The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Avoiding Custom

For the rest of the morning, Lark continued his little tour of verifiable facts. First, they went up to a bakery where an elderly woman sold them some scrumptious turnovers and shared letters her sons had sent her from their indentured servitude. One son was putting a positive spin on the conditions and beseeching his mother not to worry, while the other was broken and begged her for help.

From there they headed to the run-down side of town, where Able was shocked to find Lark had brought him to an actual Resistance member, although the fellow insisted he was done with that now. A draft dodger during the war, he had lost track of his family and had been living alone on a homestead he had built in the wilds. The sheriff's men—"the old sheriff, mind, though the new one is even worse," he said—came one day and blind-sided him with the fact that not only was he supposed to be paying taxes, he owed back pay for missing the first few years of it. He had nothing close to their demands, so they forced him into an indentured contract.

He had thought he would get his home back once his contract was fulfilled, but after three years of hard labor, he returned to find that his land had been permanently seized, with his cabin and all the woods around it leveled. Irate, he had joined the earliest version of the Resistance but soon learned that he was still not cut out for fighting and left. Now he squatted in the empty buildings and did odd jobs to feed himself.

He showed Able his notice of contract fulfillment and his notice of property forfeiture, neither of which he could read, incidentally. After some impressive cajoling on Lark's part, he also shared a letter he had once intercepted from the Sheriff's men and then abruptly gave it to Able. He had kept it as a trophy, but now decided he didn't want to be caught with it.

As they made their way back to the more vibrant part of the city, Lark was accosted by another young woman and accepted another dress commission. This was the fourth such interaction since Abundance Chambers, and each time Lark had started asking for sixty cees but had been bargained down to fifty or forty-five and some goods.

"I think I'm starting to understand your business model," Able reflected as they continued on their way.

"Hm?" Lark raised his eyebrow.

"Why you're walking around in a dress, I mean."

But to that Lark rolled his eyes and snorted, so it seemed Able had not lost his talent for being insulting.

He pushed on anyway. "The thing I don't understand is why you don't barter down to more goods. Surely that would be easier on your clients' finances?"

"It's the best balance I've found to avoid arousing suspicion from the count's men."

"Suspicion of what?"

"Oh, we're not supposed to barter with goods. Too hard to track."

"Wait, so..." Able frowned. "You're undercutting your prices and trading goods under the table? Lark, you just admitted to me you're breaking the law."

"Stupid laws are destined to be broken." Lark chuckled. "I'll play along; got to keep Splendor fed and housed, after all. But the only law Borealund needs is kindness and common sense. Larbantry can keep the bullshit."

Able rubbed his temples in disbelief at this girly-guy's recklessness. He was already staggering under the weight of the information he had gathered today. He could put people in danger. Method was right. This task was well over Able's head. Maybe he should return home and—no.

No, this was what it meant to be at the forefront of the field. This was the only way to reach the level of work he aspired to. To make the impact he desired. And he was already in the thick of it, largely thanks to this Larbant departer.