Enough Rope, Chapter 5

Fleta shared what she could of the past few days, including the duplicity of the Seagate Thorgarick temple, the ambush of the sorcerers, and discovering that the sorcerers who had escaped after attacking the Lyntre temple had taken a book from Ishap.

“I’m not surprised that no one on the bluff is much help,” Bertram said. “The whole lot are only interested in what makes them money. They were eager to let me help build new cranes so they wouldn’t have to pay the dockers. As soon as I raised the question of a new project that might employ the jobless dockers, they packed me off to Riddleberg to ‘more time to think through my next project!’

“If protecting Lyntre and hunting down sorcerers turned a profit for Seagate, they would help you in a minute. Unfortunately, the Lyntre temple being in peril only offers them opportunities to extend their power.”

“Finally, someone understands!” Fleta slumped back in her chair and let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Paragons! These sorcerers attacked us, and now we know they have some bigger scheme about using the Gates, and Daralis—High Skald Daralis—is the only one who seems to care. Sometimes, it feels like everyone on the Bluff is insane.”

“I just wish I could be more helpful,” Bertram sighed, his chin wilting into an upturned palm.

“Wait,” Fleta’s eyes snapped into focus on Bertram’s face. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve already asked about helping you with the sorcerers,” said Bertram. “And tried to follow up with the investigation. I was repeatedly informed that the Valcot order is neutral. Actually, now that I say it, the whole thing with cranes was probably just an excuse. High Skald Walter was probably sick of me bothering him about sorcerers.”

“Neutral?” Fleta asked in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. There’s no way to be neutral about a secret, magical society attacking us!”

“It’s not that simple!” Bertram snapped back, slapping the table. “Things are more complicated. Right now, everyone believes we’re neutral, selling equally to everyone, and all of Welland is benefiting. The moment one guild or baron thinks we’re playing favorites, every baron will threaten to shut down trade with tolls, cut off parts of the kingdom, or start raising armies. It’s a little different than just renting out strong men as vanity bodyguards to the nobles. We could do a lot of harm with a premature move.”

“Oh, poor you,” Fleta spat and jumped up. “Valcots are making sooo much money that they are afraid to trade a little of it for our lives. Let me tell you what it’s like, ‘renting out strong men as vanity bodyguards’ when Seagate has it in for you. We don’t have a lot of disciples, five died this summer. I’m working full-time to try to keep Lyntre safe. I’m not on contract.”

Fleta fizzled back into her chair, wringing her hands. “We’ve only gotten one sweet little kid who insisted on coming to Lyntre because he wants to be fast like me. The disciples we do have… most aren’t getting contracts. And we’re not getting new disciples because their parents know we’re not getting contracts. We’re nearly broke.” Fleta looked up, her voice deep with conviction. “But that’s not a reason to roll over and let sorcerers do… whatever they want to us. Or to Lyntre.”

“Look,” Bertram’s voice softened. “I’m not keen on just waiting for sorcerers to make a move so big that Seagate has to react, but maybe our time is better spent finding evidence to get Seagate to move rather than shouting about them not moving with the information we have now. Better to get Seagate to align with us instead of fighting them and the sorcerers at the same time.”

“Wait for Seagate to align with us—easy for you to say. You grew up in Seagate, and you know those cowards will keep it one piece. It’s a little different for a small-town girl watching the capital throw her village to the wolves and wondering if Seagate will let the sorcerers burn it to the ground before they decide to help.”

“Look,” Bertram stood up and began rummaging through his junk. “I said I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful. I didn’t say I wouldn’t help. Even if I’m not permitted to be out there searching with you, let me see if I can help you figure out what the sorcerers are up to. We’ll look for the book. And the sorcerers who attacked you… something’s been bothering me this whole conversation.”

“What?” Fleta said. Her cheeks were still flush with frustration, but her fire had gone out, and her head was cooling. When she looked at Bertram, he still saw the earnest Valcot who had kept her safe and saved her life in the Jungle. Fleta was focused on the betrayal of Seagate and the threat of sorcerers. Bertram, however, was a true friend and a genuine champion. It was easy to forget that with his circumlocutions, stand-offish manner, and eyes that seemed more fixated on gadgets than people. His apologetic smile was a little charming, though.

“You said the first sorcerer who attacked you slowed you down,” Bertram continued. “But the second didn’t seem to do anything.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you have two remarkable abilities, your speed, and your sword, and the first sorcerer seemed to be able to neutralize your speed. My guess is that the second was intended to neutralize your sword as well.” He raised up a small black rock. “Can you—would you unsheathe your falchion?”

With narrowed eyes, Fleta held Alexei over the table. Bertram waved the rock over the blade, then snorted.

“Okay, so what is that rock supposed to do?”

“It’s a lodestone. It attracts iron,” Bertram said. “But it doesn’t attract your sword, probably because it’s made out of… that gate man.”

“Alexei,” Fleta said.

“Right.”

“So if the second sorcerer tried to… attract by the sword like a lodestone, his powers wouldn’t work.”

“Why does it have to work like a lodestone?” Fleta grimaced with skepticism. “Why don’t they just send a sorcerer who can pull Alexei out of my hand with magic? Like the first one magically slowed me.”

“If I were trying to sabotage your sword—Alexei—that’s how I would do it,” Bertram sighed. “But I’m not a sorcerer. I don’t know how sorcery works. No one does.”

Fleta sheathed Alexei and sat down.

“Look, we could research them in the archives, but that would be… a red flag,” Bertram said. “We probably wouldn’t find much anyway. But here’s what we know: they are looking for ways to neutralize you. They already know how to slow you down, but they would probably have to ambush you to get close enough to do it. They don’t yet know how to neutralize Alexei, but chances are they will keep trying. If I were them, I’d try to ambush you in your sleep, use nets, slippery surfaces, or the magical equivalent. Maybe an explosive as part of an ambush, but if they have to get close to you to slow you down, that’s risky.”

“Or a concentrated gust of wind.”

“Why would—” Bertram began to ask before the realization dawned on him. “You still wear your gliding tunic, don’t you? That would fill up like a sail. I’d love to see that.”

Fleta just winced, which made Bertram laugh all the louder.

“Wait, wait. Did this actually happen? In the same ambush?”

“No, not in the same ambush,” Fleta said. “I mean, no, it didn’t happen at all. And for glory and grace, please don’t mention this list of how sorcerers might defeat me in a fight to anyone. Okay?”

“I promise!” Bertram said over his shoulder as he began rummaging through piles of junk on the shelf behind him. He pulled out a buckled belt with a silver star that rotated on a brass backing. “Your shirt is designed to pull easily out of your belt using the loops. A normal gust of wind shouldn’t inflate it, but if there are sorcerers that can produce targets blasts of wind, that might do it.”

“Thanks, mister Know-It-All,” Fleta said. “And how are you such an expert on the tunic?”

“Oh, I designed it,” Bertram shrugged. “I thought you knew. Anyway, a second belt around your ribs should secure the tunic and minimize ‘accidental’ inflation. This belt buckle is designed to pull off quickly with just the twist of the star. It should protect your tunic against attack, but be quick enough to take off in a pinch.”

“A belt you can take off with one hand?” Fleta asked. “Why? Who would want something like that?”

“Do you really want to know?” Bertram sighed. “I wish I could say it was an Asenor actor needing a quicker change of costume. Alas, Valcot business is not all gliding shirts and oversized swords.”

Fleta tried not to think too deeply about this last comment as she collected the belt. Instead, she thought about how she had worn Bertram’s handwork for years without knowing and how he had never mentioned it.

“Thanks,” Fleta said.

“But was it helpful?”

“Yeah,” Fleta said. “It was. I’m sorry for laying this all on you, but too few people are taking this seriously.”

“Well, let’s see what we can do,” Bertram said. “Shall we look up this ‘Stories of Gates Across Welland’ book?”