“Nothing,” said Conleth. “Just Seán being as strange as he always is. I tell you, with the amount of time he spends with those rats, I’m surprised he hasn’t turned into one yet. Though, between the stench of his breath and the hair on his face, he could easily for one already.”

Chapter 13:

Seven Stags

Humans live with the belief that everything in life happens for a reason, or “Under the Light of the Lady,” as the Church puts it. This worldview takes on the assumption that all of one’s choices have been determined before they were made, which seems wholly illogical to those who favour reason. Even more absurd is the Human concept of luck. We Simians would equate luck with chance, chaos, or stochasticity. The random events that make up life can be fortuitous or tragic. Good luck or bad luck. However, if these actions have been destined since Creation, then why do some Humans hang horse-hoofs over their bed, or avoid eating hog’s meat at night? How could one attempt to influence what fate has already decided?

Excerpt from A Hundred and One Logical Fallacies Concerning the Trinity, Volume Four, by Samuel the Iconoclast.

***

Argyll the Silverback remained motionless as Garth relayed the details of his skirmishes into the Clifflands. The old Simian’s eyes seemed to stare through the scout as he spoke, and Farris couldn’t help but wonder how his brother kept a calm composure under that gaze.

He’s getting better at this. He’s become almost as good as I was back then.

Back then they wouldn’t have shared a meeting as important as this with a Human. Ruairí sat next to Farris, sharing one of the more wood-rotted benches of The White Rose—a small brothel deep in the Dustworks. Nicole and Garth were on either side of the Silverback; Argyll sat forward with one arm on the table, twisted to face Garth for the duration of the report.

Farris considered the party for a moment. A scout, a thief, an engineer, and a fanatic. If the Silverback chose to assemble a team eclectic enough to inspire a bard’s song, he had done a pretty good job.

But for capitulating a dynasty descended from a God, headed by an invincible king... we could do with more muscle.

When Garth finished, Argyll waited a moment before responding. He’d always done this, even back when he ran the Guild, just to make sure there was nothing left to be said. From the way Garth’s bottom lip quivered during the silence, Farris reckoned there was indeed more to be told.

Thunder roared outside, and the pelting of rain against the tavern’s walls indicated that Autumn was well and truly passed, with the depths of winter soon to come.

“That is all?” asked Argyll. “A regiment of battlemages in Point Grey, and battalions in five of the surrounding settlements. Did you see anything else?”

“No,” said Garth. “Other than the details on their patrols I’ve already described, there is nothing more to report.”

“So, it went smoothly? You weren’t seen?”

Garth hesitated for a fraction of a breath before delivering a second “No.” Farris threw a quick glance around the table. It seemed like nobody else picked up on it.

He studied the Argyll’s face once more. It was far harder to read than his brother’s, but Farris was sure Argyll had caught Garth’s hesitation, too. The Silverback never missed anything.

“That will do,” said Argyll. He slowly turned in his seat to face Nicole. He leaned in towards her, with the same intimidating stature as before.

He didn’t even need to ask for Nicole’s progress, as she quickly began discussing the work she and Farris had been carrying out.

She never mentioned Farris’s input with the beggar’s flame, but no other detail was omitted. Compounds that worked, combinations and quantifications of metals that could be candidates to replace Simian-made steel. One experiment she explained with such enthusiasm, the outcome wasn’t lost on Farris, even though he understood little of the technical jargon.

If only she could be this animated when we’re alone, he thought. Four weeks had gone by since Ruairí passed Farris onto Nicole, but they had spoken little to one another outside of what the job required. He helped with the processes when he could, whenever an extra pair of hands was needed, but the real work, the work she was telling the Silverback about, was all her own.

There’s almost no need for me to be here at all.

Even as Argyll leered on, Nicole’s voice didn’t quiver, and she didn’t sink back into her seat as Garth had.

Perhaps he sees her as an equal. Skies above. Knowing her, it could just as well be the other way around. Her courage was admirable, that couldn’t be denied, but Farris felt a tinge of sorrow as she spoke.

This is all I need. Another reason to be infatuated with her.

That was always the case with him: cursed to be severely attracted to the most strong-willed of Simian women, though they were always the only ones who’d see him as he really was.

“The Reaper project,” said Argyll, suddenly. “How is the progress on that?”

As if the Silverback had just announced he was the Lady Herself, the others jerked in their seats, sitting up to listen with a newfound eagerness.

By Sin’s stones, am I the only one in Penance who doesn’t know what that means?

Nicole’s composure wavered for a moment. Her mouth fell slightly ajar, and she cast her eyes down to the ground. Then she looked over at Garth, and threw him a quick smile so subtle, so secretive, that Farris would have considered himself the luckiest Simian in Alabach had it been shared with him instead.

“It’s nearing completion,” she said, regaining the resilience she had shown earlier. “Once the right material is found, we can start field tests right away.”

“And how long will that be?” asked Argyll, raising his voice. Whatever enthusiasm Garth and Nicole shared seemed to dissipate as soon as the question was asked.

“Soon,” muttered Nicole. “In this moon’s batch of compounds, I’m almost certain that one of them is what we’ve been looking for.”

“That will be all,” said Argyll. He glanced at the others around the table, implying the words were meant for them too. “Continue as you were but remember this. The day we strike back is almost upon us, and we are woefully unprepared as we are. Once the time comes, there’ll be no room for being ‘almost certain.’”

Nicole flinched as Argyll stood. The old Simian moved with more agility than one would have expected from a frame so broad. Nobody else spoke when he left through the front door of the tavern into the storm outside.

“I’ll go fetch Madam Bruna,” said Garth. “She’ll be eager to open her business to the public again.”

“And she’ll open it to me, too,” said Ruairí, clasping his hands together. “I could do with a stiff drink and a loose woman.”

Nicole snorted. “She only caters for Simians where the latter is concerned, you know.”

“Don’t worry,” said Farris. “I’ve seen Humans drink thainol before. After half a glass, I doubt he’ll be able to tell the difference.”

Garth howled with laughter at the jape, while the Human shook his head meekly. But Farris was paying more attention to Nicole’s response. She smiled, as if to herself, but it was every bit as genuine as Garth’s gaudiness.

“Either way,” said Nicole, “I’ll leave you to it. I’ve work to attend to up in the Steamworks.”

“And I need some rest,” said Garth with a stretch. “The beasts of the Glenn know how to sap one’s stamina.”

The two turned to leave. Nicole exited through the front door, and Garth went behind the bar to find Bruna to tell her she could open the doors to customers again. Though, given the state of the weather outside, Farris reckoned it wouldn’t make much of a difference.

Still, the publican emerged, a frilly red gown flowing behind her, followed by two young barmaids dressed simply. One made her way straight towards Ruairí and Farris.

“What’ll it be?” she asked. She was one of the prettier of Bruna’s girls, short for a Simian, but with a full, buxom figure to make up for it.

“None of that Simian stuff,” said Ruairí, reaching for a coin-purse from an inside pocket of his shirt. “A pint of pale will do.”

“And for you?” she asked Farris. He noticed the change in her tone now that she was speaking to a potential client. He glanced at her figure once more.

Her waist is certainly slenderer than Nicole’s….

“The same for me,” he said, shaking his head. The barmaid turned and left without saying more. Over by the bar, Garth appeared to be in a quiet, yet very vigorous debate with the proprietor.