Finally, we’re done. It’s interesting to compare the contracts as the number of signature lines indicates the number of times the slave has been sold. Some of the contracts have only a few lines of signatures while others are running out of space. I learn that the dealer’s name is Selmin Trader as a result of seeing it so many times.

  I tuck all the contracts safely away in my Inventory before we leave the booth. In the time I was dealing with the parchmentwork, the slaves have been gathered. Most of them are eyeing me warily. A few look angry. More have their eyes trained on the ground and aren’t looking at all.

  “Ah, my lord, do you have a means of getting the slaves back to your manor?” the dealer asks tentatively.

  “Why, do you have an alternative?” I ask with a raised eyebrow. Technically, I do, but transporting everyone in a hot air balloon over the city is a good way to attract more attention than I want.

  “I would be happy to deliver the slaves in my wagon,” the dealer offers with a note of eagerness in his voice. “Free of charge, of course, for such a distinguished customer.”

  I eye the wagon in question – an iron-banded thing with the emblem of Selmin’s company on its side. The answer for why he might offer this service is clear: to be seen delivering his wares to the Titanbend manor would definitely be a talking-point for the gossips, even if I’ve warned him to keep our dealings quiet.

  But it’s still more subtle than a hot air balloon. And less likely to end with someone deciding that jumping out of the basket in pursuit of freedom is a good idea. I can’t say I like the notion of the people now under my care being carried in a glorified cage, but until I’ve had a chance to talk to them, I can’t get their cooperation. If I reject Selmin’s offer and decide that the balloon is too showy and dangerous, then what? Walk them through the streets in chains? That’s worse.

  “Then I will avail myself of your service,” I agree. The dealer quickly gives orders to have everyone loaded up into the wagon and I stay until I can confirm that they are all present. Only then do we go and find a carriage of our own to take us back.

  I’ve got some preparations to make.

  *****

  We take the carriage straight to the street outside the manor. Moving faster than the iron-bound wagon will, we get there long before the slaves are due.

  “Thanks for your help,” I say to Leileh and Bullio. They bow.

  “It was our honour, my lord,” Bullio replies and I’m slightly surprised to hear the sincerity in it. Given how we disagreed several times on the trip, I would have thought he’d found it tiresome.

  “Would you like us to stay near the gates and ensure that your new slaves are delivered without problems?” Leileh offers.

  “That would actually be very helpful,” I agree. “I need to go and prepare things for them.”

  “Steward Timman would be the best person to speak to about that,” suggests Bullio. “We will keep them near the gates until you send word of where they should be brought.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” I agree, then head off to the manor, my companions with me.

  The driveway is long and, even walking quickly, it takes us a while to travel. I notice that everyone is unusually quiet.

  “Are you all OK?” I ask, suddenly concerned. “Do any of you disagree with what I’ve just done?”

  Not disagree, Bastet refutes. But…will they all become pack? I feel her uncertainty over the notion.

  “No,” I tell her decisively. “Maybe some will, but not all of them.”

  “Then…you’re not going to offer them Bonds?” Loran asks tentatively.

  I hesitate – honestly, it’s not something I’ve considered, though I should have.

  “No,” I reply slowly after a moment. “Only the ones who I fear might be a danger to others – or themselves.” Loran nods slowly, but I can tell that he’s holding something back. “What is it?” I ask.

  We travel several more steps before he manages to find the words.

  “I’m not trying to express any judgement over your choices – that’s not my place and I know that. But…what are you going to do with all those slaves?” A pulse of fear goes through him, though its source isn’t immediately evident. He’s not afraid of my reaction, at least, not much. This feels more like a memory of a fear, and a complex one at that.

  “It’s a good question, and you’re always free to express any concerns you have,” I reassure him. “You too, Alyna, though I’m not going to deny that sometimes it’s better to express them through the Bond than out loud. As for the question itself…” I trail off with a soft breath, my eyes rising to look at the sky above. “The justice system doesn’t work in its current form. You both know that, Loran perhaps more viscerally than Alyna. It’s too draconian, offering a life-sentence for even petty crimes. But it’s never going to change unless there’s a provably better option.”

  That’s what you’re trying to create? Lathani asks, unexpectedly serious. She’s been uncharacteristically quiet – I wonder belatedly if the chains and cages have brought up bad memories for her. I send her a sense of reassurance and love along the Bond. I sense the bad memories loosen their grip on her and she responds with appreciation that makes me feel warm inside.

  “It is,” I confirm after a moment. “And it starts with these guys.”

  “Will…will ye tell us more?” a quiet voice asks, Alyna’s rough accent adding a burr to her words. Although she’s clearly fighting to seem nonchalant, when I touch the Bond between us, I feel how tightly she’s holding herself. Not physically, but emotionally. Like she doesn’t want to let herself hope.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “Of course,” I agree. And we spend the rest of the walk up to the manor talking through my plans. It turns out to be more helpful than I was expecting – when Loran and Alyna got over their surprise at my thoughts, they were able to offer quite a few suggestions and criticisms, though the latter did take a bit of convincing. Even Loran, who knows me better than Alyna, is still wary about seeming openly critical. But he has a good head on his shoulders – I hope that even once he starts his apprenticeship with the carpenter that he’ll be willing to continue being part of my close group.

  In the manor, Sirocco, Lathani, and Bastet disappear off to find the others. Alyna goes to find the steward, I head off to find Nicholas, and Loran goes down to the kitchens to speak to Sera Nolis, the cook. I’m determined to meet the slaves’ arrival with a hot meal. I don’t doubt that they need it.

  Finding Nicholas isn’t difficult, though it does take me a bit of time because of the size of the manor. As it turns out, he’s back from his meetings, but that doesn’t mean he’s finished work. Instead, he’s in an office which adjoins a library – smaller than the one at the country seat, but still impressive.

  “Ah, Markus,” Nicholas greets, looking up from his desk as I knock on the frame of the open door. “Come in.” He gestures towards the chair in front of his desk.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask him as I sit down. As always, Nicholas’ emotional control is excellent, but there’s a tension in his face that wasn’t there this morning.

  He glances up at me and then sighs.

  “Zlona is under attack by a beast wave.”

  I sit up straight.

  “Do we need to go and help? Or send some fighters?”

  Nicholas shakes his head.

  “They should be fine. It’s unusually early, but they should have preparations in place anyway.” He looks a little troubled and I wonder if he actually believes that. “At least its premature arrival should mean it is easier to manage.”

  “The length of time between beast waves indicates how powerful they are?” I confirm.

  “As a general rule, yes. The longer the time, the more the beasts breed and the stronger their spawn become.” He gives a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise – after this, Zlona shouldn’t need to worry about beast waves for most of a decade.”

  “I see,” I murmur. As I shift in my chair, my eyes are drawn back to a number of gaudy-looking items arrayed on a table that I saw when I walked in. One is a particularly awful vase that seems to have been coated in as many precious gems as possible. They’re very clearly new – and out of place. “Redecorating, I see?”

  Nicholas blinks, then follows my gaze, a hint of a sneer tugging at his lips.

  “Hardly,” he scoffs. “I’ve had guild heads visiting me all morning.”

  “Presents?”

  “Bribes,” he answers bluntly. “To be willing to fit them into my schedule at such short notice. But the niceties require me to accept the gift in the spirit it’s given, and accord to it the value of the work put into it, even if it’s not actually appealing in any other way.” Translation: it doesn’t matter if the item is as ugly as sin; as long as it’s expensive, it works for the purpose. “I have confirmed that Titanbend’s backing is behind you – you should find recruitment of lower rank guild members easy enough.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him sincerely. He waves it away and then flicks a brown envelope my way. I catch it with a flick of my wrist. “What’s this?” I ask, slightly mystified.

  “A letter from Lord Softrain. To you, though I hope you’ll forgive me opening it before you returned.”

  “Sure,” I murmur absently even as I pull the letter out of the envelope – while reading someone else’s post might be a crime where I came from on Earth, it isn’t here when it’s a lord reading his heir’s mail. And it’s not like I’m expecting anything sensitive from Josiah.

  The text is quite flowery, as expected of a letter between nobles who aren’t allied or even more than acquaintances. But the meaning is plain enough.

  “He wants to join the expedition too?” I confirm with Nicholas, my eyebrows raised. “He doesn’t even want to have a face-to-face meeting?”

  Nicholas shrugs elegantly.

  “It seems that the meeting you already had in the palace and your conversations with Lord Heatwave were sufficient to convince him that you’re worth following.” I can’t help but hear a note of pride in Nicholas’ voice. For a second time today, warmth spreads through me. It’s proof that maybe I’m not quite as bad at this whole noble thing as I think I am.

  Though, there are practicalities to bear in mind.

  “Do we have space?” I ask him. “With Valence, Elarion, and Layton all coming, there aren’t any ships left over. He’ll have to share with someone.”

  “I don’t doubt that he’ll bring his own ship,” Nicholas dismisses. “Glimgrove is a port with its own shipwrights. It might not be the masterpiece your ships are, but it should be enough to bear him and his retinue to the Lost Continent. You can make that a condition of your agreement, if you like.”

  I nod slowly.

  “Well, having another ally is always a good thing,” I decide.

  “When the price isn’t too high, I agree,” Nicholas judges, inclining his head. “You’ll need to send back a letter accepting his offer, and putting in whatever stipulations you have, including any requests for him to bring particular craftsmen, equipment, weapons, or resources. As well as the date on which you expect him to arrive.”

  “Do we have a date of departure yet?” I ask him.

  “My last correspondence with Pevril confirms that the ships will be ready in two tendays, so really, any time after that. It depends on how much time you’ll need for your preparations. Incidentally, Lord Softrain isn’t the only one asking to come.”

  Nicholas tosses over another letter which I read.

  “Lady Renaye…Oh – she’s the one we were meant to speak to regarding innovations from my home world,” I remember. House Artifice is the one responsible for many of the magi-tech inventions in this world, including cloudships. “She wants her daughter to come? Her heir?”

  “No, her heir is her secondborn – her son. But I’ve heard that her daughter is very interested in the family business – more so than in the House, which is probably why she’s not the heir.”

  “She really wanted to have that cup of tila, I take it,” I comment wryly. Nicholas replies with a rueful smile of his own.

  “Certainly it seems that if she can’t learn about another world’s inventions herself, she’s determined that someone in the family will.”

  “Do you think it’s a good idea to accept her? We’re not allied to the House,” I point out. This daughter, ultimately, isn’t the heir, so if the heir or head allies with a competitor, we could end up with a leak. Then again, if we know that she’s likely to leak information, we can do our best to prevent her knowing anything too sensitive.

  Nicholas considers it for a moment and then tilts his head slightly.

  “It is your choice, but I believe you should accept her. House Artifice hasn’t declared an alliance with any competitor at this point, and the insights you may be able to glean from this daughter of the House are worth the risk.”

  “Alright. I’ll write another letter, then,” I sigh. “Can I ask you to read over them before I send them out?”

  “Of course!” Nicholas agrees immediately as if that hadn’t even been in question. “Now, you came here for something. What is it?”

  “Well, I’ve made a start on my project.”

  “What project?” Nicholas asks, his eyes narrowing.

  “The one we discussed in the carriage on the way here,” I clarify. It takes a couple of moments and then my implications register.

  Nicholas sighs and lifts a hand to his forehead, massaging it as if he’s spontaneously developed a headache.

  “Well, at least it’s unlikely he’s offended another noble House,” he murmurs. I pretend I haven’t heard. Dropping his hand, he gives me a hard stare. “Well then. What have you done?”

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