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Silver String

It wasn’t enough. His network, his Friends, had spread up the highways and byways of Tale, far beyond his hometown of Yera. Most of them innocent civilians, by their nominal boss’ reckoning. Some might say his use of the terms ‘innocent’ and ‘civilian’ were just a touch indiscriminate, and not without cause. But those were the sorts of people that looked only at the one facet they could see, and either ignored or were wholly ignorant of others. True, the whole organization, with some careful organization and a web of individual deals, could pull off some japes and capers that, if looked at from the wrong angle, make certain figures of authority deeply nervous. The idea that a bunch of serving folk, wagoneers, teamsters, laborers, guards… The idea that they knew much of how the world ran was fantasy, and dangerous fantasy at that. Individually, the scribe mused, there might have been a point there. His mother- Merle, rather, still thought like that. She went in for the whole quality over quantity model, a few highly skilled agents scattered in key positions. She saw her social lessers as little more than resources, to be used until they were no longer useful, and then swept away. …Preferably with a pension. Even she had some (threadbare) standards of decency when it came to class differences.

Everyone’s overlooking them, often for reasonable and logistical cause, suited the instigator right down to the ground. Ignore one, ten, even one hundred as small and ignorant, and that was, in a way, true. Put them together, though, and there wasn’t all that much that the lower folk didn’t know, couldn’t do. But, and this was important, very seldom did anyone in his entire weave do anything illegal or even outright immoral. There were some few who dabbled or even made a career out of skirting the law, but only a few. It made their loose acquaintanceships that much less of a priority, and frankly kept a lot of the worst sorts out of their ranks. For the most part, they just did their official jobs, listened as they normally would, chatted with another Friend once their day was done. Sometimes they learned something valuable, a secret or some bit of information best kept quiet, and found it profitable to pass it along the web. More often it was unconnected details, idle gossip. Once in the network, it stayed there. Whether it was talked about or kept on the sly, some Friend or another knew that little detail. And when a question came about, there were several people who knew something about the subject matter.

Viltre, of the Kavensei, did not run it. He worked to be crystal clear on that point. He was, yes, a Friend, and yes, he’d given the whole thing a push here and there. But no one person ran the group. Went against the whole point. He was, as he himself put it, just a Friend in a high place. Birth aside, his was no more illustrious a day job than any of theirs. Just a little part of the whole thing, a little more centrally placed. He could tug a thread and watch as something came from the other end in bits and pieces, easily assembled. This, though, this had made it clear his threads weren’t nearly long enough. The young man needed more. Needed to see more, hear more, know more. It was time and past time to get this operation started internationally. There was a red thread tugging at his attention now, a bond of blood, and those deserved answer. And waiting for a foreign kidnapping ring to simply wander into the menzuri web was a rearguard action at best. No, the menzuri was going to have to go hunting, and leave his net wherever he went. The map before him was a modern one, and his finger tapped on this town and that. East, then?

(Word count: 665.)

Long Expected Postmarks.

It felt good, being in a scriptorium again. Even one as cramped and… uniquely organized as this. He could only do so much to straighten up decades of half-assed bookkeeping. But that wasn't the matter to hand today! No matter how plaintively the ledgers called when the scribe looked elsewhere. As he did so often, Viltre found himself drafting letters. Some were in the nature of professional correspondence. Information, mostly, tips and tricks and tidbits to be traded, the odd secret sold, and coordination for his network of Friends where necessary. Information might travel well along a grapevine, but that vine wanted pruning and reseeding at key points, to torture the figure of speech. Today found him putting together a parcel of a more personal nature.

Every few weeks, he'd put some of his more tasteful adventures together on paper, along with whatever gifts he could scrape together, and send them home. Often enough he had them delivered either to Sorin, as Mother still (correctly) thought him incorruptible, or through one of his first Friends, a professional thug by the name Seilirg. If most had gone well, then no one directly associated with the name Kavensei knew that man. Either way, the letters had a way of reaching whomever was addressed by the envelope. In this way, Kavensei's second son kept in touch.

He'd sent some seeds and transcribed instructions on their cultivation to Sorin, to start. Sauti plants were similarly adapted to the heavy winds as blew across the grassland, and perhaps he could do something interesting with those in his crop rotation. Niiemh had sent off news of her upcoming nuptials, and he needed to send off his regards, well wishes, and apology for her big brother's absence also. This last came in the form of an elegant shortsword he'd commissioned from Saeruin. Something light, and with which she could easily dance. Noamh had a case of tools for fine tuning his instrument, spare strings and pegs, all of fine craft. Acyn and Aelyn, for humor of parallels, a pair of long blue-and-white silken coats, light and cut to dissipate Tale's heat. Easy to move in, knowing his little sister and her penchant for getting into scraps. Fajra, maybe to her surprise, got a set of silver hair sticks set with turquoise, and an odd set of blank steel coins. Better still, they'd found her whole both were still in Matori. Dusan, so often overlooked, he sent a shelf of books, over time. All topics, philosophy to commerce, travel to lace throwing, and so on. And even Antin, however little his youngest brother liked him, received a few things from here and there. A good set of boots, Sauti-make, a knife from Oba (for which he'd received a coin by return post; boy knew his customs).

Ostensibly, the house secondboy was out and about, building international connections. These formed the bulk of his letters home, including mention of his bodyguard. …And eventually their mutual romantic involvement with a local healer. This latter stayed out of the curated tales until it was too late for attempts at dissuasion. Their sire had not provided the best example of polyamorous arrangements, as his own could be called nasty things like 'unfaithful', or 'cheating'. Now, he wrote to tell his kin of their new nieces. Specifically now that they were safe amongst the in-laws, such that Mother Dear's men would have no opportunity for mischief. She would hear eventually, and no mistake. But timing it this way, he might well see Vulir informed first. And their father, for all his infidelity, would always be ecstatic to hear of grandchildren.

Viltre's smooth hand gave way to shakier or rougher script as others added to the news. In this case, he'd invited Terrwyn and her boys to write their kin in Yera. Jiu had little to add beyond 'Hello', but his brothers more than made up the difference in verbal chatter. None were careless enough to outright invite anyone, but Saei and Tathy had added a hope to meet their distant clan at some point. Unlike some of his previous post, the tall thief meant this parcel for general perusal once delivered. Thus, he'd addressed it to Seilirg rather than the House, and included additional instruction to ensure all reached their intended destinations.

It took hours to arrange and pen the lot. By the end, lean limbs pulled up over the red hair in a languid stretch. Smiling a quiet sort of smile, he gathered the last pages, folding and stacking paper into a neat sheaf and securing all in thin oilskin. These would be sent off in the morning with the next Tale-bound caravan. Correspondence seen to, he pulled over a heavy tome and cracked it open, going over the last year's numbers for Ninyelt's ranch…

(Words: 803)