Андрей Кочетков
The Heavenly Lord’s Ambassador. A Kingdom Like No Other. Book 1
“Hold him while I give the Enel an intimate haircut!”
Vordius tried to hit the man behind him with his head, but he was held too tight. He was stronger than most men, but Taney’s apprentices were professional criminals who knew exactly what they were doing. His body was wet with sweat, but his mouth was dry, with a metallic taste. Is this really the end? flashed through his mind.
The man with the red beard gestured with his knife again, and the others laughed. Master Taney stepped aside, and his place was taken by giant of a man with a hunched back who grabbed Vordius’ belt with a hairy fist.
All of a sudden, there was a snapping sound in the bushes, like the sound of someone beating a carpet. The thugs let go of Vordius. The bearded man grabbed his buttocks and let out an awful cry, and the giant groaned. He turned and retreated with a limp. The small Capotian got the worst of it: a bolt no more than two hands long pierced both of his cheeks at once with striking accuracy.
Taney leaped toward the trees and crouched down. He looked around, trying to ascertain the direction of the attack. Vordius’ hobnailed boot made contact with his sweaty face. The barber fell back, dropped his razor and began to yell, his mouth spouting blood.
He must have bitten through his tongue, Vordius laughed to himself. He pulled his sword from its scabbard and barked at the unfortunate riffraff, “Put your knives on the ground and hands in the air! Take five steps back! Now lie down on the ground!”
This highly unusual turn of events had evidently hypnotized the thugs’ meager brains. Like sleepwalkers, they followed the orders of the man whom, minutes before, they had been intending to torture with the cruelty that was characteristic of the capital city’s underclasses.
“You fools, did you think I would come alone?” Vordius worked himself up, his fear turning into anger. “Who did you dare raise your hands against? I have a bowman behind every tree. One move and you’ll all look like pincushions, you lousy wretches!”
The ruffians lay quietly, their bodies flat to the ground. Taney shoved a corner of the fancy robe he wore into his bleeding mouth. He was in no condition to talk. Vordius walked down the line of hostages and put his boot on the head of a young ruffian with a shock of dark hair and a face that was too tender for his line of work. His check pressed into the clay, the boy squinted his eyes shut.
“You raised your hand against an officer in the Imperial Guards,” Vordius informed him. “Do you know what the punishment for that is? They’ll burn your eyes out with mirrors, char your skin off and throw you in a cesspool, where you’ll howl in agony until you die. Attempting to harm one of the Emperor’s guards is the same as raising a hand against the Great Lord himself, may the Heavenly Deity preserve him for ages!”
Shaking, the boy bleated out, “Enel officer, we never would have harmed a hair on your head! It was a stupid joke, nothing more! Take pity on us and we’ll do anything you ask!”
“What can you do for me, swine? You’re about as useful as a candle on a bright summer day! I’ll turn you over to the Guards and take my reward!” He turned back to the tress. “Hey, Svenius! Inpato! Bring the ropes!”
“Enel nicor!” came a deep voice to his left. “We know how it is. You want that girl. The redhead. We can help you out…”
“Speak for yourself, Bergius,” hissed a young ruffian in a leather tunic and braided leggings. “You’re the one Asp will cut into tiny pieces. Not the rest of us.”
“Not so, Nicius,” said the deep voice. “You’re all in it now.” The speaker was a young man with a simple, round face, low forehead and prominent cheekbones. He looked like a peasant. “I’d rather spend the rest of my life back in my village in Semeria than get fried alive because of some stupid business of that fat Taney!”
“Stop chattering!” Vordius cried. “I want her name, where she lives, and who her family is. Tell me everything you know, or I swear by my honor I will personally deliver you to the Heavenly Throne’s jailers!”
“We don’t know those things, Enel nicor,” the young man with the peasant face said apologetically.
“I don’t believe you!” Vordius hissed. He reached for the hilt of his sword.
“May the Heavenly Deity burn me from head to foot, I don’t know what you are asking!” The peasant was calm and sober, like a man who has accepted a twist of fate and is making the best of it. “We are little people. You need to find Fire Asp. In the port, not even the mice leave droppings without his permission. That’s the truth.”
“Fire Asp?” Vordius laughed. “Is that his name? And where would I find him?”
“Fire Asp is everywhere and nowhere,” growled the man in the leather tunic.
“Speak up!” Vordius turned to him.
The peasant spoke for him. “There’s a house-boat restaurant in the port called Lotus Petals. Taney is supposed to meet someone there tomorrow, at the beginning of the second watch. I’ve heard talk that Asp will be there, too.”
Vordius turned to the barber, who was moaning, his robe black with blood.
“Taney has more important things to worry about now,” he said. He eyed them all. “Think of it this way: you just made the best bargain of your lives. But this is no pardon. It’s a head start. I’m on your tails, and so is that Asp. So take your cripple and his tongue,” he speared the bloody piece of meat with the tip of his sword and held it out to the talkative ruffian, “and get the Shadows out of the city.”
Without waiting for further explanation, the apprentices picked up their master and hobbled away as fast as they could. Vordius put his sword away and sighed – he hadn’t gotten to use it for its intended purpose. Despite all his bravado, it had been his first truly difficult fight.
When he caught sight of Sorgius crawling out of the bushes, he did his best to hide how worried he had been. “What was that you were shooting?” he asked.
His friend smiled proudly and held out a strange device.
“Let me see that!” Vordius took it in both hands. “A Capotian multi-shooter? These are toys! I remember when some merchants tried to sell us some of these. The bolts barely pierce canvas. I’d rather spit toothpicks!” he laughed.
“There’s an idea,” Sorgius said, raising a finger. “I’ve been trying to come up with a name for it, and I think ‘Spitter’ is just the thing!”
Vordius made a face. “I suppose they’re fine for use in the city, especially at close range.” He turned the device over in his hands. “Where did you get it?”
“My Uncle Rikso brought it back from the homeland.”
“He brought it back, did he?” Vordius raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you know this thing is contraband.”
“I do know,” Sorgius replied, “and I also know that it saved your life.”
“What does this toy have to do with it? It was all you and your timing. I thought you’d gotten scared and run off, but you were right to wait for the perfect moment. You have no idea how happy I was to hear those bolts coming! Although, I guess I could have handled them on my own – just a bunch of rabble from the port!”
“You’re wrong about that, Vordius,” Sorgius objected, looking hurt. He took back the multi-shooter.
“Don’t get all puffed up like a Mustobrim serpent!” the guardsman said and put an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “We’re working together. Risking our lives for Uni! Have you heard anything about this Fire Asp they were talking about?”
“Of course I have!” Sorgius cut him off. He looked away so that Vordius wouldn’t see that his eyes were shining traitorously. He had known since they were boys that Vordius was vain about his strength, and he had always ignored that vanity because his friend had so many other positive qualities. Still, it stung to have his role in defeating the ruffians ignored.
“Well?” Vordius prodded him as they made their way out of the ravine together.
“What do you want to know?” Sorgius shrugged. “Everyone has heard of him, but I don’t know anyone who has seen him. Just imagine,” he warmed to his subject, “in just a year this Asp person managed to kick all the Iristenians out of the port, put down the local gangs and made it clear to everyone who was left just how much of the pie they could expect to get. All of this, and nobody knows where he came from!”
“What are people saying?” Vordius was intrigued. “Are there any clues?”
They were taking the long way out, stepping over toothy ferns and cracking branches under their boots. The sun was suspended right above the horizon, and its last rays penetrated the crowns of the trees growing in the ravine.
“I’ve heard people say he’s about thirty years old, barrel-chested, so tall he can barely walk through a doorway, and with a voice like a trumpet!” Sorgius shook his head. “But others say he’s this tiny old man with a beard that almost touches the ground, but his eye is so sharp that if he looks at you, you freeze! But yet others say…”
“I see,” Vordius interrupted. “All fables. We have to find a man that no one has seen!” He was silent for a moment. Then he put his hand on Sorgius’ shoulder. “What fools they were to attack an officer in the Imperial Guards. I’d like to know what herbs give a man that kind of courage!” He shook his head, “No, I don’t like the looks of this at all!”
“The port has laws of its own,” Sorgius said. “I know of several attempts to clean up the corruption down there, but none of them worked out. When the Solar Sentinels make an appearance down there, it’s just that – an appearance. Here’s what I think,” he squinted. “Whoever runs the port is paying sizeable bribes to the city government. What I’d really like to know is how Asp and Fenia are connected,” he said, shrugging out from under his friend’s heavy hand.
“Do you think she’s employed by him?”
“Who knows? Asp carries a lot of weight in the port, but I think our friend back there was exaggerating about the mice. There’s no proof that the girl is from the port.”
“True,” Vordius replied. “So why are we looking for her there?”
“Because, my helmet-headed friend, we don’t have anything else to go on,” Sorgius scored a point. “If you have any other ideas…”
“Ideas? I can’t begin to imagine how we’ll stick our heads in that louse-infested den. We can’t just walk into the Lotus and ask for Fire Asp!”
“You astound me!” Sorgius cried. “I was sure you would say we should run in, tie everyone up, and start serving eyeball desserts!”
Vordius blushed. “I can’t do that and you well know it. If my superiors find out what I’m doing, they’ll feed me to the pigs!”
“Exactly! You’re starting to show some common sense. You have a good career and a lovely fiancée. One wrong move and you’ll throw it all away!”
“If you’re scared to keep up the search, just tell me. I’ll do it on my own,” Vordius growled.
“I’ve no doubt of that. I can just imagine how you’ll go about it,” Sorgius snickered.
“Enough of that, fool. Tell me what you have in mind.”
“Don’t rush the wagon. It’s a slow wagon, but it will arrive on time because it’s carrying something very valuable! Now listen,” he lowered his voice. “And stop calling me names. Your Uncle Sorgius has an idea on how to get through the fog without falling into the chasm!”
* * *
Enteveria’s northern river port was used almost exclusively for the government’s ships, but its southern river port handled all the private merchant trade for the enormous city. Because of its connections with the Empire’s far-flung trading partners, the southern port district was inhabited by people from all over the world, as if it were a magical portal opening into all the cities of the Empire and beyond. The sounds and smells of its streets were so different from those in other parts of the city that wise men were of the opinion that the port district was the remains of a settlement that had existed long before Enteveria, perhaps even the remains of an ancient community of Nigmays who had lived in these parts even before the Herandians. The port’s residents, whose ethnic makeup could have served as a geography lesson covering all of Dashtornis, had little interest in such theories. Unlike the wise men of the Imperial Academy, the people in the port were engaged in work of a more practical nature: they loaded and unloaded ships, traded in everything that was prohibited from the central market, made money catering to all kinds of human vices and engaged in associated criminal activity.
People with upstanding morals and respectable lifestyles almost never visited the southern river port. It would be tempting to make an exception for merchants and their salespeople, but in truth, the men of those professions are not guaranteed to always be moral or respectable.
The same could be said of two men that were now making their way through the crowd at the port. Even the most distracted observer would have seen right away which of the men was in charge and which was there to offer protection. The shorter of the two men was dressed in a gold-embroidered cape of fine Ulinian silk and wide rub-red southern style pants (to be specific, they were exactly the color of costly Arincilian gagawa juice). His tunic, stretched tight across his belly, was encrusted with pearls, and his crocodile leather shoes were ready to convince anyone who doubted their owner’s wealth. A pointed cap sat atop a head that was going bald young, and his shaven cheeks oozed with the lazy hauteur that earned the Vuravians so much dislike throughout the Empire.
His companion was much taller and dressed in a Torgendam deerskin tunic that stretched tight across his powerful back and revealed the rock-like muscles of his arms. His face betrayed his roots in the Empire’s heartland, with an oval face, dark, slightly curly hair, and a striking nose above a stubborn mouth and a solid chin. With two broad leather straps across his chest and a massive leather belt, he obviously knew how to circumvent the rule that civilians were not allowed to wear armor. The same could be said about his knee-high boots, which, by the sound of them, had soles reinforced with nails. Such boots were a convenient place to hide a long Seregad dagger as sharp and strong as an axe. The only thing spoiling his physical perfection – which was capable of piercing the heart of any Enteverian woman enamored of male display – was the look of boredom on his face.
“How long do we have to keep walking like this?” Vordius finally asked. He had to catch up to Sorgius so he could whisper properly, and it was a miracle he managed to avoid stepping on his friend’s flapping pants.
“Stay calm, old man, stay calm. We have to get into our roles so that nobody recognizes us,” and he wrinkled his nose at a beggar boy. Vordius gave the boy a shove for good measure. “See!” Sorgius rejoiced. “You’re getting the hang of it!”
“You look like a clown,” Vordius grumbled. “Let’s go straight to the Lotus. I’m starving!”
“I knew it would end like this,” his companion sighed and led the way.
When they reached their destination, they saw that there were lotus petals scattered on three sides, as advertised (they couldn’t see the fourth side of the tavern, because it backed up to the water). There were three rows of galleries where guests could enjoy the fresh air surrounded by bronze statues and dark red lamps that were lit when the sun went down. The hum of stringed instruments and the reedy sound of flutes and a tarbon wafted out of the tavern. It was still early, and the most interesting entertainment was yet to come.
Sorgius chose a highly visible table on the middle terrace and, moving like an arrogant monkey, made himself comfortable on the sofa. Vordius sat next to him, a strained look on his face. He wanted to call loudly for food and drink, but he had forgotten to ask his more experienced companion (who was supposedly well-versed in the ways of the criminal underworld) whether or not such behavior suited his role.
“Stay still,” whispered Sorgius, as if he could read minds. “We have been noticed already.”
It was true. A waiter appeared out of thin air, as if he had an invisible door next to their table.
“What will you be having?”
He was a weasely man with a sharp nose and a toothy grin. Vordius stared at the list of dishes, but Sorgius was in no hurry. He let his eyes wander over to the river, as if he were too deep in thought to consider what he wanted to eat.
The waiter cleared his throat, looked the newcomers over, and said, “I’m pleased to greet you, dear guests! Our tavern is delighted to offer you…”
Vordius was having trouble locating on the menu the dishes the waiter reeled off when suddenly something hit his left leg hard. Finally guessing what Sorgius wanted, he interrupted the gastronomic monologue.
“Stop flapping your tongue like a fish in a bucket. You see who we are. Bring us the best of everything, and quick!” he waved his hand in front of the man’s face.
Suitably impressed, the waiter disappeared. To Vordius’ surprise, the best of everything at the Lotus was just as good as what one might find at the finest restaurants in Enteveria. Duck in lemon sauce, roast pig with a sauce of nuts and dried apricots, and a fantastic plate of fried fish of all sizes – these were just a few of the dishes the Lotus served to solid deal-makers. No one was expected to eat it all. The custom was to try at least six or seven dishes, sip as many varieties of wine, and then lean back on the sofa to discuss serious business over the delicious morsels left on the table.
Sorgius and Vordius decided not to deviate from that custom, all the more so since Sorgius could definitely afford it. They attacked their food with the naked zest for life that was typical of men with practical minds and violent hearts, men who sleep with one eye open and know the value of each second of life. After trying a dish of deer meat in lingonberry sauce, Vordius leaned back with a cup of red wine and almost choked in surprise. A stranger had taken a seat at their table. The man had deep wrinkles on his forehead and was radiating the kind of smile a child shows a dish of honey ice cream before devouring it.
“Allow me to introduce myself, dear Enels! I am Quandius Sapheley, the manager of this fine establishment. When I heard that we had such discerning guests with us tonight, I wanted to make sure that everything is to your liking.”
Sorgius put on a polite smile and exchanged basic pleasantries with the man.
“Agrisoban? Never heard of it,” Sapheley murmured as he poured himself a cup of wine.”
“All of Vuravia knows of the region now that my family has established peace and order there,” Sorgius proudly proclaimed.
“Of course, the breadbasket of Vuravia. I should have guessed,” and the manager winked at Vordius, who was doing his best imitation of a statue, and took another sip of wine. “But Old Frizey keeps a tight leash on things. I suppose you are in well with him?”
Sorgius grimaced. “Old Frizey used to be the biggest merchant in our parts, but he died three years ago, and his trade is now in the hands of the three Big Kinsmen who are like this” – he clasped his two hands together – “with Dracasium Nerey! My family answers to Kinsman Koshtey. My name is Grishtan Akroerty, and I’m here on business. This is Ihliy Hazo, my bodyguard.”
Vordius nodded grimly.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” purred Sapheley. “You can find people looking to buy and sell just about anything here. But please remember, if you strike a deal here, the establishment takes a share as a commission. It helps us keep up the menu,” he smiled sheepishly.
“The menu!” Sorgius laughed rudely. “Ihliy, people in these parts have a sense of humor!” He turned back to the manager, “How much?”
“A quarter of the transaction. And if it’s your first time here, we charge a modest fee up front, and the amount is negotiable.”
“That Asp is nobody’s fool, is he? Or is it all going in your own pocket, friend?”
The fawning smile disappeared from the manager’s face like crumbs blown off the table. Now they stared back at a heavy-set thug with the eyes of a butcher.
“Who told you about Fire Asp?”
“Told me about him?” Sorgius narrowed his eyes. “He’s the man we came to see.” There was an uncomfortable pause, so he went on. “My older brother’s wife is from the Mraheli family, and her sister, Vlaseney Krivo, the one who lives in Gorgendia, is married to Mercius Ahery, whose cousin is a lawyer named Mezolo. He’s the one who put us in touch with his kinsman, the barber Taney.” Here, Sorgius looked around at the other tables. “Where is that Taney, by the way? The old rogue promised to introduce me to Fire Asp!”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Sapheley replied dryly. “Although, I did expect to see Taney here tonight. What business did you want to discuss? Fire Asp doesn’t often talk to strangers in person.”
“I know he doesn’t,” Sorgius said, calmly looking the man in the eye. “But I think he’ll be interested in what I have to say. I’ll eat my sandals if anyone else in this harbor of vice controls a certain trade the way my family does.”
The man thought for a moment. “Are you looking to place a large order? Vuravians usually do.”
“You can rest assured that it will be a very big order!” Sorgius assured him. “We are the only ones trading this way in our city, and Kinsman Koshtey likes it, too. It’s an untapped market.”
“If your kinsman is involved, then you will have to go through one of the Vuravian banking houses,” the manager concluded. He leaned back and put his hands on his knees.
“That’s one of the things we can discuss with Fire Asp,” Sorgius shot back, “if he’s interested.”
Vordius expected the manager to take offense at this, and he tensed his right arm. Sapheley, however, just smiled sweetly and said, “Let’s find out.” Then he stood up and disappeared back into thin air.
Vordius leaned over the table and grabbed his friend by the collar, “May the Shadow take you, Sorgius. What is this trade you’re talking about? Why don’t I know anything about it? What do I do if they ask me questions?”
“I’m the one doing the talking. Your job is to nod and look tough.”
“I’ll show you tough!” his eyes glinted.
“Sit down. People are watching. And let go of my collar.” Sorgius whispered. When Vordius complied, he continued, “The trade I’m talking about is the black market for voluntary workers – poor men who can’t pay their debts. They work for food, and the people who buy them keep the profit.” He lowered his voice. “There are official quotas, of course, but men like this Asp know how to buy quotas from corrupt members of the chancery. And there’s a shortage of workers in Vuravia right now, so…”
“Do you think it will work? Vordius interrupted. “What if they decide to talk to the barber first?”
“Why would they do that? Don’t you understand anything? If they wait for him, they’ll have to share with him. They’re thinking that since Taney never mentioned me, he was planning to go around them and keep the money for himself. This way, he gets nothing. Now hush, he’s coming back!”
Sapheley slid up to their table oozing with decorum. “My dear Enels, you’ve been invited to share a bottle of wine. Follow me.”
The friends rose slowly and, moving with dignity, followed Sapheley into the tavern. They passed through a hall where guests hollered appreciatively at dancing girls and men playing stringed instruments and found themselves in a narrow hallway. The walls were hung with a tapestry of gold dragons romping on a field of pale blue velvet.
“I beg your pardon, but you will need to leave your weapons here,” the manager’s voice was silky as he held out a copper tray.
Looking disgusted, Sorgius slowly laid an aquamarine-encrusted Capotian dagger on the tray. Vordius, his eyes empty, added two long boot knives.
“I’m sure you understand,” Sapheley said as he stepped aside. His place was taken by a dour man with a pointed face and a sack-like figure. His large lips made his face even less pleasant. He felt both visitors down with palms so large that Sorgius and Vordius felt like toys in his hands.
“Good grief!” Sorgius thought with a shudder. Vordius tried to catch the large man’s eye with an aggressive glance, but he was ignored. The man was only interested in their clothing and whatever might be hidden in it.
“You may go in,” Sapheley instructed them, pointing at a door that was carved in the Torgendam style with spiraling patterns.
They entered a dim room with four bronze lamps shaped like writhing snakes that cast very little light. The flames coming from their open mouths cast flickering shadows on the wood-paneled walls. At the other end of the room, a man in a gray robe who looked to be about forty sat on a round antique stool. On either side of him stood a large bodyguard. Losing no time, Sorgius introduced himself with great magnificence and handed the man a gift, as was the custom.
“It’s real Cahadrian topaz!” he bragged about the bracelet, which his father had brought him as a gift from home just a month before.
Vordius inconspicuously looked around the room. The silence that followed did not bother him, for he had little interest in men from the criminal underworld who pretended to be kings. In fact, he was feeling quite confident.
“Greetings, friends!” the man finally said in the voice of one who sees the flaws in everything, even in the Heavenly Deity. His round face contrasted oddly with his sharp nose and thin lips.
“My name is Cordelius Yahey. When Fire Asp was told of honorable guests from the south, he asked me to receive them with all the proper hospitality. My words are his words. I thank you for the gift. Please sit down.”
The friends sat next to each other on a long bench that was a little too hard to be comfortable. Moving silently, servants came in and placed a small table in front of each of them. Then, cups of various sizes were set on the tables. This was the beginning of sei nifu, an Ulinian ritual that had become popular among the more powerful men of the Empire’s underworld.
“How was your road, dear guests?” Yahey inquired politely, lifting a small cup.
“It was a good road, and you are a good host,” Sorgius bowed, holding his cup with both hands.”
“Allow me to offer you some wine!”
They were poured a soft Ulinian wine that had been warmed to enhance the plum notes. After the first sip, the drinker always wanted to drain his glass and ask for more, but that was exactly what made the wine dangerous.
“Is our host well?” Sorgius asked the next question in the series and lifted a slightly larger cup that had just been filled noiselessly.
“Quite well, thank you!” Yahey replied with a bow.
“Allow me to offer you some wine!”
It was a game that could go on forever, but at any moment the guest could leave without losing face or offending the host. All one had to do was politely say “Thank you, the wine was delightful!” However, the two friends were in luck, and the conversation soon took a more pragmatic turn.
“How is my distant brother, Kinsman Koshtey?”
“He is well, thank you for asking.”
“And his wife, that paragon of Vuravian womanhood – is she well?”
Sorgius tensed for a moment, but replied in a calm voice, “I am sure that her soul finds joy in the next life with the Heavenly Deity!”
Yahey’s face showed nothing as he replaced his cup on the tray in front of him. A long strand of light hair fell in his face.
“I have been told you would like to engage in trade?”
Vordius shook himself awake. Sorgius smiled broadly. “Exactly.”
“Who told you that we could help you?”
“The man you know as the barber Taney.”
“I do know a man by that name,” Yahey said. He was silent for a moment, and then said, “Was he supposed to introduce you to me?”
“He promised he would,” Sorgius said coldly.
“But he said nothing about it to me,” their host replied with a shrug.
“He was supposed to speak for us. We cannot speak for him,” Sorgius said.
The man’s lips stretched into something like a smile. “True. He wronged you if he gave his word and broke it.” He paused. “Or did he never give his word?”
Vordius gulped. Their host’s dreamy manner concealed something dangerous. He looked down and to one side to see if there was anyone behind him.
“Ask him yourself!” Sorgius said, looking surprised. “He’s late, but I’m sure he’ll be here.”
Yahey folded his arms across his chest. “Have no doubt that I will ask him. Unless someone else asked him first. Like, you, perhaps? What do you think?”
Sorgius had to work hard to keep from shaking.
“I’d have to answer to all the three families if anything happened to him. If it wasn’t that, I’d be happy to cut him. Cut him out, that is.”
Yahey narrowed his eyes and laughed. “I like you, Vuravian! What trade interests you? Carpenters, stone layers, plasterers? I hear that many new buildings are going up in Vuravia…”
“Oh no,” Sorgius chuckled. “I want the real goods, if you are getting my drift.”
“Of course!” Yahey nodded. “I understand you perfectly. We are the only ones who have the real goods.”
“I need girls,” Sorgius said, holding up two fingers as if they grasped a precious stone. “Pretty ones. Two hundred to start with.”
“Two hundred girls!” Yahey chortled. “Pretty ones! For a start! What on earth do you need so many of them for? Don’t tell me they’re all for your own town. It’s a lovely place, I’m sure, but very small.”
“Let me explain. Our town is small, but it stands on the border with Capotia. From there, it’s a short trip to Mustobrim, where girls from the Empire are hard to find.”
Yahey sat up straight. “You know the laws of Mustobrim, don’t you? The punishment for what you are proposing is death!”
“That should give you an idea how profitable it is.”
“But you need connections to move people over the border, especially if you want them to get there looking like anything.”
“My family has extensive connections. The Capotians have traditionally been the ones transporting girls to Mustobrim, but we looked into it and decided to give it a try. The market in Mustobrim is for blondes, but redheads are even better. Can you find me some nice redheaded girls?”
“Certainly! But let’s go over the details. How do you intend to pay?”