Read Online The Prophecy Con (Rogues of the Republic) by Patrick Weekes - Free Book Online
Authors: Patrick Weekes
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the guards themselves as well, along with government trade officials who might not be above bribery.
It was slow work, dull even, and as far as Fendril was concerned, it was just perfect.
He opened the day’s mail in his office a block away from the guard center. There were three notes for wandering criminals to watch for, one of them politically tricky enough for him to keep for himself rather than pass to the guard. There were two more notes, requests for information from a justicar in another province. Finally, from Heaven’s Spire, there came a request to check airship travel logs for an Urujar woman, Isafesira de Lochenville.
The name sounded familiar, though Fendril couldn’t quite place it. He made a note to check the logs on his next visit to the port registry.
Finally, he checked his message crystal for anything that was a high enough priority to merit the expense of transmitting a message via magic rather than carrying paper down from Heaven’s Spire on an airship. According to regulations, he was supposed to do that first, but anything that came via message crystal was political, and Fendril had gotten himself exiled down to Ros-Oanki to avoid that.
It looked like he had failed in that regard.
With a sigh, he pressed his thumb to the crystal and opened the message waiting there.
“This is Captain Pyvic,” came a voice from the crystal, and Fendril grimaced. That definitely meant politics. “All port cities, I need any available information on an elven ship that departed from Heaven’s Spire a few months back, during the malfunction up here. It would have listed a purchased book as its main, possibly only, cargo. Get me a destination or last sighting and respond by crystal. Pyvic out.”
Fendril grunted, sipped his kahva, and headed out for the port registry. At least he could look for anything about the Lochenville woman while he was there.
The city streets were safer than they had been in years, thanks to the death of Jyelle, the woman who had controlled most of the organized crime in the province. Fendril smiled as he strolled through a wealthy market square that hadn’t seen anything more than amateur pickpocketing in months. A pretty Urujar couple looked through pamphlets for land rights off near Woodsedge. An elderly woman whose billowy dress marked her as a merchant from the Old Kingdom across the sea bartered with a tavern owner for one of her expensive and brightly colored rugs. A group of fat merchants sat outside a kahva-house sipping and passing notes back and forth with the bored faces of master suf-gesuf players. An Imperial woman in a rich violet dress haggled for passage on an airship while her bodyguard glared at anyone who approached, one hand on his shining ax.
The port registry was a sturdy building not far from the airship docks, large enough to store a lot of files and even more money. The registrar, Maera, was a middle-aged woman Fendril had flirted with a bit before realizing that she really liked trade-and-travel regulations more than Fendril would ever like her. She ran her office with ruthless efficiency, which Fendril supposed he could appreciate, even if it meant having to grit his teeth and sign more paperwork than he’d had to deal with in the old days.
Fendril stepped into the front office, a bell on the door ringing as he came inside. “Afternoon,” he called to the clerk at the desk.
“Justicar.” The clerk was a young Urujar man with straight light hair that he wore long in the back. He gave Fendril a friendly nod. “Help you with something?”
“If you’ve got time.” The office was empty, which was fortunate this time in the afternoon. “One urgent, one standard.” Fendril reached for the information request form.
“Of course.” The clerk grinned. “It’s always something. Don’t worry about the papers today. It’s quiet, and Maera’s off for her afternoon kahva.”
“I’d appreciate it.” That was also fortunate. Perhaps Maera was
It was slow work, dull even, and as far as Fendril was concerned, it was just perfect.
He opened the day’s mail in his office a block away from the guard center. There were three notes for wandering criminals to watch for, one of them politically tricky enough for him to keep for himself rather than pass to the guard. There were two more notes, requests for information from a justicar in another province. Finally, from Heaven’s Spire, there came a request to check airship travel logs for an Urujar woman, Isafesira de Lochenville.
The name sounded familiar, though Fendril couldn’t quite place it. He made a note to check the logs on his next visit to the port registry.
Finally, he checked his message crystal for anything that was a high enough priority to merit the expense of transmitting a message via magic rather than carrying paper down from Heaven’s Spire on an airship. According to regulations, he was supposed to do that first, but anything that came via message crystal was political, and Fendril had gotten himself exiled down to Ros-Oanki to avoid that.
It looked like he had failed in that regard.
With a sigh, he pressed his thumb to the crystal and opened the message waiting there.
“This is Captain Pyvic,” came a voice from the crystal, and Fendril grimaced. That definitely meant politics. “All port cities, I need any available information on an elven ship that departed from Heaven’s Spire a few months back, during the malfunction up here. It would have listed a purchased book as its main, possibly only, cargo. Get me a destination or last sighting and respond by crystal. Pyvic out.”
Fendril grunted, sipped his kahva, and headed out for the port registry. At least he could look for anything about the Lochenville woman while he was there.
The city streets were safer than they had been in years, thanks to the death of Jyelle, the woman who had controlled most of the organized crime in the province. Fendril smiled as he strolled through a wealthy market square that hadn’t seen anything more than amateur pickpocketing in months. A pretty Urujar couple looked through pamphlets for land rights off near Woodsedge. An elderly woman whose billowy dress marked her as a merchant from the Old Kingdom across the sea bartered with a tavern owner for one of her expensive and brightly colored rugs. A group of fat merchants sat outside a kahva-house sipping and passing notes back and forth with the bored faces of master suf-gesuf players. An Imperial woman in a rich violet dress haggled for passage on an airship while her bodyguard glared at anyone who approached, one hand on his shining ax.
The port registry was a sturdy building not far from the airship docks, large enough to store a lot of files and even more money. The registrar, Maera, was a middle-aged woman Fendril had flirted with a bit before realizing that she really liked trade-and-travel regulations more than Fendril would ever like her. She ran her office with ruthless efficiency, which Fendril supposed he could appreciate, even if it meant having to grit his teeth and sign more paperwork than he’d had to deal with in the old days.
Fendril stepped into the front office, a bell on the door ringing as he came inside. “Afternoon,” he called to the clerk at the desk.
“Justicar.” The clerk was a young Urujar man with straight light hair that he wore long in the back. He gave Fendril a friendly nod. “Help you with something?”
“If you’ve got time.” The office was empty, which was fortunate this time in the afternoon. “One urgent, one standard.” Fendril reached for the information request form.
“Of course.” The clerk grinned. “It’s always something. Don’t worry about the papers today. It’s quiet, and Maera’s off for her afternoon kahva.”
“I’d appreciate it.” That was also fortunate. Perhaps Maera was
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