On the next floor, Fionn walked through another corridor before arriving at a row of doors leading to several wards. He passed Cathal’s old ward and stood before the door to another.
“Hello?” said Fionn, stepping inside. “Ruairí?
This ward was similar to Cathal’s, with its square shape and drab interior. Its bed, however, was much larger, and in it lay Argyll the Silverback. A robust Simian, he still held the room to attention with his presence, as he always had, even when unconscious. The many tubes and instruments that tended to Cathal’s state were absent here. In fact, Argyll seemed like he was only sleeping, his complexion and composition no different to how they were when he was awake.
Beside him sat Ruairí. The Son of Seletoth wore a brown waistcoat over a grey shirt. His usual necklace hung round his neck, emblazoned with the symbol of the Sons—a trio of crooked, interlocking circles. It hung heavy on a silver chain, which glimmered in the weakening light of the coming evening.
“You’re early,” said Ruairí, whispering, as though not to wake Argyll.
“I wasn’t needed in the council hall,” said Fionn. “They’re just waiting to hear back from Point Grey, so they can wait without me. Besides, it seemed like you required my attention more than they did.”
Ruairí sighed. “I don’t require anything from you, Fionn. I just wanted to have… a chat.”
Fionn frowned. “Is that so?”
So why was it important we came alone? asked Sir Bearach. Why the secrecy?
“And what would you like to discuss?” asked Fionn. “Anything in particular?”
Ruairí stood and strode across the room. A fur overcoat lay strewn over a chair beside the window. Next to this, was a leather pack. Ruairí squatted down next to it, and produced two cups and a bottle of wine, its colour a deep ruby.
“Bhuaím Blackberry Red,” said Ruairí, cradling the bottle in both hands as he turned to face Fionn. “This was gifted to me from a friend in Terrían, right before the horde came. Could very well be the last bottle left in this frightening new world.”
Ruairí unsealed the bottle and poured himself a glass. Fionn tilted his head as he watched. Something was certainly off. Ruairí usually exhibited incredible confidence as he spoke, even at the council meeting yesterday. Confidence edging on arrogance, if Fionn was to be perfectly honest. But now, Ruairí’s voice seemed weaker, not just from whispering, but as if it was frail. As if he was frightened.
When his cup was full, he held out an empty one to Fionn. “What would you say to a toast? To Farris’s success in Point Grey, and to yours whenever you reach Dromán.”
Fionn instinctively reached out for the glass, but then paused. He turned an eye towards the unconscious Silverback, still motionless in his bed, bar the slow rise and fall of his massive chest.
What do you want? thought Fionn. This was the type of thing Farris or Argyll would have done with ease, navigating strange conversations, unravelling others’ intentions while concealing their own. Fionn, had much less experience in that realm of politics, despite his time on the council.
“Sure,” said Fionn. “Regardless of Farris’s outcome, tomorrow will be a long day for me. So, just one for luck.”
Ruairí smiled weakly and poured a glass for Fionn. He handed it to him, holding it between a delicate thumb and forefinger, as if afraid of cracking it.
Both Fionn and Ruairí raised their glasses and took a deep drink. The taste came first as a sharp burst of fruits and berries that quickly turned dry in Fionn’s mouth. As he swallowed, it a left bitter impression, like scrumpy set to ferment for too long. He went to raise the cup for a second taste but met Ruairí’s eyes instead.
“And to Argyll’s health,” Fionn said, giving another awkward salute towards the bed. “Is there any update on his condition?”
“No,” said Ruairí. “The healers reckon he’ll awaken by the end of this moon, but they still dare not speculate on what condition he’ll be in.”
This brought a lull to the conversation, as the two drank in silence.
“Was there anything in particular you wanted to ask me?” ventured Fionn. He rotated the cup in his hand, his grasp on the stem awkward with his severed third and fourth finger.
“Nothing more than looking for some insight as to what’s going on.” Ruairí sipped from his drink.
Fionn snorted. “You think I’d have a better idea than you? You’re the Silverback’s right hand after all, aiding him in all his duties with the Triad.” Fionn leaned back, ready to take a triumphant quaff. “And if I understand it, in matters far more important than that too.”
Ruairí’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me how much you know, then.”
“Garth told me most of it, on the way back from Roseán. The rumours that the Silverback has been leading a covert rebellion against the Crown and the Church are true. The Sons of Seletoth have been aiding him due to the involvement in the latter. Garth was mapping the Glenn for the Silverback, but he didn’t elaborate on why. He also alluded to powerful weapons that Nicole had been working on, which I assume were the automatons and firearms we used to fight back the horde. Now, based on these, conjecture would lead me to conclude that these covert operations of the Silverback’s were close enough to boiling into outright rebellion. Perhaps the massacre at the Basilica was part of it. Perhaps the death of Borris Blackhands was part of it. But as I said, that much is conjecture. And I’d wager that much is but a small portion of what you know.”
Ruairí had kept a straight face during this, but after a moment, he smiled. “Such a clever lad. You and Farris would have gotten along very well had circumstances been different.”
“What do you mean?” said Fionn. He had only really spoken to Farris a handful of times, and most of those times he had been using an alias. “Is he involved with the Movement too?”
Ruairí reached for the bottle to top up his cup. Then offered to do the same to Fionn’s.
“As the Silverback tells it, there would be no Movement at all without Farris.”
Fionn accepted the drink and turned his eyes up to Ruairí as he realised what he meant.
“Farris? Really? But he always seemed so… quiet.”
“The Silverback describes him as a mastermind. Never to his face, mind you. Farris earned the name ‘Silvertongue’ some four years ago. Before Argyll got involved in politics, he was the leader of the Guild of Thieves here in Penance. They started off as a petty gang, slowly growing into an organised crime syndicate with all the right people in all the right pockets. They had some connections over in Cruachan, so Farris was sent to set up another operation there. Another ‘Guild Chapter,’ he’d call it.”
“Sounds like a big task,” said Fionn.
“It was. Farris set up a network of thieves and smugglers throughout the city but ran into a host of problems. The City Guard of Cruachan was already corrupt, see, but to another group—Smugglers who named themselves the Black Sail. Farris’s work was encroaching on theirs, and a war of sorts broke out. Hideouts were ransacked and burned, footpads were killed on the streets, and many of those once loyal to Farris turned their cloaks to the Black Sail, who had a much firmer grasp on the City Guard than the Guild had.”
“Sounds like it was a terrible idea,” said Fionn, feeling more confident with every mouthful of wine. “To have such a strong operation in Penance, why spread your resources to another city so far away, competing against others with far more experience and connections than your own?”
Ruairí laughed. “That’s exactly what any intelligent Human would see, but not an intelligent Simian. Against all odds, Farris proved that the Silverback was right to trust him.”
He leaned forward and dropped his voice to a giddy whisper. “Farris rounded up those that had betrayed him, and those who were planning to, and removed their heads.” Fionn gasped, and after a long, dramatic pause, Ruairí continued.
“Then he went and presented them to King Diarmuid, claiming that he alone had routed out the Guild of Thieves. All the while, Captain Padraig Tuathil was standing beside the king, well aware that these were the Black Sail’s newest converts but couldn’t say a word because they had been paying him off! Farris didn’t even ask for any compensation. His plan was to continue the Guild’s operations in Cruachan, with everyone believing they had been completely disbanded. See, he told the King that these were the heads of the Guild’s highest captains and lieutenants. Again, Tuathil knew this wasn’t true, but couldn’t say and word. All he could do was watch on as King Diarmuid, seeing that Farris had refused payment, went on to offer Farris a job.”
