Captain Tane Bayder. 12 Sextilis, 1582 AAA. Trackford.

“Arthur told his warband, and his three wives, and all of the survivors of Camlann, of his great grief at the deaths of many loyal men and of even of his treasonous nephew. His companions then each swore their loyalty to him, and he bade Bydevere, who had lost a hand while glutting the carrion crows, to throw his sword into the lake, for he had no trueborn sons to inherit it. Then Morgan the half-fey offered him a cup of a silvery liquid, and bade him drink.”

Bran the Wise, The Conquest of Anwwn.

“Is this the place?” Morgan asked as they trotted up to the meeting place in the letter.

“Yeah, this is the Kraken’s Corpse Quay” Corporal Haynes said. “A hundred years back, a fuckin’ Kraken washed up and the name never went away”

“That must have been a pretty sight to wake up next to” Blodwen, one of her troopers said.

“Could have been worse. Could have woken up next to a Grenadier” another soldier said.

Tane heard a gale of laughter from behind her. She’d decided to go in heavy, with her cuirass and pistols under her coat and a half-lance and Morgan riding escort.

“Which warehouse?” Tane asked. There were two of them, one on either side. Both were squarish buildings of slowly rotting wood. The sinking ground had resulted in their southern ends being flooded at high tide, as it was now. The only difference was that the one to her right was freshly painted dark red, while the one to her left had a few scraps of blue paint over greying wood.

Half a dozen tall ships were docked out on the quay that ran out from between them-merchantmen, a Commonwealth frigate, and what looked like a Taxation office revenue cutter. In summer, with calmer seas and no risk of icebergs, even more ships would dock. Trackford was a critical stop for anyone looking to resupply before sailing down the southern coast of the continent, or rounding the Genian Cape, and after the silver had dried up, it was the only thing keeping Trackford’s economy running.

No wonder they want to make it a merchant republic for the southern ocean.

“Probably the blue one. There’s a single person in there. Looks like a witch. There’s a few people in the other one”

“You recognize the soul?”

Morgan paused and thought for a moment. Probably seeing through her third eye.

“Yes. The other witch from yesterday”

“Alright, I’ll go in and deal with them. Morgan, you keep an eye on that witch’s soul. They try anything, lock them down and get Hayne’s lance in. Any of the city folk try anything, warn me. Under no circumstances except immediate threat to life and limb should you use live steel or shot. General’s Orders”

"Yes Ma’am” Morgan said, snapping to formality.

Tane tossed her reins to Blodwen, the lance’s designated horse-holder, and dismounted.

The door to the warehouse was slightly ajar. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw a few people watching her. A Commonwealth officer with a fully armed lance, entering a warehouse alone, wasn’t exactly ordinary.

Still, in case of threat from a riot, they had the frigate on the quay to fall back to.

She pushed the door open further, and checked the gloom. Light shone through an unpatched hole in the roof, and glinted off the seawater that lapped across the floor there.

There was a second floor directly above her, but it must have collapsed on the south end of the warehouse.

Tane stepped in, one hand reaching under her coat for her pistol, the other hand going to her backsword. She steeled her soul against witchcraft.

She immediately turned left, checking the blind spot there, then swung around to clear the area behind the doorway. Nothing.

Her fencing mistress had taught her more than just how to handle a sword.

No point being the best damn blade in the world if you get stabbed in the back before you can draw it.

The ground floor of the warehouse was empty except for a mountain of barrels stacked in one corner. Tane guessed no one was dumb enough to pay good money to store goods on the ground level of a building that flooded. She moved up onto the stairs that led to the second floor. They creaked alarmingly under her weight.

She turned in a half-circle when she reached the top, checking the second floor, her hands still ready to go for her weapons.

Tane saw movement and began to draw, moving on instinct.

“Really? What’s the point of coming here if you’re just going to shoot me?” a woman’s voice asked.

She turned to face the “attacker”, a black haired woman a little shorter than her in a black coat and petticoat breeches. She had her hands up were Tane could see them, far away from the basket-hilted dagger hanging in the small of her back.

Tane tucked her pistol back under her coat, and let go of her half drawn rapier, letting it slide back into the scabbard.

“Can’t be too cautious. That letter was some fine cloak and dagger bullshit”

The woman laughed, hanging back in the gloom. “Sensible. Captain Tane Bayder, yes?”

“Yes. Your name?”

“Mene. Not telling you my family name until I know I can trust you”

“And why should I trust you?” Tane asked.

“I probably saved you from getting cashiered and your men executed”

“Alright, so you cleared out the sharpshooter and the witch. You with the army? Navy? Taxation Office? Loyalist?”

“Free agent. Though I was working for the Office when I took down that sharpshooter”

“Didn’t know the TO employed witches”

“Not employed. Working for. I’m a thieftaker. They hired me to try and break in, to test their security”. She shrugged. “It wasn’t very good”

“You know who the witch is?”

“No. Though I’m willing to guess”

“Who is it then?” Tane asked.

“Most likely, he was working for Traharn Hast the younger. My brother”

Tane raised an eyebrow.

Traharn Hast was the son of a mercenary captain fighting for Bryad and Teres in the western brushfire wars, who’d continued in his father’s career. Said captain had grown up in Trackford, and his son’s return after nearly fifty years had been the source of much gossip, according to people who’d had the misfortune of being in Trackford a year and a half ago.

“So you wanted to give me that information? You know, there are ways to do that that wouldn’t leave me fearing I was letting myself get lured into an ambush.” Tane said, trying not to let annoyance tinge into her voice. She failed.

Mene stepped closer, into the light shining through a window. Tane took in her features. Grey eyes, black hair, pale skin. Long face. Pretty, in a boyish way.

“That’s not all. Traharn’s a rich man; a burgher and gentleman and broken lance. He inherited everything from our father. He’s had holdings sitting here for years, with no one living in them except a few servants. All the while, me and my mother were struggling not to starve in Trarabac. I want to bring him down, and I want you to help me.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?” Tane asked.

“Oh, it’s simple. First, your trooper’s turn up at a protest, the sort of thing that’ll attract an attack. The shooters do the usual pop off some shots and go for a mindbreak routine. But this time you’ll be ready for it. You’ll flatten them with witches, and get in there and take them prisoner. Then they implicate Traharn, get him charged with conspiracy and treason, and forfeit his property”

Tane turned it over in her head. It would work well enough, presuming they could lure the shooter into attacking them, and capture them. The only risk was that it could turn into a repeat of yesterday, or worse, that Mene was trying to lure them into some sort of trap. Even if Traharn wasn’t involved, they’d have still brought down the shooters.

“And what would your role in this plan be?” Tane asked.

Mene shrugged. “Intelligence. Extra third eye. Negotiator, if it comes to that”

“Fair enough” Tane said. “How do I contact you?”

“I live above Cad’s bakery. Twist street. In the bog”

*

“So that’s the plan. Any objections?”

The others in her staff room-Gryff, Sace, Bydevere, Morgan, Artorius and Mene-paused in thought for a moment.

“No offence, but how do we know that we can trust Mene?” Artorius asked. Tane had brought him in as an opinion from outside her company.

“She put down the attackers. I reckon that’s a good enough reason to trust her, if she’s not lying about that” Gryff said.

“I recognize her soul from the riot. She isn’t lying” Morgan said.

“Wasn’t that hard. There were only two witch’s souls to keep track of back there”

“One other issue” Gryff said.

“Yes?” Tane asked.

“What happens if we get our riot, but the witch gets clear? We’ll look like a pack of fools” Gryff said.

“Then we try again. Not that hard a concept to understand” Bydevere said, his voice dripping with condescension. The quartermaster was a stiff, brown haired man, trying and failing to maintain the dignity he believed he ought to have as a gentleman.

“Not if Veulnor decides that one failed attempt is enough and gives us a good bollocking.” Gryff said.

There was little love lost between the two men. Gryff was a veteran promoted up from the ranks, as was Bydevere; but Bydevere had started out as a gentleman volunteer and bristled at being an NCO while a man who had been twenty years ago been a farmboy on a stolen horse had become the 2nd in command of a guards cavalry company.

“Dealing with that is simple enough. We keep throwing lines, until our fish bites. It’s not as if not getting shot at is a bad thing” Tane said. Much as she was loath to admit it, Bydevere was right.

Gryff nodded. “What if we do get shot at, but the attackers get away?”

Tane considered for a moment. “This is war. We have to expose ourselves to danger to avoid greater danger”

“Fair enough” Gryff said. “We’ll have overwhelming force. Two witches, both of them bloody good if your showing at the riot is anything to go by”-he nodded at Mene-“to their one, and if it’s in a less confined space than governor’s lane we can get a charge off on them”

“Exactly” Mene said. “You people will know the details of this sort of thing better than me, but that’s the idea”

“Alright. Mene, you’ve got contacts, yes? Use those. Find out when the dissidents are planning their next protest. Gryff, Morgan, get the company up to speed on their counter-witch drills. Bydevere, Sace, no special duties. Artorius, I have bugger all authority over you, but try not to tell everyone what we discussed. Dismissed.”

The officers stood up and filed out of the repurposed Inn’s private room.

Tane walked out after them, careful to avoid catching her rapier against the doorway. There were a dozen grenadiers in the common room down below, dicing or sitting around in boredom. More would be out, socializing or working bit-jobs taken because peacetime pay was barely enough to cover the costs of living, let alone giving them enough money for any small luxuries or to send it home to their families.

When she got to the overcrowded stables, with thirty odd horses crammed in, Mene had somehow gotten there ahead of her.

“Something else that needs dealing with?” Tane asked.

“Uh, yes” Mene said. She was fidgeting, and showed none of the confidence she’d had yesterday.

“Before I go after Traharn, I want to give him a chance to back out. A declaration of war, if you will” she continued.

“You’re going to tell him what we’re planning?”

“Would you give all your plans over when you declare war? I’m going to tell him I want my fair share or else”

“And where are you going to do this?” Tane asked.

“There’s a ball on. Some attempt to get officers and the local gentry and burghers at the same event, in the name of promoting peace. Traharn will be attending”

“That’s just going to lead to half a dozen drunks getting pumped for information and at least two people parrying a rapier with their face. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

That had been her experience of the sort of balls that soldiers and spooks attended back in Trarabac, anyway. Perhaps Trackford was different, though everything she’d seen so far made it unlikely.

“I know. That’s why I’d prefer backup”