The meeting room itself had a higher ceiling and a fire in the hearth, and was plastered in freshly scrubbed white, and so managed to avoid feeling gloomy. A screen blocked off half the room. It was made of leather framed with more wrought iron, though an attempt had been made to make it decorative, with iron vines and a heavy iron rose.
Lord Nallan was tall, but had the stooped look common to miners everywhere. He wore a leather apron, like a smith, and an expression of cheerful skepticism. There was even a smith’s hammer laid on the table, as if he’d been called away from working in a forge.
“Now, I know that I didn’t buy anything from a trader,” he said. “And I don’t know who this Magnus person may be, but I didn’t buy anything from them, either.”
“No, you didn’t,” said Marguerite cheerfully. “May we?” She gestured to the chairs around the table. “We had a long walk to get here.”
“Of course, ma’am. Not one to stand on ceremony, myself.” He dropped into his own chair, watching them all with eyes that betrayed his wariness. Not so cheerful as he seems. And if that hammer couldn’t do double duty as a warhammer, I’ll eat what’s left of my sword.
He also had a sneaking suspicion that there was someone behind the screen. They weren’t making anything as overt as a sound, but he could feel a presence there nonetheless. An advisor? A guard?
“I’ll be completely honest with you,” said Marguerite. “I’m only posing as a trader, and I’ve really come to warn Ashes Magnus that the Red Sail is about to find her.”
Lord Nallan’s face was marvelously impassive. “I’ve told you, I don’t know who that is.”
Marguerite waved away his protests. “Baron Maltrevor’s contact sent her to ‘the Nallans at the ford’ in Cambraith. I’m pretty sure that’s you. If it isn’t, I’m very sure that you know exactly who it is.
You can’t tell me that anything happens around here without you knowing about it.”
Nallan was too good to let his eyes flick to the screen, but Shane was sure that he heard a sound from behind it. It sounded like a very quiet snort of amusement.
“I don’t expect you to admit it to me,” Marguerite continued. “I wouldn’t, in your shoes. But the Red Sail is closing in. They already know she’s in Cambraith, and if they don’t know exactly where by now, it’s a matter of days, not weeks.”
The lord drummed his fingers on the table, looking displeased. “Even supposing I knew who this
person was, what business be it of yours?”
“Let’s say we’re…interested investors,” said Marguerite, leaning back in her chair. Nallan raised a skeptical eyebrow, and she grinned at him. Shane wondered how the man didn’t melt like butter on the spot. “No, really. We’re here from the Temple of the White Rat in Archenhold. These two are paladins. Magnus has an invention that could help a lot of people, and the Rat wants to make sure it gets in the hands of people who will use it, not lock it away in a vault somewhere to keep their profits up.”
“That may all be well and good—” Lord Nallan began, but a voice cut him off from behind the screen.
“I’ve heard enough,” she said. “I am Ashes Magnus.”
THIRTY-NINE
“JUST AS WELL, REALLY,” said the artificer, stepping around the edge of the screen. “Sitting on that stool was going to put a permanent crease in my backside.” She made her way, slowly, to the small bench beside the table. Davith hastily jumped to his feet and pulled it out for her, bowing dramatically. This time her snort was clearly audible.
Ashes Magnus was seventy if she was a day. Shane thought that she might be older than she looked, because she was also very fat and had the sort of cherubic face that aged less quickly than her cohorts. She had immense sloping shoulders and nimble fingers so covered in ink and burns and small scars that it looked as if she were wearing patchwork gloves.
“Magnus,” Lord Nallan said, clearly dismayed. “Be you sure about this? We can still send these outlanders off with a flea in their ear.”
“No,” said the artificer with a sigh. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me, Lord, and I don’t plan to repay that by having your warriors killed for nothing. These Sail people are ruthless. It’s best I leave while I still can.”
“We don’t fear any hired lowlanders,” Lord Nallan said.
“They already burned my workshop. If they decide to burn your fields or start putting the outlying houses to the torch, your warriors will have their hands full.”
The lord glowered, but didn’t argue. His gaze lingered over the four outsiders. “And you be trusting these people?”
“Two of ’em are paladins. I’m not going to get a better deal than that. And the White Rat’s people are as good as holy folk get, and better’n most. Besides…” She grinned at Shane and Davith. “The view won’t be bad, at least.”
Shane coughed. Davith swept another bow, this time brushing the floor with the back of his hand.
“Madam Artificer, you will put me to the blush.”
“Doubt anything’s put you to the blush since you were out of split pants, my lad,” Ashes said, firmly cementing Shane’s good opinion of her observational skills.
“I can send warriors with you—” Lord Nallan began.
Ashes was already holding up a hand. “You’ve done enough and more than enough. I’m already
bringing trouble here, and I feel bad about that. You’ve put me up on no more than the word of a man that I know you don’t even care for, and don’t think I don’t know it.”
“At first, maybe,” Nallan said. “But Bryant tells me that that new chimney you showed him means we’re burning a lot less fuel to keep the air going, and any fuel we don’t have to use on that be more fuel for the forge. I’d ask you to stay for that alone.”
“Bah, it’s nothing,” said Ashes gruffly. “Bryant would likely have figured it out himself with time, he’s a quick lad.”
“Mmm,” said Lord Nallan, glancing in Marguerite’s direction. “You be taking care of her, you hear?”
“I promise you that we’ll put her safety above our own,” said Marguerite.
“You’ve got paladins, so that’s not saying much,” Ashes said, elbowing Davith in the ribs.
“You’re not one though, are you lad?”
“No,” said Davith pleasantly, “I’m the entertainment.”
“Ha!”
Nallan shook his head. “If the Rat doesn’t treat you right, you’ve got a home here, Magnus. As long as I’m lord, anyway, and if my son doesn’t promise the same, he’s not the man I raised him to be.”
“Bah, don’t talk like that. You’ll outlive me by fifty seasons, I’m sure. But it’s good to know, nonetheless.” She leveled small, bright eyes on Marguerite. “The Rat’s gonna give me the money to build another device? The Sail dropped my workshop’s ceiling on top of the first one.”
“You’ll have to talk directly to the Bishop for that,” said Marguerite, “but if she doesn’t, she’s not the person I think she is. I’ll scrape up money for it myself, if I have to sell my body on the street.”