The Astrologies

Prologue: A Night of Whispers

The Candle cut a figure that was easy to recognize, with his voluminous robes and considerable bulk. Cadras, the guard who the Candle had watched patrolling the walls, wondered briefly why the his holiness was skulking through the woods, but soon turned back to his recent preoccupations. Once he was relieved of his duty on the wall, he would have to go quickly to the broker on Cooper's Square. There he could pay eighty weight silver in scrip from the salary that he just received, plus eight weight coin in interest, to redeem a pendant. In his estimation, it was worth at least two weight gold. Gayle, his broker on the Street of Fools, would pay two weight gold, minus a ten weight silver commission, for the pendant. Gayle had Imperial accounts that came due in scrip, so he would change scrip to coin with no fee.

If he went to the Street of Fools by way of the Foreman's Court, he would pass the tavern where Lighthall's couriers wasted away the evening hours. He could stop and remind the ugly one with red hair of his outstanding debt of forty weight silver. The man would not be able to pay, but having him feel indebted could prove useful soon. Then there should be time to head back up the hill to the Swan Feather Inn where Andrios would be cleaning up after his illustrious clientel. Cadras would ask to buy drink as if it were a favor, tip Andrios well, and listen to his grievances. Andrios would dip into the Blue Forest shag, and send Cadras home with a pouch. The next morning, Cadras could take the shag to smoke with his tobacconist in a substantially less upstanding part of the city. This would ensure further discounts on his considerable purchases there, an impassioned rant about how difficult Blue Forest shag was to find— thanks to rich Siltians buying it all up to send across the Sea of Mist to the even-richer merchants of the Far East— and occasionally an unintentional insight into the conversations of some of the ranking members of the Poorman's Union who congregated there.

He remembered also that it had been too long since he had visited Vance at Lantern Under the Arch, another drinking establishment frequented by Poorman's Union members. The strange old barkeep took a lot of grief from his clients for his bizarre political ideas and his resemblance to a goat. He loved to talk, Cadras was one of the only people who would listen, and they were both insomniacs. About an hour after sunrise, when the last of the customers staggered home and Vance was closing up, Cadras would have his morning tea there.

He was no longer welcome at the Horn and Cup, where the Lighthall's bruisers drank, but Zarea kept the bar there, and she had been hanging around the Union Hall a lot recently. If he caught her at the hall when he went to pay his dues tomorrow, he could ask her for an update on the goings on at the Horn and Cup. Even the most tight lipped Union members were happy to share information about Lighthall's men— an aggressive and unstable lot who posed a greater threat to the Poorman's Union than did the City Guard.

Tallying up his Union dues, rent, his stipend to Marta who knew everything that happened between the Street of Fools and the harbor, his gambling losses plus interest at the Blue Door, his considerable monthly tobacco bill, a tip for Andrios, tea at the Swan Feather and at Latern Under the Arch, and all the beer Zarea would drink while he questioned her, there was no doubt in his mind. He was short on funds.

What all of this came down to was that he would need to do another job to get through the month, which was unfortunate. He was not afraid of getting caught, he was too good for that, but to do a job right took a week of research. He had better things to do when he was not on duty than pretending to sell walnuts outside the shop of some petty merchant and taking notes on when he came and went.

Darkness had fallen entirely, and the century of soldiers returning to their barracks from the field were little more than a dark milling mass. A pair of eyes gleamed below, drawn to the light of the guard's torch. Cadras wondered at the differences in the lives that people lead, and tried to imagine himself living in barracks; riding for days across the plains and spending months, or even years, with the same hundred men; always jumping back and forth between strict discipline and wild carousing. He could not imagine any such thing. Far away, a bell began to toll, and soon it was joined by others, near and far. It was officially nightfall. Soon he would be relieved of duty. He took a cigarette from his case and lit it from the torch.