We left Jeromb at the Black Swan and made our way back to our sad little tavern in the Market Quarter. We didn’t talk as we walked, and when we arrived, we sat in silence on the bed in Ayglos’s room contemplating what we’d gotten ourselves into. Hitting the caravan last winter had been a huge success, but it had raised my bounty to 5,000 gold pieces. There was a 2,000 gold piece bounty on my accomplices, though no one was quite sure who they were or what they looked like. Which was fine. With the Empress so focused on me, she still hadn’t noticed the growing smuggling operations through Galhara and she hadn’t found all the children we’d liberated from her when we fled Dalyn the first time. I chewed my lip. The thought of every soldier being equipped with a ranged weapon they could quickly reload… I a little bit regretted making my face so notorious.

“I can’t believe every single dwarf in Anlor is in on that lie,” said Ayglos at last.

“Another secret to add to the pile.” I sighed and leaned my head against the wall. “I feel like most of Galhara knows about Namal at this point and we haven’t seen posters with his face on them. People can keep national secrets when there is someone who wants to kill them.”

My brother grimaced. “You can’t go into the Empire looking like yourself.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“You can bleach your hair. You can cut it, too.”

I looked at him in horror.

Ayglos’s glare was unforgiving. “You’ve resisted changing your hair for years, they won’t expect this.”

I reached up and covered my dark curls protectively. “This is a terrible idea.”

“It’s a brilliant idea and probably the only way we get those plans back without trading you for them.”

I scooted off the bed and crossed the small room as if Ayglos were actively threatening me with sheers and dye. He cut and colored his hair all the time and had since we’d started working as mercenaries. It wasn’t a big deal to him. I’d never changed my hair from the mane of dark curls depicted so faithfully in my wanted posters. My brother was right, and I hated it. I twisted my hair in my hands. “How short?”

*

Quill sat on the bed surrounded by the cultist’s journals while Eliah and Ayglos worked on my hair. I clenched the armrests of the chair and tried not to flinch listening to the sheers. One curl had fallen in my lap, stark against the sheet Eliah had wrapped around me. It looked weirdly lifeless and foreign and my eyes kept snagging on it.

“I think we should burn them,” said Eliah from behind me.

“That bad?” asked Ayglos.

“We haven’t done a thorough reading, but he does detail his ritual in this one,” Quill held up one of the books.

Eliah said, “Do we bother looking? Does anyone really believe there will be something in here we’d be willing to do?”

“No,” I replied, glad for the distraction, “But I was hoping for—I don’t know, a better understanding of what’s beyond the veil. How the veil works in general. There must be rules.”

“And maybe corroboration for that one book?” asked Quill, tone dry. There had been a journal in Angareth of a gifted Seer—an ancestor of the Countess—who detailed the wildest stories about entire civilizations in the ethereal plane composed of fairies and sprites and hobgoblins and other creatures of fantasy. It had started out as believable and details accounts of conversations with ghosts, and then devolved. The Countess had a genuine gift, it wasn’t a leap to think her ancestor did as well. Except that the book was catalogued as the Journal of Elabet the Mad.

Eliah continued, “If we’re having to rush off to the border for these plans, we’ll have to take these with us or burn them right now.”

“The books are easier to bring than the man,” pointed out Ayglos.

“I am not breaking that man out of jail,” I said.

There were grunts of agreement. The last thing I wanted was to bring a cultist to the Empire when he could hang by the neck here.

Eliah came around in front of me and stared at my hair with such intensity that I wanted to hide. The severed curl rolled off my lap and out of sight. She tugged on my hair, pursed her lips, then nodded. “I think this is good.” She gestured to Ayglos, who also came to look, and said, “Agreed. Now for bleach.”

Quill tossed a journal to the floor. “Nothing in that one.”

Our eyes caught and I mouthed, “Save me,” as the alchemical scent of bleaching agents filled the room. Quill’s expression turned sympathetic. He hadn’t loved the disguise plan, but had readily agreed it was the best way to get in and out of the Empire safely.

“You know what doesn’t make sense,” said Eliah, again out of sight behind me. “Why is cultism and demon summoning against the law in the Empire, too? Especially since we all know that’s how she banished Shyr Valla.”

“Empress Narya doesn’t want anyone else getting any favors, I expect,” replied Quill. He tossed another journal on the floor. “This man is very boring.”

*

By the time Eliah and Ayglos finished working unholy alchemy on my hair, Quill had skimmed through at least a dozen journals and they littered the floor like the cultists when we were done with them.

Eliah removed the sheet she’d wrapped me in and my brother tossed me a towel. Reluctantly, I lifted the towel to my head to be confronted with the reality of their work. My hair ended at my collarbone, and it felt like nothing as I dried it. It barely even held enough water to soak the towel. Ayglos handed me the little mirror he used for shaving and—well, I didn’t recognize myself. My curls were more intense now—and they were blonde. Even my eyebrows were lighter. I turned my head, and my hair—so light—tossed with the motion.

Eliah and Ayglos stood side by side, crossed arms, faces thoughtful. “I think that’s excellent,” said Eliah.

Ayglos nodded.

From the bed, Quill exclaimed, “Ah hah!”

I startled, but Quill wasn’t looking at me, he held one of the journals and read aloud, “By all the gods, I saw them. My hand is shaking so badly—gods—they’re real.”

*

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The sun was high, and it felt unreal after the lingering darkness of the jail. “He wasn’t nearly frightened enough after what he did to those women,” said Eliah, falling in beside me as we set out on foot through Falletta.

“He’s not long for this world,” said Ayglos from behind us.

“I think we could’ve frightened him a bit more,” said Eliah. “You don’t need all your fingers to hang.”

I tossed her a smirk. “Just lungs and a neck.”

“So bloodthirsty,” commented Quill.

“You’d be bloodthirsty, too, if you’d spent the week bagging handsy sods waiting for someone to try to murder you,” Eliah spread her arms as if physically throwing off the role. “I missed the first few seconds of the fight, and you almost didn’t leave any for me to burn off my rage.”

I caught her elbow and linked arms. “I couldn’t see, sorry.”

“Next job we take better be hunting the animal kind of monster—something big and with lots of teeth.”

Ayglos laughed at her. “I’m just glad the jailer was happy to share all his information with us. If this monster does have a book about summoning demons, I’d rather not have it just loose in the world.”

“Do you know the priests here in Falletta?” asked Quill, “Could any of them be trusted with it?”

I looked over my shoulder to catch Ayglos’s eye. “Maybe. Learned Felix is kind. Remember—the one who feeds the ravens?”

“I don’t think he’d be tempted by the power, at any rate,” added Ayglos. “I’ve no wish to leave this for the Duke to find, however.”

The rest of us made noises of dubious agreement. Duke Falletta might just lock up the books, but he also wasn’t the sort of man I wanted to tempt. The streets got busier the further we got from the jail, and we stopped talking. Ayglos took the lead since he knew Falletta better than the rest of us. The houses in the Silk Quarter were interspersed between shops with glass windows where tailors, weavers, spinners and the like plied their trades and sold their wares. Buildings were stone or covered in plaster, and overwhelmingly tidy looking. There were trees scattered around, and more that could be seen over garden walls. Our cultist had a stone house, and careful masonry provided little patterns and flourishes around the windows and door. A flowering vine grew up one side and spread across half the front. It looked entirely ordinary and inviting.

“I was sort of expecting a stronger indication of obsession with demons,” I said.

“Things are never that simple,” replied Ayglos.

“By Rohhel and all her Ravens I am saved!” cried a voice to my left. “Zare Caspian!”

I stiffened, despite the decidedly unthreatening tone, and turned to see the speaker.

He was a dwarf with umber skin, neatly braided black hair, and a short black beard. His clothes were well made, but not overtly fancy. He was out of breath as if he’d run up. Indeed, behind him a second dwarf was coming to a halt, face red with exertion, his secretarial satchel clutched in his hands.

I recognized the first dwarf immediately, “Jeromb Jemard!”

“The legendary Zare Caspian—unlooked for! In the hour of my need!” Jeromb Jemard reached out and we clasped hands in greeting. “Is your brother around? Can we go somewhere to talk privately?”

My eyes flitted to Ayglos, whose hair was still dyed black from the Angari job. When we’d worked for Jeromb he’d been blonde. Jeromb followed my glance and startled, “Oh, my apologies Ayglos. You look—quite—different.”

My brother smiled and offered his hand to the dwarf, “Jeromb, it’s good to see you.”

I gestured to Eliah and Quill, “May I introduce our companions, Quilleran and Eliah,” Jeromb bowed to them in turn, “This is Jeromb Jemard, Magus of Mount Anlor.”

“A pleasure,” said Quill, with a bow of his own.

“This is my secretary, Nattren,” said Jeromb, gesturing to the red faced dwarf behind him, who also bowed.

Ayglos continued, “Zare and I worked for Jeromb two winters ago. Shipwreck recovery with some…monstrous complications.”

Jeromb nodded. “Excellent work. We lost our barge, and then every time we sent divers they came back banged up and shaking with terror, if they came back at all. When Zare Caspian showed up on our doorstep and offered to help, we were more than ready for it. I can’t believe we hadn’t thought of asking nymphs before. Someone who can’t be drowned is perfect for that sort of work.”

“Difficult to drown,” corrected Ayglos.

The dwarf waved his hand dismissively. “Could I persuade you to join me for drinks? In private? Right away? I have a room at the Black Swan.”

The four of us exchanged quick looks.

“We’ll take care of the other thing,” said Quill. “And meet you back at the inn later.”

“Of course.”  I hooked my fingers briefly with Quill’s before turning to Jeromb. “Lead the way.”

*

The Black Swan was a far nicer establishment than the little tavern where we were staying. Jeromb showed us to his suite of rooms warmed by a cheerful fire where we settled on divans stuffed with feathers. A servant knocked a few moments later with a tray of ales and a selection of meats and cheeses. Jeromb set the tray down on a little table and then drank the ale as if he hadn’t had anything to drink in days. Nattren took a glass, bowed to us, and retired to the desk in the corner.

I didn’t remember Jeromb being the nervous sort. Tasting one of the cheese I asked, “Did you lose another barge to the lake?”

“Oh no, no—the lake is fine, and we did hire some nymphs on as you suggested to patrol the lake and keep the denizens under control. No,” Jeromb set down his cup and smoothed his beard. “It’s much worse than that, I’m afraid. Much worse.”

Ayglos and I waited, but instead of explaining, Jeromb produced a pipe and settled into his seat, visibly calming as he went through the ritual of filling his pipe. We made no attempt to fill the quiet. Hunting lake serpents for him had been thrilling and difficult work. We didn’t know how the beasts had gotten into the lake, but they had no natural predators and several of them had gotten so big they were a serious danger to any dwarf who went onto the lake—or into it, as the sunken barge necessitated. We’d cleared out the biggest serpents we could find, and then firmly recommended Jeromb to find and hire nymphs who could live at the lake permanently to make sure this didn’t happen again. Nymphs for his lake had the added benefits of someone knowing the moods of the water and maintaining balance among the creatures.

Anytime we could make a safe place for nymphs we would. The Empire had displaced so many.

After watching Jeromb blow a perfect ring of smoke at the ceiling, Ayglos finally broke the silence, “What brings you to Falletta?”

“An ill wind,” replied the dwarf. “I had been on my way back to Mount Anlor from Galhara—I had business there and, well, beside the point—I was on my way back, and at the border crossing a few of my crates were confiscated by the Empire and I need them back.”

Ayglos said, “Confiscated…by…the Empire?”

Jeromb nodded dolefully. “They said I filled out the paperwork wrong for transporting goods, and took the crates they claimed weren’t accounted for on the paperwork—and of course therefore not part of the border taxes. Which isn’t true, I included all the crates on the paperwork and paid the appropriate fees—astronomical though they are. Bastards just wanted to pocket the extra.”

“What do you think we can do about it?” I asked. “It’s not as though we can apply diplomatic pressure to get your crates back.”

“Don’t be silly. I know that. I don’t want diplomatic pressure. I want you to steal them. No, don’t make that face, highnesses. I know what you do for a living, I’ve heard stories about your exploits—even a rumor that you robbed an Imperial caravan inside the Empire. I’ve seen the wanted posters, too. There’s a wall full of them at the border crossing with Villaba. You’re obviously very good.”

I frowned. “If you’ve seen the wanted posters then you know that going back to the Empire is very dangerous for us.”

Jeromb nodded gravely. “I do. But leaving my crates in their possession is dangerous, too.”

Folding my arms I leaned back, trying to ignore the feeling of dread crawling up my spine. “What’s in the crates?” I growled.

“Mostly trade goods,” said Jeromb—far too quickly. “Wine, dyes, that sort of thing. But. I was also smuggling a design. I’d gone to speak with an old friend to work out some of the parts with which I was having trouble. It was very good to see him again and I was absolutely correct that he’d shake the plan loose and make it all fit.” Jeromb stopped, looked at us, then gestured to Nattren.

The other dwarf looked dubious, but he stood up and crossed to the chest sitting against the wall. He produced a key on a chain from under his shirt, unlocked the chest, and came back to us carrying a package that looked like a trumpet. He unwrapped it, showing the horn shape and curved wooden hilt of the blunderbuss. “You’ve seen our blunderbusses before.”

We nodded. They’d demonstrated their loud and forceful little weapons last time we were here. Nattren nodded and turned away, presenting the weapon next to Jeromb, who picked it up out of its wrapping.

“Well,” said Jeromb, “I’ve designed one that has the pan all one piece with the striker and no match needed—which means no glow to give away your position at night—and a better chance of it going off if it’s raining.” Jeromb held the weapon aloft and pointed to knobs and spurs where the wood met the metal as if we’d know what he was talking about. “I call it the flintlock—since it relies on flint instead of matches, you see. Anyway, it’s a brilliant little weapon and I’m very proud of it.”

“And this is what you’ve lost?” asked Ayglos.

“Yes. My designs are in the hands of the Empire—if they find the false bottom in my crate. You can see how we wouldn’t want them to have those designs—how you wouldn’t either. Imagine every soldier equipped with crossbows they can reload instead of just a few.”

“I thought it took years of training to use a blunderbuss,” I said. “I distinctly remember being told I couldn’t try shooting it because it would probably put a hole in my face.”

Jeromb snorted. “That’s the lie, yes. Any fool can use a blunderbuss. Easy to shoot. Easy to reload…that’s our great secret.”

We stared at him, trying to come to terms with the improbable fact that an entire kingdom was in on a lie.

Finally, Ayglos managed, “Do you know where the plans might be now?”

*

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