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rainbowfic2012-03-04 11:14 am
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2012-03-04 11:14 am
Black #12, Tyrian Purple #20
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Myrrosta
Colors: Black #12 (black mail), Tyrian Purple #20 (watcher with a thousand eyes)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Charcoal (Lindjer's POV), Grafitti
Word Count: 1,512
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; mention of torture
Summary: Some day Lindjer won't have to put up with the secret meetings and humiliation.
Notes: For the Canvas challenge atrainbowlounge.
Lindjer leaned against the scrubby tree and flashed his most dazzling smile in the woman's direction. “So,” he said, “what will it be today? Information or torture?”
The woman smirked back at him, unperturbed. “Are they not the same thing anymore?”
“Not if you you give the information willingly,” replied Lindjer, his smile slipping a little. This was part of their normal routine, but he didn't have the patience for it today. He didn't like the flirtatious tones these talks sometimes took, especially not now.
“Yes,” said the woman, moving around to the other side of him and the tree so that he could no longer see her. “Traitors have it easier, yes?” Lindjer's native language was fluent on her tongue, and her accent was flawless. If he didn't know any better he would have sworn she was as Arkijti as he. But the faded sun tattoo on her left cheek belied her true origins. He didn't know her name. All he knew was that she was willing to give away--for a hefty price--the secrets her order was sworn to protect. Lindjer's family was able and willing to pay this hefty price, because that gave them leverage with the Arkijti government in Sarachnia. No one else knew their family secret.
Lindjer was not the one who usually spoke to her. Occasionally that task fell to Lindjer's father, but not often. Skulking around in secret places was suspicious behavior for anyone if they were seen, but it was especially suspicious for the baron of the estate, who owned every inch of his land and shouldn't have to skulk around anywhere. The vast majority of the time the woman talked to Lindjer's brother, because he was deemed old enough and responsible enough to deal with the woman, to get the information they needed out of her, and to know what to do with that information.
Lindjer, at sixteen, was not usually entrusted with such a task. At least not with official matters.
This was not an official matter.
“What have you found?” he asked, turning his head so that she would hear the question from the other side of the tree.
“Right to the point,” she murmured. “No patience.”
“Not in this, no,” he admitted, clenching his jaw. It wasn't her place to insult him. Her position was not so secure as that.
She, apparently, didn't realize that. “I want to see the gold first.”
He sneered even though he knew she couldn't see it, and pulled the little velvet pouch out of his tunic pocket. He shook it slightly so that she could hear the gold coins jangle against each other. “Ten tedjgan, as promised,” he said. It was an almost obscene amount of money, but the woman had made it clear that for this her prices were higher. This job was outside her normal work for the family. But Lindjer had been saving his money for some time and he was willing to pay any price for the information he needed.
The woman popped back around to the other side of the tree, long-limbed and brown-skinned, her long dark hair swinging around her body as her green eyes glinted at the sight of the money pouch. She held out her hand and he dutifully placed the pouch into it. He thought about arguing with her, to demand the information before he handed over the money, but the truth was that he needed her information more than she needed his money, and she knew it.
She opened the pouch and poured all ten of the square gold coins into her palm. She frowned and looked back up at him. “There are ten tedjgan here,” she said.
“Yes,” said Lindjer impatiently. He had just said that, hadn't he? “That is the amount we agreed upon. You cannot change the terms of our deal now.”
She made a face as she studied one of the coins, and her frown grew particularly ugly when she turned it over to reveal the face of King Mongemt. “I said the value of ten tedjgan,” she said slowly as if she was talking to a stupid child. Lindjer felt heat flush up face. He would not be insulted, not by anyone, and especially not by this Nikolean bitch. No matter how important she was to his family.
“Ten tedjgan are the value of ten tedjgan,” he said. “What difference does it make?”
She scowled and poured the coins back into the bag. “Your tedjgan are useless once Mongemt is no longer in power.”
It was true. Tedj coins represented the highest value in Arkijti currency. Only the richest ever even saw one. They were always stamped with the visage of the current king, and once that king was no longer king the coins were worthless. But that didn't matter. “I would hope,” said Lindjer, raising one eyebrow, “that you would have spent those coins long before King Mongemt is no longer in power.”
She shook her head. “Anything can change,” she said. “In a day, they can change. A healthy king today can be a dead king tomorrow.”
“I doubt that,” said Lindjer.
She sniffed. “You are young and have no idea how the world works. You think I am the only spy on either side? There are Arkijti spies in the Kandelian Court, and there are Kandelian spies in the home of your king. Some of them he might not even know about. There is always the chance of an assassin lurking around the corner. There is always the chance that an ambassador says something rude at a state dinner and the next day there is war. There is nothing stable in this world.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you know about assassins coming after the king?”
She rolled her eyes. “That was only an example.” She shook the pouch, making the coins clink. "I cannot accept this. I will meet with you again, tomorrow at this same time. I expect the value of eleven tedjgan, but in veezogan. Do you understand?”
“Eleven!” said Lindjer. “We agreed on ten!”
She shrugged. “That was before I had to stay in enemy land for a day longer than I had originally planned. I am in a tenuous position and I must be compensated.”
Lindjer swallowed. He could afford it. Barely, but he did have the money. “You could wait here while I exchange the coins,” he suggested.
She looked at him like he was a particularly large and ugly sand beetle. “I will not wait anywhere for anyone, least of all you.”
He huffed in annoyance and took back the pouch. “I could refuse.”
“You could,” she agreed. “But then you would not get the information you need.”
“How do I even know you have the information I need?” he asked.
She laughed at him, her mouth opening wide in mirth, so wide that he could see all of her teeth and the back of her pink tongue. “You know,” she said, the note of insult in her voice belying the show of amusement, “because I always get the information my patrons need.”
He clutched the pouch in his fist and thrust it back into his pocket. “Tomorrow then,” he said.
“I will be here,” she replied, bowing her head in a mocking gesture of the traditional Arkijti farewell. It made Lindjer want to hit her hard, and keep hitting her until she was as bruised and bloody as the Nikoleans they really did torture, but she held the power here and he could do nothing. He needed to know something, and she was the only one he could ask to find the information for him. Not even his family could know.
He walked away from the tree, back out into the sunslight and the long trek to the main house. The meeting, through necessity, had taken place at the very edge of the estate, where there was no one to see him. There was nothing there, in fact, but a line of scraggly trees providing a modicum of shelter from the suns. There was no other shade all the way back, but Lindjer was Arkijti and he was used to it, even if he was nobility and had never been forced to do manual labor out in the suns like their slaves.
He stopped once to look back at the tree he had just been under, but there was no sign of the woman. She had vanished even though there was no cover that he could see, nothing substantial enough that she could be hiding behind. He frowned and turned back around, half-forgotten spirit tales flitting momentarily through the back of his mind. Nikoleans and their unnatural ways.
He might have to have a talk with his father about the usefulness of their spy after all. He would find a way to explain why he was thinking about her when he was not supposed to be dealing with her at all, but he could. Lindjer was quite good at making up stories.
kay_brookeStory: The Myrrosta
Colors: Black #12 (black mail), Tyrian Purple #20 (watcher with a thousand eyes)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Charcoal (Lindjer's POV), Grafitti
Word Count: 1,512
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; mention of torture
Summary: Some day Lindjer won't have to put up with the secret meetings and humiliation.
Notes: For the Canvas challenge at
rainbowlounge.Lindjer leaned against the scrubby tree and flashed his most dazzling smile in the woman's direction. “So,” he said, “what will it be today? Information or torture?”
The woman smirked back at him, unperturbed. “Are they not the same thing anymore?”
“Not if you you give the information willingly,” replied Lindjer, his smile slipping a little. This was part of their normal routine, but he didn't have the patience for it today. He didn't like the flirtatious tones these talks sometimes took, especially not now.
“Yes,” said the woman, moving around to the other side of him and the tree so that he could no longer see her. “Traitors have it easier, yes?” Lindjer's native language was fluent on her tongue, and her accent was flawless. If he didn't know any better he would have sworn she was as Arkijti as he. But the faded sun tattoo on her left cheek belied her true origins. He didn't know her name. All he knew was that she was willing to give away--for a hefty price--the secrets her order was sworn to protect. Lindjer's family was able and willing to pay this hefty price, because that gave them leverage with the Arkijti government in Sarachnia. No one else knew their family secret.
Lindjer was not the one who usually spoke to her. Occasionally that task fell to Lindjer's father, but not often. Skulking around in secret places was suspicious behavior for anyone if they were seen, but it was especially suspicious for the baron of the estate, who owned every inch of his land and shouldn't have to skulk around anywhere. The vast majority of the time the woman talked to Lindjer's brother, because he was deemed old enough and responsible enough to deal with the woman, to get the information they needed out of her, and to know what to do with that information.
Lindjer, at sixteen, was not usually entrusted with such a task. At least not with official matters.
This was not an official matter.
“What have you found?” he asked, turning his head so that she would hear the question from the other side of the tree.
“Right to the point,” she murmured. “No patience.”
“Not in this, no,” he admitted, clenching his jaw. It wasn't her place to insult him. Her position was not so secure as that.
She, apparently, didn't realize that. “I want to see the gold first.”
He sneered even though he knew she couldn't see it, and pulled the little velvet pouch out of his tunic pocket. He shook it slightly so that she could hear the gold coins jangle against each other. “Ten tedjgan, as promised,” he said. It was an almost obscene amount of money, but the woman had made it clear that for this her prices were higher. This job was outside her normal work for the family. But Lindjer had been saving his money for some time and he was willing to pay any price for the information he needed.
The woman popped back around to the other side of the tree, long-limbed and brown-skinned, her long dark hair swinging around her body as her green eyes glinted at the sight of the money pouch. She held out her hand and he dutifully placed the pouch into it. He thought about arguing with her, to demand the information before he handed over the money, but the truth was that he needed her information more than she needed his money, and she knew it.
She opened the pouch and poured all ten of the square gold coins into her palm. She frowned and looked back up at him. “There are ten tedjgan here,” she said.
“Yes,” said Lindjer impatiently. He had just said that, hadn't he? “That is the amount we agreed upon. You cannot change the terms of our deal now.”
She made a face as she studied one of the coins, and her frown grew particularly ugly when she turned it over to reveal the face of King Mongemt. “I said the value of ten tedjgan,” she said slowly as if she was talking to a stupid child. Lindjer felt heat flush up face. He would not be insulted, not by anyone, and especially not by this Nikolean bitch. No matter how important she was to his family.
“Ten tedjgan are the value of ten tedjgan,” he said. “What difference does it make?”
She scowled and poured the coins back into the bag. “Your tedjgan are useless once Mongemt is no longer in power.”
It was true. Tedj coins represented the highest value in Arkijti currency. Only the richest ever even saw one. They were always stamped with the visage of the current king, and once that king was no longer king the coins were worthless. But that didn't matter. “I would hope,” said Lindjer, raising one eyebrow, “that you would have spent those coins long before King Mongemt is no longer in power.”
She shook her head. “Anything can change,” she said. “In a day, they can change. A healthy king today can be a dead king tomorrow.”
“I doubt that,” said Lindjer.
She sniffed. “You are young and have no idea how the world works. You think I am the only spy on either side? There are Arkijti spies in the Kandelian Court, and there are Kandelian spies in the home of your king. Some of them he might not even know about. There is always the chance of an assassin lurking around the corner. There is always the chance that an ambassador says something rude at a state dinner and the next day there is war. There is nothing stable in this world.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you know about assassins coming after the king?”
She rolled her eyes. “That was only an example.” She shook the pouch, making the coins clink. "I cannot accept this. I will meet with you again, tomorrow at this same time. I expect the value of eleven tedjgan, but in veezogan. Do you understand?”
“Eleven!” said Lindjer. “We agreed on ten!”
She shrugged. “That was before I had to stay in enemy land for a day longer than I had originally planned. I am in a tenuous position and I must be compensated.”
Lindjer swallowed. He could afford it. Barely, but he did have the money. “You could wait here while I exchange the coins,” he suggested.
She looked at him like he was a particularly large and ugly sand beetle. “I will not wait anywhere for anyone, least of all you.”
He huffed in annoyance and took back the pouch. “I could refuse.”
“You could,” she agreed. “But then you would not get the information you need.”
“How do I even know you have the information I need?” he asked.
She laughed at him, her mouth opening wide in mirth, so wide that he could see all of her teeth and the back of her pink tongue. “You know,” she said, the note of insult in her voice belying the show of amusement, “because I always get the information my patrons need.”
He clutched the pouch in his fist and thrust it back into his pocket. “Tomorrow then,” he said.
“I will be here,” she replied, bowing her head in a mocking gesture of the traditional Arkijti farewell. It made Lindjer want to hit her hard, and keep hitting her until she was as bruised and bloody as the Nikoleans they really did torture, but she held the power here and he could do nothing. He needed to know something, and she was the only one he could ask to find the information for him. Not even his family could know.
He walked away from the tree, back out into the sunslight and the long trek to the main house. The meeting, through necessity, had taken place at the very edge of the estate, where there was no one to see him. There was nothing there, in fact, but a line of scraggly trees providing a modicum of shelter from the suns. There was no other shade all the way back, but Lindjer was Arkijti and he was used to it, even if he was nobility and had never been forced to do manual labor out in the suns like their slaves.
He stopped once to look back at the tree he had just been under, but there was no sign of the woman. She had vanished even though there was no cover that he could see, nothing substantial enough that she could be hiding behind. He frowned and turned back around, half-forgotten spirit tales flitting momentarily through the back of his mind. Nikoleans and their unnatural ways.
He might have to have a talk with his father about the usefulness of their spy after all. He would find a way to explain why he was thinking about her when he was not supposed to be dealing with her at all, but he could. Lindjer was quite good at making up stories.
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