heating hoop that they had used for their tent now hung on a coat peg. Ilyshn’ish opened their window in an effort to air out the room. Zu Chiru and his apprentices gathered around a table, looking very much like a group of soaked rats.

“Master Chiru,” one of the younger apprentices said, “how long will water continue to pour from the sky?”

“I do not know,” Zu Chiru said. “Our driver said maybe a few days.”

Up until that evening, their journey was accompanied by relatively clear skies. As sunset approached, clouds considered ‘ominous’ to the caravan staff appeared and swiftly rolled in from the north. Rather than opt to stop less than two hours from the city, the Merchants in the caravan unanimously agreed that they should push through the oncoming deluge.

They halted briefly, throwing extra tarps over the wagons to protect their goods before the painfully slow race began. ‘Less than two hours’ became four, and they arrived at a closed gate in the darkness of night.

“Will we be able to sell anything?” An apprentice asked, “The Humans become less when it rains.”

“I saw no Demihumans here,” the youngest said. “No races that do not mind the wet. The streets were all empty.”

“The Humans are all indoors,” Zu Chiru said. “We should rest. Perhaps the selling and buying tomorrow will not be so good, but at least we will have our warm tent. This is only one day of many months – it cannot rain every day…I think.”

Rather than settling into their beds, the five Quagoa collected the pillows, blankets and bedsheets to create a litter on the floor. Then they added the ones that they had brought with them.

What’s the point of using a merchant inn if they’re going to sleep as if they’re in a stable?

Out of the gathered Quagoa bodies, Zu Chiru’s head popped out.

“Wife,” he said, “will you join us?”

“I’m not going to bury myself in a pile of wet Quagoa,” Ilyshn’ish frowned at the thought.

She sat on her stool for a moment, taking inventory of the building through her Blindsight. Though the rooms on the second and third floors were hired by members of the caravan, most of them were unoccupied. It appeared that the majority of the patrons were gathered below. Rising from her seat, Ilyshn’ish headed towards the door.

“I’ll be downstairs,” she said. “Make sure you’re ready for work in the morning.”

Half of the apprentices were already snoring: a wheezing sound that was reminiscent of Quagoa laughter. Ilyshn’ish padded out of the room, slowly making her way to the main floor while she collected as much information as she could. She paused at the top of the stairs until she was satisfied with her various plans of attack and flight – mostly flight – should she be caught in an ambush.

Many of the men below were not members of the caravan, and they all nursed mugs of ale or lager. Most of the tables had platters upon them: arranged with twists of salted bread, sausages, sliced potatoes and trenchers of stew. The tavern’s occupants did not focus on their fare, instead occasionally taking bites while engaged deep in conversation. As a whole, the atmosphere was warm and relaxed by Human standards – there was even a Bard in one of the corners performing a piece she had not heard before.

Ilyshn’ish went straight towards the person in the room most familiar to her, weaving her way around the half-filled tables. In an out-of-the-way spot along the wall, three weathered men in similar garb sat on covered barrels around a small table. The one with his back to the wall was Kurtis, their wagon driver. To either side of him were fellow teamsters from the caravan. Ilyshn’ish quietly seated herself across from Kurtis.

“Good even–”

“Oyarhg!”

As one, the three men reacted in shock to her friendly greeting. The one on the right jumped up with a shout and the teamster on the left fell off of his barrel. Kurtis tried to rise to his feet, but his thighs struck the edge of the table. Ilyshn’ish placed her fingers lightly against its wooden surface to keep everything from flipping into her face.

Kurtis winced before reseating himself, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again several times as he looked over at her.

“D-Dame Verilyn,” he said. “Where…where did you come from?”

People at the tables around them looked over at the commotion. It seemed that not a single person had detected her walking amongst them. Now that she was revealed, however, their gazes lingered upon her in the manner that Ilyshn’ish had long become accustomed to.

“I came from my room upstairs,” she replied. “There are more people down here than I expected.”

The men exchanged glances. Emil, the one to her right, spoke into the silence.

“It’s the first big rain of the season,” he said, “so things are more subdued than usual.”

“Nah, it’s more than that,” Kurtis said. “Last year, this place woulda been packed full, rain or no. City’s hobbled.”

“I was in Corelyn County ‘till now,” Emil said. “I heard about it but…”

Orbert, the dark-haired man to her left, set his mug down with a snort.

“There’s no ‘but’ about it,” he said. “A Legion’s 10,000 men. Now they’re gone. City’s lost more than half of its people and half of who’s left are out of work.”

The state of the city and its cause appeared to be the topic at more than three-quarters of the tables. Those discussions either revolved around the changes to trade flows or what appeared to be locals lamenting their situation. There was an undercurrent in the air entirely unlike what she experienced in the merchant inns of the Sorcerous Kingdom. The Humans here were like prey being stalked and cornered by an enemy that they couldn’t escape or retaliate against.

“What are the local lords doing about it?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

“The local lords…” Orbert smirked, “The local lords can stop this about as well as they can stop a runaway wagon with their foreheads. Not even a Margrave can do anything about an entire army dissolving like that.”

“That fancy academy education doesn’t mean shit against this,” Kurtis agreed. “This is violence, pure and simple – no different than a Dragon wiping out half the city.”

Orbert popped a slice of sausage into his mouth with a satisfied look. Amongst their many strange behaviours, Humans had a way of lumping their collective ire together and directing it towards the people in power that they didn’t like. This was done out of earshot of said people in power, of course. They were equally generous in their praise of those people in power that they did like, even those who did not garner any benefit from their rule. Ilyshn’ish was one of the latter, so, naturally, nothing they said against aristocrats was meant for her.

“The great house here was attainted, wasn’t it?” Emil asked.

“I guess,” Orbert shrugged. “I don’t keep track of how many nobles that Bloody Emperor’s added to his tally.”

“Point is that there should be a new Margrave appointed to the Katze Marches,” Emil tapped his finger pointedly on the table. “There are all the little Nobles working here, too.”

“Hell if I know,” Orbert said around a mouthful of potato. “Go find a damn Noble if you’re so worried about it.”

It sounded like something the Ministry of Transportation would want to know about. Lady Shalltear hadn’t instructed her directly on what sort of information she should be collecting, but Lady Wagner had. There was a long list of topics and things to look out for, most of which she had no frame of reference for. She wouldn’t be able to make any associations to them even with her notebook listing what they involved.

“Is there a way to do that?” Ilyshn’ish asked.

The three men looked up from their meals at her.

“Finding a Noble, I mean.”

Kurtis casually gestured past her with his knife.

“Half of the locals trading here are likely representatives from companies owned by Nobles. I bet you their tongues’ll start wagging the second you sit down with any of ‘em.”

“I suppose I should give it a try,” Ilyshn’ish said.

Before she left the table, Ilyshn’ish called a barmaid over and ordered a round of drinks for the three teamsters. She didn’t like parting with coins so readily, but Lady Wagner had instructed her to do this whenever people rendered a useful service for her.

Rather than find the nearest free Merchant to strike up a conversation with, Ilyshn’ish extinguished her presence and settled against an empty stretch of wall. The tavern patrons quickly lost track of her and Ilyshn’ish filtered through their interactions, observing the placement of bodies and items in an effort to discern customs and patterns of behaviour.

With many finished their meals, conversations had switched from casual chatter to business dealings. The Merchants either all knew one another or there was some visible indicator as to what they were interested in. Once in a while, a bargain would be struck. Sometimes, negotiating parties would leave to examine goods or head over to the local Merchant Guild.

A common theme quickly became apparent: the number of locals looking to sell goods far outweighed those looking to buy. Many were attempting to unload the city’s surplus on those passing through. Some goods – like rope, fabrics, curatives, certain tools, various parts and foodstuffs – changed hands quickly. Others – such as Weapons, Armour and Magic Items – struggled to find any interest.

The goods that found their way into the hands of the locals consisted of mostly mundane things like lumber and…no, it was all lumber. Lumber and timber. With the demand for wood used in the construction efforts of the Sorcerous Kingdom finally abating somewhat, exports were beginning to undercut the foreign markets nearby. These purchases were made with mixed expressions. With things as they were, people were glad to have cheaper firewood for the winter, but it also spoke of greater changes to come for the region’s markets.

She noted no Merchants looking for precious ores or gemstones, so she wouldn’t need to drag Zu Chiru out of his litter. Two hours later, Ilyshn’ish was finally confident enough about how things were done. The number of Merchants had thinned out in that time and the number of locals that used the location to socialise increased. Ilyshn’ish stopped concealing her presence and walked over to a short and rather depressed-looking Merchant who remained.

The crowd collectively turned their gaze upon her as she went by, and the Merchant was no exception. His jaw dropped open when he realised that she was about to take a seat at his table. His breathing quickened and his face grew flushed. Beads of sweat started to appear on his brow. Ilyshn’ish hoped that he wouldn’t explode.

“Would it be alright if I made some personal purchases?” She asked.

“O-o-of course!” The man managed to stammer out as he extended a hand, “Orson Orwell. You are most welcome, miss…”

“Dame Verilyn,” Ilyshn’ish replied, leaning forward to delicately clasp his hand, “it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Orwell.”

Ilyshn’ish waved over a barmaid, ordering drinks for the two of them. She wasn’t sure what she would have, so she ended up requesting the same thing that Kurtis had. While she settled into her chair, the Merchant’s eyes followed her every movement. When they met with hers, he turned his head away with a nervous expression.

“It’s alright, Mister Orwell,” Ilyshn’ish smiled slightly. “I’m a Bard – I won’t mind if you look.”

He only grew more flustered at her reassurance. Ilyshn’ish hoped that Kurtis was right about being able to gain information – this Human only seemed ready to breed. The barmaid returned with two foam-topped tankards, and Ilyshn’ish reached out to cradle one in her hands.

“You are a dealer in magic items, yes?”

“Y-yes, that’s right,” Mister Orwell fingered a pin on his left lapel. “They’re conveniences, really – surplus items for daily life in the Legions. Was there something in particular that you were interested in, Dame Verilyn?”

With the prospect of a sale, the Merchant seemed to gather himself somewhat. He sipped at his drink, brushing away the foam from his meticulously-trimmed moustache.

“My party will be on the road for several months,” she said, “so it occurred to me that I should look into purchasing several things. To begin with, an item for cleaning…”

“Ah,” Mister Orwell brightened. “It’s the perfect time to look for something like that.”

He reached out to open a large bag on the seat behind him, producing a white towel. Though it appeared to be made out of wool, it was substantially more valuable to both her draconic senses and her appraisal Skills. The Merchant unfolded the item, which was roughly 150 centimetres long and 50 centimetres wide.

“This is a Trooper’s Towel: a magic item that can cast the Clean spell three times per day.”

“Does it have any restrictions?”

“Anyone can use it. It’s probably one of the most popular magic items in the Imperial Legions. Has a pretty funny story to it, too.”

“What might that be?”

“Well, apparently the man that designed this intended for it to be used as a towel – cleaning up equipment, wiping up messes and such. After it got good and dirty, you’d use the magic on the item to clean it up. Barely anyone uses it that way, though.”

“Then how is it used?”

“People just target what they want to clean and activate the magic.”

Did that make sense? It probably did. Ilyshn’ish had only seen mundane towels and rags used to wipe things up, so the intended usage made the most sense to her.

“These items should be quite easy to sell,” Ilyshn’ish noted, “the applications are quite broad.”

“You’re right about that, Dame Verilyn,” Mister Orwell nodded. “A lot of people use them: high-class establishments, Adventurers, Noble households…the problem is that we have a lot of them. They’re sold in every city in the Empire, and our inventories here were meant to supply the Eighth Legion.”

“I feel that this is a common thread in this city.”

The Merchant sighed, putting on a helpless smile.

“Can’t be helped,” he said. “Just need to do what you can. The dissolution of the Seventh and Eighth Legions is certainly a huge problem, but we Merchants have always had to deal with unexpected circumstances.”

“What about the people of the Katze Marches? Is the administration doing something to adapt to this change?”

“The territories should be fine,” Mister Orwell said. “Prices for their goods will shift around a bit, but it’s not as if the armies vanished into thin air. There are still all those men and their families somewhere needing to eat, and the markets will adjust accordingly. It’s Engelfurt and the towns around here that are bearing the brunt of everything. It isn’t as if the Margrave and his Nobles are being left to flounder, either – the central administration is working closely with them to make sure things transition as smoothly as possible. It’ll probably be tight for a bit, but I’m sure we’ll come out of everything in one piece.”

Ilyshn’ish wondered where the man’s confidence came from. The trust he expressed was slightly different from that of Lady Zahradnik’s subjects. Rather than reliance on the local lord, it seemed that the central administration was the recipient of his regard.

“That’s good to hear,” Ilyshn’ish said. “The atmosphere here seems just a bit grim at times.”

“I won’t say that there isn’t a lot of uncertainty,” the Merchant replied. “People are allowed to be scared, though. Anyway, orders from up top say that these items are to be liquidated. Towels are going for three gold each to cover our costs – they were six the same time last year.”

“I see…in that case, I’ll take ten of them.”

She reached into her Infinite Haversack to produce fifteen gold trade coins. According to her information, they were twice the value of Baharuth coinage. Hopefully, she wasn’t mistaken.

Five of the towels were for Zu Chiru and his apprentices. She would keep one while Hejinmal would receive another. The rest would be samples for Lady Zahradnik, Lady Shalltear, and Master Tian.

Ilyshn’ish placed the coins on the table between them.

“Now,” she said, “what else do you have for me?”