Silver Silence

Let it Dry 24 Hours

Tern's Saturday market resembled a rat maze. Peasants skittered between stalls, sniffing the wares at each before moving to the next. The town was so disorganized that neither a main street nor a market square existed to hold all the stalls; instead, the merchants set up in narrow streets and alleyways, their customers and their wares twisting and turning around blind corners that made the whole event a heyday for thieves.

Siles looked over the crowd from his perch atop Bonnie, debating whether to buy anything. As much as he wanted to contribute to their small-town economy to make up for the taxes that paid for his comparatively extravagant lifestyle, most of the wares the merchants displayed were mediocre at best. Alas, money was the quickest way to a man's heart, and he needed to pry open as many hearts as possible in the next few days if he was going to weed out all the rebels.

Once the crowd's flow ebbed, Siles dismounted and approached a fruit stall. He selected the least bruised apple and held it up. "How much?"

The vendor stared with beady eyes, seizing Siles up. Given the fact that his clothes were minimally tarnished by the dusty streets, Siles had no doubt that he looked wealthy. He did not, however, look suspiciously wealthy, and that was what really mattered. His regular castle attire, despite the absence of the flashy colors most magicians adored, would have immediately set him apart as a dangerous royal-city outsider. But as the bookbinder, his clothes were a dark green version of castle servant attire.

At last, the vendor finished his assessment. "Two silvers."

The fact that two silvers was a high price in Tern made their economic situation all the more pitiful. Siles gave him three and bit into the apple. Not terrible, considering the bruising. "I'm just passing through, but I'll be here a few days. I'm a bookbinder – a good one. If you know anyone who needs my skillset and point them my way, you might get more than just a few silvers." The vendor rubbed the silvers between his grubby fingers with a smile, but Siles waited until the man nodded in agreement to move on.

The rest of the afternoon relieved Siles of twenty more silvers and filled the bags on Bonnie's back with bread, necklaces, and eccentric good luck charms. To his pleasant surprise, most of the townspeople were open and welcoming, even to an outsider. It was unfortunate that he was there to make their lives miserable.

As he led Bonnie to a stall by the town's only inn, a woman intercepted him. "You're the bookbinder?"

"Yes ma'am."

"How much do you charge?"

"I'm well off, if you haven't already noticed. I don't need the money, I simply want to help the battered books of the world. And there are plenty after the raids." Siles said the last sentence with genuine fury, remembering the Queen's decision to destroy the schools of every town after her ascent to power.

The woman nodded in agreement, her mouth forming a thin line that practically declared 'rebel.' But Siles doubted he was so lucky, not on the first try. At most she would know someone who knew someone who was part of the rebellion. "Right you are. I know it's late, but would you be able to fix any books tonight? Everyone will know by tomorrow and I have too much work to waste time waiting in a line."

Siles hoped her prediction wasn't correct; only by visiting houses could he hear the secrets people didn't dare speak in the open. A line out in the open wouldn't do at all. "Of course, just give me a moment to get my horse in order."

A silver later, the stable boy had promised to take special care of Bonnie and the woman was leading him through Tern's twisting narrow streets. She walked with purpose, her eyes scanning the streets with a level of confidence Siles rarely saw in peasants. Maybe he had gotten lucky. Maybe she was a rebel, or better, the leader of the Tern rebellion.

Her house smelled like books, the papery musk filling even the rooms that were empty of paper and ink. The back room was the source, filled with shelves pressed back to back, each holding layers upon layers of books in varying states of despair.

"I saved them. We heard about what had happened in the other towns before the soldiers came, so we emptied out the school. Or at least tried to. They arrived in time to destroy half the books, but I salvaged some of the unlucky half." She tugged a book from the shelf with gentle delicacy, as if it were a bird with a broken wing instead of a charred mound of papers.

Siles plucked the book from her hands, turning it over, tapping the spine, examining the innards. The words were safe, the binding having taken the brunt of the fire. "I'm guessing you aren't the only one who saved books, since you said there'd be a line in the morning." He cleared a space for his supplies as he spoke, cringing at the brown dust that came away on his hand.

"Lots of people helped... and lots of people didn't." She watched Siles' hands as he worked. "If anyone asks whose books you fixed, don't answer. This town has too many snitches."

She wasn't wrong. Snitches were the soldiers' main source of information. Siles nodded, resisting the urge to push her further, to ask about the rebellion. "What's your name, again?"

"Gretta. And yours?"

"Siles." In the castle, he was just the Guard, or the Queen's Guard if the speaker felt like embellishing. That left him with the opportunity to use his real name in the open, making the 'bookbinder' personality all the more believable.

"What do you think of the magicians?"

He looked up from the book, examining her expression. The only downfall of his untraceable bookbinder persona was that he had to be just as cautious as the people he was questioning. If he declared his disloyalty to one of the Queen's spies, he would be the one in prison. But Gretta's fingers tapped nervously at her crossed arms; she was just as wary as he was.

"I don't know much about their individual personalities, but I can't say I like the whole magic superiority system." Siles set the rebound book aside, placing a nearby vase on top of it to keep it shut. "Let that dry twenty-four hours. Why do you ask? We can't do anything about it, anyway."

This was the part where she was supposed to say, 'But we can do something. If we just work together, we can overthrow the magicians.' Except she didn't. "Let me gather the salvageable books for you to take back to the inn. I don't want to keep you here all night."

When he left the house, he was forty pounds heavier. The sacks of books stretched towards the ground, their seams stretching and complaining with every footstep. It would take a mountain of luck for him to reach the inn without a spill, but it would take a real miracle for him to gain Gretta's confidence.