Long before he'd started hustling chess with Vaul or dipping into the card games of The Band, Fagan Manclin learned to keep his face neutral on command. Not a twitch, or a frown, or a smirk, or a narrowing of the eyes. Nothing to convey joy or dismay. Simply... politeness. The genteel mask all diplomats wore, acting as if all the world and every recieving official was their dear friend and boon companion.
That fancy alone was enough to almost make him smirk. But, as said, he'd been doing this for a while.
Mention of the Cadouri made him smile just wide enough to convey both pleasure and gratitude, but hopefully not the outright hunger that possibility aroused. He'd first heard about the diminutive genius in Yaralon, across merchant desks and casbah counters. Wonders, they said. Miracles that blended the arcane and the mundane. Harnessing the power of elemental magic into devices that were reliable, efficient, and most crucially of all, replicable. Manclin had spent more than one full purse finding out every detail he could, then again in Viden, and as often here in these wild islands as he could.
Everything he'd heard had only piqued his curiosity, and painted grander notions of what could be accomplished. Trade negotiations done in bits or breaks, instead of seasons, conducted from opposite sides of the continent, or the world! Scattered settlements in broken Etzos bound tight with faster communications, columns of soldiers coordinated with the precision of a player moving pieces across a board. Added onto which, Etzos would have the first pick of these items on the Western Continent, as far as he knew. All those wishing to know more about them, lease or buy or copy, would need to come to them...
At least, once hey had them, of course. For that, they needed a meeting, and now...
"I thank you greatly for arranging such a meeting, sir," he said with a bow of respect, sipping his tea with a light "mmm!" of satisfaction. "My word... been a while since I had euphoratea. As refreshing as I remember... oh, and of course I understand Kura is not some figurehead to be trotted out at your whim. Silly of me to suggest as much, really. I wish only our names be added to the list, and when the appointed time comes along, we may speak with her. And as far as gems goes..."
Kasoria had never met a Cadouri, and he rather wanted to. Wee ferrets and stoats that talked and walked upright and dressed in wee clothes? Even used weapons fit for their hands... or paws?! Fates, and he thought the Tuwana and Ithecal and those weird glass-made fuckers were the queerest folk he'd ever meet. Now there was talk about a whole new species, crawling out from the dark, tentatively trying to find a place in the light. Bat-winged and animal-headed, not man nor Morty-born, but he'd guess hose bastards played a hand in it.
Eyes, on, old man. Don't wander.
The little man inhaled and reset his focus. Too bloody long in the tooth to be getting off-track like that. The diplomat and the clerk chatted on, mainly about precious stones and their quantity and size and carats and market value and taxes and side fees and fucking Fates, this was the true bane of his duty. Not the blades and swords that could come from them, on a crowded street or the darkest shadow. The sheer tedium of listening to this crap when he had to be with Manclin. It threatened to swaddle his mind in cotton wool, batter his senses back into the crevices of his mind so he might escape them. But he forced himself to focus. Look around the room. Watch hands, and eyes, corners, walls... eyes always roving. Ears pricking at any unexpected sound...
And now, listening to yet more tantalizing information.
"Blood magic?" Kasoria made a face when Balthazar mentioned his past dealings with the Cadouri. Mayhap this scientist veered into the "mad" label. When blood was mentioned with magic, his mind went to necromancy, and he... had not the best past with them. "Dunno f'I like the sounda' dat... but I dint come dis fer not 'tfind out, y'ken?" He gestured shallowly, subtly with his chin. "We're def'nitely gonna go see dis... inventor, so might may it'll come up. Fanks fer the advice."
The warrior's next queries brought a gruff growl from his lips, somewhere between amusement and annoyance. The white-haired man had a far eye, that was for sure, and he wasn't wrong. Manpower, population, bodies in essential positions... Etzos would be recovering from that for a generation or two, if he had to wager. What was left of the army and the Blackjacks had been pulled back to the Big Smoke, Foster's Landing, Westguard, and one or two other settlements that could be ably fortified. Everything else... they simply didn't have the men. They'd be spread thin as butter across an entire loaf, numbers so small that if they did run into anything larger than a handful of bandits, they'd be overwhelmed.
And the opportunists, as was their nature, hadn't taken long to seize them by the throat. On land and by sea, the nascent navy Etzos once had now mostly lying at dock, ignored and slowly, inevitably, rotting away. They'd had to make deals with those who once preyed on their Orm'del Sea routes to protect them now, and even Kasoria knew it would only be a matter of time before those privateer rates would be "unfortunately" jacked back up.
We're still too few. We need more time. Until then...
"South an' North are wildlands, last time we wuz there," he said eventually, eyes still bright but unfocused, as if seeing into the past. "We been gone for a while. Army might've got things sorted by now. Made enuff examples, y'ken? But the seas..."
He shook his head, deciding between pure honesty and feeding the warrior some bullshit he'd most likely divulge to Woe later. A middle ground seemed like his best bet. He wouldn't pain Etzos and the sea one had to cross to get to it as a nightmare for any honest trader, but nor would he veer down the other end of the spectrum. Scoff at all rumors, laugh at the stories, and thus make it painfully fucking obvious it wasn't like the old days.
"A'fore Lisirra, we 'ad a navy, or summin' like it. Cogs an' schooners, watchin' the coast, makin' sure the narrow strait 'tween the coast an' Rharne, or Andaris, was safe. That channel, that stretch a' sea? That wuz safe. Then... the invasion. Sailors weren't spared the fightin', the plagues, the monsters. Ships suffered, too. So now we had t'make... other arrangements."
He turned and looked Balthazar flat in the eyes. One man of a grey world to another.
"Cunts who mighta' been reavers before, bribed t'take on the job a' protectin' the merchant ships. An' they 'ave, I'll not say otherwise. Long as the coin's good n' regular, the bastards keep t'their word."
He pursed his lips, deciding on speaking anymore. After all, that wasn't a lie. They were reliable... as long as they were paid. Or were convinced that it was more trouble stealing more than just keeping to the deal. The Hight Council could do that. But if the individual Scalvoris captains had to fork over a "gratuity" extra, well... not much the Etzoris could do about that.
Not yet. In time. But not now.
"S'a risk on both sides," he said eventually, folding his arms, black eyes contemplative. "But s'a benefit t'all, dat we prosper, y'ken? More trade, more people, more money flowin' an' goods shipped, works out better fer all. Lets us put more coin into our own boats, own guards, security dat can't jus' be bought off or change its mind the trial a reavin' moods takes it..."
Kasoia sighed and chuckled so low only Balthazar could hear it.
"Dat's what I can tell. All else, like y'say, have t'find out fer yerself..."
