For the rest of the morning, Lark continued his little tour of verifiable facts. First, they went up to a bakery where an elderly woman sold them some scrumptious turnovers and shared letters her sons had sent her from their indentured servitude. One son was putting a positive spin on the conditions and beseeching his mother not to worry, while the other was broken and begged her for help.
From there they headed to the run-down side of town, where Able was shocked to find Lark had brought him to an actual Resistance member, although the fellow insisted he was done with that now. A draft dodger during the war, he had lost track of his family and had been living alone on a homestead he had built in the wilds. The sheriff's men—"the old sheriff, mind, though the new one is even worse," he said—came one day and blind-sided him with the fact that not only was he supposed to be paying taxes, he owed back pay for missing the first few years of it. He had nothing close to their demands, so they forced him into an indentured contract.
He had thought he would get his home back once his contract was fulfilled, but after three years of hard labor, he returned to find that his land had been permanently seized, with his cabin and all the woods around it leveled. Irate, he had joined the earliest version of the Resistance but soon learned that he was still not cut out for fighting and left. Now he squatted in the empty buildings and did odd jobs to feed himself.
He showed Able his notice of contract fulfillment and his notice of property forfeiture, neither of which he could read, incidentally. After some impressive cajoling on Lark's part, he also shared a letter he had once intercepted from the Sheriff's men and then abruptly gave it to Able. He had kept it as a trophy, but now decided he didn't want to be caught with it.
As they made their way back to the more vibrant part of the city, Lark was accosted by another young woman and accepted another dress commission. This was the fourth such interaction since Abundance Chambers, and each time Lark had started asking for sixty cees but had been bargained down to fifty or forty-five and some goods.
"I think I'm starting to understand your business model," Able reflected as they continued on their way.
"Hm?" Lark raised his eyebrow.
"Why you're walking around in a dress, I mean."
But to that Lark rolled his eyes and snorted, so it seemed Able had not lost his talent for being insulting.
He pushed on anyway. "The thing I don't understand is why you don't barter down to more goods. Surely that would be easier on your clients' finances?"
"It's the best balance I've found to avoid arousing suspicion from the count's men."
"Suspicion of what?"
"Oh, we're not supposed to barter with goods. Too hard to track."
"Wait, so..." Able frowned. "You're undercutting your prices and trading goods under the table? Lark, you just admitted to me you're breaking the law."
"Stupid laws are destined to be broken." Lark chuckled. "I'll play along; got to keep Splendor fed and housed, after all. But the only law Borealund needs is kindness and common sense. Larbantry can keep the bullshit."
Able rubbed his temples in disbelief at this girly-guy's recklessness. He was already staggering under the weight of the information he had gathered today. He could put people in danger. Method was right. This task was well over Able's head. Maybe he should return home and—no.
No, this was what it meant to be at the forefront of the field. This was the only way to reach the level of work he aspired to. To make the impact he desired. And he was already in the thick of it, largely thanks to this Larbant departer.
"Say, Lark?"
"Mm-hm?"
"It's getting on towards the time I should be joining the mayor, so..." Able couldn't think of a gracious way to take his leave.
"Yup." Lark nodded with an understanding smile. "There's not much more I could show you that would likely fit your criteria anyway."
"I see. Look, you've been a great help. Maybe I could buy you dinner or something later?" Something about Lark's stunned reaction to the question made Able wish he could blow away in the wind. "...is that weird? Back in Blueport, I would usually, I mean, when somebody helped me, everyone can use a free meal, right? But if that's weird here—"
"I'd like dinner." Lark smiled reassuringly, but he looked embarrassed as well.
"Okay." Able was still unsure but pressed on with: "I've been staying at the Bear Star, would that work?"
"Sure. I'll meet you there five-ish? That's when they serve."
"That seems right. From last night I mean. Okay. I'm going to get going. And I'll see you then."
With that thankfully over, Able returned to the municipal hall. Nightwatch seemed relieved that he had shown up and, sure enough, had Able helping him with the tax reports. He explained that if these were not sorted before the auditor returned, the people of Fairbanks were at risk for being charged a second time. There seemed no end to this madness. Able set up at the same desk as before and set his astrolabe beside his left hand, even though he still wouldn't be making any geometric calculations.
Lark was wrong about how useful the records were. Gross income wasn't itemized, no, but Able could still calculate the income rates for all the households and examine the evaluations for the properties in Fairbanks. He noted down specific properties in ten appraisal percentiles so that he could take a look at them later to understand the basis for these decisions. He also noted he'd need to learn the general costs of goods and services. In fact, his to-do list was multiplying with points that might well leave him floundering in figures with no Penman about to throw a lifeline.
Worse, his multitasking slowed his progress on the task he'd been hired for, and he struggled to finish before he was already meant to be meeting Lark. He apologized with embarrassment at the delay, but Nightwatch seemed too relieved the job was done to criticize.
Able was both famished and out of breath by the time he crested the hill. Lark was outside, leaning on a hitch-post while staring out to sea. He turned and flashed a grin as Able as he drew near.
"Sorry—that took longer than I thought it would," Able tried not to pant this apology as the uphill march caught up to him. "I hope you didn't think I abandoned you."
Lark just shook his head with a chuckle. "Your stuff is here, isn't it? Be hard to sneak off without it."
"A good point." Able nodded appreciatively. "So...you hungry?"
"Mm-hm." Lark grandly gestured to the door. "Shall we?"
Able nodded and followed him into the common area, where self-consciousness began to tighten up his spine. Sure, Lark was odd, but the townsfolk seemed to like him. Probably the wagoneers would be little different. There were fewer of those tonight, he noted as he continued to count up reasons to relax. Then Tranquility came over with her hands on her hips and undid all that.
But she wasn't looking at Able. "Lark."
"Tranq," he matched her tone and stance and added a smirk.
"This is new," she noted and slowly started to circle around him.
"Fresh off the form!" He struck an effervescent pose.
"Hmm..."
"Uh-oh," he said but was still fighting off a grin, "she doesn't like it."
"Oh, I like it," she wobbled her head a bit, "but it could be better."
"What would you do differently?" he asked magnanimously, holding his arms out from his sides.
"Lower on the shoulder, to be sure." She ran her finger along his neckline to indicate where. "And lower in the waist, as well. And I'd definitely want an embellishment on the sleeves here... But you know, all that probably wouldn't be enough to make it distinct from something every other girl in this town is going to be wearing shortly."
"Meet Fairbanks's princess," Lark said as he grinned over his shoulder at Able.
"Pah." She flicked his nose. "No one would call me a princess next to you."
"I'm not next to me."
She laughed at that then returned to a conversational tone, "So, haven't seen you up this way in a while. What brings you here?"
"I have a date," he announced lightly.
Tranquility's face lit up, and she looked open-mouthed at Able before squeaking, "Really?"
Able's face went hot as realization sunk in, and he unwittingly glanced at the patrons, hoping none had overheard.
"Oh, no, he's melting!" Lark laughed apologetically. "Able, I'm just kidding around with Tranq."
"Aha." She looked pointedly at Lark. "I was about to say."
"We'll go find a place to sit now," he changed the topic. "You'll be serving soon, yes?"
"Chowder tonight, you lucky duck."
"Mm!" Lark enthused, then headed for a table in the middle.
Able followed, trying to square his shoulders as he walked and hoped no one was watching him.
"Sorry about that," Lark said lowly once they'd both sat down. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."
"Just..." Able shrugged and tried to settle but found himself looking at the wagoneers again. One of them was animatedly telling a story that drew a round of guffaws. "Just caught me off guard, I guess."
"Hey." Lark tapped the table either for emphasis or just to gain Able's attention. "You don't have to worry about that here."
"Oh?" Able swallowed back the fear that was creeping so steadily through his innards. They were in a different land, sure, but it was Larbant land now and the same laws would be enforced here soon enough.
"It's Fairbanks." Lark offered a lop-sided grin. "Other towns still have their assholes, but here? I've set them in line." And he winked.
"I—I'm not... That is to say, I don't..." Worried about offending his most useful source thus far, Able stalled then changed tack, "You mean to say you're friends with just about everyone here?"
"Sure."
"Because I did end up sorting tax files for the mayor, and I wrote down a few properties in particular so I could look at them. Do you think you could help me? Because no one's going to want a stranger to...uh..."
Lark was already gesturing for his notebook. Relieved, Able opened his book to the correct page and slid it over. While Lark took a few moments looking it over, Able got up to fetch them drinks. Even watered-down ale should help.
"It's funny to see these families arranged like this," Lark said when Able sat down again. "Richest to poorest. But yeah, I can probably get you a look-see." He exchanged the book for the beer.
"You're very helpful."
"But why do you want to see them?"
"Well..." Able paused to take a long drink. "To be honest, I didn't do my groundwork before I came here, and now I have to orient myself."
"I take it jumping into things unprepared is not a thing you usually do?"
"Yeah...how'd you know?"
"You're kinda stodgy." Lark chuckled but in an innocuous way.
"Yeah, okay." Able found himself suckered into chuckling too. "But it's part of the job. I should have built up my financial research before coming here. I miscalculated the state of disarray, and now I have to play at being a financial analyst as I try to piece together an understanding of this economy."
"There's a lot to be said from getting it from the horse's mouth. Although," and here Lark wrinkled his nose, "the count probably employs at least one actual financial analyst."
"Who I hope to get to talk to because I have a lot of questions. My initial impression is this is not a sustainable model."
"Sustainable," Lark repeated flatly.
"I know the word you want to hear is 'oppressive, but I—" Lark's twinkling gaze had turned sharp, so Able redirected his own to the table as he finished with, "I don't like to rush into those kinds of conclusions. I hope you can understand."
Lark shrugged at that like it wasn't really important. It was though, clearly, in the way he let the silence hang and looked around the room. Fortunately, the doors to the kitchen opened, and he turned to watch the trays being carried out to the counter.
Able stood. "I'll just go get our dinner, shall I?"
"Sure," Lark replied amiably then leaned back in his seat.
Able ended up in the middle of the line around the serving pots. He tried to think up some more things he should ask Lark while he had him, but the scent of fish kept wafting over him, growing stronger every time he shuffled forward. Keep it together. He was in an inn in Borealund this evening, not the old cottage near the bay. He hadn't helped pull this catch in this morning. He managed a straight face as he ladled the fish chowder onto two plates lined with the same flat bread from yesterday.
He took them back to the table and slid Lark's share in front of him. "Here you go."
"Excellent." Lark went right at it with a flourish of his spoon.
"Do people not do blessings around here at all?" Able had noticed this behavior from the other Borealunders. "I mean, you do remember giving Thanks to God from back in Larbantry, right?"
"Yeah, I do," Lark replied after wiping his mouth. "Here we've done our beseeching before our fields are planted, or our livestock bred, or our ships launched. It being on our plate is proof that it's good and blessed."
"I see." Able emptied his purse in his left hand to count out the remaining coins. He knew how much was here, but he wasn't prepared to taste the fish just yet.
"Speaking of sustainable," Lark started and nodded his head at what Able was doing, "how long are you planning to stay here?"
"Not planning," Able corrected. "That's my whole problem, I didn't really...plan. I got some money from working for the mayor today, but he didn't offer me more work, and this establishment is upper end. Is there a cheaper inn?"
"Well," Lark mused as he leaned back in his seat again. "There's the Bilge Rat, which is just as pleasant as it sounds."
"How bad? Fleas?"
"Probably fleas. You get some sailors in and out, but they drink on the shore and sleep on their boats. Sometimes you get ships from Heldun up here, and they dump their ill and injured rowers ashore, and those usually end up at the Rat, but the rest is fugitives and refugees. You know, desperate people trying to find fare across the seas. So..."
Fleas and diseases might still be avoidable if he kept himself clean. Might. "What's the difference between fugitives and refugees, exactly?"
"Fugitives might have done violent crime, maybe not, but are wanted by the count's men. Hell, or even by the townsfolk, if that's who they've wronged. Refugees have lost their homes for whatever reasons and have decided to run away to Dagobar."
"You sound critical of that choice."
Lark nodded and seemed to take that as leave to be more fervent. "Borealund is our home. Dagobar may have controlled it for a while, but they gave it away to Larbantry after a squabble. Like a bargaining chip. I don't see them being any help at all. Better to stay home and make something of it."
"You always say 'we' and 'our,'" Able noted. "But you're still a Larbant, no?"
"I was born in Larbantry, but I'm not one of you. Larbantry, and Dagobar too, they come up here and all they see is timber. I see home."
"I don't see timber," Able stammered uncertainly. "I mean...I can be a Larbant and still see Borealund for what it is and what it means to you."
"Yes," Lark agreed more gently. "But I wouldn't count on the refugees seeing it that way."
"Right." Able sighed. Lark had been trying to tell him this earlier, but in that confusing, indirect speech that most people seemed to prefer. He had less social clout than a man in a dress.
"You could stay with us," Lark offered casually.
"What?"
"With Splendor and me," he extrapolated. "Honestly, you'd be doing us a favor. Splendor's house is huge—she used to have a lot of children you see—and was well-to-do at that. It's practically a hole in our pocket. So if you wanted to just, say, buy us food while you stayed with us...it's your habit to thank people with food, isn't it?"
"And avoid custom on it." Able raised his eyebrow, which prompted an innocent smile from Lark. It would save him a lot of money, and thus give him more time to get the lay of things. And Lark seemed reputable with the townsfolk, even if this proposed course might not be reputable with Larbantry.
"You little tax evader," Able lightly accused, shaking his head in surrender. "Wait here, and I'll go fetch my things before they charge me for another night."