In the end, it takes us about a candlemark – an hour – to reach our destination. Since the eastern quarter is a little distant from where we started, we took one of the carriages which stand around at regular intervals just waiting for someone to need their services.

  On Loran’s advice, before getting on board, I purchased a few plain cloaks for all the humanoids from a nearby stall. Loran, Alyna, Leileh and the samurans put theirs on with no complaints; Bullio required a bit of convincing. But he recognised that the cloaks made us draw less attention, particularly as we started heading into the poorer areas of the city where clothes are far less brightly coloured.

  Now I’m looking for it, I see several beasts who are obviously under the control of someone or other – whether a Tamer Class or just a mundane tamer is another question. I think we pass another Tamer Class at one point, though – the beasts he had around him look as dangerous as my own and the intelligent gleam one of them has in their eyes indicates it’s at least Tier two.

  Loran becomes increasingly fidgety as the journey goes on, particularly when we enter an area where the wooden houses lean closely enough together at the top that the street below has more of an evening light than a noon one.

  What’s wrong? I ask him, concerned. Do you have a history with this leatherworker or something?

  I don’t, he answers, but I sense that he’s not being completely honest. I just wait for him to continue. He lets out a silent breath, hunching his shoulders slightly. But my brother does, he admits.

  Explain? I invite.

  I don’t know if he’s still there now but…my brother managed to get apprenticed to this leatherworker a few years back. Loran swallows. He’s probably become a journeyman by now. He probably won’t be there at all.

  Is that the only reason you recommended this shop? I ask, a little irritated if that’s the case. I can understand why Loran might want to have the excuse, but I’d rather not waste my time if the crafter isn’t any good.

  No! Loran hurries to assure me. No, it’s because of my brother that I know of this leatherworker, sure, but he’s still an excellent one. He has to be, as an independent, or he’d have gone out of business ages ago. But…I can’t deny that Marin and Hide was in my head because of my brother.

  Alright, I accept. And if he isn’t there?

  Then perhaps Master Marin will know where he’s gone, Loran sighs. And with him, my sister. He swallows. What if he doesn’t want to see me any more?

  Then we’ll deal with it. But remember – you always have a family with us, I remind him. Loran’s eyes flicker to each of our companions and something in his face relaxes. He nods – it’s fractional, but enough.

  The conversation seems to have reduced Loran’s nerves by a touch – he’s still nervous about his brother but at least he no longer fears my own reaction.

  We arrive at our destination shortly after.

  “Guff’s Street and Wave Avenue intersection,” the driver calls from his seat at the head of the carriage. “Everyone out, unless ye want to pay another fare to drive somewhere else.”

  “We’re getting out,” I call. Once out of the carriage, Lathani and Bastet stretch – they were a bit cramped. Sirocco was better off – she perched on the roof.

  That was fun, Lathani replies brightly. Lots to see and I didn’t have to run!

  Well, we’ll probably take another one back so you’ll get to see it all again. That pleases her. “Right,” I continue aloud. “Which way from here?”

  “This way,” Loran murmurs, heading to the front. Bastet hurries to join him, pressing against his side briefly. I see him stroke her feathers along her back – a warm feeling goes through me at the obvious signs of my companions seeking comfort in each other. One good thing about the Bond – I don’t need to feel jealous of Loran getting more attention when I can feel that their emotions towards me haven’t changed just because our family has grown a little more.

  As we walk along the street, I’m aware of plenty of eyes watching us but no one approaches – doubtless, as Leileh predicted, we look too dangerous to target.

  Our destination is obvious when we round a bend in the street – a sign with the hide emblem of a leatherworker swings outside. As we get closer, we see a number of dummies bearing equipment obviously made by its proprietor. In contrast to the dummies I used to see back on Earth, these actually move, bending and flexing to show off all aspects of the wares.

  “Marin and Hide, sir,” Loran tells me quietly as I approach the door. The information is unnecessary, but I can tell that his nerves are getting the better of him.

  “It’ll be fine,” I murmur back to him before laying my hand on the handle.

  “My-sir,” Leileh objects, hurrying to the front of our group. “I should be first.”

  “We’re keeping a low profile,” I remind her. She sends me a fiery glance that briefly takes me aback.

  “Any merchant who brings guards with him will send one of them in first to check for danger,” she argues. “Not doing so is suspicious since most merchants don’t have the kind of combat skills necessary to defend themselves for long.”

  She does have a point. I release the handle and let her go first. It doesn’t take her long to signal the all-clear and I enter, closely followed by the rest of my companions. As before, Bullio remains outside.

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  The shop is significantly more cramped inside than the enchanters’ workshop was – it’s not long before Sirocco makes a disgruntled screech and swoops out of the door which hasn’t actually been able to shut behind us. Hides and frames line the walls, and there are multiple workbenches all over the place, covered with cut-offs and half-finished projects. Not that I can see much of it considering all the bodies in the way.

  Anyone who isn’t actually interested in the leatherwork here, please wait outside, I ask. There’s a moment of hesitation and then Bastet heads out again, though she first reminds me to call for her in need. With her leaving, Lathani apparently decides that outside is more interesting than inside – losing a pony-sized leopard makes a big difference.

  Three samurans, and four humans is still a bit of a crowd, but since they all have reason to be inside, this is as good as we’re going to get.

  An intake of breath brings my attention to the two other humans who are also present – I’d noticed their presence, but with as crowded as the room was until a moment ago, I hadn’t really seen them.

  The one who gasped has gone pale and his eyes are wide and staring. Not at me, nor at the samurans – his focus is on Loran. I shift slightly in place, grounding myself in instinctive preparation for a fight, for all that I strongly suspect this won’t become one. The resemblance is too strong for this to be anyone but Loran’s brother.

  Loran himself has frozen, his muscles tense. Overwhelming fear mixed with hope vibrates along the Bond between us. Everyone else in the Bond network shifts uneasily, the transfer of emotions affecting us all. I consciously narrow the Bond a little to limit the leak of Loran’s emotional state into the rest of us..

  The other figure in the room, a short, stocky man with defined muscles, glances between Loran’s brother and us with a frown growing on his face and wariness in his eyes.

  “Athos, you know these people?”

  Loran’s brother, Athos, is silent for a moment more, then jerks his head in a nod.

  “Yes, Master. At least…I know one of them,” he admits, his voice hoarse. “Though I never thought I’d see him again.” His eyes drift down, fixating on the strip of pale, scarred skin around Loran’s throat. He goes silent again and the leatherworker’s frown darkens.

  Since it seems that neither Loran nor his brother are in the right state to answer questions, I step forward. The movement makes the leatherworker’s eyes snap to me.

  “Sir, I don’t know who you are,” he starts hotly, “but if you’ve come to disrupt my business–”

  “I haven’t,” I interrupt. “In fact, I’m here to see if I wish to be a customer of yours.”

  “Then what is this?” he demands with more than a little irritation, waving at the two who are still staring at each other.

  “A little family reunion,” I reply wryly.

  “A family–” The craftsman cuts himself off this time as his eyes rove over two. They widen a little – no doubt he’s just noticed the resemblance as much as I did. “But I thought Athos’s brother was…” His eyes narrow again as they flick back to me. “Sir,” he continues with a steely note in his voice. “I’ll have you know that this is an honest workshop. And I will not entertain law-breakers in it.” Does he think Loran is still a criminal? I wonder to myself, baffled. “I will put myself and my business in trouble with the law by selling equipment to a band of criminals.”

  Oh. Oh.

  I can’t help but chuckle at his misconstruction of the whole situation. My amusement makes his face harden.

  “Sir, I will kindly ask you to leave,” he continues, tensing to prepare for a fight.

  “My apologies,” I tell him sincerely, getting my chuckles under control. “I’m afraid you have completely misunderstood what’s going on here.”

  “Have I,” he replies, the typical question form sounding like a doubtful statement instead.

  “Yes. Let me introduce myself.” After all, the low profile was to get through the area without being targeted, not to hoodwink honest craftsmen. I pull my cloak away from my shoulders, baring the crests embroidered onto them. At the cue, Leileh does the same, revealing her livery. “I am Lord Markus Titanbend. I’m here through the recommendation of my loyal retainer. He knew of your shop because his brother works here.”

  In comparison to the nobles I’ve been interacting with recently, the craftsman’s thoughts are almost laughably easy to read.

  Surprise. Suspicion. Then dawning realisation as he inspects my clothes more closely and realises that they are of a quality that’s hard to fake. And finally, deep dismay.

  “My lord! I didn’t realise!” And then horror sets in. “I-I’m truly sorry for my accusations. I swear, I would never have made them if I’d realised. What can I do to make up for my error?” He looks as though he’s considering throwing himself to the floor to beg.

  And the situation is no longer amusing, faced with the crafter’s fear. It’s well-founded – I could destroy him very easily. He’s part of no guild which means that unless he has a powerful patron, he’s pretty much defenceless against the political clout that a Great House heir can bring to bear.

  “It’s fine,” I tell him quickly before the situation can dissolve any further. “I can understand how you arrived at the conclusion you did and I take no offence. I swear there will be no consequences for your words.” The craftsman’s eyes are still wary and slightly fearful, but he’s calmed a bit. “May I have your name?” I ask gently.

  “Saybold Marin, my lord,” he replies gruffly, bowing deeply and muttering the rest of his introduction to the floor. “Master Leatherworker.”

  “Please stand.” As he does, I flick a glance over at Loran and his brother. My companion has finally unfrozen and the two seem to have drifted closer. They aren’t embracing, but their heads are close together and they’re talking quietly. The little that leaks through the blocks I’ve placed on Loran’s Bond indicates an almost delirious joy. Loran, I send and see him twitch. Maybe take your brother off to the side – or to a different room if that works better. Take your time catching up.

  Yes, sir – Markus, he agrees, his face struggling to conceal the happiness that I feel in his heart.

  And if he or your sister want to come with us to the Lost Continent, they’ll be welcome.

  Thank you, he replies with a wave of gratitude. I focus back on the leatherworker who’s eyeing me a little warily.

  “I’m looking to upgrade the armour that I have, but I want to make sure that whatever upgrade you apply will work with my Skills before I ask you to work on it,” I tell Master Marin briskly. My instinct proves to be right – refocussing the conversation on his trade lessens the fear and trepidation I almost feel emanating off him.

  “Do you have your equipment with you, my lord?” he asks me.

  “I do.” Accompanying my words with action, I pull my armour out of my Inventory and lay it where he indicates I should – over the closest workbench.

  “May I touch it?” the leatherworker asks tentatively.

  “Sure,” I agree, surreptitiously touching it myself and sending mana within to see if I can detect what he’s doing to it.

  I feel foreign magic enter the hide. It doesn’t interact with my magic as much as it just feels it – like the leatherworker is running magical hands over the insides of the material even as he runs physical hands over the outside. Beyond that, though, I can’t tell what he’s doing.

  When he removes his hands and looks at me, I do the same.

  “What did you discover?” I ask, against all odds feeling slightly trepidatious. I’ve never felt so conscious of my own amateur crafting efforts than now when it’s being judged by a master.

  here!

  here!

  here!

  here!

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