Blightcross: A Novel by C.A. Lang Page A

had, so for the moment she shut away the memory.
    They settled for a bistro tucked into a side street that was not clogged with carriages. Buildings here were made of granite, and there were worn hints of intricacies on many of them. Instead of hammers, machines, and hurrying workers, the air shimmered with music.
    Music and aromatics, like Parnas’ clove cheroots and brewing shalep. Some of the walls in the alley were marked with painted slogans and strange symbols, yet no derelicts clogged the way.
    It took a few seconds for Capra’s eyes to adjust to the dimness. Wood planks creaked with each step. Still, it reminded her of better times. A string quartet played at the back of the place, and the well-dressed patrons seemed to take this strange music as commonplace.
    â€œI feel uneasy here,” Dannac said.
    â€œYou need to learn how to relax. This is the best place we’ve been since we left the continent. Now sit.”
    They took a table tucked into a corner. Dannac still didn’t look half as impressed as Capra felt. The menu alone... overpriced, yes, but real cuisine, like the kind she wanted to create. It even took three quarters of an hour to get their food—a pace she could get used to.
    At last, after having no complaints about the “extravagant” food, Dannac said, “There are men sitting here who have done nothing but read books for the last hour.”
    â€œYes. I almost want to talk to the chef, because I have never made this particular—”
    A woman placed a thin palm on the table and leaned in. “I will be blunt. Are you two free for the day? I would like to interest you in some work.”
    At this, Dannac appeared less uncomfortable. “A day?”
    â€œWell, it will take the better part of this day to go over the assignment. It is quite complex, you see.”
    Capra eyed the woman warily. “What makes you think we are the sort who needs work?”
    The woman gestured at Capra’s tattered clothes. “Unless this is the latest style off the boat from Arjoan, you either need emergency treatment from one of these local dandies, or you’ve found yourself in circumstances that make available your... services.”
    Capra blinked for a moment. “Maybe we are not the types of people to offer you these... services, as you call them.”
    â€œWord gets around. Your little eviction of a certain korganum addicted magic wielder did impress your client.”
    That? It had been nothing to gloat about. And they had nearly been killed.
    â€œGo on,” Dannac said.
    This time, she didn’t want this woman’s first impression to be that of a subservient female. “Yes, please do.”
    â€œAt the north end of Orvis Dunes, there is a book shop. I think we ought to go there if we are to discuss business.”
    Capra exchanged a glance with Dannac and said, “Can you at least tell us the nature of your problem?”
    The woman invited herself to sit beside Dannac in their booth. “My name is Irea. I am a patroness around here.”
    Dannac grunted and raised an eyebrow.
    â€œI support many of the artists here in Orvis Dunes. I am a collector, you see.”
    The woman must have been around Capra’s age, yet sported dense curls and a diagonally-cut dress of rich colours Capra had only seen old royalty wear on the continent.
    â€œArtists? Is that what this street is?” Dannac asked. “The corner of the room where all of the workers have shoved the artists to keep them out of the way?” He chuckled.
    Irea made a condescending nod and looked to Capra. “You are one of those war resisters I heard about.”
    Capra suddenly felt naked, and snapped her hands to her neck. It was too late, but she still didn’t want anyone to see her tattoo. “I...”
    â€œI am not going to call you a coward and turn you in. This is Orvis Dunes, after all.”
    â€œI think I have misunderstood