The Price of Fire by E.M. Burnham

Author:E.M. Burnham [Burnham, E. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9798986201528
Publisher: E.M. Burnham

Lityen was alive and very much about its business by the time Ibram reached Pillared Circle, despite the early hour. He skirted around the municipal fountain and down the second exit, and then turned right at the remains of the bakery-mill. A few days’ time had not been sufficient to clear all the debris away, but on this side of the road, the builders of Builders Row had not been idle. Scaffolding rose up to the second story on some of the nearest buildings, and apprentices scurried up their ramps, toting buckets of tools ready for the repair work. A carpenter stood outside his shop, hammering wedges into an eight foot log to hew it into planks. His apprentices stood ready, and as Ibram passed by, were already tugging the latest plank into position to be smoothed.

It was good that he was here early, both so that he might check up on Nesrine and Corbus—and through them, Master Dughlat—but also because the thought rolling through his mind was best acted upon as soon as possible. Ahksell would have been no help—or at least, little to none. If Ibram was right—and he nearly always was, given enough time and tide—then what he was looking for barely remained on the plane of reality. In point of fact, he might be running off a short pier, but if any evidence remained, then he needed to act quickly.

He turned a corner and spied Masters Finar and Bine alongside Mistress Salaz, surrounding a tall, spindly table outside a hastily erected wintering tent, billowing blue-grey smoke through the ropes holding up the center pole. Ibram was surrounded by folk, all of who could clearly see him in his gambeson and torch brooch; he vigorously resisted the urge to groan aloud. What was Master Finar doing with those two? He had his own work! Far away in his caffa near the imperial buildings, where the warders kept everyone nice and loyal.

The cookshop owners each had a small wooden bowl in front of them, with a fat clay shaypot on an iron trivet in the middle. If they were not meeting deliberately, then it remained an opportunity for knowledge that Ladyship would not thank him for ignoring. He looked up and down the busy street, but not a helpful fellow agent could be seen. Amota Berac no doubt had them off running down officiates at the Runner’s Temple in preparation for distributing the money to the fire alliance. Accordingly, Ibram swerved to investigate the possible early morning conspiracy.

He bowed shortly, but only Master Finar returned the courtesy. The other two frowned, but perhaps they simply were slow to properly wake. Ibram glanced about, but no one passing by the stained tent walls seemed alarmed by the smoke pouring forth from the tent, so he resolved to ignore it as well.

“What brings you all together on this fine morning?” he asked, and leaned over to sniff appraisingly. “Breakfast amongst friends is always a joyful party, to be sure.”

“Just waiting for you sect agents to finish your reports,” Mistress Salaz said.

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