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« on: August 15, 2011, 02:52:48 AM »
The horizon began to brighten as the sun crept up into the sky. Standing on the bow of the fast sloop carrying assorted worked metal goods for the mines that the Spoke and Wheel Trading Company had been building in the hills a hard day's journey from Soupat, Raenart was grinning from ear to ear. Now here was going to be an adventure! The board of directors had convened a special meeting just days before he had left. The directive had been given shortly thereafter, he was to immediately set sail for what was being called the Colonies. At the time he'd been shocked that the Directors were going to send him of all the Merchanters to the new lands. As he dwelled on the idea he began to tease apart their likely intentions.
Below decks in the Captain's strongbox were the sealed instructions from the Directors. Whatever they were, they had been delivered by a troop of pikemen surrounding a very scared looking functionary from the Spoke and Wheel central offices. Nothing had been left to chance, no-one knew the contents of the letter except the Directors. Entire spy divisions had been devoted to protecting its secret, there could be no doubt of that.
It would be weeks before the rivals of the Spoke and Wheel would be able to send their own agents, that would be the time he'd have to act before his every action was reported scrupulously. His wide grin turning grim, he knew it would not be enough time. It never was. Years of service had taught him that. Many had never learned that lesson in the harsh Northern lands. All their schooling in figures, and blades could not prepare any for the Colonies. It was a rough and un-tamed land, just the sort of place where golds could be dug up from the depths of the lands and turn you into a fat rich Director; if you managed to live long enough.
They had been anchored off-shore for the night, waiting for a lumbering Galleon to leave laden down with precious zinc that the burgeoning industries required to spin new brass ship fittings for the ever expanding tentacles of trade that reached up from the south to take root in the North. Now a harbor pilot was rowed out to the ship. Treacherous rocks remained even though the harbor had been extensively dredged since its founding a decade prior. When he was safely on board the captain descended from the stern and motioned for Raenart to join him in his cabin. The moment had arrived, the orders were to be opened as had been agreed.
Snug in the quarters of the Captain both men removed the complex key they had kept on a leather thong beneath their shirts the entire journey. The Captain slid his into the strong box and quietly departed the cabin. Alone, for the first time since the journey from the south began, Raenart took a moment for himself before he confidently slid his own key into the lock, turned it, and holding his breath opened the strongbox. Inside was a sheaf of papers which he set off to the side. Next to the sheaf was a jar of oil in which floated a vial holding a single sheet of rolled paper. Fishing out the vial he unstoppered the top and carefully slipped out the rolled sheet into his hand. Quickly unraveling the sheet not caring that oil was soaking one edge of the sheet he began to read quickly. The text was simple and short. Barely five seconds after the sheet had touched the open sea air it ignited, the ashes floating freely into the air.
His instructions clear Raenart ignored the expectant look of the Captain and strode back towards the waiting deck. Emerging into the light he found that the ship was nearly in its bearth. Five other ships were moored up, only one small slips remained empty. No large vessel would be able to dock until one of the six ships left. As soon as the gang-plank was set Raenart began to grow impatient. He knew protocol, but by the great dragons, he had to make it to the Company stockade. As soon as he was able he slipped away with a curt nod to the Captain.
Few paid him any attention as he strode through the offal filled streets of the wharf, after turning up Broad street he saw the Company Stockade, its walls half of stone and half of wood dominating the small trading post. Passing several taverns, the Hairy Buffalo, the Winking Lizard, the Blind Pig, Raenart could only laugh. Every tavern must be named after a ludicrous animal in this town. His hand resting on the hilt of his blade as he walked up the small hill he looked with furtive eyes spotting the pick-pockets easily enough. With their eyes meeting they knew he would be no easy mark, and so left him be. His broad chest made him an imposing figure for any ruffians lurking about as well. While not tall, he was a bit above average. Enough that his reach would only be bettered by a true giant of a man. The alert and attentive guards took in his sword Spoke and Wheel pommel and allowed him to pass. His boots made light footfalls as he confidently strode through the Stockade gate. As he passed he heard the guards comment to his mate, "Did you see that! I haven't seen anyone with that sigil on his sword except the Company master. This may not end well." Stopping, Raenart moved his hand closer to the hilt of the blade. "Guardsman, you will not discuss my arrival with anyone, not even your mates, nor your whore, nor anything that breathes. Fail in this and I will rip out your tongue and feed it to you. I will then poke out your ears with a red-hot needle and send you off to the mines so that you can load the rocks into the carts, for that is surely the only job for which you will be fit as a deaf mute. Am I clear!?" With a very large and visible gulp the guard can only nod in affirmation. With a deadly glare at the gutter-rat who had witnessed the exchange it was clear that worse would come to him should he even think of mentioning it to anyone. With a gaze that missed no-one he spun on his heel satisfied that no other eavesdroppers were about and proceeded into the Company offices.
Soon after Raenart was standing in-front of Soupat's Company master. "Greetings Tomaas. Doubtless you know why I am here." Handing over the sheaf with the documents, Tomaas gave Raenart a steady look. "I did not expect you to be the one they sent. I can only imagine what that means. Did you get any orders I should know of?" the aging merchant asked politely. Raenart returned his gaze, and in an even voice replied, "Only one. I am to use any and all means necessary to secure the mines." Holding eachothers gaze for a moment Tomaas nods slowly letting his words hang. "Any and all." Turning to the small square window, barely large enough for a boy of six to shimmy his way through, "Yes, they would send you with those instructions." There was little emphasis in his words, but both men knew precisely what had been said.
The meeting concluded Raenart took to the visiting merchant quarters in the Stockade, tomorrow he would ride out to the mines for an inspection.
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