“It has been a great pleasure working with you, signori,” Giancarlo Rossi said. He stood long enough to perform a sweeping bow. “Truly, I am in your debt.”
Aleksandr shrugged. “Not at all, Giancarlo. You just paid that debt,” he said. He smiled thinly.
Was that a joke? Conrad wondered. Torath’s hidden balls, I think that was a joke.
He glanced at Nathan, making eye contact and then arching his brows in Aleksandr’s direction. You seeing this shit? He suggested.
Nathan rolled his eyes, and shifted his position where he stood. Yeah, he saw it, but he’s trying to be professional. Conrad straightened his back and pretended to be alert.
They were at the inn Rossi had been staying at. The same place Anatoly’s dying in, he thought. Or not dying, I guess, if Orson’s right. Either way, we’re in an expensive tavern in the capital city of Arcadia. They don’t need us standing guard. We’re an affectation. An ornament. Just like most everything Rossi does.
They’d been on duty to guard the Cassaline merchant for the past few hours, which had been a pointless time-sink until Aleksandr and Yorrin came in to settle their contract. Almost felt like old times, though, babysitting the old boss with Nathan while he counts his silvers and gladhands anyone that comes close.
Now the bosses and Rossi sat at a table conversing, while Nathan and Conrad stood at attention beside them. Conrad knew Aleksandr and Yorrin didn’t need the guards, but Aleksandr appreciated men that took their jobs seriously. I’m not about to get on his shit list, like Rotten. Conrad thought. And I imagine Yorrin’s shit list is even more… shitty.
“I heard you’re leaving soon,” Yorrin said. “Back home to the Empire?”
“Si, back to the Republic,” Rossi said with a grin. “I have already booked passage on a ship. In the end, this venture proved even more lucrative than I had originally hoped. Albeit in much a different way than I expected. I have you both to thank for this, of course. As you well know.”
“We owe you much as well. You hired good men, and I am happy they now call themselves members of my company,” Aleksandr said.
Conrad felt warmth creep up his neck. Aleksandr’s eyes flickered behind Rossi and he smiled at Conrad and Nathan.
“Elfisio and Aguapo were treacherous bastardi, but they did find good personnel,” Rossi said with a sigh. “I will miss that much about them, at least.”
Aleksandr’s smile disappeared. Conrad could hardly blame him. Those whoresons got good men killed. They poisoned the boss’s lady love, sicced Anatoly’s old gang on us, and then that business with the cult. To Rossi, it was just bad business. He didn’t have to deal with burying the dead. He didn’t get a cultist’s dagger stuck into his side.
The scar below Conrad’s rib still ached some days, especially if he twisted around too much. Orson said the pain would keep fading, but never leave completely.
“It has been good working with you, Giancarlo. We wish you luck on your voyage,” Aleksandr said after the awkward silence.
Yeah, Conrad agreed in his head. You’re an arrogant, self-important son of a bitch, but you always paid fair.
“And I wish you luck on your endeavors,” Rossi said. “I am thinking you will have the greater need for fortune, si?”
“I suppose,” Aleksandr said. “If we are ever given an assignment.”
Rossi chuckled. “Si, you have already made an impression here, Aleksandr! And not exactly a good one, I think. By the time I met with the Lord Marshal to sing your praises, he was already… skeptical.”
“Guess he didn’t appreciate us barging in on his meeting,” Yorrin said. “For a deserter,” he added under his breath.
“Da, is too bad. It was unavoidable,” Aleksandr said with a shrug. “I am sure he will task us with something sooner or later.”
“Probably some shit work,” Conrad said.
Yorrin shot him a glare for interrupting, but Aleksandr smiled. “Da, this is possible,” he said. “But, ah, undesirable work or not, we shall complete it. Da?”
Conrad nodded. “Of course, sir. That’s how we’ll make a good impression.” If these stuck-up Caedian cunts are capable of noticing.
Conrad had been born and raised in rural Cardenbury. He had not come to Caedia until he was a man, looking for work, and from what he’d seen he found most Caedian lords and knights insufferable. Caedia was the greatest power in the Western Midlands, and they all acted it. The first thing Conrad had done in those days was strive to lose the accent that marked him as a Cardish rube from a no-name backwater hamlet.
It worked, too. He knew that Rossi’s murderous factors would never have hired him if he hadn’t cultivated a more acceptable Middish accent. Even if my pa would hate to hear me now.
Levin’s Cardish, too, Conrad thought. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I didn’t need to change. Thought… his accent isn’t as bad as mine was. Not hardly. And he barely says more than two words at a time anyway.
Levin was exceptional in many ways. Not someone it was wise to measure yourself against. Even his flaws seemed to serve him well in mercenary life.
Aleksandr, Yorrin, and Rossi had continued chatting while Conrad lost himself in memory and doubt. He came to attention when Nathan nudged him, and nodded towards the door.
A newcomer was approaching the table. He didn’t look like much of a threat. He doesn’t look like much of anything, Conrad thought. The fellow was young, with short brown hair, thin lips, and a weak chin. His shoulders were narrow, though his overall height and build looked decidedly average. He wore simple clothes and carried no apparent weapons at all.
The only thing that really stood out about him was his eyes. Conrad immediately knew that had to be why Nathan had noticed the man in the first place. His brown eyes were sharply fixated on Aleksandr and Yorrin, and he was approaching them with careful, precise steps.
Conrad laid a hand on the hilt of his sword. He stepped around the table, interposing himself between his commanders and the newcomer.
“You,” he said. “Stop. Who are you?”
The man blinked in surprise, and refocused onto Conrad. “I beg your pardon?” he said.
“Ah, Jaspar!” Rossi said from where he sat. “Conrad, desist. It is fine. This is my friend, Jaspar!”
Conrad frowned, but he stepped to the side and let the mousy little man pass.
“Jaspar, these are the men I told you about. Aleksandr Kerensky and his companion, Yorrin. Aleksandr, this is Jaspar Beckenridge!”
Aleksandr looked hesitant, but he held out a hand for the young man to shake. Yorrin watched him with an inscrutable expression.
Should have known it was a friend of Rossi’s. Unarmed, weak, but moves with the swagger of a knight. Fucking merchants.
“Hello,” Aleksandr said uneasily. “I am not sure what this is about…”
“Oh,” Jaspar said. He sounded disappointed. “I thought—”
“Mi scuzi, Aleksandr, this is my error,” Rossi said. “I had intended to mention this before Jaspar arrived. I thought perhaps you could use his services for your Steelshod Company.”
“His services?” Aleksandr repeated. He looked the slender young man up and down. “He does not look much like a soldier.”
Jaspar clasped his hands behind his back and straightened his spine. “Indeed, I am most definitely not a soldier, Sir Kerensky.”
“No,” Rossi said. “He is a factor! I first met him in Cassala, and I have done business with him a few times since. Tell them, Jaspar.”
“Ahem,” Jaspar cleared his throat. “Yes, well. The Beckenridges are a minor noble house, here in Caedia. More yeomen than noble, in truth. My father, Reginald, was a merchant. I learned from him, among others. We have always done tolerably well for ourselves, until recently. My father lost a great deal to raids as this Svardic incursion has grown. And then—” Jaspar swallowed, his brow wrinkling in barely contained dismay. “Well, he put together a new trade venture. Captained the ship himself, against the advice of many other Beckenridges. That was… some time ago, I’m afraid.”
Aleksandr’s skeptical look softened. “He never returned?”
“Indeed not,” Jaspar said. “The ship was reported lost. The remaining family assets have been picked apart by a number of creditors, and my cousins are selling off anything they can. That is how I stumbled across Master Rossi again, as it happens. He was conducting some business with them.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” Aleksandr said. “But I do not see where Steelshod comes into this story.”
“You could use a man with his skills, Aleksandr,” Rossi said. “He keeps immaculate books, and he is nearly as keen a businessman as myself.”
“You do not wish to help your remaining family with their estate?” Aleksandr asked. His face showed that skepticism again
Aleksandr is almost too good a man to be real, I swear, Conrad thought. But he’s got a point. What use do we have for a man so faithless he abandons his own kin in their hour of need?
Jaspar frowned. “Ah,” he said. “Yes. Well, you see, I was Reginald’s son. But the rest of his family… they are not my kin.”
“A bastard?” Yorrin asked, speaking for the first time. “But no, you have their name. If—”
“Beg your pardon, no. Not a bastard,” Jaspar said. “Adopted. It is my honor to carry on the Beckenridge name for Reginald. But my cousins never agreed with his decision to adopt me. After his ship was declared lost, they made it clear I was… unwelcome.”
“Their loss shall be your gain, Aleksandr!” Rossi declared. “Jaspar has acuto intelletto—very sharp mind, si? He even studied at the great University in Cassala!”
Aleksandr’s brow furrowed. “I am not sure I know this word.”
“Some kind of school, isn’t it?” Conrad offered from where he stood. Feel like I’ve heard of that before.
“Conrad’s right,” Yorrin said. “A big school in the Empire, I think.”
Rossi clapped his hand against his forehead. “Stai scherzando?” he muttered. “Please, amici, you are not serious.”
Jaspar gave them all a thin, nervous smile. “It’s alright,” he said. “Let me clarify, if I may? The University Master Rossi speaks of is a great hall of learning in the capital of the old Empire. There are a few smaller such places scattered across the Empire and Spatalia, all modeled after the Great University. Schooling at such places is different than in the Midlands—nothing like the tutelage of a lord’s scribe or steward. The closest thing might be the church schools, though the ones I have seen in Caedia are a pale imitation.”
“I spent some time at a church school in Nasarat,” Yorrin said. “Well, listening in, anyway. The priests were smarter than any Spit, and they had dozens of books in there,”
Jaspar’s smile had never really reached those inquisitive eyes of his, but now it faltered entirely. “Ah,” he said. “Well. It would not be my place to correct you, Master Yorrin.”
Yorrin curled his lip in disdain. “Bugger that. Correct away.”
“Very well. I am sure the church school served its intended purpose, which is the basic education of all common adherents of the faith. The average Torathi is considerably more literate and versed in basic concepts of arithmetic, as compared to nearly any people or place in history. But that purpose—general education—is not the same purpose held by the academic institutions of higher learning in the old Empire.”
“Aca—what?” Aleksandr frowned. “These are schools, da? Higher learning are words I know, but—”
“Pardon. The Universities, I meant,” Jaspar said. “Yes, schools. The purpose of the Universities is to safeguard the greatest knowledge man has heretofore discovered. Even the smaller Universities house libraries of hundreds or thousands of books, and dozens of expert tutors. Medicine, engineering architecture, alchemistry, literature, philosophy…” Jaspar trailed off, likely realizing the blank expressions on Aleksandr and Yorrin.
I only understood about half of those subjects, Conrad thought. And I bet Aleksandr missed at least as many just due to the language barrier.
“Sounds like a lot,” Conrad said. “These university places must be important.”
“They are,” Jaspar said. “All the more reason it is quite tragic that so many of them have fallen into disrepair, or been abandoned entirely.”
“Jaspar is as eager to see the restoration of my homeland as I!” Rossi said with a laugh. “He will speak on them without end, if you allow it.”
Jaspar pursed his lips in an expression of embarrassed consternation. “Ah, perhaps so,” he admitted.
“I think Aleksandr and Yorrin were hearing about your schooling,” Nathan offered. He grinned in a particular way that Conrad knew was more cheeky than friendly.
“Yes, of course. And… pardon, who are you? And you?” Jaspar’s gaze passed between Nathan and Conrad.
“Nathan,” he said. “That’s Conrad.”
“No need to pay us any mind,” Conrad said. “We’re just tapestries.”
Jaspar blinked. Aleksandr sighed. “They are on guard duty,” he said firmly. He gave Conrad a look.
Shit, it’s no fun making a mock of Aleksandr. He’s too sincere. Conrad shifted uncomfortably where he stood, and looked at the floor for a contrite moment.
“Yes, of course. Well,” Jaspar said, collecting himself. “My schooling. To my great benefit, my father was kind enough to pay my way to one of the universities. He sent me to a smaller one first, when I was fourteen. After four years there, one of my tutors provided patronage so that I could continue my studies at the Great University in Cassala.”
“You see?” Rossi crowed. “Such a keen mind the tutors paid for the pleasure of teaching him!”
Jaspar winced. “Not—that’s not entirely true,” he said.
“Either way, we get the point,” Yorrin said. “You’re well-educated. What was your field of study, then?”
“Various disciplines,” Jaspar said. “At first I spent a considerable amount of time studying the traditions of law, the formulation of contracts, and accounting. Those skills are invaluable for any sort of factor or merchant. Those and linguistics.”
“Linguistics?” Aleksandr repeated the word.
“Tongues, yeah?” Yorrin said.
“Indeed. I know seven languages and four alphabets,” Jaspar said.
“Oh!” Aleksandr said. “Ruskan?” He rattled off a few words in his native tongue. To Conrad’s ear, Aleksandr’s mother tongue always sounded vaguely threatening. It did not fit Aleksandr’s calm, collected manner.
Jaspar put on a bland smile again, and replied to Aleksandr in kind. Aleksandr grinned. “You could use practice,” he said in Middish. “But still, very good!”
Rossi laughed. “If his Ruskan is like his Cassaline, his grammar is impeccable but his pronunciation is atrocious. Si?”
Aleksandr chuckled while Jaspar blushed. “Perhaps,” he said. “I have read the languages much more often than I have spoken them.”
“You know any Svardish?” Yorrin asked.
Jaspar shook his head. “Svardic? No. A small amount of Kriegar, though… I am not fluent. I did not count that towards the seven I spoke of before.”
“Hm. Impressive anyway, I guess,” Yorrin said. “Though I expect most people worth talking to speak Middish. What else did you study? You said that’s the stuff you studied at first. What came after?”
Jaspar smiled again, and for once it looked sincere. “Mathematics,” he said. “That was why I was sent on to the Great University. There I studied for three more years. I learned the theories of the ancients, geometry and other complex equations. I also delved into some of the applied mathematical fields, such as architecture and engineering. I found them—” Jaspar hesitated. He almost looked wistful. “Gratifying. It is difficult to spend years in the decaying edifices of the old Empire and not dream of how such things were built, and how they might be built again. I rather enjoyed history for the same reason. There is so much that was once known that is lost, or nearly lost.”
Conrad was surprised to realize that Yorrin, of all people, was now listening intently to Jaspar’s every word. He even nodded along. “You learned a lot of engineering, then?” he asked.
Jaspar nodded. “I did.”
Yorrin didn’t reply, but he scratched at his beard and looked lost in thought.
“I think that you will benefit from a man such as Jaspar,” Rossi said. “He can assist you in writing your contracts, managing company funds and payroll, procuring supplies for long journeys, and many more such tasks. The larger you grow, the more value he will bring. You do not know how badly you needed a steward until you have one, credimi.”
“We are not so large yet,” Aleksandr said. He scratched his beard. “But—we are growing.”
“In truth, sirs, Master Rossi is doing this as a favor to me,” Jaspar said. “I am looking for work. I approached him too late to join his ventures here, and he has indicated he has no need of my services until his next excursion.”
“Months away, at the earliest,” Rossi said. “And besides, he is not so quick to flee his homeland, I think.”
“I am not entirely opposed to traveling,” Jaspar said. “Cassala is beautiful. But… it seems somewhat churlish to me, to flee Caedia so soon after Reginald’s ship was lost. And with the war on, traveling is not precisely safe.”
“If you’re worried about safe, you maybe shouldn’t be looking to join up in a merc company,” Conrad interjected.
Jaspar’s eyes narrowed as they flickered their focus to him. Yorrin seemed to break from his reverie at that. “He’s got a point, Jaspar,” he said.
“Indeed. I would trust that if I join as a steward I will not be expected to fight on the front lines,” Jaspar said, his words clipped with curt inflection.
“No,” Aleksandr said. “But we cannot guarantee safety at all times. Is worth considering if you wish to take such risks.”
Jaspar shifted his position, bringing his hands together in front of him. “Life involves inevitable risk,” he said. “As Reginald’s untimely end proves. Merchants are always at the mercy of mercenaries and brigands in some capacity or another. Giancarlo speaks very highly of you. He says you are the best mercenaries he has ever seen, and some of the best men. He gives effusive praise easily, but most of the time he is not so sincere. So… yes. I am willing to trust my safety to your prowess, Sir Kerensky.”
Aleksandr was silent for a while. He stared at Jaspar with enough focus that Conrad felt uncomfortable, and he wasn’t even the target. Finally, he glanced at Yorrin and arched an eyebrow.
If they passed a message, Conrad couldn’t really decipher it. Yorrin’s jaw dipped an inch, Aleksandr’s tilted his head to the side, then Yorrin’s shoulders shifted in the barest glimmer of a shrug.
It’s like they’ve got a language just for the two of them.
“Da,” Aleksandr said. “Very well. I think that we shall hire you, Jaspar. There will still be a few matters to discuss, however.”
“Of course,” Jaspar said. He smiled, but it was the more common kind of smile Conrad had seen so far. The kind that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Perfetto!” Rossi declared. He stood up from the table. “Finito! My work here is done. It has been my pleasure, both of you. Aleksandr, remember this when Jaspar has made you a fortune, si? Jaspar, remember this when Aleksandr saves your skin from the Svards.”
Aleksandr smiled. He stood and shook Rossi’s hand. The Cassaline went around the table and shook everyone’s hands, including Conrad and Nathan. “I am off, amici. My ship leaves tomorrow. It has been a great pleasure to travel with you.”
“Not going to say goodbye to everyone else?” Conrad asked.
Rossi shrugged. “I already spoke with Orson and Cameron, when they were here earlier to see to the Ruskan fellow. The only other man from my original mercenari is Levin,” Giancarlo shuddered. “Not a man for pleasantries.”
Conrad laughed. “Alright, fair. Safe travels, Master Rossi.”
“Si, grazie. Until next time!” Rossi left the table in a great show, dropping silver tips left and right as he said farewell to the inn staff.
“He is certainly enthusiastic,” Jaspar observed.
“He’s a fucking lunatic,” Conrad said. “But he’s not so bad.”
“Well then. You said there were some additional matters?” Jaspar asked Aleksandr.
“Da. Come. We should go introduce you to the rest of the company” he said. He began moving towards the door. “And we will need to test you, of course.”
“Of course,” Jaspar said. “What did you have in mind? Perhaps I could audit your current book of accounts?”
Oh, this is too good, Conrad felt a wolfish grin spread across his face.
“Ah, no. Not that sort of test,” Aleksandr said.
Jaspar frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Hey, Aleksandr,” Conrad said. “I’d be happy to test him out, once we get back to camp.”
“Da,” Aleksandr said. “This is fine.”
They stepped out of the inn and onto the cobbled streets of Arcadia. Nathan brought up the rear, and Yorrin took the lead.
Jaspar glared at Conrad, then looked at Aleksandr with almost as much concern. “Sir?” he said. “What sort of test?”
Conrad leaned in and wrapped an arm around the young man’s shoulders. What shoulders? Conrad thought, amused. He’s so scrawny. “It’s alright, Jaspar,” he said cheerfully. “I promise I’ll go easy on you.”
Jaspar shrugged Conrad’s arm off of him. “Sir!” he said to Aleksandr. He stopped walking, so Conrad stopped and turned to face him.
“Da?” Aleksandr and Yorrin paused too, and they both turned to look back at Jaspar.
Jaspar tugged at the hem of his shirt, straightening the wrinkles Conrad had put in the fabric. He straightened his back, but he wasn’t tall enough for the gesture to look particularly impressive. Still, he stared at Aleksandr with an obviously sculpted neutral expression that belied the nervousness in his eyes.
“What sort of test?”