Chapter 65

  Good allies work together and create more and brighter. Bad alliances cheat often and plant the seeds of their own demise. Careful investigation can reveal which is which. When you discover one that has flaws, press on.

  DIC Manual

  In Pixie Hollow, Rob looked up from where he was working on repairing a fence to watch the small Pixie buzzing around his head.

  “What are you doing?” Bu asked.

  “Fixing the fence,” Rob replied. “The goats found away to get into the hayfield when they shouldn’t have. What are you doing this far from the house?”

  “Mistress Gan told me to come find you,” the little man said, landing on his shoulder. “It’s scary though, being so far from the house. A hawk might get me!”

  “Now why would she do that? Did she need me?”

  The Pixie shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I just flew in because the kitchen smelled so good and Leila and the Tree Shepherd were there, and it was too early to eat soup.”

  “Ah,” Rob said, reaching for another withy. “You must have been a bit underfoot.”

  Bu crossed his arms and frowned. “I wasn’t anywhere near her feet. She might step on me by accident.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that, silly,” Rob said. He began to weave the withy into the fence frame. “It just means she wanted you to go do something else while she was busy. My mom does that to me all the time.”

  “She tries to step on you when you’re in the way?” Bu asked, flitting over to the fence structure.

  Rob just shook his head. “No, she tells me to go somewhere else.”

  “But I didn’t want to go,” the little man said with a sigh. “It smelled so good in there. It makes me hungry just thinking how good it smelled.”

  “Don’t worry,” Rob said. “She’ll be sure to let us in when it’s time for lunch. So you can keep me company until it’s time to eat. Just don’t tease the goats. Can’t be sure they won’t eat you.”

  A goat, watching the two figures bleated. Bu looked at it wide-eyed.

  The animals were gathered at a respectful distance, grazing placidly for the most part, but looking up from time to time as if something.

  “I wish I had known that these confounded goats were getting out of the pasture before this morning.” Rob looked

  One of the goats bleated.

  “I could have told you that yesterday,” Bu said, flittering from the fence poll to the gardener.

  “But you didn’t,” Rob said.

  Bu shrugged. “You didn’t ask me,” the Pixie said.

  Rob took off his cap for a moment, wiped his forehead, and replaced it. “Well, if you see something like that again, tell me.” He wiped his neck. “If you’re going to spend all your days watching me work, you might as well make yourself useful.”

  Bu scratched his head, as if that was a new idea he never thought of before. “I’m supposed to be useful?”

  Hilby flittered down to land next to Bu. “That would be nice for a change.”

  “It would be different,” Rob said, nodding. “Where’d you come from?”

  “I was with Mistress Gan. She’s looking for you.”

  “Is she?” Rob said. “Can’t be because lunch is ready, can it?” He bent over and began picking up a few tools he had dropped on the ground – a small saw, a hatchet, a ball of twine – and began putting them in a bag.

  Hilby shook her head. “She was talking with Mistress Leila and that Tree Shepherd. Something about that noisy thing that happened this morning.”

  Rob lifted his bag, and pulled the cord at its neck tight, then slipped the bag’s handle over his shoulder. “That it was. I was over at the cabbage patch when I heard it, dropped everything, and came running. Well, I guess I’ll go back to the house.”

  “I don’t think you need to go that far, Rob.” Gan and her company walked up to the young man. “You might miss finding me.”

  Rob turned around to look behind him and saw Gan dressed in her shawl and carrying her bag and staff, followed by Cullin with his hat pulled low and Leila the nymph following behind. As usual, Moxie was riding on Gan’s shoulder, and a small crowd of the little people flying around the three bigger ones.

  “Hello, ma’am,” Rob said as they walked up. “I found where the goats got into the other field. I’ve tried to patch it up.”

  Gan walked up to inspect his work, and looked at the twisted collection of poles and withies. “Think it’ll work?”

  “For a little while maybe,” he said. “Longer if the withies root and we end up with some trees growing here. And if the goats don’t eat them all up.”

  Cullin came close and examined the work the gardener had done and ran his hand along some of the rods that had been pushed into the soil. “You have the grower’s magic, don’t you?”

  “About the only magic I have,” Rob admitted.

  “These branches are happy with your touch,” the Tree Shepherd said, touching three of them. “You pleased them with giving them more light and soil.” The three poles began to glow under Cullin’s touch, and while they watched, small buds formed, and then leaves began to sprout.

  “Oooh!” Dahlia said, flitting near to one of the poles. “Look how fast it’s growing!”

  “Blessed by a Tree Shepherd,” Gan said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a pouch, and began sprinkling its contents, pinch by pinch, in the area in front of the fencing and began singing:

  “Goats, you are clever,

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  your milk is sweet,

  but this place is never

  good for your feet.”

  There was a small flash of light. The goat that was nearby, watching all the human activity with placid eyes, suddenly stopped chewing, sniffed the air, and began running back to the other side of the field. Several other goats followed her.

  Gan put the pouch away. “Now if that’s done, let’s go look at what the boar did,” and began to head to gate between fields.

  Rob took one more look at his handiwork. The poles had leafed out even more, and he swore they had grown since he had put them in the ground. Shaking his head, he hurried off to follow the others.

  >>>>>>>>>>>>>> <<<<<<<<<<<<<<

  At the Dragonweb station in Goblin Market, while Umber and Lana were taking their early lunch in the break room, things were not as quiet in another part of the station. There was a sudden rumble, and an unscheduled freight carriage popped into existence in the large and currently nearly empty freight hanger. One person hung out in the hallway near the loading zone - Thornfield Witstone.

  “What the….” came a voice from the far side of the room where the men who handled the mechanics of securing and sending off the carriages worked. “Nobody told me there was going to be an extra today. Damn it, nearly everybody’s at lunch.”

  “Shut your trap, Razin,” said an even louder voice. “It only takes two of us. Did you forget how to get your hands dirty since they made you handle the paperwork? Let’s lock’er down. Must be all the extra Crossing Day freight and they forgot to tell us.”

  “Maybe so, Cronan” Razin said. “Or one of Mayor Turbot’s specials.”

  “Bah. Been awhile. Wouldn’t be surprised. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Let’s get her secured before she bounces off into no space and they take it out of our hide.”

  Thornfield leaned against the wall as the two men worked, out of their direct sight. He hugged himself, trying to hide something flashing on his male spikes between anxiety and excitement.

  A loud clanking followed, as one of the security bars shot home.

  “Stopped by Jazlin’s station at break,” Cronan continued. “She had quite a stack of packages waiting to go. That should do it. Now it’s up to the freight boys.”

  “If any of’em show up to work before the afternoon run.” Rezin chuckled. “Can you imagine old Thornfield trying to offload the entire shipment himself?”

  The two men laughed, their voices receding as they headed back to their office.

  “Where are you, Whinzer? They’re going to be expecting something in return,” Thornfield muttered.

  Footsteps neared. He began to relax, but tightened up again when he saw who was moving down the hallway. Gillin Jabot, the delivery manager and coordinator of delivery services, was walking his way, a perplexed and irritated look on his face.

  “And what’s with this? There’s not another scheduled delivery until the afternoon run.” Jabot said, looking at his paperwork, then staring up at Thornfield. “Why did this happen? I don’t have anybody here now to handle freight. They’re all at lunch.” He folded his arms. “If I wasn’t busy with the paperwork for the next shipment of dry goods for Turbot’s store, I’d be at lunch myself.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you even here? Do you know anything about it?”

  “DIC business,” Thornfield muttered, leaning back against the outer wall.

  “Oh, DIC business. Mayor Turbot’s favorite type.” His look told Thornfield he knew exactly the type of business extra unscheduled carriages were involved with. “You’re supposed to let me know when that’s happening,” Jabot said. “I have to make arrangements and schedules. DIC, even this type of DIC business isn’t that special. It doesn’t own this place. The web station and freight hanger still belongs to B&F, even if some people forget about that. The characters over in the passenger side might not care, but the freight berths and the manpower they take is my business.”

  Thornfield shrugged and tried to look just the right amount of contrite, but it was clear that Jabot really wasn’t buying it. “Sorry, I just found out about it by message less than an hour ago. What can I say?”

  “You should have come and told me.” Jabot crossed his arms and grimaced. “Maybe I could have arranged something. But now…” He looked at the clipboard in his hand. “I have nothing. If you need any muscle to move things, it’s on your own head. And the carriage needs to be out of the berth in time. I’ve got a full load to send off on the afternoon run. Don’t know what they’re thinking about down in Sunderland.”

  “I’ve got manpower coming. They’ll be here soon.”

  “Some of Turbot’s goons no doubt. Hope you’re not getting that nice young Umber messed up in whatever muck this is.” Jabot tucked his clipboard under his arm. “Gob’s never worked so hard since he came to be your second. Best first year that I’ve seen in a long time.”

  Thornfield flinched, and his spikes flashed a momentary color of resentment, before returning to normal. “Audit time. He’s busy doing paperwork.”

  “Better that than this.” Jabot turned and walked back to his desk, muttering under his breath the whole time.

  Thornfield spit after he was out of sight. “What does that old man know?I’ll be living the good life in the mountains while he’s still trying to send freight and ignoring his aching back.”

  He waited a moment more, then he went over to the door of the freight carriage and unlocked it. It squealed as the sliding door rolled open.

  “Took you long enough,” a burley Daoine Si man, long silver hair plaited into a gold bound braid said. His red silk shirt was covered by a leather vest that bulged in places. Thornfield assumed it was some sort of magical armor. “Where’s Whinzer? I expected him or maybe Tibart to meet me here today. This load isn’t leaving until I get my goods.”

  Thornfill stepped inside of the carriage. “Whinzer’s on his way, Serin. Tibart went back to Brightwater this morning. Or so Turbot told me.” He scratched under his chin. “Tibart left the goods with him. We didn’t think it was a good idea to leave them floating around the office. My new first year might have found them, and then who knows what would have happened.”

  “There are ways to handle noisy first years,” Serin said, crossing his arms.

  “Not this one. He’s too well connected.” Thornfield began examining the stacked crates and making notations in a notebook. “If he disappears, it’ll cause more problems than it’s worth. And he’s too full of young man ideas to bring into the business.” He opened the top of a small crate filled with contraband knives, picked one up, examined it, and put it back. “We’ll send this one onto Waterford by Glint. Too many to sell locally.” He made a mark on the crate. “Anyway, I was surprised to see it was you bringing in the load today. I thought you were in Redbeard’s special graces.”

  Serin shrugged. “Money talks. Worth trying.”

  “Money is sweet,” said another voice. “And it excuses many sins.”

  The two men turned around, and saw Whinzer walking into the carriage, followed by two of Turbot’s men. The two men carried in a crate.

  “I think this is what you were waiting for,” Whinzer said. “Fresh in from our supplier today. I do believe your Shadowlands customers will be more than pleased.” He slid the lid of the container open just a bit. Reaching into the box, he pulled back layers of embroidered cloths meant to hide a cursory inspection, to reveal a row of neatly packed touchstones. “Twenty jumpstones.”

  Serin bent over, his silver braid falling over his shoulder, almost touching the He picked one up and examined it without activating. It was a gray stone with a flat button that would slide across the surface. Turning it over, he saw that it was free of the B&F logo. “Looks right,” he said. “What about a programming box?”

  “Couldn’t do it this run.” Whinzer shrugged. “These are all programmed to the market square in Brightwater. At least it gets them over the boundary.”

  “My contact won’t be happy. He was hoping for fifty and a programmer.” Serin sighed. “Glad he’s Drow and not Doghead. Those hotheads might have eaten me. Still...I doubt he’ll turn them down.”

  “We’re a new operation. We have to make sure we get everything set up right first. If this goes through well, there will be more,” Whinzer said. “The rest is up to you.”

  They haggled a little more, discussing the discount Whinzer would give them over the previously agreed on price while Thornfield went through the rest of the crates, marking which ones were for selling locally and which should be shipped on. When he was done, he signalled to Whinzer’s men who moved the local freight out to transport to Turbot’s warehouses.

  Finally, freight moved and money exchanged, Whinzer and and rest moved out, and with a signal from Thornfield, the transport crew sent the freight carriage on its way. Thornfield and Whinzer watched the men haul the last of the goods off.

  “Glad that’s done,” Thornfield said. “I think I’ll kick Umber here for the afternoon freight and take the afternoon off. What took you so long to get here?”

  “Had to ride up past Allynswoods land to make my connection. It’s a bit of a ride – past Pixie Hollow. Shipper said Allynswood was too close to where old Briarwood lives. It gave him the creeps. Said Briarwood has spies everywhere.” He shrugged. “Said maybe one day the Allyns would learn he’s not such a good neighbor.”

  “Good luck on that one,” Thornfield said, turning to head back to his office. “See you at Turbot’s this evening.”

  “If they haven’t sent me somewhere else,” Whinzer said, and headed for the exit.