Chapter 9: Chapter 8: Return

Hildesman found the city much the same as it had been when he left. A stout wall, double the height and four times the thickness of common walls built for farms or merchants’ havens, took up most of the southern horizon as he approached. He had walked it once, just to get a feel for the size of it. On foot, it had taken him over a day, close to two, to get all the way around the city, and that was without his customary heavy pack. He estimated that the wall was over 80 miles long. The exterior gates were few, at only three, and he approached the one commonly known as the Front Door, the First Gate, or just The Gate. Most of the city’s trade that couldn’t afford to keep an envelope filled and engines running used the Front Door.

Ordinarily, Hildesman would have gone to one of a few dozen lift entrances the Order maintained. His entry pass was in good standing, dues paid up halfway through next year, and it was faster, if a little more nauseating, to ride the winch lifts to the top of the wall. But then, ordinarily, he wouldn’t be carrying a letter directly from a former Order legendary marksman and treading with a heavy secret. Something about the idea of passing under those heavy stone archways made him feel more confident about the revelations Teach had shared with him the night before.

He had to wait in the little bunker for tradespeople, of course. Two other trappers waited with him. The older one was heavily bearded and covered with a month of road dirt at least. The younger seemed to be his apprentice, and she somehow managed to look like a fresh faced rookie despite the fact that she had clearly tangled with a direbeast on this trip, the angry red welt across her forehead and notching one of her ears only recently closed. Hildesman ran his fingers along his collarbone, where his shirt hid the first scar he had received under Teach’s tutelage. He gave them each a polite nod, then sat at a different table.

A merchant caravan and some farmers had apparently also arrived earlier. Their guards were asleep on several of the bunks provided for that purpose, while the merchant and his son were busily trying to sell some of their smaller items to the farmers. Hildesman waved the son over after a few minutes, and managed to entertain himself for a while, haggling on prices for some of his supplies. In the end, he parted with the remainder of his rations and one canteen that had been heavily dented when the direhawk had flung him against a tree. The merchant’s son passed him a couple of small notes in exchange, all in all totalling less than half of Hildesman’s per day for the trip, but better than having to scrap the lot. He made and shared a pot of tea while they negotiated, and as it started to steam, the other trapper came over to sit nearby.

Hildesman didn’t know him personally, but he noted the long, oddly straight fang lashed around one wrist. The man favored diresnakes, a rare breed near Mett Vell. Hildesman had to wonder how he made steady money with such a prey.

Without needing to ask or be asked, he filled the man’s cup with the tea. The man pulled a small flask from his pocket and upended it into the cup, splashing some onto the table. The smell of bitter whiskey made Hildesman briefly flare his nose, but he said nothing.

After the merchant had taken his items and Hildesman had taken his money, both trappers sat quietly across from each other for a few moments. Hildesman broke the silence first. “Survey job, up north,” he offered.

“Training run. East and north,” the other man offered. They each took a long pull on their tea. The man beckoned his apprentice over, and she sat down as well, offering her mug to be filled and nervously touching at the notch in her ear.

Hildesman waited until she drank, then said, gesturing slightly to her face, “What’d you learn, apprentice?”

“I learned that direminks may be small, but they’re crafty and their teeth are sharp.”

Hildesman looked at her teacher, who shrugged and mouthed to Hildesman, We’re working on it. Hildesman understood his cue, then, and followed up. “Too little, too late, apprentice. Your teach must be more generous than mine. I’d have been sent back to a life heaving iron in a foundry if that’s all I took away from a scar like that.”

The woman frowned, setting her cup down. Hildesman saw her set her shoulders, ready for a fist fight. More confident than she had been about her lessons. Her eyes met his, as if daring him to rise to the challenge. He sat in his chair and drank another sip of tea, calmly but never breaking eye contact. Her master gave her a stiff tap on a rib that was clearly bruised, and she sat back in her chair, relaxing slightly through her wince.

“So. What did you learn, apprentice?” Hildesman asked again, after the tension had fully dissipated.

“Learned not to trust anything out there. Forests are too dangerous for people. Trappers included.”

“That’s more like it. Keep it up and you’ll only get two or three more during your training.” Her teacher raised his mug a fraction towards Hildesman in way of thanks. Hildesman tipped his back. The student saw, and she seemed to consider the situation for a few seconds.

“You know Mister Lehnning?” she finally asked.

“Never met him. Hildesman.” he offered, extending his hand. “Usually run the west beat.”

“Erwin. Mister Lehnning, to my student here. She goes by Patty. When I’m not dragging slow learners through the undergrowth, I usually run the path ‘tween Vell and Pentor.” the other man responded, shaking Hildesman’s. That would explain his preferred prey. Direserpents were said to be much more common in the southeast, but a round trip there was difficult from either city.

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“Wait, you didn’t know each other?” Patty interjected. “But you just came and cozied up to his tea kettle like you were old friends from childhood!”

“Code of courtesy, Miss Patty. One trapper to another.” Hildesman offered. Erwin nodded along. “Trappers…we don’t see a lot of people a lot of the time. Gotta have friends before we make them, as it were. There’s more to the job than just the skills. Your teacher here is trying to introduce you to the customs, too. Be grateful. Not all of them do.” He’d heard other trappers talk about how learning customs was part of apprentices’ growth, but Hildesman had never seen a practical difference between one who learned on their own and one who was introduced, ‘cept fewer people showed up at the former’s funeral.

“The tea?”, she asked.

“Trapper oughta share his kettle with another trapper. Preferably before making introductions, even if they don’t know each other.” Erwin offered. “I saw Mister Hildesman making enough tea for it, figured it was the signal.”

“The lesson, too?”

“Nope!” Erwin chuckled. “That one was a lucky find. Figured you might stop and think about your questions if they weren’t just for my ears. Maybe you’d lodge the answer in your brain better. Was gonna take you down the watering hole, talk to some of the guys there about it. Mister Hildesman beat ‘em to it. They’re gonna be wrenched about it. Needling a rookie means free drinks for the night. Now they’ll have to buy their own.”

Patty turned to look at Hildesman, and he shrugged.

“I didn’t take to my lessons as quickly as my teach would have liked either. Nothing in the courtesies says I gotta press like that, but I took a guess that it might do you some good. Always hate to see an apprentice get shucked off to the workforce, and it’s worse when they do something dumb and get themselves hurt or killed.”

“Shared experience.” Erwin said, affecting the mannerisms of a lecturer at one of the Order’s traditional universities, flicking his chin up into a mockery that was surprisingly more effective given the beard. “We’ve all got our first scar. Mister Hildesman?”

“On my collarbone and neck. Direhawk fledgeling. Hadn’t even found itself a mate yet. Still plenty deadly.”

“And mine was left side ribs. Big ol’ slimy-thing. If they came inland this far I suppose you’d call ‘em a diretoad, but in Pentor they calls ‘em Croaker Demons. One of my ribs is still a little crooked.”

They both looked at Patty, who hesitated before answering. “Oh, this is another custom?” she cleared her throat, then mimicked the matter-of-fact tone of the other two with some success. “Diremink had hidden itself on a tree, disguised as bark. Flung itself off at me like a rabid drapery when I got too close followin’ its footprints.”

Erwin clapped his hand on Patty’s shoulder, grinning and sloshed some of his whisky into her tea. “We’ll work on your delivery, but you’ve got the idea.”

The trio passed another hour swapping stories and advice. Erwin, it turned out, didn’t know the surveyor’s trade, favoring work as a courier instead. He swapped business information with Hildesman; often a trapper could refer work they weren’t accustomed to to another. As they finished off their second pot of tea, the door finally opened, revealing several Brothers and Sisters of the wall in formal dress. Hildesman flicked his eyes over their cords of rank, and was surprised to see that the woman leading them was Highmarshal on the north wall. Odd that she’d be out on a regular customs admittance. Odder still, every one of her contingent was charged to the gills, their Order tattoos shining like lamps instead of the usual dim glow of a dying candle.

The Highmarshal took in every one present, and made her announcement. “Due to recent eventsl, I am afraid I am unable to admit any of you to the city. If you consent to wait here in the bunker, some of our Order Administrators are willing to carry out your business by proxy. You three.” She pointed at the table with the trappers. “Follow me. Questions later. Arguments never. Understand?”

Patty looked alarmed, and Hildesman could see Erwin’s apprehension even through the beard and the stony face. One by one, they picked up their packs, Hildesman hanging the still-hot kettle from an outside hook. The Highmarshal gave instructions to her second, a fifth captain who probably only saw her when she came to inspect his superior’s superior’s superior, and led them at a steady pace outside and along the wall.

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