Dustown
7 Winter 217
Astarael
Astarael left the apartment in the early hours of the morning, market basket in hand, well bunded against the chill of winter. Her hood was pulled over her hair, and a scarf obscured much of her face. She was grateful she had bought some warmer clothes this past week, as this was the coldest weather she’s ever experienced.
Astarael wondered what the weather in Ithar was like. Or, maybe even Kharakan. Perhaps one day she’ll go find out.
If she lives long enough.
She arrives at a message board in dustown, and leaves a small sheet of paper behind. She thought the faded bit at the bottom was very clever. Her task done, Astarael heads off to wander past the Painted Swan headquarters again, like she’s done every morning since returning from their heist on the northern road. Hopefully her casual observations will continue to bear fruit.
Astarael had last been at this place with Sav, the same night she met everyone, during the Autumn’s Turn Festival. The place still looked nice and secure, so she went up to the apartment and sat on the floor, waiting for Vanja’s arrival.
Vanja
It was midmorning before Vanja checked the Dustown message board closest to the Majestic. Usually Vanja rose early, regardless of how late she had stayed out walking or fighting the night before, but this morning she has slept late. The night before she had gone to a restaurant in the Farrow, and had spent hours sitting and talking at a corner table, far from the light of the large hearthfire. On leaving, the sky had already turned gray with winter sunlight, and even so Vanja had spent the better part of another hour leaning against the wall of the narrow alley across from the Majestic, shielded from the early morning foot traffic of the street. In the moment, Vanja’s heart had raced from remembered panic. But that was long ago, now. A different man shielding her from prying eyes. A different Swan smiling down at her, tugging playfully at her braid.
Now, Vanja tears the notice of a missing dog down from the message board, along with the most recent post from the Town Cryer. Her eyes scan the board for another moment, but it has been a few weeks since she’s seen her own poster.
She smiles a little. Perhaps she’s safer than she had thought.
Vanja folds the two sheets of paper in half and tucks them into her belt. She holds her hand up to the sky, and squints against the sun’s glare, measuring time against the flattened peaks of the Eastern Torbjaers. Astarael’s message had said to meet at midday, so Vanja would have to move quickly.
Vanja finds the safehouse easily enough - the entrance to the disused building hidden in the shadows of an alley. At the entrance to the apartment itself, Vanja takes down the hood of her cloak and steps heavily, kicking the snow from her boots and announcing her presence.
She nods to Astarael as she opens the door, then shuts it behind her and puts her pack in front of it. Only when this small measure of security is complete does she speak.
“I got your message,” says Vanja. “What did you need to talk about.”
Astarael
“Hi Vanja. Thanks for coming to meet me.”
She pauses for a moment, and takes a deep breath. She’s unsure of how receptive Vanja will be to this conversation, given that Astarael hasn’t been the most patient with her lately. But, since she committed to forgiving Talith for the mistake he made the first night they fought together, she must also forgive Vanja’s mistakes too.
“I asked you to speak with me, because, well…I feel like I owe you a bit of an apology. I haven’t been very patient. I have been unkind to you. I am sorry. I know that your life experiences have been very different from mine, and that changes how you see the world. So, I’m here, because I want to understand you better.”
She pauses, and gauges Vanja’s expression. Then she continues on.
“You see, I haven’t quite figured you out yet. The rest of the group, the ones I’ve had a chance to talk to anyways, their motivations for being here and doing what we’re doing are clear to me. They have witnessed firsthand the cruelty that the Baroness and her regime are exacting upon her land. Some of them, like me, have been subjected to it directly. Even though there have been some disagreements on how we should handle dealing with…casualties of the war we are waging against the government, I haven’t seen any one of them display the same conflicts I’ve noticed with you.”
Astarael has been pacing the room, as she often does when she’s deep in thought. This particular meeting place has nowhere but the floor to sit anyways, and Astarael is too uneasy to stay in one spot. She turns directly to Vanja now.
“Vanja, you’ve been very eager to help. You’re often the first to charge forward. And I admire that. But what I don’t get is, why? I suspect that very often, we will find ourselves in a place where we must kill. You’ve expressed that you are uncomfortable with that, despite having taken a few lives yourself now.
So, why do this at all? Why not just hide out, lay low? What’s your motivation for helping us at all?”
Vanja
by Kate QuimbyVanja glances at Astarael, listening to the other girl as she paces across the room. Vanja herself settles in. She undoes a series of straps around the outside of her pack, loosing an axe and unrolling a thick white fur, hide down, onto the floor. Vanja sits, knees bent, keeping her wet boots off the fur’s edge. She leans against the wall next to the door, where she will be able to hear and feel any movement in the hallway beyond. She keeps the axe held loosely by its throat. If the door were to swing open, it would be an easy thing to send a quick blow to an ankle or a knee.
Astarael stops pacing and turns to Vanja, looking for an answer.
Vanja laughs a little, “Fair enough,” she says. She hesitates though, for a moment. Vanja’s instinct is to keep her responses free of unhelpful detail. Astarael has been through more horrors than Vanja can fathom, and she’s survived them. In this, Vanja thinks Astarael is unlikely to have patience for Vanja’s own traumas, fresh but small.
“It’s a cultural difference, I think, from Isendel,” says Vanja, at last. “In my home every person has the obligation to do what they can to help the community as a whole. Of course, each person has different things that they’re good at. And some are stronger than others, perhaps, or smarter, or have had training in different things. But then it is the responsibility of those people who have those greater skills, or resources, to share with the rest, so that all may benefit. It is the same with everything.”
Vanja purses her lips, trying to explain, “In Northgate, sometimes people will barter instead of exchanging coin for everything. It’s not like that, in Linjør or I imagine in Jorung. It isn’t a trade, just an understanding. We all do what we can, and use what we need.”
“So when…” she thinks back, counting the seasons, “in the Spring before last I discovered that I was river-blessed, a runemaker, that I had healing magic, I used it to heal. My mother was training me in medicine already, and I had taken to it. It seemed a good sign. And so I used the light, the magic, whenever I felt it would be useful.”
“I didn’t know, until the Inquisitor came that there was even a reason to be afraid. To not use magic. And even then, he seemed to be just a man. I had to be told to be afraid. That if the Inquisitor caught me, I would be killed for a witch because in Isendel to use magic is a death sentence. And I was told my death would be a waste. That more would die because I wouldn’t be there to heal them. I was told to run. And so I ran. And settled here. Worked as a physician’s assistant, met Bax, then Ethan…” she trails off. Astarael already knows this. She doesn’t need this story.
“Bax saw me use magic,” Vanja says. It had been a careless thing, of course, and Vanja knows Astarael will note it, even if she says nothing. “He told me of the Inquisition, too. About what someone could suffer at the hands of an Inquisitor.”
“You ask why I’m here, and it’s because of this. It seemed like fate, meeting Bax. It felt like a stream joining the River. It seemed that this was why I had been river-blessed. Why I had been pulled from my town and sent here instead. Before meeting Bax, I was doing good work, mending breaks and stopping infections, healing those who had no coin, or who were too ill for normal medicine. But meeting Bax, and seeing his own magic… it seemed like a sign that I was supposed to find community here, with these other magic-users. That I could help the small folk who were being overlooked here by working alongside these others. Fighting their fight.
“But then, in the sewer—”
Vanja stops here, and says a few words under her breath, channeling the River to calm herself, to keep the edge of fear out of her voice.
“I hadn’t been in combat like that before. Where the goal was to kill the other person. And it was one thing, to fight with axe against sword or poleaxe—” Vanja’s fingers find her sternum, pressing where there should be a dent or a scar. Some sign of the fight. But there isn’t. “—Or a warhammer. That I had done for sport at least.”
Even that had been different though. No one dies in sportfighting.
Vanja looks at the space between her boots, and speaks quickly to finish. “It didn’t feel right, manipulating the River like that,” she gestures as she had in the sewer, but no light coalesces around her hand. It’s in her body though, keeping her still. “But Bax said it was maybe another, deeper part of the River, that it was all from the same source. He said it was like one of the Isendel religions. Like the Hunt. That sometimes you have to take a life, and the balance is kept when the life is respected. When the choice is not made lightly.
“In the sewer, we were fighting enemy soldiers. They had discovered us, and they would have killed us. And so it felt like, then at least, if it hadn’t been my light that had killed the soldier, it would have been Sav’s fire, or your lightning. Still, it felt…wrong. Like a corruption of the River. Using healing magic to take a life away.”
Vanja stops here. Maybe this would be enough of an explanation for Astarael. She doesn’t want to talk about that other death, the Silverrun guardsman.
Astarael
Astarael forces herself to stand still while Vanja talks. She’s listening intently, one arm folded across her body, the other hand under her chin. She noticed that Vanja unstrapped an axe, and kept it in hand. Interesting how she always seems ready for battle.
“It’s interesting to me, that you see your magic as a gift. Before I came here, and met all of you, I didn’t think that magic could even do things that were inherently good.
“But all magic is a curse to me. Having magic forced us from our homes, one way or another. Made our lives dangerous. Yes, I can use my powers to fight back, and do some good. But maybe it would have been better for us all if none of us had these gifts at all.
“I also think it’s wrong for you to categorize all Isendelians based on your experiences in Northgate. You will find that cities do have a different mindset from smaller towns and villages, but even within cities you can find smaller communities that stick together. Like our new friends. I do believe fate has brought us together. All of us. Alone, we can only do so much. But if we learn how to work together, play off of each other’s strengths, I think we can do a lot. But, you have to be committed to dealing with the difficult moments this fight will bring.
“There will be many more situations where killing is necessary. Where secrecy is paramount for the safety of our whole group, our mission. Sometimes we will have a great plan, and other times no plan at all. But we need to all align our priorities a bit, or things will continue to fall apart.
“And you do understand how important secrecy is, right?” Astarael doesn’t wait for a response. “I want to help you better understand the magnitude of what we’re up against, so consider this your first lesson. I had to learn a lot of things the hard way, and I hope to prevent the same from happening to you.
“Look at your current position right now. Weapon drawn, near the door. While I can appreciate your caution, your intent gives me pause. Normal citizens don’t answer the door around here with weapons visibly drawn. It looks suspicious. Like we’re on the defense.
“Normal citizens shouldn’t be on the defense. They have nothing to hide, and just want to go about their lives.
“If someone were to come to the door right now, would you brandish the axe at them, before even ascertaining who it is?
“Perceived threats are just that— threats. And will generally lead to violence. Which is noisy. Brings attention. We always want to try to pass as normal people first. Nothing to hide. Unremarkable. Be it a swan or just some curious neighbor who came through that door, things would go badly if they were greeted with an axe. It makes them hard to believe we have nothing to hide.
“And we have everything to hide.
“For your safety, and all of ours, remember this when in a dangerous situation: Use deception first. Lie, persuade, act casual. If that fails, and you decide you’re willing to kill the person before you to protect yourself, protect all of us, then use your axes. But, in that moment, you need to decide that you are ok with that person being killed. It’s very rare for it to not end with someone dead, when weapons are drawn. And if all else fails, and you have no other choice, AND you decide that it’s worth the risk, then your magic can always be a backup plan. But again, you need to commit to the real possibility that we may not be able to let the person we’re fighting live, once they have seen what we can do. Secrecy is what helps keep us safe.
“I fucked up plenty in the past, Vanja. They brought me a lot of pain. And I’ll make more mistakes, going forward. I’m not perfect. I know you’re still just figuring out what you can do, and you’re going to make mistakes. All I ask is that you take ownership of them. And try to learn from them. Use them to make yourself stronger.”
Astarael realizes she had started pacing the room again as she spoke, rubbing her face with her hands. She forces herself to stop again, her hands falling to her sides.
“Do you understand the reason we’re doing this? Sabotaging the Swans, the Inquisitor’s plans? Gathering information, fighting back?”
Vanja
Vanja laughs, humorlessly. She should have expected a lecture.
“Yes,” says Vanja, “I understand the Inquisition is bad, the Swans are bad, the Baroness is bad and that if we don’t fight them they’ll execute every witch on the continent, and any innocents they accuse. I’ve read the Town Cryer posts. I’ve seen the executions. I understand the stakes. I may not have the sort of wider world experience that some of you have, but I’m not an idiot.”
She scoffs, turning Astarael’s words back to her, “And this is far from my first lesson. I’m already learning quite a lot from you all.” It was true. She had learned quickly, too. Learned to keep her magic hidden, while finding new ways to twist the riverlight in battle. Discovering the limitations of it. And before that, she’d learned what it was like to be at the edge of death, herself. She’d learned the feeling of her axe cutting through armor and deep into flesh. And more, learned to hold her tongue. To not always speak her mind. When to take a blow to her pride and not fight back.
And yet they continued to test her. To question her motivations. Her loyalty. Even her basic competence. Not just Astarael, but Sav, too, asking Vanja to explain her actions in the sewer. Even Bax, her friend, deciding to test her skills under pressure, to push her into panic under threat for her life. And Ethan, with his seeming-endless lectures, though Vanja found she was less annoyed by this, now, after he’d proven to be a man of his word and capable of compromise on the way to the bandits’ camp.
Vanja can answer some of Astarael’s points at least, though. It’s something she herself would want. For there to be equal exchange of information. So while Vanja wants to stand, to roll her furs and leave, she doesn’t. Instead, she lets her axe slide through her hand, allowing the crook of the blade to catch on her thumb, stopping it from falling to the floor, then turning it, catching it again by the throat of the haft.
This caution was a learned thing, too.
“Having a weapon readied is good sense, in a place like this,” she indicates the room around them with the blade of her axe, before letting it slide through her hand again. “There’s a reason you picked it. Why it’s on the list of safehouses. Because the way I see it, there are two types of people who could come through that door, if not one of our own allies. A Swan who has caught and questioned one of us, or who has broken the meeting code, or someone looking for a safe hiding space themselves. If it’s a soldier, it will likely be a fight. If not, if it is someone looking to hide, I don’t see how finding others, hiding themselves, and armed, would raise any additional alarm.”
“That’s not to say I don’t see your point. I do. There have been times where a clever lie would have served me better than fighting. That’s not something that comes easily to me, though, lying. It’s a skill I’ve been slow to learn.”
The thought of the reason…the person for Vanja’s recent series of lies sends a wave of bashful uneasiness through her, and even the calming riverlight can’t keep her face from coloring.
Vanja looks up at Astarael, “But I am learning.”
She shrugs, and rolls her shoulders back. Stretching. Readying to leave. “I can’t pretend I understand the politics of it all, though. Or any of yours and Ethan’s grand-yet-secret schemes as to how ten of us can take on an army. Because right now it seems like there is no plan at all. If you care to share any of that, I’d be happy to learn it too.”
Astarael
Astarael sees Vanja rise, stretch, as if she’s readying to leave. This girl is so defensive. Astarael sighs deeply. This isn’t going as well as she hoped. It’s so hard not to let her own frustrations get the better of her.
“Yes, you’re right. Having a weapon readied is good sense. If you also keep it hidden from plain sight. But you seem to have missed my point. There is a higher chance that anyone who comes to this door won’t already know who we are—even if they are soldiers.
“So, by brandishing an axe in view, you have already made a choice. Rather than try to convince them that we are new tenants, or like many others in this city, just seeking shelter by any means, you’ve chosen to tell them that you’re dangerous. Which puts them on guard.
“By having your axe visibly drawn, you have committed to a scenario where you will more than likely need to kill, or be killed. If you truly value human lives, then you must commit to trying to lie first.
“I know that you are trying to learn. What I’m asking is that you also take what we do seriously. This isn’t a game. You can’t just act because you’re bored. Sitting up in the wagon, while we were all hiding was a serious risk. You got lucky it worked out, when you went to help Ethan sell the wheel. But you showed little regard for the lives of myself, Lumotu and Roux in that moment. Before you appeared, the guards had no reason to search the wagon. After, they may have become suspicious and done so.”
Astarael moves to stand before Vanja. She needs a new tactic. She places a hand on each of Vanja’s shoulders.
“Vanja, I didn’t intend to lecture you. I’m sorry. It may come to a surprise to you, but I say these things because I care about you. Because I don’t want you, or any of our friends to be captured, and put through what I went through, or killed. And that is a very real danger at every moment.
“You show so little interest in trying to understand the politics of this. But that’s an essential part of understanding the plans.”
Astarael releases her hands from Vanja, and steps back.
“I can’t speak on Ethan’s grand plans, as I’m not privy to all of the information he has, but if you’re willing to listen, I can tell you my take on what’s going on here. And why it’s so important for us to be cautious. To lie about who we are, and what we can do.
“If you’re going to be a part of this, you have to care about what’s going on in Northgate and Isendel as a whole. You need to understand WHY the Inquisition, the Swans, the Baroness is bad, and the ramifications of what might happen if they succeed in what I think they are trying to do.
“And why I think that even just the few of us can still have an impact.
“So, do you care to hear it?”
Vanja
Vanja takes a large step away from Astarael, and studies her, unsure if the newly-expressed concern is an act. She takes up her pack from the ground, pulling her cloak on last. She keeps her axe in hand.
It was clear that she and Astarael had different interpretations of their safety, here, and of the likelihood of discovery, but Vanja feels more comfortable armed, and so she will stay armed. She pulls the hood of her cloak up and over her head though, and as she does, the axe in her hand turns instead into a document tube. Vanja too, looks younger. Smaller, shorter than Astarael now, with golden curls close cropped around her face. The hood of her cloak transformed into a tidy flat cap. She looks to any observers like a hired runner.
She raises her eyebrows at Astarael. When she speaks, her own voice comes from the runner’s mouth.
“I have made mistakes. That’s true. But when I sat up in the caravan it wasn’t because I was restless or bored, but because I didn’t trust Ethan’s plan,” She smirks, “well, I didn’t trust Ethan at all. And I also thought it was a bad plan, to allow him to talk to the Silverun guards without backup. If his motives had been different, and no one watching him, if he’d decided to betray us or turn the rest of us in, then we would have had no warning. At that time, I thought he was the sort of person who could do that. If there was something greater to be gained from it. It had already seemed that he was willing to sacrifice me at least, in the sewer, for tactical gain. So when I sat up and made myself known, it was because I thought the greater risk was Ethan acting alone and unobserved.”
As she’s speaking, the disguise changes, subtly at first. Vanja is not focusing on it, and so it shifts. Within a few seconds, she’s a different person. The hat becoming a cloak again, dark charcoal gray. The curls becoming darker and longer, the hair pulling itself back, pinned neatly in the style favored by merchants, the features of her face sharpening. It’s the image she’s thinking of, and so Vanja has become the wheel merchant’s wife again.
“It’s different now, of course. People do change. And learn from their mistakes. The other day when we were in Jorung, I stayed well hidden in the secret room. Trusting you and Sav and Ethan to investigate invisibly, as you did. And I know now that Ethan is not the sort who would betray us, even if he doesn’t see fit to detail his plans to us, even as he sends us out to look for information.”
She shakes her head, some of the dark curls coming loose and falling in front of her eyes. Vanja notices the color, and pulls her hood down and back up, quickly resetting the disguise back to the runner.
Vanja looks up at Astarael, “I think it is good for you to know that I don’t act without concern for others. In the past I’ve panicked. Acted too quickly. But I have always tried to do what I thought was the right thing. The best for all, even at my own expense. Even when I could leave instead.
“So yes, I am a part of this. And as I said, willing to learn.”
Vanja motions for Astarael to continue, gesturing with the runner’s document roll. With the blade of her axe.
Astarael
Vanja makes a big show of packing up her bag, and disguising herself with her fancy magic cloak as she talks. Interesting how her axe has also been disguised. A very handy item that cloak is.
Also interesting that Vanja didn’t trust Ethan. Why on earth would he betray them? Then he would be alone. And betray his childhood friends too? Astarael wonders what he did to give Vanja that impression of him.
Sure, staying hidden during the fight with the Inquisitor didn’t look good at the time, but his explanation afterwards made sense. Hmm.
Vanja’s now gesturing at her with her axe, which currently has the illusion of a document roll. If she’s trying to intimidate Astarael…well it’s working a little. Astarael takes another step back.
“Well. Ok. So let me explain to you what I think is going on here. This is just my perspective, and I don’t have nearly as much information on what’s going on here in Northgate as Ethan does.
“The Baroness, Tyr Isendel, is currently using the Inquisition and Painted Swans to demonize any aspect of magic among the main population. By generating fear and false propaganda, the common folk begin to trust those in power without question. They have their best interests at heart, right? And if the commoners fear magic, even magic used for good things, like healing, they will likely turn in their neighbors and friends, helping to more quickly identify anyone with ‘gifts.’
“The Inquisition makes it seem to the public that when they find these witches, they are executed, making the world a safer place. But this is mostly a lie.
“In reality, Tyr Isendel and those at the top of her government want control of magic for themselves. I can tell you firsthand, that Tyr herself has powers of her own. The information Ethan received from his brother also implies that the Grand Inquisitor has abilities as well.
“It’s reasonable to assume that they will seek out ANY source of magic power, be it physical items, or beings of power. They were very interested in the source of my own powers, which I could not give them, since I don’t know it myself. But I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that they are aware of the presence of The Suffering in this city, since it seems to have had a pretty big impact on the sewers and citizens. At the same time, they seem to be after more items of Aasimar origin, as Sav has proven, they can be utilized by those who are gifted to become pretty powerful.
“So, when a person with magic is captured, if they are not killed or executed, they might find themselves in a similar situation to what I went through. Tortured with the intent of learning where the person’s powers come from. Experimentation, to determine if that power source can be extracted, or controlled. And in some cases, Tyr and the Inquisition will seek to turn the person into a tool they can use. Like The Wolf. Like they tried to do with me. I got very lucky to get out. To have retained enough of my own mind, to not succumb to losing myself in their training process.
“Our group has an additional risk as well. The Inquisition knows there’s a group of us magic users, together here in Northgate. If anyone of us is captured, or someone who they suspect knows something about us, it could put us all in even more danger. Hence why we have this elaborate meeting system. Why we need to use code names, be secretive. Hide our magic even in combat. If they capture someone they think knows something…”
Astarael pauses, and struggles for a moment.
“Vanja, they will do anything it takes to get the information. Anything. I don’t think anyone can resist it, in the end. It’s better to not end up in that position.
“But even with that additional risk, we need to work together. We all have different strengths. Your healing magic is amazing! And even the scarier stuff you can do, with your axes both real and magic. It’s very impressive. We all need to work together to do as much damage as we can.
“I fear a world where Tyr Isendel achieves whatever her end goal is. Maybe it’s absolute control of Isendel and the other baronies. Maybe it’s something even worse I can’t yet fathom. But I know that it won’t be a world I want to live in.”
Astarael has been pacing continuously as she talks. But she’s paused in front of Vanja again. She grabs Vanja’s hand and looks her in the eye.
“We have to do everything we can to sabotage her plans. Northgate seems to be very important to them right now. It’s just going to take extreme care to not be caught. Do you understand?”
Vanja
Vanja is quiet for a moment, and steps away from Astarael again. She spins her axe, absently, the document tube flickering in and out of existence as the axe loses and regains contact with Vanja’s hand. With her other hand, Vanja reaches for her own face and tugs at something close to the edge of the runner’s flat cap, checking the security of the cloak’s hood.
The calming spell she cast on herself is fading now, the riverlight seeping out of her and she can feel unhelpful adrenaline rising to take its place
“I understand,” says Vanja. “It’s a fight worth fighting. And we should, because we can. Because our abilities make us more powerful than others, so it’s our obligation to help them. And especially now when it isn’t only witches. When people are being executed just for writing runes,” she shakes her head, her voice rising, “That’s not even magic! That’s just being Jorungun!” She looks down at the document tube and, suddenly frustrated, throws it to the ground at her own feet. The axe appears as it leaves her hand, the blade sticking in the floorboards between her boots. Vanja sweeps her hood off, too, pushing her braids back away from her face.
Stupid. If there was anything that will show her I’m dangerously reckless, it’s that.
Vanja takes her axe from the floor, twisting it to release it from the wood.
“I’m sorry,” she says to Astarael. Vanja puts the axe through her belt, where one of its brothers is already looped through a quick release strap. “That wasn’t meant for you, or at you. It’s just…I get it. I understand that we can only do so much, and that even what little we can do is better than doing nothing at all. And I know that staying hidden is an important part of that. I’m just so sick of not knowing what the plan is. Just waiting for someone else’s instruction. And it’s hard to feel like we can trust one another too, when everything has to be wrapped in layer after layer of protective lies.”
“And I’m not good at it. At lying,” she laughs at herself, unkindly, “if it weren’t for this,” she touches the clasp of the cloak, “I’d have been burned at the stake in my own home town. And I can’t even use this all the time. This information gathering that we all tried to do, eavesdropping on soldiers and trying to find people connected to the Swan headquarters, so that some day, eventually we might infiltrate it, I had to do that as myself, because this spell isn’t without limits.”
“So yes. I’m trying to be careful. But I also live in a public place. People know me there. My face, my real face is familiar at the Majestic, so when I’m listening for information there, I have to do it as myself. And…” Vanja feels color rising in her face again, at the memory of Ethan’s snide comment about how she must have gotten information from a man at a brothel. Echoes of this past embarrassment burn across her cheeks.
“I said in the meeting how the contact I made was a young man. One of the Swans who guards the entrance of the headquarters. And he knows what I look like, so that’s not a thing I can change but I don’t know…”
Vanja takes a deep breath, and lets it out, feeling her heartbeat slow.
“I don’t know that I’m a good enough liar for this.”
Astarael
Astarael raises an eyebrow when Vanja throws the axe to the floor. That’s a great way to accidentally lose some toes.
She sighs again.
“You are very lucky to be able to show your true face without much fear. Take extra care that it doesn’t become associated with a magic user, and perhaps you will live longer than I.”
Now she smiles a little.
“It is quite unusual, for a man to visit a brothel, only to have no interest in the paid company. But rather fortunate for us, that he’s a Swan, AND a guard at headquarters. If he has not recognized you from your poster, it might be worth some risk to try and get more information from him. Gain his trust, ask about his work, and just let him talk. I’m sure he will want to boast about how important he is, to a pretty maiden like you. I’m sure it won’t be hard for you to charm him. Lies work best when they are built on truth. Just omit anything that can get you into trouble. Information that is magic related, or can trace you to your family or town.
And most importantly, be prepared to move to another safehouse immediately, if you even think he might be catching on to something. Leave a message for me if you can. Draw this symbol in the corner.” She draws something in the dirt on the floor. “I’ll let Sav know what’s going on, and I’ll meet you at the safehouse. Then we can deal with the situation together.”
Vanja
Vanja looks down at the marks in the dirt, trying to commit them to memory. “That’s good,” she says, “Thank you for that.”
“And for the advice.” She laughs a little at this, though, “it’s honestly pretty much what Talith told me, too, when I asked him on the way back from Jorung. To act interested. Keep him talking about anything, and eventually it might come around to useful things. Though he also said if I wanted information quickly I should just sleep with him.” She catches Astarael’s eye and corrects herself, laughing again, “The Swan, not Talith.”
“Nothing against Talith, of course! I mean, he’s not my type. But he’s handsome enough, and he’s got eyes for you.” Vanja struggles to keep a straight face, and fails, losing her breath for laughing. “The two of you seem to have a spark.”
Astarael
Astarael blushes at the mention of Talith.
“I mean, yes, he’s handsome, but we’re just friends! I mean, he’s not….he seems to be…”
She can feel her face burning. She sighs.
“Apparently he’s plenty busy with ladies he can pay for, so I don’t know why I would interest him anyways.”
She gestures to herself with a dramatic sweep of her hand, laughing a bit.
“I mean, how can I even compare to a whole flock of sycophantic women, just waiting to worship him and fuck him for some coin?
“Besides. There’s also the additional danger of getting romantically involved with another member of our group. If one of us is caught? That’s just more potential leverage for the inquisition to use against us.
“I guess he’ll have to prove to me that he’s worth the risk.”
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S12 E06 - Another Man’s Treasure
Vanja Goes North
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