Chapter 11: Playdate

Jumper whickered and shook his head, his mane flipping around as light from the lantern rocked back and forth, the shadows cast by clumps of frozen slush moving in time with it.

“Good boy,” Lapis whispered as she patted the side of his neck. He snorted and fell in step with Patch’s mount while she finished the adjustments to the lamp pole stuck in a leather casing strapped to the saddle.

She still did not know his name, but since he carried her and Rin across a crashing Swift and over numerous Dentherion soldiers’ helmets, she felt the moniker fit. She would call him that until told otherwise.

Patch pushed his fuzzy hat’s brim higher; that he even wore a hat astounded her, but she refused to mention it. He might take it off, and he needed warmth more than teasing. “Fucking middle of nowhere,” he grumbled.

She agreed with that. Meinrad had an estate situated on the edge of Nacker, one of many orchard towns that sat along the Southern Kells road. The way was flatter, so the bitter wind struck them with ferocity, rather than being deflected by hills. The buildings funneled the gusts down the streets, too, a combination that made for an even chillier experience.

No one else traveled the road for as far as she could see, not a surprise considering the cold, but even on freezing nights, some traffic usually moved back and forth. Merchants and travelers arriving too late to enter the city would stay at the inns clustered around the Kells Gates, enjoying rich food and drink and listening to performers of all kinds, while sellers who stayed at the markets until their last item sold headed home after paying their taxes.

Were there any guards left to collect those? She and Patch took a Minq-patrolled tunnel out to bypass the gates, so did not know, but she assumed the guards had vacated that duty. Had the community centers or rebels picked up the task?

Not that it mattered. Who was traveling to the city? She assumed word spread like fire throughout Jilvayna concerning the king’s demise and Jiy’s problems. Merchants would find other, safer places to trade. The farmers who initially declined the offer to sneak their produce and meats into Jiy through the farming collective would leap at the opportunity to sell their foodstuffs without endangering themselves, which kept them off the roads and safe and snug in a warm home.

She still did not understand the insistence of so many to do things the “proper way”. Gall designed the seller fees to cause significant harm to farmers. Why meekly play a part in that?

They passed smaller settlements; no one walked the streets. The homes the lamplight illuminated had their shutters closed tight, yellow fruit oil light leaking around the edges, chimneys puffing wood smoke into the air. Even inns were shuttered, though heartier noises issued from them.

Locals drowning their sorrows? Likely. They had a lot to worry about.

From experience, she anticipated the barons would hike the taxes on those they oversaw, keeping all the take for themselves since no government exited to tell them no. They hunted for any opportunity to strip wealth from others and stuff it into their own pockets; she and Patch had run many rebel missions dealing with those greedy gluts because their thirst for money harmed recruitment. Locals who saw rebels doing nothing about the exploitation refused to support them; after all, did they not proclaim they fought corruption on behalf of the commoner? If they failed so spectacularly in a small town, how could they manage an entire country?

She hated those stakes; sneaking into mansions and businesses in search of blackmail material simultaneously frightened and enraged her, but she never complained because the info, ultimately, served the greater good. And if rebels sometimes had a little chat with them afterwards? Maybe they should have lived a better life.

They reached Nacker; the green-painted entrance gate held large glass lamps that emitted rich light, illuminating the apple-bedecked sign with the town’s name. A waste, considering the shortages peeking over the horizon, and a hint that the residents thought hardship would not hit them.

How wrong they were.

Patch took the first left road after the gate, and they continued past an obnoxiously loud inn with empty wagons lined up along the street and a packed stable. The animals munched on hay and oats, no stablehand in sight to keep the greedier from taking another’s meal. A single-story bakery, butcher store, and beer shop stood between it and the first double-story houses. They, too, had shutters and doors closed tight, a bit of light leaking through the edges but not enough to illuminate the silent way.

The quiet sent shivers down her spine.

They reached a grey stone wall with a wrought iron gate, Orchardside engraved on an illuminated plaque to its side. Lapis lifted her lip; a name just as unique as the one who owned the place. Two men bundled in long woolen coats waited in the glass-windowed guard shack, a single lamp glowing bright and casting grotesque shadows upon the walls. One hastened out and unlocked the gate; clucking her tongue, she urged her mount inside. Patch followed, face blank, his patch lights racing fast enough, they formed a glowing ring.

The bars clanged ominously shut behind them.

“They’re up at the house,” one of the guards said, waving his hand towards the drive.

Patch hefted his wake juice jug in response and they continued through snowbanks as tall as the horses’ shoulders. Towering trees lined the way, their bare branches forming a tunnel. A few of the older estates had similar designs, but newer ones preferred shorter drives and larger gardens behind the mansion.

She adjusted her scarf, dread and nerves worming through her tummy. She hated this. Her encounters with the two ex-rebels rarely ended well, and if things got heated, she did not look forward to escaping.

The interior of Patch’s patch blazed bright; his misgivings reflected hers. Hopefully Midir made it clear that, if anything happened to them, Meinrad and Rambart would forfeit more than their reputations. He and the Wolf Collaborate members were building a new government from the ashes of corruption. Nice did not win against other, more pressing considerations.

“There are a lot of people here, Lapis. It’s like they brought every person they worked with.”

“So they don’t trust us.”

“It’s mutual.”