Dissolved

Writers: Estelle
Date Posted: 10th November 2024

Characters: Lorican, Poldrig
Description: Lorican goes in search of Jorghan, but finds him missing
Location: Sunstone Seahold
Date: month 13, day 4 of Turn 10
Notes: Mentioned: Lusilk, Trayger (not by name), Bryvin
Notes: Backdated to follow post "Evidence"

A month had passed, and there had been no more word of the strange guard from Garnet Valley. At first, Lorican had been reluctant to leave Lusilk alone at the hold while he returned to the forge, and spent his days distracted and worried about what might be happening back there. But every evening, he found his family undisturbed and as calm as a household could be with an infant and a six-Turn-old.

The man had not turned up at the forge, either, although one of the apprentices had seen someone matching his description hanging around near the woodcrafter's workshop across the way in the early days after Carani's birth. Lorican could almost have hoped he'd given up and gone back home, if he hadn't remembered the cold, relentless determination in those eyes.

He'd had a quiet word with some of his customers from the port, and found out where the guard was staying. The man had paid for a room in one of the dockside taverns and was supporting himself by doing odd jobs for one of the merchants in the port. He kept himself to himself, paid his bills, and didn't cause any trouble.

One of those he'd spoken to, a trader who'd come in about replacement ironwork for his wagons, had asked, confidentially, if Lorican wanted a few of his boys to have a word. To suggest - firmly - that the man moved on. He'd hastily declined the offer, and then wondered after if he shouldn't have said yes.

Then, one afternoon, he'd just set aside the piece he was working on when he heard the senior journeyman instructing an apprentice to run down to the docks with an order of nails and fish hooks.

"Wait, Thuril, I'll take it." He put down his tongs as the others turned to him in surprise. "I've been meaning to pay a visit to some of the merchants anyway, and Kifti needs to work on his tools for promotion. He's not made a fire shovel yet, has he?"

"No, Master Lorican. I can supervise."

"Good. I'll take a look when I get back." Lorican hung up his apron, took the bag from Kifti and stepped out of the forge into the bright sunlight.

It was a clear day, the sea breeze refreshing after the previous day's muggy rain, and he stepped around sparkling puddles in the road as he passed the little forge he'd built for Silgan. To his delight, it had become a regular playhouse for the boy and his friends, taking on the role of guard post or bandit lair or Weyr depending on the day and the game. He could always tell that the end of the day was approaching by the happy shrieks and giggles of children, let out from harper classes, over the noise of their work. When Silgan played there on his own, though, it was always a forge. The boy was getting taller, he might need to rebuild...

As he walked, he wondered what instinct had caused his decision to go to the docks today. Sevendays had passed without a sign of the man, after that accusation and all that had followed. Lusilk seemed more relaxed, if anything, humming to Carani and rocking her as if she had nothing whatsoever to worry about.

Perhaps it was that which caused his disquiet.

He dropped off the order at one of the warehouses near the docks, then headed over to the tavern where he'd been told the Garnet Valley man was staying. It was one of the more respectable ones, with a calmer clientele: older family men, the middling sort of trader and ship's officer. He'd visited himself with other crafters before Carani was born. At the moment, it was quiet, with the guests out and the evening trade yet to pick up.

"Mastersmith." The tavern keeper was cleaning glasses with a worn cloth, which he raised in greeting. "Good to see you again. I heard congratulations are due! How's the wife?"

"Doing well, Poldrig. Lacking a little in sleep, but that's to be expected with a new arrival." He smiled and took a seat at the bar.

"Ah, yes, I remember. Best thing about being a grandda, all of the joy and none of the sleepless nights. What can I get you?"

Lorican ordered an ale, a small measure since he'd need to be back at work later, and they chatted for a while about family and the news from the port: which ships were in, and might be needing metalwork or wanting to take on cargo.

"Oh, I heard you had a visitor staying from Garnet Valley," he said eventually. "A guard? My uncle used to be in the guards there, so I wondered if it might be someone we used to know."

To his surprise, the tavern keeper frowned. "Well, I doubt it, Master Lorican. You're an honest man, after all."

The smith's brow rose. "And he isn't?"

"Walked out last sevenday and hasn't been seen since. His bill was due on the restday and he wasn't there to pay it, so I had to let his room go and take the loss."

"Sorry to hear that." Lorican did his best to keep his expression steady, but he felt an uneasy sense growing. "Do you remember his name?"

"Jorghan. Didn't seem the type to run off, and had a job, at least he said he did. I'm usually a good judge of character, but..." He sighed. "Can't get them all right. You know the name?"

There was a faint ring of familiarity to the name - it could well have been one of the men who served with his uncle, but it was long enough ago that Lorican couldn't be certain. He shook his head. "Did he leave anything behind?"

"A few old clothes. I took them to the rag trader the other day, but needless to say, it didn't cover his tab." Poldrig finished polishing his glass and set it down with a disgusted snort. "There was a picture of some woman in one of the pockets. Not bad, but just a sketch - not worth anything."

"Could I see it?"

The tavern keeper gave him a long, considering look. "Ah, shells, Master. He cheated you too, did he?"

Lorican drew breath to deny it, then reconsidered. "Was he a man about my height, close-cropped dark hair starting to turn grey? Rather grim-faced?"

"That's the fellow. Looked like he'd crack his jaw if he smiled. Didn't talk much, neither."

"Then...we've met." He did his best to assume a disconsolate expression. "The picture? Maybe it's someone he knows."

"Well, I can show you it." Poldrig turned and started rummaging through a sheaf of papers, shoved in next to a bottle of spirits at the end of the shelf behind the bar. "But if you want my advice, Master Lorican, you'll take this to the captain and let him deal with it. I couldn't say whether this Jorghan was ever a guard, but he was doing bodyguard work and he knew his way around a blade. Could have been he didn't run off after all, but got himself into some trouble round the docks at night. He wouldn't have been the first. Ah, here it is."

He handed over the paper. It was folded in four, but when Lorican opened it up, he found himself staring at his own work.

It was the sketch of his wife that he'd sent to his uncle, at Garnet Valley.

The chill spread through him, hollowing him inside. So that was how the man had known where she was. He must have seen it in his uncle's rooms, and taken it somehow.

**Lusilk is going to murder me,** he thought. Which wasn't quite the exaggeration it might have been with anyone else.

"Thanks." He folded it up again. "I expect I'll take your advice. I can drop this off with the guard captain."

"Well..."

"How much did he owe?" The smith took out his pouch. "If he was from Garnet Valley, I'd like to make it right. For the reputation of my birth hold."

The tavern keeper looked sceptical, but the prospect of getting his marks back proved to be too tempting. Lorican hoped that would be the end of the matter as far as the unpaid tavern bill was concerned.

He finished his drink and left with the sketch in his pocket, then walked down to the sea front. A quick check with the harbour master got him the names of the vessels that had departed around the date Jorghan had disappeared and their passengers, but he didn't expect much of that line of enquiry. He couldn't see a ship like the Sun's Glory, for example, taking on a fugitive. Its captain was engaged to the Lord Holder's sister.

Lorican stopped and leaned against a railing, looking down at the blue-green waves lapping against the quay. He imagined, with dull, sick guilt, the body of the missing man rising up from the depths, pale and bloated with decay, but the water below remained calm and placid.

At least he knew that Lusilk could not have been personally responsible for whatever had happened. She'd never have left Carani for so long, and he could vouch for her being in their rooms most of that day. But... there were others.

He dreaded to think what she might now owe Lord Bryvin. And he'd never felt so strongly that he did _not_ want to get involved in the Lord Holder's affairs. He'd left that murky, secretive world behind him, and he'd hoped he might have rescued Lusilk and Silgan too.

Lorican took the sketch from his pocket and looked for a long time at the face of his wife, outlined in ink. How he'd captured the defiance in the tilt of her chin, the line of her back, the challenge in her dark eyes. Then he folded it and ripped the paper in half, then again, until he'd shredded it into tiny pieces which he scattered over the calm waters of Sunstone's harbour.

The guardsman's proof, flimsy as it had been, drifted away on the tide, the ink dissolving into the sea, and with it any link between him and the Mastersmith's wife.

Last updated on the November 23rd 2024

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