Page 143 of A Tower of Half-Truths
Mavery turned to him. “What?No, Alain, don’t—”
“It’s all right.” He reached beneath the table, took her hand.
“Excellent,” Neldren said, gesturing for the envelope. Mavery hesitated before sliding it back across the table. He seized it and tucked it in his coat pocket, denying her the opportunity to change her mind. “So, when are we heading out?”
“As soon as possible,” Alain said. “First thing in the morning, if we can manage it. To make a long story short, we need to get there and return to Leyport within a week’s time.”
Neldren nodded. “I’ll get in touch with some of my contacts, should be easy enough to find someone who can provide us fast and cheap transport out of—”
The end of his sentence was drowned out by an argument that had erupted on the far side of the room. The shouting was largely incoherent, but Alain gathered that one man had accused another of cheating at cards. In response, the man chucked a glass at his accuser’s face. His aim was an entire foot off, and the glass hit thewall in an explosion of brown liquor and sparkling shards. Alain flinched. Someone else grabbed the glass-thrower by the collar and slammed him against the table. Wood splintered with a resounding crack that made Alain nearly fall out of his chair. The bartender bellowed something at the three men, but his voice was quickly lost amid the fervor of a crowd that now craved a tavern brawl.
“We’ll meet you by the train depot at dawn,” Mavery said, nearly shouting over the commotion.
With their business settled, she grasped Alain’s hand and pulled him away from the table. They reached the pub’s back door as chairs began flying across the room.
Forty-Two
As Mavery stifled a yawn, she regretted suggesting they reconvene so early. As she failed to suppress a second yawn, she doubted a few more hours would have made much difference. She rarely got a full night’s sleep before a job, and this one was no exception. Her mind had been too restless. By the time she’d packed and taken inventory of their supplies, the stars had begun to fade.
Alain had spent last night doing much of the same. He’d gathered every book that could be of use—a feat he’d achieved in record time, thanks to Mavery’s cataloging system—and then he’d spent the rest of the night with his nose buried in those tomes. Even now, waiting on the curb outside the train depot, he held one of his research journals inches from his face. An orb of Ether bobbed overhead; the early morning light was too dim for reading. His other hand gripped his wizard’s staff, which was barely keeping him upright.
“You brought the rest of the anti-Sensing potion?” he asked without lifting his eyes from the page.
“Right here,” Mavery said, patting the outer pocket of her pack. A single small vial was all that remained of the last batch; they hadn’t had time to secure more kutauss claws to brew another. It was enough to subdue her Senses for merely an hour, so she wouldhave to save it for when she was desperate.
“And the anchors?”
“Yes.”
“And what about the res—”
She plucked the journal from his hands. “As I said when you asked me an hour ago—and an hour before that—I checked the list three times. We have everything we could possibly need.”
“Sorry,” he sighed. “It’s been years since my last research trip, and I’ve never had one with such serious consequences for failure.”
“Everything will be fine.” She caressed his cheek, letting the pad of her finger trail along the edge of his beard, where the coarse hair met smooth skin. “But you need to stop fretting and get some rest.”
“With luck, perhaps I can take a nap on the train. Speaking of which, it should be departing soon. Where is—”
Several sets of hooves clacked on the cobblestones. In unison, Mavery and Alain turned toward the noise. A stagecoach, led by a four-horse team, slowed to a stop beside the curb. The vehicle itself was larger than the city carriages, though not by much. Its sides were painted deep maroon, and it bore no transportation company’s insignia. Neldren’s face peered at them through the unpaned window.
“This is your idea of ‘fast and cheap’?” Mavery demanded. “A private stagecoach?”
“The route I’ve planned will put us on a direct path to Dyerland; we’ll get there a half-day faster than if we took a train up to Durnatel. And, believe it or not, our driver drove a hard bargain.” He extended a hand through the window, gestured to the driver. “Allow me to introduce you to Vilk’s half-brother’s youngest nephew, an up-and-coming businessman in his own right.”
The driver was a slip of a thing, with a face bearing more freckles than facial hair. He appeared even younger than Ellice.
“Evrard Gainour, at your service,” he said. He removed his pageboy cap and bowed his head, revealing a heap of mousy curls.
“That’s a Dauphinian name, if I’m not mistaken,” Alain said.
Evrard nodded. “We Gainours were raising horses long before my great-grandda crossed the eastern border.”
“Look at that: a pair of Dauphers!” Neldren said. “If that’s not fate, I don’t know what to tell you.”
Mavery narrowed her eyes at Evrard. “How did you acquire this coach?”
“I didn’t steal it, ma’am, if that’s what you’re asking.” His tone was polite, though his voice quavered slightly. “It’s an old mail coach. I bought it at auction late last year with my own savings, spent all winter fixing it up. I’m hoping to start my own transportation service. You’ll be some of my first customers.”
