The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [2]
A coach pulled by four ponies passed Nikandr on the road, the driver bowing his head as he passed. Nikandr waited for it to crest the hill behind him before retrieving a silver flask from inside his woolen cherkesska. After downing a healthy swallow of the bittersweet brew, he shoved the flask back into his coat. The warmth of the draught suffused his gut, doing its best to quell the feelings of unease that had been his constant companion over the last two months.
He kicked his pony into a trot and covered the last half-league quickly. Once inside the eyrie’s courtyard, he steered his pony toward a handful of stone buildings near the first of the cannon emplacements. Wagon wheels clattered over the cobblestones as drivers maneuvered through the space. Gulls circled above, while below an auctioneer called out to a small crowd of men wearing fine wool coats. After giving his pony over to a stable boy, Nikandr entered the lobby of the administration office and found the eyrie master, Aleksei, among the orderly rows of desks on the far side of the brass-and-marble counter. Aleksei was inspecting a ledger while a younger man looked nervously on. When he finally pulled his nose from the ledger, and the man beside him nodded and ran off, Nikandr caught his eye with a wave of his hand.
Aleksei was a balding man with a trim black beard. He wore spectacles upon his nose and—despite the chill interior of the building—a sheen of sweat upon his brow. His expression upon recognizing Nikandr was a mixture of exasperation and relief, but then it turned to one of businesslike seriousness as he pulled his spectacles from around his ears, bowed his head, and motioned Nikandr to join him in his office.
Nikandr stepped into the austere room and turned his gaze to the iron perch in the corner beyond Aleksei’s impeccably neat desk. Resting on the perch was an impressive black rook with a golden band about its ankle. The band made it clear that this bird was a member of the palotza’s rookery, a beast ready to serve Nikandr’s mother, Saphia, should the need arise. Thankfully Nikandr could not feel her presence through the chalcedony soulstone around his neck, so he knew her attention was currently elsewhere.
Were there a choice, Nikandr would have held this conversation outside of his office, but he couldn’t speak to Aleksei where there was any risk of being overheard—not about this—and he didn’t wish to raise Aleksei’s curiosity by calling him away from his normal duties.
“My Lord Prince...” Aleksei swept around to the front of his desk and set the ledger down, motioning to the polished leather chair across from him. “What might I do for Palotza Radiskoye.”
“I know you’re busy”—Nikandr’s stomach gave a twinge as he took his seat—“so I won’t keep you long.”
Aleksei sat as well, smiling as pleasantly as he could manage. It was clear from his downward glances that he dearly wished he could look over his ledger. Nikandr knew from experience that this was a man used to doing three things at once, but it was a measure of Nikandr’s stature that he would leave it untouched for fear of giving insult.
“The Kroya,” Nikandr said.
“Ah!” He began to rifle through the documents piled neatly to the left of his desk before Nikandr had even finished speaking. From it he pulled a single sheet of paper and slid it across the desk. “Here it is, at last. I was going to send it with the noon pony.”
It was a report from the master of Rhavanki’s eyrie—a confirmation that the Kroya, one of Khalakovo’s stoutest ships, had left nearly six weeks prior. When they had received word that the ship had not arrived on Khalakovo’s shores, a search effort had been waged, but no remains had yet been found. All efforts would of course be made to find the missing ship, but the attacks of the Maharraht had been growing since