Garth smirked. “We may hold the banners of the Triad, but I have another chain of command that takes priority.”
“What?” cried Farris. “Are you—” He lowered his voice to a growl. “You’re with the Silverback now?”
Garth nodded.
“Skies above, brother. You’ve been berating me for years about mixing up with ‘those types.’ Kept at me to get a nice safe job with the Triad. What changed?”
“Not too much,” said Garth. “I just realised that the storm is coming whether we like it or not. And I fancy Argyll’s chances a lot more now.”
Farris sighed. “I can’t blame you for that. I just thought one of us could stay on the right side of the law.”
“What do you mean?” Garth shrugged. “All I do is tell him about what I see in these parts and keep him informed on the Triad’s scouting. Nothing illegal.”
“That’s how I started, too. Just a quick job here, some information there… then when the gold comes in and he starts talking about taking back this land for us, it gets harder and harder to say no.”
Garth smiled. “Ah, Farris. Are you trying to look out for your little brother? I know exactly what I’ve gotten myself into.”
“Are you sure? Five years into this, and I’m still not entirely sure myself.”
Garth didn’t have an answer for that. The path rose abruptly as they approached the western bank of the Rustlake. The sounds of the city rose up above the great stone wall up ahead: an amalgamation of people shouting and chattering as engines gushed and whirred among them. The harbour on the south side of the lake was in clear view now, with great vessels moored against the bank.
Eventually, the trail came upon a road. But this wasn’t the roads of loose gravel Farris had grown accustomed during his time in the Seachtú to the south. This was a proper Simian road. Huge slabs of basalt flattened and precisely positioned for the even distribution of the weight of heavy machinery. Unlike the cobblestone streets of Cruachan, the roads of Penance didn’t bend to whim of the landscape; they cut through the earth with the sole purpose of connecting one location to the other via the shortest possible route. Although he had yet to step through the gates of Penance, Farris was already home.
“I’ll take my leave here then,” said Jacob. “I’ve a few people to track down at the harbour. People who would like to know what you’ve told me about the Black Sail. I’ll find you in the city before I leave again.”
Jacob patted Farris on the shoulder. “Thanks, Farris. We’ve needed someone like you here for some time now.”
“Aye,” said Farris with a nod, not quite sure what else to say.
Do they really think I’m going to turn all this around?
It was already starting to get too much for him. Sure, he succeeded in his mission in Cruachan, but he still had no idea why the Silverback wanted King Diarmuid made infertile rather than dead… not to mention whatever happened down in the railway with Santos.
But now, he couldn’t dwell on that. He still had work to do.
***
Farris and Garth approached to the Gold Gate of Penance on foot; Garth had left his mount with the other riders by the lake. Apparently, there were many winding paths through the Steel Mountains, and the Triad had scouts crawling through most of them.
And most of those riders were bought by the Silverback.
“How much power does Argyll have now?” asked Farris as they approached the gate: a steel archway embedded in the thick stone of the city walls. At this hour of the morning, the road between it and the harbour would have been teeming with activity, but now it just housed a small crowd of labourers and merchants waiting to enter
“Almost all of it,” said Garth, choosing his words carefully as he nodded at a guard by the gate. The guard barely gave Farris a second glance as he ushered them both through, much to the dismay of those still waiting.
“Let me see,” he continued. “The City Guard are ours, and we’re working on the merchants of the Goldworks; the embargo isn’t helping. Myself and the Triad’s scouts give us eyes outside the city, and we’ve curried the favour of Humans aligned with the Sons of Seletoth.”
“Of course,” muttered Farris, moving aside as two Simian children pushed past. One held a red ribbon that streamed behind her as she ran.
“You have a problem with the Sons?”
“I was close to Derelith, back in Cruachan; we had a decent working relationship as long as he didn’t talk about religion.”
“Aye, nothing much else you can expect from the fanatics. Why is it that the fringe religious sects always take their faith far more seriously than those who follow the traditional creed?”
“Because these particular fanatics have spoken to their god.”
“Allegedly, you mean?”
“Of course,” said Farris. “Allegedly.”
The two emerged in the business precinct of Penance, on the northern side of the Goldworks. Empty wooden stalls lined the walls either side, with only a handful of Simian merchants carrying meagre cargo between then. Up ahead, a contingent of red-robed Simian Guards marched through the street, armed with spears held over their shoulders. Their boots clapped against the road in unison as they went.
“The Churchguard,” sneered Farris. “Presumably they still stand against us.”
“Of course,” said Garth. “But not for want of trying. They’ve been refusing to meet with Argyll for some time now.”
“They’re probably too busy licking the boots that walk all over us.” Farris spat. “Traitors, the lot of them.”
“Can you blame them? A well-paying job with steady income....”
“Some things are more important than income.”
Garth laughed. “Easy for you to say; you don’t have any little mouths to feed. Unless you have a little secret over in Cruachan.”
“If so, it’s a secret to me too.”
“Well, the Churchguard are the least of our worries. Argyll reckons we could wind up fighting Wraiths at some point.”
