Lerran enjoyed a morning with Tassina, like usual, but it ended early when the assassin he sent to Lo Mallago returned to the Sheld estate. Tass let him go after a small kiss. And so it was, that once again, Lerran met with Vaenuth just after noon. Though he wore a dark green tunic over beige pants, the strange foreigner wore the same scanty blue vest she had before. It left little to the imagination, but for Lerran, she was not his type. Too many ink lines and images and metal piercings. Her white skin spoke of a southern origin: Orrene or further, despite her supposed career in Numa’nakres a land of a dark ethnicity. It would help her fashion, at least, by changing up her outfits a little more, he decided.
“Good afternoon,” she said, stepping into his office. She cut straight to the point. “Have you received news from Lo Mallago?”
“I have,” Lerran said. He had already prepared the documents she sought, and opened the small parchment folder on his desk. Eseveer had made copies. “Here you are. The slaver you seek is named Ra’las of Bellasa. He made a fortune during his bloody career, but retired when his wife bore him a daughter. This was about ten years ago, according to our records. The Ra’las family now lives in Starath, on a private estate. They keep to themselves, and haven’t made a lick of money in ten years, at least not in any of the businesses I track.”
Vaenuth’s jaw hung open for a moment, but she recovered quickly. She blinked watery eyes, and managed, “Thank you. Thank you, Master Lerran.”
“Of course,” Lerran said. “I hold up my bargains.”
Vaenuth nodded. The unusual woman smiled and let out a long sigh.
“It’s my understanding that you plan on killing Ra’las?” Lerran asked.
“I do,” the woman said, quietly. “And those who he loves.” She leaned back in the armchair, looking at the sketching of Ra’las that was in the file. He was a balding man there, with a still-dark beard and a scar on his cheek. By now, he would be even older. Assuming he yet lived.
Lerran took a sip of his rum. He’d poured it long before she arrived. “You are resourceful, and, as far as I can tell, discreet.” He paused. “If you survive your task, how would you like a job?”
“What?” Vaenuth blinked. She hadn’t considered it an option at all. “I have no idea what I will do after my task,” she said. “But I thank you for the generous offer.” She stood up, her vest shifting. Lerran was worried she’d fall out of it without warning, but the simple chains that held it in place didn’t let that happen. She smiled to Lerran. “I need to get some planning done. Thank you for honouring our deal.”
“Best of luck to you,” Lerran said.
No sooner had Vaenuth left than Lerran pulled out a sheet of blank parchment and began to write a letter. He addressed it to “The Three Matriarchs,” and quickly summarized that he was certainly willing to advance with the plan to sell Lo Mallago. He suggested the village of Squora as a fair meeting place, for it required them to both travel along the scalding road for approximately the same distance—from their side, the coast closest to Var Nordos isle; from his, Sheld. He requested they advise a date, so long as he received five days’ notice to reach the village in time with them.
He gave the letter to Eseveer to proof and have delivered to Erril. The strange spy would arrange to have it delivered safely into the hands of Noress’s leadership.
Soon after, he went down to the Emerald Eye for a drink. The front door of the building was propped open despite the dry weather. He missed seeing Paksis’ brooding bulk at the bar, but tried not to dwell. She had saved his life more than once, and he hoped to remain the Prince of Sheld for long after she helped him to that seat. Their attacker had made it clear though, and Lerran believed it. Trying to find and rescue Paksis was suicide.
His boots thudded across the threshold of the tavern, but he paused just inside. It wasn’t busy, only one or two spots were crowded. Vaenuth and her guards sat at one of the first tables. He looked at Vae, who had changed into a white linen binding. “I’m surprised you’re still here,” he said.
“I can’t leave until I afford passage on a ship. I sent my original ship home, for the same reason,” she explained.
“Grab a drink with me,” Lerran said. She shrugged and followed him to the bar. Once they both had a mug, they sat at a small table across from one another. Her scalp was mostly shaved, except for that one curtain of hair. She smirked; she had seen him staring at her strange appearance. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said.
“I could easily afford passage for you and your friends,” Lerran said. “Would you complete another task for me in exchange?”
Vaenuth nodded. “That’s fair. But I won’t delay my mission. I’ll complete another job for you after Ra’las has bled out. I’m not after anything else than that. You want his estate, his loot, you can have it. If that sways the deal at all.”
Lerran blinked. The file in Gharo’s records had indicated that Ra’las had made a fortune capturing slave women and selling them all along the coasts of Radregar. That sort of money didn’t just buy an estate, it bought artifacts to hide in. Asset money. It was impossible to know how much there would be, but the records would have been updated if Ra’las had stuck his head out of that property in need. “Fine. I’ll agree to it. I’ll send five of my soldiers to plunder. And keep you alive to pay your debt of transit, though they won’t be ordered to risk their lives for yours.”
“As long as they don’t get in my way either. Ra’las and his family are mine to kill.” Vaenuth took a drink, and set her mug down. She wasn’t jesting. She planned on killing the lot of them. Lerran guessed that Ra’las criminal past had interfered with a younger Vaenuth. Perhaps he had killed her parents, or a sibling? He couldn’t be certain and she wasn’t saying.
Lerran lifted his mug. “Go ahead and tell them on the way. Their only orders from me will be to bring me loot.” He laughed, and took a drink. He’d have them ready to go by the following morning, while his letter would be sent on a separate ship, direct to Noress-That-Was. That was the first major plot of his new career—if he pulled off the wholesale of a major city, he’d be more than the criminal of the age. He’d be the leader of it.