Bree, Present Day
Lane dusted off her embroidered coat and grinned to herself. The busy workers’ camp was a perfect place for a merchant to show up, and therefore a perfect place for those trading in less… common… goods to meet up. The coat might have been a bit much with the rich blue and yellow embroidery, but it was water-shedding wool and the skies were promising rain. She secured the package of relics in her saddlebag. Jewels, this time, in some finely wrought ancient settings. Perfect.
She was about to untie her horse when a strange grouping caught her eye. Two young ladies, one with unusually light hair for these parts, and the strangest fellow covered in flowers and mushrooms.
Approaching them, she decided to introduce herself, but before much could be said, sounds of crying and shouts came from the camp.
A boy had arrived, his family under attack by bandits.
Specifically, their farm.
Her blood began to boil.
“How can I help?”
They’d done well. It was a good thing.
She reminded herself of that as she removed her now-ruined coat and set to stitching up the gash in her arm. A splash of rum had to be wasted on cleaning it, too.
But the family was safe, and would be alright.
A red glint from the room’s corner caught her eye. The gems, almost forgotten in the saddlebag.
Good, she’d be able to replace her coat.
But no, the image of that farm was what kept coming back.
Lane sighed, muttering to herself, “All these years and ye’ve still got a soft spot there. Well, could be worse. Besides, farmers are the backbone of society.”
She pulled the last stitch tight with a grimace and wrapped a clean bandage on her arm. A fresh coat and she was ready for her meeting. She yawned. It was already morning and she hadn’t slept a wink.
Oh well. She could sleep later.
The small tavern, tucked in a corner of the upper levels of the town, was sparse as always, but her contact sat in his usual spot.
“Fine day for a firelight drink.” She pulled out the seat and signalled the barkeep, who brought an ale over for her.
He rolled his eyes, but completed the passcode. “Firelight is wasted on the drinkers.”
“I’ve got some good gems, should fetch a good price. Ye’ve got th’ buyer in hand?”
“Aye, small town mayor’s got a taste for the finer things.” He took the jewels from her and pulled out a glass to inspect them. “Good pieces. Where’d you get ‘em this time?”
She grinned and took a swig of ale. “Ye always ask, but if ye knew, what use would ye have for me, eh?”
He laughed. “And you have the network to find things. Well, here’s your cut.”
“Aye, and don’t ye forget it!” Lane reached for the bag of coin and counted it out. “A high payer, eh? Good on ye!”
“Only the best for my top supplier!”
“Bah, ye just say that cos the ‘keep serves ye the good stuff when I come.” She tossed back the rest of the ale with a grin, grabbed the bag of coins, and stood up. “Ye stay smart out there.”
“Always am.”
She chuckled and walked away.
Soon she had a new coat to replace the bloodied one, and plenty coin leftover.
A little gold may not mean much to a well-off man or woman, but to a poor farmer, it means life or death. The former poor farmgirl hadn’t forgotten that, at least.
That poor family had suffered much, but at least they’d find a coffer of gold to rebuild with when they returned home, set on the hearth anonymously.
