One block inland from the row of warehouses lining the Paradise docks was a street lined with taverns. The taverns drew a swirling mix of sailors, traders, travelers, mercenaries, families, refugees, pilgrims, and young aristocrats, as well as the prostitutes and pickpockets who tried to prey off them.
Each tavern’s name hinted at some aspect of either the owner’s identity or the customers the owner hoped to attract. Calm Winds. The Sailor’s Rest. The Crazy Parrot. The Soldier’s Den. The Dirty Bird. The Safe Harbor.
Craig and Edan, his youngest brother, taking a meal after a morning of seeing to the loading of supplies and gear onto the ships assigned to the companies of soldiers that Craig would lead north with Duke Aidan, were sitting in the common room of Calm Winds.
Their choice was ironic, Craig thought, because nothing about his mind or situation was calm. But the food and ale were good, and the owner, a former guardsman from Port Liberty, was honest most of the time.
From where he sat, Craig would see three of the owner’s cats lounging on counters or in corners, looking so well fed on wharf rats and mice that they could not be bothered to chase crumbs under the tables.
Like all cities, Paradise had its large population of stray cats, and most tavern owners let a few cats roam their buildings to try to keep the vermin under control, or at least on the defensive. A village would have chickens, pigs, and dogs around in quantity, and Paradise had its dogs, too, but the city’s needs were practical. Ships and cargo transfers meant an endlessly replenishing supply of rats and mice. To their credit, the oligarchs listened to some of the theories from the university scholars that the rodents might be one source of disease, and they offered some mild tax relief for owners who maintained two or more cats on their premises.
Craig handed a sealed parchment case across the table to Edan.
“What’s this?” Edan asked.
“A legal transfer of the title of my holdings to you as the owner and lord. And a later transfer document regarding the mine. You have freedom of action with everything but the mine and its output, until the war is over.”
Edan flinched and blurted, “No, I do not want this!” The case fell from his hand to the table.
Craig picked it up and held one end toward his cousin. “There’s no taking back what I did,” he said, “but I can preserve what we have built if I place it in the hands of someone trustworthy. I am going north with Aidan. You know what I did. You know the nature of the company I am raising. One way or another, I am not surviving this war.”
He was talking about the new company that a grizzled, veteran sergeant had called a doom-eager band. The company’s recruits, by design, were a hodgepodge of war orphans, sole survivors, men seeking atonement or vengeance, and refugees from the north. Craig was recruiting deliberately for men who burned with hatred of the Empire, whatever their reason, and men who had something to prove to themselves.
“It’s unlikely that I will survive the coming battles,” Craig continued, “and even if I do, I’ll be executed as punishment for my crime. Then, my lands would be forfeit to the city. Now that the mine is producing, you know that an oligarch would swoop in and purchase the claim. But this way, our men and our villagers have a chance to keep hold of better lives. You must take the manors and my other lands.”
Edan sat silently and motionless for several minutes.
Elizabeth, Craig’s young clerk, entered the tavern, followed closely by the two soldiers he had detailed to escort her. He had promised her father, Baron Mortimer, to keep her safe, and he intended to keep that vow.
Elizabeth was carrying a ledger book, and once she joined them at the table, she tapped the cover and said, “The last cartloads of supplies have been loaded onto the ships, and we are ready to start boarding the ships.” She hesitated. “Once my father figures out where you are, you should expect a visit. He found me at the docks, and he is again asking that I return home.”
Craig nodded, sighed, and rubbed one hand over his chin and mouth. “I cannot blame him,” he said. “After what happened, I doubt that he places much faith in my vow to keep you safe while you’re in my service. You should consider his offer.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “If anyone knows that people are more than one thing, I am that person. What you did was wrong, horrible. I know it. You know it. But you gave me a second chance at a decent life. I’m not giving that up so easily. I will accompany your traveling household.” She was intelligent and observant; she saw the scroll in Edan’s hand and guested at its contents. “You are transferring your holdings to Edan?”
“I am,” Craig said, “if he will have them?”
Elizabeth looked expectantly at Edan.
“Damn it,” Edan said. “Yes, I will take them. But if there is any way, any way at all, to reverse this after the war, I will happily surrender them back to you.”
Craig said nothing, only nodded. But he knew that this gift was a permanent one. He knew that this week was his last on the southern continent. Some people believed that unquiet spirits haunted the land as ghosts, and they might believe that he could return to these lands as a spirit. But Craig, for one, did not believe it. He also had no stomach for the belief of the various religions about a soul’s ultimate destination. To his mind, what happened after death was a mystery.
