Threads 291 Construction 4

Traveling across the severed mountain peak and following the half-constructed road laid out by posts and string, she made her way toward the southern edge of the plateau. She had begun to feel a hole where one should be. It was the sort of deliberately amateurish masking she would do if trying to advertise her presence without giving her domain away. And indeed, as she moved round the foundations of defensive forts and towers, she found herself looking at a pair of figures who were definitely not workers.

One was an acquaintance. Shrouded in gray robes, including headwrap and veil from which shaggy red hair poked out nonetheless, she saw the man she had briefly met, first in the Dream of Xiangmen and then again in the sewers under Haishan. This was Zheng Fu, scion of the Ebon Rivers ducal clan.

The other, an old man with a face creased deeply by wind and sun, was obviously foreign. Despite the age of his face and the bend of his back, his hair and beard were iron gray and thick, spilling out from under the hood that shadowed his face. He wore a cloak of crow feathers around his bent shoulders, which reached all the way to ground, concealing the rest of his body save for the claw like hand that grasped onto the knotted top of the gnarled walking stick he leaned on.

Whatever they were saying, she could not hear, only the cawing of crows and the sound of the wind. When Zheng Fu turned round, the screening technique swept away like leaves in an autumn wind.

“Ho! Looks like you were right, old timer! There she is! Baroness, I’d like to speak, but I can wait till after you’ve had your chat with this grandfather here.”

If the old foreign man had been any taller, the towering Zheng’s sweeping gesture probably would have clipped his temple. He stood there silently, watching her.

“I was not informed that you would be here, Sir Zheng. But we can speak, of course. Please excuse me.”

She didn’t want to imply in front of one of their guests that someone had apparently just shown up out of the blue. Last she knew, he had simply been carrying a message to the Duchess.

“Ha, well, we can’t just let the other provinces have all the fun,” he said cheerfully, eyes gleaming with humor. “Later then, grandfather!”

The elderly foreigner’s jaw worked, as if chewing on something. “Yes. Later, trickster.”

Ling Qi held in her wince. Gods and ancestors, she hoped Zheng Fu hadn’t caused too much offense. She gave him a short nod as he stepped past her heading back along the road, and then, she stepped forward herself. Instead of bowing, she extended her hand as she had seen the foreigners do. “I am Emissary Ling Qi, and I am pleased to meet you, sir. I hope that you have not been given any offense.”

He considered her in silence for a moment, and she worried that the gesture was wrong. After a few seconds, his other hand appeared from inside the cloak and clasped her wrist. Even wrapped in furs and leather, he was as cold as an arctic wind. Then again, so was she. She grasped the man’s near skeletal wrist back and held, meeting his gaze.

She realized then that one of his eyes was gone, an empty, sunken socket.

He released her. “He tried very hard in the way of your people.”

“What way is that?”

“Titles. Familiarity. You hold yourselves apart with unfamiliar rituals and order. He transgresses. But I am too old to beat my chest and howl at the moon for pride. Grandfather, ‘old timer,’ neither is untrue.” The old man withdrew his hand back into the depths of his cloak.

His diction was strange, slow and considering as if he were drawing phrases from a tome. But his meaning was clear, even if his creaky, cracking voice made it harsh to the ear.

“I am glad. May I ask why you sought to draw my attention, elder?”

He nodded, made no effort to hide what he’d been doing. He no longer felt like a hole in the world, but rather, like an old stone, unremarkable and invisible for it. If she were not looking at him, she’d not know he was there.

“Elder. Same meaning. Kinder,” the man said.

Ling Qi did not rise to the bait. “I will call you as you like, of course. Do you have a name or title, sir?”

“No. I set my name down long ago. Elder is fine.”

It was the prerogative of the old to poke and prod the young. Such practices crossed cultures, it seemed. “Then elder, your purpose?”

“To walk the far fields where there is no hope or hearth.” The crow cloaked elder tapped his stick thoughtfully on the ground. “To catch brave children when they tumble over the cliffs in the dark. Many whisper that the children are climbing high cliffs in the north. I have spoken with one. I would speak with the other.”

Ling Qi only took a moment to analyze his cryptic speech. She was thankfully experienced with this. “You spoke to Lady Jaromila, so you wanted to speak to me.”

He stared at her intently.

She waited patiently, though she knew her time was limited if she wished to keep other appointments.

“You are older than your skin,” he said finally. “What task did the old crone set you?”

Ling Qi blinked at him. There must be some residual power clinging to her from her last dream expedition. “My companion and I fetched her firewood and listened to a story while she cooked.”

“Interesting. Kind. Unusual,” the elder said thoughtfully.

Ling Qi looked at him intently. “Were you ever given a task, elder?”

He smiled mirthlessly and reached up, tugging at his collar. There, she glimpsed thick ropy scars going down a narrow chest as if he had been torn open long ago. “Wrangling the chicken.”

A much harsher task indeed. “Since I believe you are judging me without words, may I ask you a question while you come to your decision, elder?”

He hummed, gestured in a way which she took as agreement.

“Is there anything which troubles your embassy? Any matters of conflict which they have perhaps not spoken of out of politeness? I wish to ensure that all are comfortable and in a peaceable state of mind for the upcoming summit.”

“Your people shy from us as if we are rabid hounds. Words are short, terse, and avoided,” the elder said, confirming some of her concerns. “There is too much tension for complaints.”

“What do you believe would relieve some of your people’s tension?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

He tapped his stick on the ground. “Your Lord Soul gives them fear, fear enough to uproot the Weeping Haven and bring her here. We both guard, but not together. Reaching an agreement on who shall patrol where and when would make the women’s grip on their blades looser. I think.”

Ling Qi pursed her lips. That was probably difficult given who was in charge. Perhaps if Cai Renxiang really pushed the matter.

“Would there be anything else, elder?”

“Words between work crews. A sharing of the intent behind your runestones perhaps?” The elder shrugged. “For more, speak to those who still live as men, not this nameless old crow. You are driven.”

That was much more doable. Wang Lian liked her despite their minor disagreement. Framing it as preventing a clash of the two sides’ construction methods would see at least some words shared. She was brought up short by his final words. “Yes. This is difficult, but it must succeed.”

“Must it?” he wondered. “Two together. You are not the same, but you are not so different. You’ll both crack the ice.”

Ling Qi frowned. He was probably referring to Jaromila. “Where two mountains meet, there will be quakes. But one does not need to crumble before the other.”

“Trying too hard, that one.”

“Maybe.” Ling Qi grimaced. “I’m not familiar enough to share a metaphor you might like better, sir.”

She took a deep breath. Should she promise both of his requests? Would the time and effort spent be worth the improvement in the foreign delegations mood?