The sunrise stretched through the window to pierce Able's slumber. The room looked as blurry as his thoughts, but he had hoped for an early start, so he forced himself out from under the strangely fluffy and excessively warm blanket and rubbed his eyes clear on the way to the washbasin. After breakfast, he asked the innkeeper, an older woman, about a bath, but as nice as the inn was, a bucket and sponge was the best she could offer. Disappointing, but after over a week at sea it was still a good sight better than nothing.
Once clean and dressed, he went to find the inn girl, whom the innkeeper had identified as her daughter Tranquility. He felt a little skeevy that he had asked after the daughter instead of asking the mother a question she could have answered herself, but he wanted to ease into a conversation with her, keep her friendly. As it was ever so clear that he needed someone friendly in this town.
"Hey," he called as came up to her in the yard behind the inn where she was hanging laundry to dry.
"Hi," she replied over her shoulder. "Can I help you with something?"
"Ah, yeah." He shuffled a bit. Great, even though he had prepared for this? "I was wondering how long I might leave my stuff in the room and hang on to this key before I'm charged for another night?" Why the fluster? She wasn't all that pretty.
"About suppertime." She shrugged then pulled another sheet from her basket. "You leaving tonight then?"
"I don't know, still." Able looked at the ground instead of her while he regained his composure. "I was going to head out and ask around town to see if I could pick up any leads, and chances are even if I find anything I won't leave until tomorrow, but, yeah. I guess we'll see. But thank you for not making me carry my things all over the city."
She only chuckled. Maybe she wasn't interested after all.
"I did have one other question. About something you said last night."
"Oh?" Tranquility turned halfway towards him from the clothesline and fixed him with her gaze. Huh.
"About Lackaday. You said he's different now than he was before? Am I remembering that right?"
"I might have said that." Her demeanor relaxed with an amiable nod and she looked back down at her basket. "It's true."
"Can I ask what he was like before?"
"Sure." She set her hands on her hips instead of returning to her task and rolled her eyes up thoughtfully to the blue sky. "We all called him Lackaday because he mostly talked about the bad things that happened on his travels, and if he ever had something to add to a conversation it would be about the worst possible outcome imaginable. Nobody much minded, of course. Almost everyone lost someone to the war, and no one expects optimism from someone who lost more than others. But as you can see, now..."
"Yeah, I wouldn't describe him that way at all." Able turned his own thoughtful gaze over the green expanse to the north. "Say...what do you think of the Shadow Warrior?"
"I hope I never meet him." She shrugged again with a tiny smile. "The people he helps tend to be in a lot more trouble than I'd like to be in myself."
Able chuckled. "Fair enough."
"But I'm glad for him," she added firmly. "I think he gives people hope."
"If you hear a lot of stories like the ones I heard last night, that's an understandable conclusion."
"You sound like maybe you're not going to agree, now."
"Oh—" He hadn't meant to be obvious about that. "It's just...well, people like the mayor might say he causes more problems than he solves."
Tranquility's eyebrows still lowered with suspicion. "How? Like he's bringing more Larbanders here?"
"Well, yes..." Was there an answer that would change her new impression? "In the form of reinforcements. And then in the form of harsher rules and punishments. He's escalating things, we would say."
"Maybe things need some escalating." she coolly returned to her laundry.
"An interesting sentiment from someone who just stated she doesn't want more trouble," Able noted. God, he was being a prick, wasn't he? When would he start to remember that people don't like being corrected? "I'm sorry; I meant no offense."
"I'm not offended," she lied blatantly.
"Okay, I'll um...I'll see you later," and he started walking before she could respond.
Cursing himself for a fool, Able returned to his room just long enough to stuff his supplies into his light satchel. Where now? Was there a library in this city? Once he left the inn and started back down the road into the city, his feet seemed to already know he was going back to the docks. He was fluent in fisherfolk, after all, and could get all manner of useful information there.
Able had been mindlessly dodging other pedestrians for several minutes before it occurred to him that the streets had been comparatively languid yesterday afternoon. The morning errand mood was much like Blueport's, though the brisk wind coming off the harbor kept him at no risk of imagining he was home. Other people were wearing jackets, at least, albeit unbuttoned. Able mindfully did not pull his own jacket closer against the chill for fear of looking more like a Larbant.
A Larbant. True, he was one, but...never like this before. Larbantry was just here, and Larbants anyone who had been here long enough. Now here was there, and to those here he represented something he'd never had a say in. Something he wasn't even sure he understood.
At least the people he wove around were not giving him any undue attention, as he walked as though he already knew the way to the fish market. Thus he passed it but found his way around again to a ledge overlooking the harbor where he stopped and surveyed the stalls. He was looking for an old man, as they often knew the most, were rarely in a hurry, and were glad of someone to talk to. As he idled at the top of the stairs, a woman came up behind him. Without turning from his search, he stepped out of the way so that she might proceed down the stairs, but she stopped beside him.
"Excuse me," asked a man's voice, "are you the fellow from Blueport?"
Startled, Able turned to look at the person and—
She had a flowing dress and a loose braid of thick, black hair that hung to her waist. No, he was of a height with Able and had faint stubble on his chin and throat above his prominent adam's apple. Except, she had a round, friendly face and paint around her large brown eyes. But he had no breasts; why would anyone be looking for breasts on a man?
An awkward silence dragged on until Able fought through his haze to respond, "What?"
"I heard people saying there's a new visitor from Blueport..." the man-voiced woman repeated. "I'm sorry, maybe I have the wrong person."
"N-no, I'm from Blueport," Able stammered. "I was just, uh, I mean to say I didn't think anyone would care."
"I'm from Blueport, originally," she replied with an effervescent smile while pressing a hand to his chest. "So, I'm always eager to hear any news."
"News?" Able blinked. "Oh. News from Blueport. Uhm, I'm sure there's...there's stuff that's news to you...who are you exactly?"
"Lark Miles," the person offered their hand along with their ever-so-helpfully both a boy's and a girl's name.
"Able Houser." He shook Miles's hand, which was fairly rough and strong and seemed like a male hand, so maybe that matter was finally settled.
Miles squinted at him then tilted his head in query. "Relation to Careful Houser?"
"I—" Able's mouth went dry, but he swallowed and pressed on. "I'm his son. I'm sorry, but I don't know any Miles."
"Oh." Miles turned his eyes down with embarrassment. "Well, it's not a small town. We're not all going to know everyone else."
"What was your family's trade? I might have some news of that at least."
"We were fisherman." Miles suppressed a wince.
"So...were we." Able studied the warm, bright-eyed face across from him, stray black curls tugged free here and there by the wind, but no memories were jogged. "Huh. That's odd that I haven't heard of you." It had been a while, though, and not everyone kept their vessel berthed in the North Wharf.
"Well, Houser's little more than a name to me, really," Miles replied with a careless shrug. "I was pretty young when we left."
Able wasn't about to guess Miles's age after having so much trouble with just his sex. "To be honest," he admitted instead, "my father sailed out one day and never came back. Without the boat, we had to give up fishing."
Miles dropped his gaze again and frowned. "I'm sorry. So you're a—well, I was told you're a chronicler?"
"That's right."
"Who do you chronicle for?"
"W-well, myself, really." How friendly was this fellow Larbant? Did he think Able was reporting to the regime his neighbors hated? "I'm affiliated with the University in Fourwind Heights, but they don't pay me for independent work like this."
"But they do pay you for...?" Miles cocked his head with harmless-seeming curiosity.
"Checking and correcting the work of the professors and researchers they publish."
"That's an interesting job. And definitely a step up from selling fish, yeah?"
Able swallowed back a new wave of tension. "I suppose it is, at that." Interesting, yes, but the suggestion that fishing was a lowly profession Able had been lucky to escape still stank in the air. "You don't much look like you're doing fishing anymore either."
"No." Miles nodded amiably. "After the accident—after my parents died I mean, I came to live with Splendor Hatling. Her husband was a tailor and she herself is a dressmaker. I work for her." The flowing garment Miles was wearing hung past his knees and fluttered in the breeze, revealing the geometrically-patterned stockings beneath.
"So, did you make that, then?"
"Yep." Miles smiled down at his dress and fingered the fabric. "It's a pattern I've been working on. I think I got the fit right this time."
"I'll uhm...take your word for that," Able said before realizing it was rude, so quickly added, "I don't know very much about clothes."
"Oh, that's okay, I can tell," Miles shot back with a sly smile. Before Able could start to feel disheartened though, he clapped him on the shoulder. "What brings you here? Fairbanks isn't a university town."
"This whole business with the Resistance and the Shadow Warrior," Able replied, glad for remotely safer territory. "It seems records are being destroyed so I'm here to try to get the whole story before it's lost..." Miles was making a distasteful face. "What?"
"It's just the 'Shadow.'"
"What?"
"Well, 'warrior' implies he's bringing war back to Borealund, and that's the last thing we need. It's just the Shadow."
"Oh." Able should have noticed more than the attitude about the man was different last night. "I'm sorry, it's just the stories I first heard about him called him Shadow Warrior, so that stuck in my head."
"Eh, that's Larbantry for you." Miles rolled his eyes. "So, you want to know more about the Resistance, then. Have you been having a hard time getting people to trust you?"
"Oh, no, not...well...hm." Able pasued to consider that. "It's not like people are unwilling to talk to me, but they're just telling me stories, not giving me any information I could easily verify."
"Verify?"
"Well...I suppose I could publish a collection of anecdotes, as they're entertaining enough, but my aim is to uncover the truth. You can get some of that from witnesses, sure, but two people watch the same event and come away with two tellings of it—more if they grow dissatisfied with their first version."
Miles folded his arms and furrowed his brow and seemed to be carefully considering this. For the first time, he looked every bit a man, make-up and all. Then that friendly and alluring smile was back. "Come with me."
"What?" Able blinked. "Where?"
"I know just about every soul in this town, including those who might be able to provide you with facts. So come with me."
"I...weren't you going to buy some fish or something?" Though should he be looking this gift horse in the mouth?
Miles shook his head. "I just had my eye out for a new face."
"So that's how you knew me? I was wondering how much I stand out as a Larbant."
"You're also wearing an angora diamond twill, and before harvest at that."
"...right." Able sighed and followed Miles up the street, anxiety building about being seen with a man dressed like a woman. He had never seen anything like it in Blueport—and one saw a lot in Blueport—and could not imagine it going over well.
However, Miles was not lying. Just about every person they passed greeted him by his given name, and he by theirs. Most of these even smiled at him warmly, to the point that Able became more interested in those that didn't and the handful that went out of their way to avoid them.
Able also kept track of their path along these roads that wound about themselves. The straight grids of the Larbant cities were so much simpler, yet clearly the terrain here would not allow for them. Their destination turned out to be a grocer's store niched inside a bend with several tiers of gardens and finally a house behind it. The interior had more room going back and away from the street than lining it. Half the shelves were bare, but the available produce looked fresh.
"Oh, let me see!" A young woman behind the counter brightened at the sight of them and came rushing over to Miles, who laughed and twirled for her. She caught his arms and held them out so she could take a closer look at the dress.
Able felt his face turning red, as now Miles had never looked more a woman.
But there was only one woman in the room, a curvy brunette at that, and she kept fawning, "Ohhh, look at this draping. Lark, I love it. When do I get mine?"
"Sixty cees, half upfront." His smile beamed even more brightly than hers, which changed instantly to a pout.
"Ooh, why do you do this to me?"
"Do what to you?" He feigned being insulted and placed a dramatic hand over his breast that...wasn't there. "Whatever do you accuse me of?"
The grocer-girl chewed her fingernail awhile as she looked the dress over again. "Fifty, and I'll bake you a cake."
"Mm." Miles rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I do like cake... Fifty, cake, and two dozen eggs?"
"Done!" She thrust her hand out to shake as if she expected him to change his mind, and after he shook on it she asked, "Now, what else can I do for you?"
"Actually, Bundy," he said and nodded his head towards Able, "I was hoping you could help my new friend, here."
"Oh?" The grocer-girl actually looked at Able for the first time. Probably his problem was that he wasn't a pretty dress.
"Able Houser." Now he offered his hand.
"Abundance Chambers." She took it uneasily and gave it a vague shake as she glanced at Miles for reassurance.
He met her eyes. "Able here is doing research on the Resistance because he wants to write a Chronicle about it, and he's having a hard time coming up with proof for the stories he's hearing."
Chambers frowned. "What are you asking me to do?"
"You chose to keep your brother's contract, right? You still have it?"
"I—" She glanced fearfully at Able. "Lark, you don't mean for me to show it to him?"
He set his hands on her shoulders to steady her. "Both that and your books. Show him what they're doing to us and how. Trust me."
She looked at him a long time, biting her lip. "I...isn't he a Bander, though?"
"So am I." Miles gave her a small, disarming smile.
"Yeah, but barely." She worried her hairline then heaved a deep sigh. "You're sure he doesn't work for the count?"
"I'm sure," he nodded. "Go on. It'll be fine. I promise."
Chambers took another steadying breath, looked at Able again, then retreated to a back room. He was accustomed to prying, but this had him shifting uneasily against his compunctions.
"Miles—"
"Oh, wow," Miles interrupted in surprise. "So formal! Please just call me Lark."
"Lark, then...couldn't I just look up tax records at the municipal hall? She shouldn't have to—"
"What Prudent has up there is incomplete," he replied levelly. "Even if he had the manpower to keep on top of all the filing, he only gets gross income reports anyway. And he has no records of the indentureds, as that's all handled by their holders." That was Able's impression already, true.
"I wonder if he'll be having me file those records later."
"Pardon?" Lark raised his eyebrows.
"Oh, I was up there asking him questions yesterday, and he was so inundated that I offered to help, so I'll be working up there this afternoon."
"Huhn." Lark nodded appreciatively. "So maybe you will get to see those records at that."
"He has a copy of the theft records, too," Able added surreptitiously. "What do you suppose the Resistance is doing with all that money?"
But to this, Lark merely shrugged.
Chambers returned with two thick ledgers in one arm and a folded paper in her other hand. She set the books down on the counter and turned to them with the paper.
"These are our ledgers from around the time they took my brother." She nodded at the books. "The tax receipts are in there. We were able to pay our land and building tax, except they raised it without warning, and then they weren't willing to let us pay what we could and make the rest up later. I offered to go, since...well, anyway, it would have been four years for me, but only two for Chaste, so...so, now my brother is a branded man.
"He was digging pits for a foundation or something and the conditions were so horrible he couldn't even write us about them. So, I'm...glad he ran, but he can't come back because of the brand, so he's with the Resistance now. And it's probably stupid, but me and Justice—my sister-in-law—decided to hold onto his contract in case he's caught because...because maybe it might commute his sentence to only two years again? I know, it's stupid." And she handed Able the folded paper.
He handled it delicately and met her eyes. "I'm only going to look this over for relevant dates and figures. I won't note down any names. Is that acceptable?"
She folded her arms and nodded. As Able slid behind the counter, Lark came up behind Chambers and squeezed her shoulders.
"Hey, I also want to buy some vegetables from youuu." His voice was gentle and playful.
"Okay." She smiled in spite of herself.
While they were doing that, Able perused the spreadsheets and was forced to appreciate just how many goods a grocer moved. And the figures were confusing beyond their multitudes. Penman had explained the goods in the territories were taxed at six percent instead of the provincial two, yet these calculated to eight. At the same time, the revenue was low because the prices for things here were well down. Surprisingly down; shouldn't the scarcity of the goods drive the prices up? Still, the income looked stable, so the family should not have had any trouble making ends meet. But then, the quarterly receipts showed Chambers paying well more than... Wait.
Oh dear God, were they paying net worth quarterly? Quarterly payments were typical, yes, but it was usually four installments of a single figure, such as the total eight percent of the previous year's assets in Blueport. But these figures only made sense if they were being appraised and taxed quarterly, at what started at fifteen percent and only rose over the years.
Able racked his brain for a precedent to dull his shock. This was annexed territory, after all, and these people were not citizens of the Larbantry commonwealth. Penman had said the taxes here averaged five percent higher than the southern territories. He had not said if that was a full appraisal every quarter. Able needed to write him to find out, as he doubted there was another way to do so on these shores.
Finally, Able unfolded the contract and meticulously copied it aside from what he had promised not to, as it had been made clear he'd see very few of these. By this point, Lark and Chambers had finished their business and were standing about waiting on him, mostly with Lark doing his best to keep the grocer-girl soothed with idle gossip. Once Able had finished, he mumbled some insufficient thank yous before they stepped out onto the street once more.
"Lark, hold up."
"Hm?" Lark stalled and raised his eyebrows.
"Chambers is right." Able glanced back at the closed door before fixing his gaze on Lark's. "Sharing that contract with a Larbant could get her in serious trouble. Why do you trust me?"
"You said your name was Able Houser."
"I...well, it is, but?"
"I remember Careful Houser." Lark was somehow mild and solemn at the same time. "And if you're anything like him..." And he shrugged and started up the street again, leaving Able with all that weight right to the chest.