Chapter 2: Prologue

Gane Thestle stood on the corner of two streets in the Worker’s Wheel, facing a large wrought-iron sign that read Seeker’s Glass, somewhat cleverly fitted to the shape of a wine glass tipped on its side. A smaller slate below it touted the variety of spirits and smokables that were sold within. Gane didn’t recognize most of the labels, and the ones he did recognize were somewhat lacking in reputation.

Confused, he double checked the address Sister Porriss had written for him on a piece of card. This was supposed to be the place. Maybe she had given him the wrong address as a prank. When he had seen the name of the establishment on the address card he had expected an office, or perhaps a social club. But the address was clear, right down to the intersection Gane stood on. If he didn’t at least try, he’d be worse off than if he fell for the prank. With a sigh, he straightened his jacket, checking to be sure his cord of rank was properly displayed on his left lapel, and walked to the plain door under the sign.

Inside, Gane was surprised to see not a bawdy drinking hall, but something more subdued. Small wooden tables surrounded by mismatched chairs took up most of the space. About half of them were occupied by groups of men and women drinking, smoking, and conversing in threes and fours. Off to one side, a small stage stood empty and dark, but in another corner a phonograph was playing something serene and, to Gane’s ears, folksy. The north side of the room was taken up primarily by a bar.

Gane found himself drifting towards the bar first. There were two bartenders back there, and one turned to Gane as he approached, wiping her hands on a rough apron draped over the counter. “Here for a drink, Brother?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” Gane answered honestly. “I’m looking for a man by the name of Hildesman. I was told I could find him here.”

The barwoman’s face turned stony. “To what business?” she asked, flatly.

“He comes highly recommended as a woodsman. He has worked with my superior in the past. She gave me this address. Sister Margaret Porriss?”

The barwoman’s face softened from stony into a cautious neutral at the mention of Sister Porriss. Without another word, she pulled two dark bottles from a battered icebox behind her and passed them over the counter to Gane, then pointed at a table near the stage where two men were animatedly waving pipes at each other.

“And which one…” Gane started, before noticing the barwoman had left to pour a glass of wine for another guest. Shrugging, Gane took the bottles, opening them with a lever attached to the bar, and wound his way through the room to the indicated table.

As he approached, he got a good look at the two men. They seemed to be trappers, which meant Gane might actually be in the right place. One was older, his hair gone mostly to gray except for traces of black near his crown. Faded scarring on his face and neck suggested that his age was an impressive feat. The other man seemed closer to Gane’s age, no longer young but not quite old enough that he had any signs of it. His scars were fewer but brighter. Both men wore vests but no jackets over heavy shirts in dark colors. The older man had what seemed to be a rabbit’s foot on a leather strap around his neck. The younger instead had several buttons sewn onto his vest fashioned from the sharp-looking teeth of some large predator.

As Gane approached, the two men took notice. The older man leaned in to say something in a low voice that caused them both to chuckle, and stood from his seat, collecting a wide, stiff hat from behind the chair. “Well, Aaron, it looks like you have a customer. I’ll bid you a good night.” As he walked out, donning his hat, he tipped the brim at Gane with a polite “Good evening, Brother.”

Aaron Hildesman, as Gane now guessed the younger man was, gestured to the chair recently vacated by his friend. “Please sit, Third Administrator. I’m Aaron Hildesman, though few bother with my first name. What brings you to the Glass this evening?”

Gane took the offered seat, setting the bottles and his hat on the table, then removing his jacket and laying it over the back of his chair. “I came looking for you, actually, Mister Hildesman. Please, call me Gane. Or if you insist on formality, Brother Thestle would be sufficient.”

“Very well, Brother Thestle. Care to elaborate on why you were looking for me? I’ve worked with the Order before, but usually I’m approached by someone from the Frontier Corps, not the Administrators.”

“Be that as it may, I believe I may have a commission for you. I understand that you are trained as a surveyor?”

“You understand correctly. Useful skill in my line of work. What do you need surveyed?”

Gane pushed the bottles and his hat to the edge of the table and pulled a folded map from the inner pocket of his vest, spreading it out. Near the center it was marked with a miniature drawing of the city, labeled Mett Vell. A rough circle was drawn in blue ink over a section of wilderness some miles north and slightly to the west of the city. “How familiar are you with the territory north of the city specifically, Mister Hildesman?”

Hildesman leaned over, reading the map with a careful eye. Without looking up, he answered, “Familiar enough to get around and get back to the city. I know most of the good shelters out there too. But my usual haunt is closer to here,” Hildesman indicated a point west of the city, then shrugged, leaning back in his chair and turning his focus back to Gane. “When I’m taking commissions I go all over the place. If you need something surveyed out there, you just have to tell me where and what. I can get to it.”

“We aren’t precisely sure of the where, as yet. As to the what, the Order has recently acquired mining rights in that circle. Our flyovers have revealed surprisingly dense stands of Ilver's ash trees throughout there, and we were hoping to find a rich deposit of Tessenium underneath.”

Hildesman took a slow pull on his pipe, then exhaled, trails of smoke fading into the air around him. “Okay. Scouting and survey, all in one. Do you have a budget, Brother Thestle?”

“A flexible one, within reason. What are your usual rates?”

Hildesman tapped the map a couple times, as if thinking, before he spoke. “Survey I usually charge twenty tin per day of the assignment. Scouting doesn’t require much extra gear, but it does slow down my travel times. My usual rate for that is fifteen per day of assignment. Since I’d be doing both, I’ll call this one twenty-seven tin per day. I’m happy to give minimum, estimated, and maximum durations beforehand as well. In writing.”

“You really have worked with the Order before.” Gane commented dryly. He pulled out a small book and began to take notes.

You are reading story Stone Walls at novel35.com

“Trip like this I’ll also need supplies, repairs, tools. I’m happy to source them myself, and I can provide a list for your brothers and sisters in the Order along with my estimates on the costs. I’ll need the funds for those up front, for obvious reasons. Or if the order prefers, they can furnish some or all of the gear if they believe they can get a better rate on it.”

“Of course,” Gane said, scrawling a few lines in his book. “I imagine that they will prefer to do so for at least some of the supplies, especially if the Manufactors make them.”

“And the Manufactors make anything,” Hildesman finished the adage. “I expected as much. Lastly is the question of hazard and injury pay. That region is fairly rough, just considering the terrain. But if your flyovers are seeing groves of Ilver's ash, that means one thing to me. Direbeasts.”

“I expected as much. This, largely, is why we are coming to you with this job instead of sending our own surveyors. Your experience at tracking, avoiding, and if necessary defending against direbeasts will surpass anyone we could send.”

“And that’s true, but even for trappers it’s dangerous business,” Hildesman paused, taking another pull from his pipe. “An equal amount to my total per day at estimated duration.”

Gane dutifully wrote the amount in his notes, then glanced up. “An equal amount? As in, you’ll be receiving over five tessens daily after hazard pay is accounted for? Before I bring these rates back to the Order, can I ask how negotiable they are?”

“I’m willing to adhere to a couple caveats on the hazard pay.”

“Such as?”

“Firstly, I’ll accept a quarter of the stated hazard pay, provided I return to the city uninjured. Second, if I encounter any direbeasts that I cannot avoid, their hides belong to the Order, not me. I’ll collect any other odd parts that you request, also, as long as you understand that I consider fighting the creatures a last resort in this situation. And finally, in the unfortunate event I do not return, I will take no hazard pay, but the full amount of my per day at the maximum duration I give you will go to my next of kin. Got all that?”

It took a moment, but Gane nodded that he did. “You understand of course that I have to get these terms approved.”

Hildesman nodded, then pointed over to the map with his empty hand. “Mind if I keep this?” Gane folded it and handed it to him.

“Well,” Hildesman said, tucking the map into a pocket on the front of his vest. “I believe that’s all I have to say. I’ll need more details from your flyovers, and I assume your Brothers and Sisters will want to draft this all out in an insanely complicated legal document of some kind, but those are worries for another time.” He pulled the dark bottles, forgotten during the conversation, to the center of the table. “Will you drink with me, Brother Thestle?”

“I’m afraid I’m on duty this evening, Mister Hildesman.”

“Well, good news for you, then. These won’t addle your thoughts a jot. Try a sip.” Hildesman waited for Gane to select a bottle, then took the other, tilting it slightly towards him. “To a profitable venture.”

Gane tilted his bottle back, then took a small sip from the bottle. The liquid inside was still cool from its time in the ice box, but it was so bitter that Gane nearly spat it out. “What is this?” he demanded.

The trapper took a short pull on the bottle, swishing it around his mouth before swallowing. “Miss Wester makes it special," he answered. "Trapper’s Tea, she calls it. It’s lime juice mixed with water from the Bitterspring. Nothing better on a long trail. Bitterwater never turns, did you know that? And even a splash of it can make the greenest swamp water clean enough to drink.”

Gane twisted his mouth. “That's assuming the bitterwater itself has been properly neutralized. This Miss Wester, she prepares it herself? Do you know what filtration agent she uses?”

“She told me once. Charcoal boiled with sap from Ilver's ash. Said it was an old recipe by one of Tessen's own students, even before the Order put up the wall.”

“Damust’s Process?” Gane forced himself to take another drink.

“That sounds right. Bu-ut Miss Wester’s the chemist, not me." Hildesman took another long pull, then held his bottle up toward Gane. "One more toast and then I’ll go back home to make my lists and you can take your notes to the Order to draft their contracts. To happy returns and safe walls.”

Gane tapped his bottle to Hidesman's. "Happy returns and safe walls." 

You can find story with these keywords: Stone Walls, Read Stone Walls, Stone Walls novel, Stone Walls book, Stone Walls story, Stone Walls full, Stone Walls Latest Chapter