“And that should do it,” said the king as he wrapped up the meeting. “Ten members. We’ll have to find those last three recruits soon—not long now before the Evening of Generosity.”
“We’ll get it done,” said Azriah.
“Once we have those three, there are a couple other errands to run.”
“Let me guess,” said Root. “We have to go pick up your dry cleaning—and while we’re at it, maybe recruit the cleaner as a backup to help us pop open that halo case with, like, a wire coat hanger.”
“No,” said the king flatly.
“He doesn’t even wear clothes,” said Vit, pointing to the king’s brick as if the others might not have noticed the unusual form.
Beel shook his head. “Yeah, Root, that was really insensitive.”
“It was a joke! Yeesh.”
“We need someone with skills in forgery,” said the king. “We’ll want fake IDs and church stationery and the like.”
“We know someone,” said Root, trying to cover her prior missteps with a helpful comment for once. “He got us these fakey pilgrim papers.”
“Those are fake?” said Anjeanette. She reached for it when Root took hers out, turning it all around and examining it in the light. She traced a finger over the gold embossment. “This is pretty good, I never would’ve known. Um, not that I really spend too long looking at them when I have to. I like to keep people moving. Actually, I think someone gave me a fake once. I didn’t say anything, um, just went and hid…”
“Excellent,” said the king. “And while you’re poking around those shadier markets—and do be careful, there are some unsavory folks in those spots, folks with knives or other things, and what they lack in flavor they make up for in meanness. While you’re poking around in those corners, there’s another thing you’ll need to find: a fata pomorgranate.”
“What is it?” asked Vit.
“Illegal,” said the king. “Illegal, and a highly controlled substance. It’s a type of fruit, and extremely rare. They only grow in desert mirages, you know. It’ll run us a pretty penny, but so will the documents, I’m sure. We’ll recoup the lost funds.”
“We can ask Tohlog about that too,” said Azriah. “He’s surely got clients needing other types of forgeries. He may know someone.”
“What else?” asked Vit.
“Raincoats,” said the king. Root gestured broadly with both hands. She’d been chastised for her commentary, but she hadn’t even been that wrong, at least in her estimation. “As many as you can buy—as many as you can find for sale in the city. And umbrellas, too.”
Anjeanette studied the king. “Um, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it rain here. Well, maybe once—there was a spirit that flew over. I think it was mostly sweat, though.”
“There aren’t many vendors for rain gear in Urk,” agreed Saly.
“Maybe a travelers’ store?” suggested Vit.
“Something near the worlds gate, maybe.” He rubbed his chin.
“We’ll need a lot,” said the king. “Buy what you can find. There should be something. You’ll be in charge of that, accountant. It should play to your strengths, no?”
Saly interrupted his own mutterings about his full range of services with an inquiring look. “My strengths?”
“I understand you’re one for ill-advised purchases.”
“Well, I—”
“No purchase worse than a bulk order of raincoats and umbrellas in the desert.”
Saly looked at him sheepishly. “Yes, that’s true, very true…”
“Finally, we’ll need an in with the local meteorologist.”
“Nort Blunder?” asked Saly. “Nice enough fellow, I hear.”
“Anything else you’ve heard about him?”
“Excuse?”
“We need something on him,” said the king. “Blackmail, ideally. It’ll be cheaper than trying to buy him.”
Root cocked an eyebrow. “We need to blackmail a fucking weatherman?”
“Or bribe him,” repeated the king. “But blackmail is always preferable in these matters.”
The six of them exchanged a series of glances around the king. Root was beginning to have questions—questions about what a window washer and weatherman had to do with a heist, but bigger questions too. Had the king ever led a heist before? Sure, he knew the palace better than anyone, but this was all beginning to sound like the ramblings of a madman—say, someone who’d been poisoned by paranoia for hundreds of years and then spent even longer imprisoned in a brick and locked up in a cell. How much could they trust him, really?
“All right,” said Azriah. “Well, Saly will be getting the raincoats, sounds like. We’ll spot you the money to take care of that. Someone else should go, too, just to be sure the money makes it all the way there—no offense.”
“No, no, none taken, I understand,” said Saly with a sigh.
“I’ll go,” said Beel hastily.
Root gave him a pat on the back. “Look at you, being a team player.”
“If the alternatives are to go blackmail a weatherman or talk to scammers and smugglers, I have a strong preference.”
“I’ll go learn what I can about Nort,” offered Vit. “I’d like to handle it sensitively, if possible…” They brightened up. “Anjeanette, would you like to help?”
Anjeanette jumped like it was the first time she’d had someone else pick her to be their partner for a group assignment. “Um, okay, sure.”
“That leaves Root and me—we’ll go find Tohlog, then,” said Azriah. “But we’ll all handle the recruitments first.”
“And I’ll wrap up these finishing touches as we determine the… quirks of our new crew members,” said the king. “All right, then—meeting adjourned.”
Vit carried four pails of water in four teal spider arms. They’d grown a lot over the last year, both in height and wiry muscle.
Their bare feet squelched in the mud and stagnant water as they returned to the cabin. One by one, they lifted the pails onto the deck, then hauled themself up.
Bradan sat in one of the deck’s lounge chairs, pillows stuffed in around his back and head, a blanket over his lap. He sat with his hands clasped, face tilted up, and eyes closed.
Into one of the deck’s many barrels, Vit poured the dirty water. They’d filter it later, boil it, and eventually use it for washing up, or drinking if they ran out of clean rainwater. It was Vit’s constant hope that it never came to that. They hated drinking the secondary supply, earthy and still tasting like charcoal from the filtering. Bradan rarely had to worry about it; if the water supply wore thin, he’d just go rehydrate as a salmon.
Vit had recently learned some new tricks of their own, too. They climbed up to the cabin roof.
They’d moved a few extra barrels up there to collect from their new contraption. Above them, a huge wooden frame stretched up, higher than most of the trees. Within, a fine mesh of spider webbing crisscrossed, the strands beading with moisture captured from the swamp’s foggy mornings. They got rain every now and again—often enough that it generally kept a modest supply in the barrels—but the fog was more persistent. Bradan said he’d met the spirit responsible for the local fog banks that rolled through most days, a great big whitish spirit named Ggins who always forgot everyone she met. One day, Vit hoped to introduce themself to her as well. With any luck, they’d get the honor more than once.
Like the swamp water, the water gathered from the net had a bit of a taste, too: buggish, like a tea steeped with ants and beetles. It wasn’t the worst flavor.
It was a work in progress, the new fog net. Vit had to spin a replacement mesh every couple of days when it became too laden with insects. At least they had a snack while they worked.
(Because they always brought one up with them, that was.)
They’d gotten the idea from one of the townspeople over in Egogbin while lamenting the better flavor of the water they had there, pulled from the river or wells instead of the mucky stuff out in the wilds. The woman had called herself something—an “enjoy-near” or something like that, which was how she knew the design to sketch for Vit. Vit also enjoyed being near the town and its water, so maybe they were one of those as well. They’d been meaning to look it up in their dictionary.
It’d been a week and a half now since they returned from the most recent Egogbin supply run—their second solo trip. They’d felt much more confident this time—surer of the path, better prepared. They’d known well in advance that they’d be making the trek alone.
They even sat to chat with the locals over a cup of hot chocolate. They’d never had such a lengthy conversation with someone other than Bradan. It was strange, like the others had all gotten together beforehand to discuss the plans for the chat and its topics, leaving Vit to navigate as if in one of Ggins’s densest fogs. Maybe that was the case in town—laying out rules and agendas for conversations in advance, and Vit had missed the meeting. Did they have to have pre-discussions in advance of the pre-discussions? Where did it all start?
The town and its people had all sorts of peculiarities.
Vit emptied the net barrels over the edge of the roof and into a barrel below. Their next project was going to be a pipe that ran from the rooftop collection down to the storage barrels below, but they hadn’t yet had the time.
When they hopped back down to the deck, Bradan stirred. They’d been light on their feet, but Bradan had never been a deep sleeper.
“Mm. Morning, Vit. Checking on your water web?”
“Yes.”
“Catch anything?”
“Water, mostly.”
Bradan smacked his dry mouth. “Well then I’d say it’s working quite well.”
Vit took Bradan’s empty mug and refilled it from the water barrel before handing it back to him. He nodded gratefully and took a long sip.
“I was just about to go tend the garden plots,” said Vit. “The water run is done. Do you need anything before I go?”
“Oh, no, no, don’t you fret over me.” Bradan chuckled and set his mug aside as he looked up into the Enynlight.
“Have you had something to eat this morning?”
“No, nothing yet,” said Bradan with eyes closed.
“I can go fetch you something.”
“That’s all right, I’ll go for a swim shortly.”
“You’re sure?”
Bradan smiled, eyes still closed. “I’m sure.”
Vit grabbed their basket and hopped off the deck. They cast frequent glances back towards the cabin—to Bradan’s spot in the silvery light—as they made their way towards the garden and orchard.
Bradan wasn’t as weak as he had been the year before, in the week leading up to the resupply trip, but he’d never returned to his former strength either. More and more, he spent his days in his chair on the deck or taking naps in the cabin. Some days he seemed nearly back to his old vigor and he went with Vit to garden or on a walk, but those days would pass and he’d be right back where he started.
Vit was glad he had them to take care of him. They’d taken over much of the cooking and cleaning. The water runs they’d typically done together were now done by Vit alone.
But they still sat together in the evenings. They still played games at the table, and Bradan worked with Vit as they went through the piles of old musty books Vit had always studied from, and he told them stories about the worlds—all the places beyond the swamp, beyond Egogbin, even beyond Atnaterra. With every passing year, Vit thought more and more about the expanse of the worlds. They’d hoped when they reached their teenage years they might convince Bradan to take them on a journey or two—a longer journey, somewhere new. They were twelve, now, and that possibility had never seemed further away.
And they wouldn’t be going off on their own, either. Not with Bradan like this. Who would take care of him?
A splash caught Vit’s attention as they reached the garden and set the basket on the wet ground. They turned just in time to see a magnificent salmon leaping over a log as it swam off deeper into the swamp.
That was how Bradan’s outings looked these days. He went out in salmon form, found himself something to eat, got some exercise. As a salmon, Bradan was entirely unchanged—well, from human to salmon he changed quite a lot, but the salmon form Vit knew now was no different than the salmon Bradan had been many years ago. He was spry, fast, unaged. Untouched by the weakness that crept into his human bones and sapped his muscles now. It was… well, Vit didn’t really know how to feel about it.
They knelt down at the garden’s edge and began weeding. There was still a lot to do.