The Book of Deacon: Book 02 - The Great Convergence (7 page)

"Point taken," she said.

"I sincerely doubt that. Regardless, back to
the business at hand. We need to do something soon. I believe these
to be the last dispatches that we will receive until we can
establish some new informants. We need manpower," Desmeres
said.

"How much gold have I?" Lain asked.

"Most of what we have left is yours. I'd say
perhaps ninety bars worth," he said.

"That will be enough," Lain said.

"For what? . . . " Desmeres said, with a tone
of humoring a child.

"There is a mining company in the mountains
to the north east . . . " Lain began.

"No. No! Absolutely not. You know I cannot go
out there. If you like, I'll show you the order by the AA demanding
my head! I didn't even need an informant for it.
It was nailed
to a tree.
You expect me to go out and negotiate a purchase
now
?" Desmeres objected fiercely.

"It will give us countless new opportunities
. . . " he countered, calmly.

"I don't care what it will give us, it is a
terrible idea. I simply will not do it. And don't think that you'll
be able to do it either. Unless those interrogators were kind
enough to return that cloak that hides your face, you won't last
three words into the first round of negotiations before either your
throat is slit or you are forced to slit someone else's, and it
will take me
months
to replace that little gadget. Not that
anyone would conduct a negotiation with a man he couldn't look in
the eye," he said.

"We'll send Myranda," he said.

"No! Absolutely not! I don't want anything to
do with this awful business of yours!" Myranda objected.

"You want to send
her
!? We have only
just gotten her back into fold after you released her the last
time! Now you propose that she be sent out, alone, with all of our
money? I thought that you had mentioned
best
judgment as the
standing order," he said.

"We do not have very many options," Lain
said.

"That doesn't mean that we must choose the
worst one! I've got a business or two left. We only need to get to
one," he said.

"If it was so simple you would have done it,"
Lain said.

"Perhaps I was waiting for you," Desmeres
offered.

Lain looked calmly at his partner.

"How many?" Desmeres asked, defeated.

"Two hundred," Lain answered.

"It's Grossmer's? Grossmer's, the suppliers
of half of the iron and copper in all of the Low Lands, is what
you've got your eye on?" Desmeres said in disbelief.

Lain nodded.

"When did they even mention the possibility
of putting that place up for sale? It isn't a gold mine, but it may
as well be! They've got military contracts! Guaranteed business
until the end of the war! . . . Of course, long standing military
contracts mean that some of the older administrators could have
fairly firm connections on the inside. That would be useful. We
might have to bargain hard to take them for only ninety and have
any left for your little practice in futility," he said
thoughtfully. Finally he threw his hands up. "There is simply too
much that needs to be done. I shall have to come along. We will
need a carriage, an impressive one. With equally impressive horses
and a driver. Impressive, but not extravagant. We need to convince
them we are oozing with money, but we use it wisely. It will set
the tone of the day and turn the deal in our direction before we
even start. We will need a disguise for Myranda in keeping her
supposed social rank. The carriage will need a hiding place for
me."

"Weren't you listening? I simply won't go!"
Myranda objected again.

"You will change your mind. As for you, Lain.
Since this was your idea, I will be expecting you to gather the
necessary equipment. I will finish working on Myranda's staff and
draw up the paperwork. And I'll mix up some of the smoke flares to
keep the oloes away from the horses while we load up the carriage,"
Desmeres said.

"Meet me on the road east of here in seven
days," Lain said.

With that he rose and headed for the
door.

"No, not again! Come back here! I haven't
agreed!" Myranda called after him.

It was no use, she threw open the door that
he had shut behind him, only to see him whisper a word or two to
Myn, who sat obediently and watched as he whisked up to the hatch
and slipped out.

"I'm not through with you!" Myranda called
uselessly.

"You are beginning to repeat yourself. A word
of advice from a veteran in dealing with that fellow. He and no one
else decides when you are through with him. I have yet to finish a
conversation with him that did not interest him," Desmeres
said.

"Both of you are so selfish," she said.

"That is a fair opinion. One I happen to
agree with, in fact," he said.

"How can you be so cocky? You take it for
granted that I will help you," she said.

"You will. You are both intelligent and
helpful. It is in your nature to do what others need of you. You
are already becoming aware of how businesslike I am, and it is only
a matter of time before you realize how useful it will be to have
performed a valuable service for us," he said, walking back to his
workshop.

"What do you mean?" she asked, following
him.

"Your life, or death, depends entirely upon
your value of each to us. You are alive because you are worth more
to us in that state. Were I you, and I was after Lain’s aid in this
Chosen nonsense as you are, I would be spending most of my time and
effort proving that I am more valuable as an ally than as a
captive," he said, taking a seat at the bench and picking up the
wood chisel.

"How could I possibly do that?" she
asked.

"I don't have all of the answers, but I would
say that helping us with this purchase would be a fine start. You
might think about sabotaging our relationship with the AA while you
are at it. That way we would have a harder time turning you over
for the reward to anyone but Trigorah. We would have to hold onto
you longer, and you would have more time to convince Lain to end
the war," he said.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked.

"It will both plant the seeds of an idea,
making it more likely for you to make the decision that benefits me
most, and confuse your desire to do the opposite of what I say," he
said.

" . . . I wish you were not quite so
forthcoming with your explanations," she said, less than pleased
with this glimpse into the disturbingly well crafted manipulations
of her host.

"I'd warned that my honesty would become
bothersome . . . " he said, looking up distractedly. "Lain . . . he
didn't bring a weapon, did he?"

"I didn't notice. I suppose not. Why? Are you
concerned for him?" she asked.

"No, for any who may face him," he said.

"I don't understand," she said.

"When . . . when he holds a weapon,
particularly one of mine, he is a graceful, silent, clean killer.
When he is unarmed, he is something else altogether. Vicious,
forceful. He reverts to something primal. I dare say he is even
more deadly that way, but in a way that is unmistakably animal,"
Desmeres said with a chill.

"What do you care?" she asked.

"If a man must die, so be it, but there is no
reason to be cruel. I must finish his weapon. But first I must
finish yours, and the paperwork. So much to do, and only seven days
to do it," he said, turning back to his task.

Myranda found her way back to the room with
the table, where she had set up her bed roll, and retired. Try as
she might, though, she could not bring herself to sleep. She was
more at home on the freezing ground outside than in this place.
Knowing that all that surrounded her was paid for by blood turned
her stomach. She wondered how the peace of the world could be left
to the whims of such twisted minds. The best she could manage was a
light doze, interrupted periodically by an odd sound or smell
emanating from Desmeres' workshop. Myn, lying atop her as always,
slept peacefully until what must have been morning. When the dragon
roused, Myranda decided she may as well end this fruitless pursuit
of sleep. She wandered into Desmeres' workshop.

The half-elf, visibly weary, was admiring
what he had done to the staff. He noticed her walk in and held it
up proudly. Myranda took it from his hands. It felt much lighter.
He had carved a good deal of the exterior down and shaped it
carefully. Her fingers fit easily and comfortably around it. The
color was different, streaked with darker colors that made the
formerly white surface resemble the gray bark of a tree, and
covering the surface were dozens of small, intricately carved
symbols. She had noticed the same symbols decorating the blades and
handles of nearly every other weapon in the room. Lowering its tip
to the floor, she found it stood at a more appropriate height than
before. His improvements were apparent, though she wondered about
the reasoning for some.

"Why the darker color?" she asked.

"A side effect of the solutions I soaked it
in to strengthen it. Natural wood at the thickness that is
appropriate for your hand size would not be strong enough for my
tastes. I could restore the color, if you like," he said.

"I don't much care. What of the symbols?" she
asked.

"Runes. Lain has put them to fine use over
the years, and I see no reason why you couldn't do the same. He
doesn't know a word of magic, as I’ve said, so he needed something
that could turn the defensive skills he does have into something
effective against magic. Those runes will allow you to defend
against spells tossed in your direction as though they were
conventional attacks. You can deflect a fireball as easily as a
thrown stone, or shatter a conjured shield spell as though it were
glass, all without wasting an ounce of your own mystic strength. Of
course, a stronger spell is more difficult to deflect, just as a
larger stone is. Also, though I stand by my work, I cannot
guarantee that the enhancements will work against all magics. It is
an ever changing area, after all," he said.

Myranda tested the strength of the now much
thinner tool. Touching it for the first time in a day, she was
struck by the clarity of mind it brought. Certainly the effect had
not been so noticeable before. Seeming to notice her expression,
Desmeres offered an explanation.

"Among other things, I treated the wood so
that it will aid focus in absence of a crystal. With a crystal, the
effect is doubled. Useful, yes?" he said.

The girl admired the work for a few more
moments before a suspicion crept into her mind.

"You only did this to raise the price on my
head again, didn't you?" she said.

"Heavens no. Not
only
that. I also
needed some practice in the manufacture of mystical weapons. I
almost never get the opportunity. I'm glad you thought to accuse
me, though. It shows that you are developing a healthier outlook on
the people around you," he said with a grin as he searched around
for some sheets of paper, some ink, and a quill.

"
Healthy
? I thought the worst of you!"
she said.

"And you weren't completely wrong. You'll
find that you seldom are when you think the worst of people," he
said, finding some high quality parchment and ink.

"That is a terrible thing to say!" she
objected.

"Prove me wrong," he said, dipping a quill
and beginning to scribe in impressive calligraphy.

"What are you writing?" she asked.

"Paperwork. There is a fair amount of it
involved in transferring land," he said.

"Aren't you going to sleep?" she asked.

"I prefer to wait until my affairs are in
order," he said.

"And Lain? Does he ever sleep?" she
asked.

"Not in the traditional sense. They call it
'the warrior's sleep', but the two couldn't be more dissimilar," he
said.

"You spoke of the warrior's sleep before.
What is that?" she asked.

"It is . . . well . . . let us put it in
mystical terms. It is like meditation, only far, far deeper, and
not merely of the mind. It focuses the thoughts, and it brings the
body near to death. They have been teaching it at Entwell since the
beginning. I could never get the hang of it, but they say a few
minutes like that will do the work of a few hours of real sleep.
Back before he had someone to cook up healing potions, that is how
Lain dealt with serious injury. It is not nearly as fast as a
potion or a spell, but it is measurably better than simply
waiting," he explained.

"He never sleeps normally?" she asked.

"If you ever find him lying down, especially
in a bed, you can be certain it was not his idea," Desmeres
answered.

As she watched him sculpt the official
language of the paper with great care, she decided he had best be
left alone. She found herself drawn to the room that contained the
gold and the records. Myn's tapping claws followed her, and once
inside, the little dragon leapt up onto one of the chests that was
mostly coins, instinctively drawn to the gleaming treasure. She
curled up and watched Myranda as she approached the second shelf.
The books that filled the shelf were in groups of four. All told,
there were a few more than seventy such sets. She reasoned that,
since Desmeres had been partnered with him for roughly seventy
years, the groups must be by season and year, though if there was a
written indication of exactly what year each represented, it was
not in a form she recognized. It was just as well. The standard
method for labeling the years these days was to measure from the
day that the war had begun. By that measure the year was 156. The
thought depressed her.

In the days to come, days that seemed
painfully long with nothing to fill them, she spent much time
leafing through the books. The names of the people and places, as
well as the prices, were the only things not written in some
bizarre language that they had certainly learned at Entwell. As a
result, she found herself scanning the pages for any places or
names she knew. It seldom took long. A lifetime of journeying from
town to town had taken her to most of the places in the north.
Apparently Lain's business had done the same. People of much renown
were frequently named in the pages as well. Wealthy landowners,
merchants, and people of all walks of life had either hired his
blade or fallen to it. Without understanding the language it was
impossible to tell which. Much of what she saw she had heard in the
form of rumors over the years. The Red Shadow. The fact that he was
real, the fact that she knew him, filled her with a cold
feeling.