The Demon Cycle Books 1-3 and Novellas: The Painted Man, The Desert Spear, The Daylight War plus The Great Bazaar and Brayan’s Gold and Messenger’s Legacy
sat quietly for a time. ‘Cob, why ent you rich?’ he asked at last.
‘What?’
‘Like Ragen,’ Arlen clarified. ‘You said you used to be a Messenger for the Duke. Why don’t you live in a manse and have servants do everything for you? Why do you do this at all?’
Cob blew out a long breath. ‘Money is a fickle thing, Arlen,’ he said. ‘One moment you can have more than you know what to do with, and the next … you can find yourself begging food on the street.’
Arlen thought of the Beggars he saw on his first day in Miln. He had seen many more since, stealing dung to burn for warmth, sleeping in public warded shelters, begging for food.
‘What happened to your money, Cob?’ he asked.
‘I met a man who said he could build a road,’ Cob said. ‘A warded road, stretching from here to Angiers.’ Arlen moved closer and sat on a stool, his attention rapt.
‘They’ve tried to build roads before,’ Cob went on, ‘to the Duke’s Mines in the mountains, or to Harden’s Grove to the south. Short distances, less than a full day, but enough to make a fortune for the builder. They always failed. If there’s a hole in a net, no matter how small, corelings will find it eventually. And once they’re in …’ He shook his head. ‘I told the man this, but he was adamant. He had a plan. It would work. All he needed was money.’
Cob looked at Arlen. ‘Every city is short of something,’ he said, ‘and has too much of something else. Miln has metal and stone, but no wood. Angiers, the reverse. Both are short of crops and livestock, while Rizon has more than they need, but no good lumber or metal for tools. Lakton has fish in abundance, but little else.
‘I know you must think me a fool,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘for considering something everyone from the Duke on down had dismissed as impossible, but the idea stuck with me. I kept thinking, What if he could? Isn’t that worth any risk?’
‘I don’t think you’re a fool,’ Arlen said.
‘Which is why I keep most of your pay in trust,’ Cob chuckled. ‘You’d give it away, same as I did.’
‘What happened to the road?’ Arlen pressed.
‘Corelings happened,’ Cob said. ‘They slaughtered the man and all the workers I hired him, burned the wardposts and plans … they destroyed it all. I had invested everything in that road, Arlen. Even letting my servants go wasn’t enough to pay my debts. I made barely enough money selling my manse to clear a loan to buy this shop, and I’ve been here ever since.’
They sat for a time, both of them lost in images of what that night must have been like, both of them seeing in their mind’s eye the corelings dancing amidst the flames and carnage.
‘Do you still think the dream was worth the risk?’ Arlen asked. ‘All the cities sharing?’
‘To this day,’ Cob replied. ‘Even when my back aches from carting wardposts and I can’t stand my own cooking.’
‘This is no different,’ Arlen said, tapping the book of wards. ‘If all the Warders shared what they knew, how much better for everyone? Isn’t a safer city worth losing a little profit?’
Cob stared at him a long time. Then he came over and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re right, Arlen. I’m sorry. We’ll copy the books and sell them to the other Warders.’
Arlen slowly began to smile.
‘What?’ Cob asked suspiciously.
‘Why not trade our secrets for theirs?’ Arlen asked.
The chimes rang, and Elissa entered the warding shop with a wide smile. She nodded to Cob as she carried a large basket to Arlen, kissing him on the cheek. Arlen grimaced in embarrassment and wiped his cheek, but she took no notice of it.
‘I brought you boys some fruit, and fresh bread and cheese,’ she said, removing the items from the basket. ‘I expect you’ve been eating no better than you were upon my last visit.’
‘Dried meat and hard bread are a Messenger’s staples, my lady,’ Cob said with a smile, not looking up from the keystone he was chiselling.
‘Rubbish,’ Elissa scolded. ‘You’re retired, Cob, and Arlen isn’t a Messenger yet. Don’t try to glorify your lazy refusal to go to the market. Arlen is a growing boy, and needs better fare.’ She ruffled Arlen’s hair as she spoke, smiling even as he pulled away.
‘Come to dinner tonight, Arlen,’ Elissa said. ‘Ragen is away, and the manse is lonely without him. I’ll feed you something to put meat on your bones, and you can stay in your room.’
‘I … don’t think I can,’ Arlen said, avoiding her eyes. ‘Cob needs me to finish these wardposts for the Duke’s Gardens …’
‘Nonsense,’ Cob said, waving his hand. ‘The wardposts can wait, Arlen. They’re not due for another week.’ He looked up at Lady Elissa with a grin, ignoring Arlen’s discomfort. ‘I’ll send him over at the Evening Bell, Lady.’
Elissa flashed him a smile. ‘It’s settled, then,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you tonight, Arlen.’ She kissed the boy and swept out of the shop.
Cob glanced at Arlen, who was frowning into his work. ‘I don’t see why you choose to spend your nights sleeping on a pallet in the back of the shop when you could have a warm featherbed and a woman like Elissa to dote on you,’ he said, keeping his eyes on his own work.
‘She acts like she’s my mam,’ Arlen complained, ‘but she’s not.’
‘That’s true, she’s not,’ Cob agreed. ‘But it’s clear she wants the job. Would it be so bad to let her have it?’
Arlen said nothing, and Cob, seeing the sad look in the boy’s eyes, let the matter drop.
‘You’re spending too much time inside with your nose buried in books,’ Cob said, snatching away the volume Arlen was reading. ‘When was the last time you felt the sun on your skin?’
Arlen’s eyes widened. In Tibbet’s Brook, he had never spent a moment indoors when he had a choice, but after more than a year in Miln, he could hardly remember his last day outside.
‘Go find some mischief!’ Cob ordered. ‘Won’t kill you to make a friend your own age!’
Arlen walked out of the city for the first time in a year, and the sun comforted him like an old friend. Away from the dung carts, rotting garbage, and sweaty crowds, the air held a freshness he had forgotten. He found a hilltop overlooking a field filled with playing children and pulled a book from his bag, plopping down to read.
‘Hey, bookmole!’ someone called.
Arlen looked up to see a group of boys approaching, holding a ball. ‘C’mon!’ one of them cried. ‘We need one more to make the sides even!’
‘I don’t know the game,’ Arlen said. Cob had all but ordered him to play with other boys, but he thought his book far more interesting.
‘What’s to know?’ another boy asked. ‘You help your side get the ball to the goal, and try to keep the other side from doing it.’
Arlen frowned. ‘All right,’ he said, moving to join the boy who had spoken.
‘I’m Jaik,’ the boy said. He was slender, with dark tousled hair and a pinched nose. His clothes were patched and dirty. He looked thirteen, like Arlen. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Arlen.’