A Promise of Iron Brandon McCoy (howl and other poems TXT) 📖

as a cue to get a bit closer. She leaned over me, her red locks brushing my shoulder. “What’cha writing?”

I set the reed down on the page and pushed it towards her.

“Won’t do me much good, Faerin,” Melly said. “I can’t read.”

I slid the page back in front of me. “This is a letter to one of my suppliers. Inviting him to dinner.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she said. “But you’ve got dinner already on the way, can’t imagine you would have room to eat two…” She trailed off. “Your supplier is coming here then?”

I smiled at her and nodded slowly.

She looked back down at the paper. “Right, so I best let you finish your letter then?”

“Thanks, Mel.”

She smiled on her way back to the bar. I noticed her hips rocked back and forth a little more than usual.

I took a few minutes finishing the letter, then sealed it with a few drops of warm wax. “I’m going to just pop this over to the courier,” I said to Melly as I exited. “Keep the table for me.”

Down the street, less than a block away, was one of the typical courier huts that were dotted around Forhd. On paper, they were propped up by some wealthy merchant or lord who received a commission. In reality, they were almost exclusively operated by the various street gangs called Forhd home. These groups then used the herd of hungry children that lined the streets to serve as runners. A shoeless urchin could earn himself a few bites of food or even a copper if he did a good job. It kept me from starving more than once.

The control of information could be lucrative. Many players would pay a heavy price to direct or intercept private communications. This, of course, meant most that could afford it retained private couriers, which were no safer than the street runners, just more expensive to hire, thus more expensive to bribe.

For a customer such as myself, well versed in the mechanism that was the messenger network, it was a simple understanding of economics. A copper bit would deliver a message; two would make sure it was delivered timely; three would buy discretion and privacy. But there was no such thing as privacy within the network unless you knew the proper channels.

Every letter was read, and any pertinent information paid for by the Imperial Inquisition Guild. It was foolish to think that a seal unbroken was, in fact, the original seal. There were likely just as many house stamps held between the network of gangs than at the original houses. The pricing was a scam; three bits bought you no more privacy than one. If anything, it advertised your message as something worth reading. I didn’t even bother stamping my seal.

I placed my letter down on the counter and put a full copper penny on top of it.

“Get this to Goren, the florist. And make it quick, the House should be closing soon.”

The teenage boy looked down at the letter. He noticed the unstamped seal, then saw the full copper sitting next to it.

He nodded slowly.

I smiled.

“Bis, get over here!” he shouted. A young boy popped up from the other side of the street and scampered over. “This, uh… sir needs a letter delivered to old man Goren at the House. He’s paying a whole copper to get it there. It’s a whole copper, mind you. You think you can get it there before they close?”

The young boy looked at the letter, looked at me, then raised his eyebrow. “A whole copper?” he squeaked.

“Yes, a whole copper,” the older boy repeated slowly. “Can you do it?”

The younger boy grinned, snatched the letter, and ran off like an arrow down Heart Street.

I tipped an imaginary cap to the boy, then headed back to Turns. Someone muttered behind me. I couldn’t hear the words, but I could guess the meaning. I just hoped the boy would still get the letter to the House on time once he doubled back to have his boss read it. A copper for secrecy was sure to be looked at, and I declined using the messenger fold for precisely that reason. I wanted my letter read.

I used no code. When they read the letter, they would have thought me trying to buy Goren’s company for the evening. It was a secret worth a copper to some folks, but not a secret an Imperial code breaker might care about. Plenty of Cyllian’s moved North, fleeing the purity laws of the south. Goren was one of them, but I would rather they thought him a puff than what he really was—the best smuggler in all of Belen.

As I waited for him to arrive, I had an ale, then another, then a glass of whiskey. Turns held a decent crowd. A few men rolled bones in the back. Judging by the amount of red-colored dirt that flecked their clothing, I would guess they were miners down from Belen Heights and looking to spend the week’s wage. They invited me to join their game, which seemed a welcome distraction. I won a few lucky rounds; after the third win, they invited me to return to my table. Melly brought me a welcome pint. She earned a whole copper for her efforts.

Goren arrived just as I emptied my glass.

“So you’ve earned your stars,” he remarked as he slid into the chair opposite me. He placed a hand around his glass of cider and raised it. “Blessings!”

“Blessings,” I replied, lifting my empty glass.

He took a sip, then placed his glass down. He reached into his coat pocket and produced a few sheets of paper and the letter I sent. He slid the letter halfway towards me and then took his hand away, leaving only an outstretched finger.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he asked calmly, his voice barely rising above its normal tone.

“I figured it was the best way to bring you here in a hurry,” I replied with a tight-lipped smile.

He leaned back