27. Reach

In only a few days, Alistair’s routine changed considerably. The first and most important shift came at night. His main body no longer went out for starbloom gathering; he sent only clones. That had not been possible before. The whole process of leaving town, reaching the fields, gathering, returning, and delivering the flowers usually took a little more than two hours, and that had been too close to his previous limit. Now his clones could remain summoned for close to four hours. The longer duration changed everything. He could finally trust them with the whole task and leave his real body behind.

The relief was greater than he had expected. For the first time since taking on the gathering job, he was allowing himself something close to a proper night of sleep. The rest was not complete, since he still kept clones active through the night and some thin sliver of his awareness always stayed with them. But most of him could finally withdraw into real rest. His body needed it, and his mind would certainly benefit from it too.

Still, he could not stay fully asleep the entire night. His habits would not allow it. After three or four hours of deep rest, part of his awareness would naturally rise again and spread more firmly into the clones while the rest of him remained lying still. The balance shifted back and forth through instinct now. It was not driven by need so much as by preference. He simply functioned better that way.

During the day, he had started doing something similar in reverse. He often kept one clone asleep somewhere safe from eyes and let part of his mind rest with it. If he felt the beginning of a headache or that familiar strain from holding too many bodies for too long, he would shift more of himself into the sleeping clone and let the pressure ease. When he felt recovered, he would pull more awareness back into the active bodies. The method was imperfect, but it worked.

The warehouse case, by contrast, had slowed almost to a stop. As he had expected, Davin Roe was never found. Only Mern remained detained. Roe’s known properties in Verevain, the port district, and Dorelle had all been seized by local forces, and he had been formally declared an outlaw. That mattered, but Alistair did not believe the man was finished, and he did not think the hidden slaving operation on the island had truly disappeared either. At most, it had paused.

For the moment, Joren had also become temporarily unemployed. Alistair had expected that and prepared for it. Through one of Joren’s former coworkers, he already had another short-term job lined up. The work was poor, but the point lay elsewhere. He wanted to keep the persona active, visible, and useful. Officially, he now had two lives in Verevain. There was Alistair, who lived at the Bent Nail, worked at La Table d’Or, and still gathered starbloom. Then there was Joren, the Worker, who picked up temporary jobs and occasionally met with buddies for a drink.

His main body, however, no longer really participated in either of those lives.

Instead, the wealthy and slightly mysterious masked man lived at the Lantern Court.

That arrangement had only become possible because of Roe’s hidden wealth and Pell’s stored savings. Alistair felt no guilt about using either. Roe had earned his fortune through filth, and Pell had profited from helping it. If those shards now funded Alistair’s freedom and future, that seemed fitting. The Lantern Court was expensive, but manageable compared to what he now possessed. More importantly, it gave him privacy and stable access to what he needed. The room, the separate entrances, and the lack of intrusive staff made it a much better base for his true body than the Bent Nail ever could have. The ongoing cost was mostly covered by his ordinary work through the tavern, starbloom, and Joren’s jobs, which meant Roe’s money could stay reserved for larger purchases and operations.

Today, two of those purchases were finally being made. One clone went looking for weapons, while another went to find a broker who dealt in mounts.

Both were far more expensive than anything Alistair would have considered under his old plan. Before Roe’s vault, he would have needed most of a year to afford either without crippling the rest of his plans. But his circumstances had changed. He had come into a small fortune, and that allowed him to advance some future ideas.

The weapons took priority. Alistair did not bother with market stalls full of rusted knives and embellished nonsense aimed at fools who wanted to look dangerous. Falsehand had already mapped the town well enough to know what was what. For the real stuff, he sent the clone to an older dealer near the edge of the warehouse district, a place that sold plain equipment meant for people who actually used it. The shop had a variety of spears and staves leaned in neat rows behind the counter. Farther in, knives, hatchets, and other blades filled the wall racks.

The seller looked him over and asked, “For work, travel, or trouble?”

“Work that may turn into trouble,” the clone answered.

The man grunted. “That narrows it a little.”

Alistair already knew what he did not want. Swords were too expensive, visible, and required training he did not have. He wanted weapons that could disappear into the mess, but reliable enough not to fail him when used. In the end, he bought a proper short spear with a sturdy ash shaft and a simple steel head, a second knife stronger than the cheap one he had been carrying, and four ordinary utility knives of decent quality. He also bought a whetstone, spare grip wraps, and a plain carrying cloth to keep the pieces together without attracting attention. The spear was the largest expense, but also the most important. Reach would keep the enemies with much higher STR at shaft’s length.

The mount cost was even more outrageous. The broker worked out of a yard attached to a feed house rather than anything grand, which was promising. He needed something practical and calm enough that clones could ride it without trouble. He settled on a compact mount suggested by the broker. Apparently, it had good legs, a mild temperament, and patient eyes. The broker described it as reliable rather than fast, which Alistair appreciated because it sounded honest.

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“You want speed, buy from a fool and overpay,” the broker said. “You want to get somewhere and come back with your bones in place, buy this one.”

Alistair bought it. Along with the mount came a simple saddle, reins, feed bag, grooming brush, hoof pick, blanket, and two saddlebags. The total still hurt, even with Roe’s shards softening the blow. But the logic behind the expense was sound. A mount would save time and allow him to reach places on the island in secrecy.

The Lantern Court had stables. The stablemaster there did not care much who owned what as long as the fees were paid. For now, the mount could stay there until he had somewhere even more private.

The next morning, after the gathering clones returned, delivered the starbloom, and were dismissed, Alistair left the Court riding. He did so before dawn, while traffic at the gate was still light. Early travelers were nothing unusual, especially on the road toward the port and the inland routes, so the guards barely looked twice.