Chapter 1,
"Thieves, prostitutes, mercenaries and priests."
"Sounds like a game, guv'nor."
"Hah. Yes. And a very dangerous one at that."
Governor Aerunus of Terrace pulled a grimace across his face, long white fingers trailing across the yellowed, mouse-eaten map that he'd spread across the governor's official dining table. Carefully drawn lines in various shades of black wound across the parchment in a dangerously haphazard fashion, gathering into knots here and there and bound by a series of thick circles, marking the layers of the city. Aer's hand paused, so slightly and briefly that no one might have noticed on a particular knot, marked with a hatpin, which someone had pressed into the table its full length. This might have been more remarkable, if the governor's official dining table weren't composed of ancient, damp, rotting timbers that tended to indent under the lightest of platters.
"Havius?"
"Aye?"
"When is my predecessor's burial to be?"
"Schedool'd fer Firstday, s'long as de weathur 'olds an' thar ain't no riots 'fore then."
"And why should there be any riots, Havius?"
A silence lay between the two, in which the distant clatter of the city and the much nearer cursing of a maid could be heard.
"Havius."
"Ach, well guv'nor, here's de ding. Nobody re'lly wants a new guv'nor, per-say."
"Oh?"
"No' me, o'course, no' me," he hurried, not sure how to judge his new employer, not wanting to offend, and above all else, not wanting to die at the hands of this new employer. "Nope! everyone here a'de guv'nor's castle, we're right happy with de . . . and with you, guv . . . arm, ahem, well, yes . . ."
Havius trailed away into guarded silence, half ready to run at the slightest hint of an impending death sentence. He didn't like the new guv'nor very much. The man was too quiet, too thoughtful . . . not at all like old Barvus, good old Barvus. Loud, selfish old glutton--but in a comforting way. You could see his moods, and on the rare occasion, thoughts coming from several miles away,
"Thieves, prostitutes, mercenaries and priests."
"Sounds like a game, guv'nor."
"Hah. Yes. And a very dangerous one at that."
Governor Aerunus of Terrace pulled a grimace across his face, long white fingers trailing across the yellowed, mouse-eaten map that he'd spread across the governor's official dining table. Carefully drawn lines in various shades of black wound across the parchment in a dangerously haphazard fashion, gathering into knots here and there and bound by a series of thick circles, marking the layers of the city. Aer's hand paused, so slightly and briefly that no one might have noticed on a particular knot, marked with a hatpin, which someone had pressed into the table its full length. This might have been more remarkable, if the governor's official dining table weren't composed of ancient, damp, rotting timbers that tended to indent under the lightest of platters.
"Havius?"
"Aye?"
"When is my predecessor's burial to be?"
"Schedool'd fer Firstday, s'long as de weathur 'olds an' thar ain't no riots 'fore then."
"And why should there be any riots, Havius?"
A silence lay between the two, in which the distant clatter of the city and the much nearer cursing of a maid could be heard.
"Havius."
"Ach, well guv'nor, here's de ding. Nobody re'lly wants a new guv'nor, per-say."
"Oh?"
"No' me, o'course, no' me," he hurried, not sure how to judge his new employer, not wanting to offend, and above all else, not wanting to die at the hands of this new employer. "Nope! everyone here a'de guv'nor's castle, we're right happy with de . . . and with you, guv . . . arm, ahem, well, yes . . ."
Havius trailed away into guarded silence, half ready to run at the slightest hint of an impending death sentence. He didn't like the new guv'nor very much. The man was too quiet, too thoughtful . . . not at all like old Barvus, good old Barvus. Loud, selfish old glutton--but in a comforting way. You could see his moods, and on the rare occasion, thoughts coming from several miles away,
