âGraig said thatâs what everyone called her,â Ragen said.
âThey do,â Arlen agreed, âjust not to her face, unless theyâre looking to take a coreling by the horns. Everyone hops when Selia speaks.â
Ragen chuckled. âAnd her an old Daughter, at that,â he mused. âWhere I come from, only Mothers expect everyone to jump at their command like that.â
âWhat difference does that make?â Arlen asked.
Ragen shrugged. âDonât know, I suppose,â he conceded. âThatâs just how things are in Miln. People make the world go, and Mothers make people, so they lead the dance.â
âItâs not like that here,â Arlen said.
âIt never is, in the small towns,â Ragen said. âNot enough people to spare. But the Free Cities are different. Apart from Miln, none of the others give their women much voice at all.â
âThat sounds just as dumb,â Arlen muttered.
âIt is,â Ragen agreed.
The Messenger stopped, and handed Arlen the reins to his courser. âWait here a minute,â he said, and headed over to the Jongleur. The two men moved aside to talk, and Arlen saw the Jongleurâs face change again, becoming angry, then petulant, and finally resigned as he tried to argue with Ragen, whose face remained stony throughout.
Never taking his glare off the Jongleur, the Messenger beckoned with a hand to Arlen, who brought the horse over to them.
â⦠donât care how tired you are,â Ragen was saying, his voice a harsh whisper, âthese people have grisly work to do, and if you need to dance and juggle all afternoon to keep their kids occupied while they do it, then youâd damn well better! Now put your face back on and get to it!â He grabbed the reins from Arlen and thrust them at the man.
Arlen got a good look at the young Jongleurâs face, full of indignation and fear, before the Jongleur took notice of him. The second he saw he was being watched, the manâs face rippled, and a moment later he was the bright, cheerful fellow who danced for children.
Ragen took Arlen to the cart and the two climbed on. Ragen snapped the reins, and they turned back up the dirt path that led to the main road.
âWhat were you arguing about?â Arlen asked as the cart bounced along.
The Messenger looked at him a moment, then shrugged. âItâs Keerinâs first time so far out of the city,â he said. âHe was brave enough when there was a group of us and he had a covered wagon to sleep in, but when we left the rest of our caravan behind in Angiers, he didnât do near as well. Heâs got day-jitters from the corelings, and itâs made him poor company.â
âYou canât tell,â Arlen said, looking back at the cartwheeling man.
âJongleurs have their mummersâ tricks,â Ragen said. âThey can pretend so hard to be something theyâre not that they actually convince themselves of it for a time. Keerin pretended to be brave. The guild tested him for travel and he passed, but you never really know how people will hold up after two weeks on the open road until they do it for real.â
âHow do you stay out on the roads at night?â Arlen asked. âDa says drawing wards in the soilâs asking for trouble.â
âYour da is right,â Ragen said. âLook in that compartment by your feet.â
Arlen did, and produced a large bag of soft leather. Inside was a knotted rope, strung with lacquered wooden plates bigger than his hand. His eyes widened when he saw wards carved and painted into the wood.
Immediately, Arlen knew what it was: a portable warding circle, large enough to surround the cart and more besides. âIâve never seen anything like it,â Arlen said.
âTheyâre not easy to make,â the Messenger said. âMost Messengers spend their whole apprenticeship mastering the art. No wind or rain is going to smudge those wards. But even then, theyâre not the same as having warded walls and a door.
âEver see a coreling face-to-face, boy?â he asked, turning and looking at Arlen hard. âWatched it take a swipe at you with nowhere to run and nothing to protect you except magic you canât see?â He shook his head. âMaybe Iâm being too hard on Keerin. He handled his test all right. Screamed a bit, but thatâs to be expected. Night after night is another matter. Takes its toll on some men, always worried that a stray leaf will land on a ward, and then â¦â He hissed suddenly and swiped a clawed hand at Arlen, laughing when the boy jumped.
Arlen ran his thumb over each smooth, lacquered ward, feeling their strength. There was one of the little plates for every foot of rope, much as there would be in any warding. He counted more than forty of them. âCanât wind demons fly into a circle this big?â he asked. âDa puts posts up to keep them from landing in the fields.â
The man looked over at him, a little surprised. âYour daâs probably wasting his time,â he said. âWind demons are strong fliers, but they need running space or something to climb and leap from in order to take off. Not much of either in a cornfield, so theyâd be reluctant to land, unless they saw something too tempting to resist, like some little boy sleeping in the field on a dare.â He looked at Arlen in that same way Jeph did, when warning Arlen that the corelings were serious business. As if he didnât know.
âWind demons also need to turn in wide arcs,â Ragen continued, âand most of them have a wingspan larger than that circle. Itâs possible that one could get in, but Iâve never seen it happen. If it does, though â¦â He gestured to the long, thick spear he kept next to him.
âYou can kill a coreling with a spear?â Arlen asked.
âProbably not,â Ragen replied, âbut Iâve heard that you can stun them by pinning them against your wards.â He chuckled. âI hope I never have to find out.â
Arlen looked at him, wide-eyed.
Ragen looked back at him, his face suddenly serious. âMessengeringâs dangerous work, boy,â he said.
Arlen stared at him a long time. âIt would be worth it, to see the Free Cities,â he said at last. âTell me true, whatâs Fort Miln like?â
âItâs the richest and most beautiful city in the world,â Ragen replied, lifting his mail sleeve to reveal a tattoo on his forearm of a city nestled between two mountains. âThe Dukeâs Mines run rich with salt, metal, and coal. Its walls and rooftops are so well warded, itâs rare for the house wards to even be tested. When the sun shines on its walls, it puts the mountains themselves to shame.â
âNever seen a mountain,â Arlen said, marvelling as he traced the tattoo with a finger. âMy da says theyâre just big hills.â
âYou see that hill?â Ragen asked, pointing north of the road.
Arlen nodded. âBogginâs Hill. You can see the whole Brook from up there.â
Ragen nodded. âYou know what a âhundredâ means, Arlen?â he asked.
Arlen nodded again. âTen pairs of hands.â
âWell even a small mountain is bigger than a hundred of your Bogginâs Hills piled on top of each other, and the mountains of Miln are not small.â
Arlenâs eyes widened as he tried to contemplate such a height. âThey must touch the sky,â he said.
âSome are above it,â Ragen bragged. âAtop them, you can look down at the clouds.â
âI want to see that one day,â Arlen said.
âYou could join the Messengersâ guild, when youâre old enough,â Ragen said.
Arlen shook his head. âDa says the people that leave are deserters,â he said. âHe spits when he says it.â
âYour da doesnât know what heâs talking about,â Ragen said. âSpitting doesnât make things so. Without Messengers, even the Free Cities would crumble.â
âI thought the Free Cities were safe?â Arlen asked.
âNowhere is safe, Arlen. Not truly. Miln has more people and can absorb the deaths more easily than a place like Tibbetâs Brook, but the corelings still take a toll each year.â
âHow many people are in Miln?â Arlen asked. âWe have nine hundreds in Tibbetâs Brook, and Sunny Pasture up the ways is supposed to be almost as big.â
âWe have over thirty thousands in Miln,â Ragen said proudly.
Arlen looked at him, confused.
âA thousand is ten hundreds,â the Messenger supplied.
Arlen thought a moment, then shook his head. âThere ent that many people in the world,â he said.
âThere are and more,â Ragen said. âThereâs a wide world out there, for those willing to brave the dark.â
Arlen didnât answer, and they rode in silence for a time.
It took about an hour and a half for the trundling cart to reach Town Square. The centre of the Brook, Town Square held just over two dozen warded wooden houses for those whose trade did not have them working in the fields or rice paddies, fishing, or cutting wood. It was here one came to find the tailor and the baker, the farrier, the cooper, and the rest.
At the centre lay the square where people would gather, and the biggest building in the Brook, the general store. It had a large open front room that housed tables and the bar, an even larger storeroom in back, and a cellar below, filled with almost everything of value in the Brook.
Hogâs daughters, Dasy and Catrin, ran the kitchen. Two credits could buy a meal to leave you stuffed, but Silvy called old Hog a cheat, since two credits could buy enough raw grain for a week. Still, plenty of unmarried men paid the price, and not all for the food. Dasy was homely and Catrin fat, but Uncle Cholie said the men who married them would be set for life.
Everyone in the Brook brought Hog their goods, be it corn or meat or fur, pottery or cloth, furniture or tools. Hog took the items, counted them up, and gave the customers credits to buy other things at the store.
Things always seemed to cost a lot more than Hog paid for them, though. Arlen knew enough numbers to see that. There were some famous arguments when people came to sell, but Hog set the prices, and usually got his way. Just about everyone hated Hog, but they needed him all the same, and were more likely to brush his coat and open his doors than spit when he passed.
Everyone else in the Brook worked throughout the sun, and barely saw all their needs met, but Hog and his daughters always had fleshy cheeks, rounded bellies, and clean new clothes. Arlen had to wrap himself in a rug whenever his mother took his overalls to wash.
Ragen and Arlen tied off the mules in front of the store and went inside. The bar was empty. Usually the air inside the taproom was thick with bacon fat, but there was no smell of cooking from the kitchen today.
Arlen rushed ahead of the Messenger to the bar. Rusco had a small bronze bell there, brought with him when he came from the Free Cities. Arlen loved that bell. He slapped his hand down on it and grinned at the clear sound.
There was a thump in the back, and Rusco came through the curtains behind the bar. He was a big man, still strong and straight-backed at sixty, but a soft gut hung around his middle, and his iron-grey hair was creeping back from his lined forehead. He wore light trousers and leather shoes with a clean white cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled halfway up his thick forearms. His white apron was spotless, as always.
âArlen Bales,â he said with a patient smile, seeing the boy. âDid you come just to play with the bell, or do you have some business?â
âThe business is mine,â Ragen said, stepping forward. âYou Rusco Hog?â
âJust Rusco will do,â the man said. âThe townies slapped the âHogâ on, though not to my face. Canât stand to see a man prosper.â
âThatâs twice,â Ragen mused.
âSay again?â Rusco said.
âTwice that Graigâs journey log has led me astray,â Ragen said. âI called Selia âBarrenâ to her face this morning.â
âHa!â Rusco laughed. âDid you now? Well, thatâs worth a drink on the house, if anything is. What did you say your name was?â
âRagen,â the Messenger said, dropping his heavy satchel and taking a seat at the bar. Rusco tapped a keg, and plucked a slatted wooden mug off a hook.
The ale was thick and honey-coloured, and foamed to a white head on top of the mug. Rusco filled one for Ragen and another for himself. Then he glanced at Arlen, and filled a smaller cup. âTake that to a table and let your elders talk at the bar,â he said. âAnd if you know whatâs good for you, you wonât tell your mum I gave it to you.â
Arlen beamed, and ran off with his prize before Rusco had a chance to reconsider. He had sneaked a taste of ale from his fatherâs mug at festivals, but had never had a cup of his own.
âI was starting to worry no one was coming ever again,â he heard Rusco tell Ragen.
âGraig took a chill just before he was to leave last fall,â Ragen said, drinking deeply. âHis Herb Gatherer told him to put the trip off until he got better, but then winter set in, and he got worse and worse. In the end, he asked me to take his route until the guild could find another. I had to take a caravan of salt to Angiers anyway, so I added an extra cart and swung this way before heading back north.â
Rusco took his mug and filled it again. âTo Graig,â he said, âa fine Messenger, and a dangerous haggler.â Ragen nodded and the two men clapped mugs and drank.
âAnother?â Rusco asked, when Ragen slammed his mug back down on the bar.
âGraig wrote in his log that you were a dangerous haggler, too,â Ragen said, âand that youâd try to get me drunk first.â
Rusco chuckled, and refilled the mug. âAfter the haggling, Iâll have no need to serve these on the house,â he said, handing it to Ragen with a fresh head.
âYou will if you want your mail to reach Miln,â Ragen said with a grin, accepting the mug.
âI can see youâre going to be as tough as Graig ever was,â Rusco grumbled, filling his own mug. âThere,â he said, when it foamed over, âwe can both haggle drunk.â They laughed, and clashed mugs again.
âWhat news of the Free Cities?â Rusco asked. âThe Krasians still determined to destroy themselves?â
Ragen shrugged. âBy all accounts. I stopped going to Krasia a few years ago, when I married. Too far, and too dangerous.â
âSo the fact that they cover their women in blankets has nothing to do with it?â Rusco asked.
Ragen laughed. âDoesnât help,â he said, âbut itâs mostly how they think all Northerners, even Messengers, are cowards for not spending our nights trying to get ourselves cored.â
âMaybe theyâd be less inclined to fight if they looked at their women more,â Rusco mused. âHow about Angiers and Miln? The dukes still bickering?â
âAs always,â Ragen said. âEuchor needs Angiersâ wood to fuel his refineries, and grain to feed his people. Rhinebeck needs Milnâs metal and salt. They have to trade to survive, but instead of making it easy on themselves, they spend all their time trying to cheat each other, especially when a shipment is lost to corelings on the road. Last summer, demons hit a caravan of steel and salt. They killed the drivers, but left most of the cargo intact. Rhinebeck retrieved it, and refused to pay, claiming salvage rights.â
âDuke Euchor must have been furious,â Rusco said.
âLivid,â Ragen agreed. âI was the one that brought him the news. He went red in the face, and swore Angiers wouldnât see another ounce of salt until Rhinebeck paid.â
âDid Rhinebeck pay?â Rusco asked, leaning in eagerly.
Ragen shook his head. âThey did their best to starve each other for a few months, and then the Merchantsâ guild paid, just to get their shipments out before the winter came and they rotted in storage. Rhinebeck is angry at them now, for giving in to Euchor, but his face was saved and the shipments were moving again, which is all that mattered to anyone other than those two dogs.â
âWise to watch what you call the dukes,â Rusco warned, âeven this far out.â
âWhoâs going to tell them?â Ragen asked. âYou? The boy?â He gestured at Arlen. Both men laughed.
âAnd now I have to bring Euchor news of Riverbridge, which will make things worse,â Ragen said.
âThe town on the border of Miln,â Rusco said, âbarely a day out from Angiers. I have contacts there.â
âNot anymore, you donât,â Ragen said pointedly, and the men were quiet for a time.
âEnough bad news,â Ragen said, hauling his satchel onto the bar. Rusco considered it dubiously.
âThat doesnât look like salt,â he said, âand I doubt I have that much mail.â
âYou have six letters, and an even dozen packages,â Ragen said, handing Rusco a sheaf of folded paper. âItâs all listed here, along with all the other letters in the satchel and packages on the cart to be distributed. I gave Selia a copy of the list,â he warned.
âWhat do I want with that list, or your mailbag?â Rusco asked.
âThe Speaker is occupied, and wonât be able to distribute the mail and read to those that canât. She volunteered you.â
âAnd how am I to be compensated for spending my business hours reading to the townies?â Rusco asked.
âThe satisfaction of a good deed to your neighbours?â Ragen asked.
Rusco snorted. âI didnât come to Tibbetâs Brook to make friends,â he said. âIâm a businessman, and I do a lot for this town.â
âDo you?â Ragen asked.
âDamn right,â Rusco said. âBefore I came to this town, all they did was barter.â He made the word a curse, and spat on the floor. âThey collected the fruits of their labour and gathered in the square every Seventhday, arguing over how many beans were worth an ear of corn, or how much rice you had to give the cooper to make you a barrel to put your rice in. And if you didnât get what you needed on Seventhday, you had to wait until the next week, or go door to door. Now everyone can come here, any day, any time from sunup to sundown, and trade for credits to get whatever else they need.â
âThe town saviour,â Ragen said wryly. âAnd you asking nothing in return.â
âNothing but a tidy profit,â Rusco said with a grin.
âAnd how often do the villagers try to string you up for a cheat?â Ragen asked.
Ruscoâs eyes narrowed. âToo often, considering half of them canât count past their fingers, and the other half can only add their toes to that,â he said.
âSelia said the next time it happens, youâre on your own,â Ragenâs friendly voice had suddenly gone hard, âunless you do your part. Thereâs plenty on the far side of town suffering worse than having to read the mail.â
Rusco frowned, but he took the list and carried the heavy bag into his storeroom.
âHow bad is it, really?â he asked when he returned.
âBad,â Ragen said. âTwenty-seven so far, and a few still unaccounted for.â
âCreator,â Rusco swore, drawing a ward in the air in front of him. âI had thought a family, at worst.â
âIf only,â Ragen said.
They were both silent for a moment, as was decent, then looked up at each other as one.
âYou have this yearâs salt?â Rusco asked.
âYou have the Dukeâs rice?â Ragen replied.
âBeen holding it all winter, you being so late,â Rusco said.
Ragenâs eyes narrowed.
âOh, itâs still good!â Rusco said, his hands coming up suddenly, as if pleading. âIâve kept it sealed and dry, and there are no vermin in my cellar!â
âIâll need to be sure, you understand,â Ragen said.
âOf course, of course,â Rusco said. âArlen, fetch that lamp!â he ordered, pointing the boy towards the corner of the bar.
Arlen scurried over to the lantern, picking up the striker. He lit the wick and lowered the glass reverently. He had never been trusted to hold glass before. It was colder than he imagined, but quickly grew warm as the flame licked it.
âCarry it down to the cellar for us,â Rusco ordered. Arlen tried to contain his excitement. He had always wanted to see behind the bar. They said if everyone in the Brook put all their possessions in one pile, it would not rival the wonders of Hogâs cellar.
He watched as Rusco pulled a ring on his floor, opening a wide trap. Arlen came forward quickly, worried old Hog would change his mind. He went down the creaking steps, holding the lantern high to illuminate the way. As he did, the light touched on stacks of crates and barrels from floor to ceiling, running in even rows stretching back past the edges of the light. The floor was wooden to prevent corelings from rising directly into the cellar from the Core, but there were still wards carved into the racks along the walls. Old Hog was careful with his treasures.
The storekeeper led the way through the aisles to the sealed barrels in the back. âThey look unspoiled,â Ragen said, inspecting the wood. He considered a moment, then chose at random. âThat one,â he said, pointing to a barrel.
Rusco grunted and hauled out the barrel in question. Some people called his work easy, but his arms were as hard and thick as any that swung an axe or scythe. He broke the seal and popped the top off the barrel, scooping rice into a shallow pan for Ragen to inspect.
âGood Marsh rice,â he told the Messenger, âand not a weevil to be seen, nor sign of rot. This will fetch a high price in Miln, especially after so long.â Ragen grunted and nodded, so the cask was resealed and they returned upstairs.
They argued for some time over how many barrels of rice the heavy sacks of salt on the cart were worth. In the end, neither of them seemed happy, but they shook hands on the deal.
Rusco called his daughters, and they all went out to the cart to begin unloading the salt. Arlen tried lifting a bag, but it was far too heavy, and he staggered and fell, dropping it.
âBe careful!â Dasy scolded, slapping the back of his head.
âIf you canât lift, then get the door!â Catrin barked. She herself had one sack over her shoulder and another tucked under her meaty arm. Arlen scrambled to his feet and rushed to hold the portal for her.
âFetch Ferd Miller and tell him weâll pay five ⦠make it four credits for every sack he grinds,â Rusco told Arlen. Most everyone in the Brook worked for Hog, one way or another, but the Squarefolk most of all. âFive if he packs it in barrels with rice to keep it dry.â
âFerd is off in the Cluster,â Arlen said. âMost everyone is.â
Rusco grunted, but did not reply. Soon enough the cart was empty, save for a few boxes and sacks that did not contain salt. Ruscoâs daughters eyed those hungrily, but said nothing.
âWeâll carry the rice up from the cellar tonight and keep it in the back room until youâre ready to head back to Miln,â Rusco said, when the last sack was hauled inside.
âThank you,â Ragen said.
âThe Dukeâs business is done, then?â Rusco asked with a grin, his eyes flicking knowingly to the remaining items on the cart.
âThe Dukeâs business, yes,â Ragen said, grinning in return. Arlen hoped they would give him another ale while they haggled. It made him feel light-headed, like he had caught a chill, but without the coughing and sneezing and aches. He liked the feeling, and wanted to try it again.
He helped carry the remaining items into the taproom, and Catrin brought out a platter of sandwiches thick with meat. Arlen was given a second cup of ale to wash it down, and old Hog told him he could have two credits in the book for his work. âI wonât tell your parents,â Hog said, âbut if you spend it on ale and they catch you, youâll be working off the grief your mum gives me.â Arlen nodded eagerly. Heâd never had credits of his own to spend at the store.
After lunch, Rusco and Ragen went over to the bar and opened up the other items the Messenger had brought. Arlenâs eyes flared as each treasure was presented. There were bolts of cloth finer than anything he had ever seen; metal tools and pins, ceramics and exotic spices. There were even a few cups made of bright, sparkling glass.
Hog seemed less impressed. âGraig had a better haul last year,â he said. âIâll give you ⦠a hundred credits for the lot.â Arlenâs jaw dropped. A hundred credits! Ragen could own half the Brook for that.
Ragen didnât care for the offer, though. His eyes went hard again, and he slammed his hand down on the table. Dasy and Catrin looked up from their cleaning at the sound.
âTo the Core with your credit!â he growled. âIâm not one of your bumpkins, and unless you want the guild to know you for a cheat, youâll not mistake me for one again.â
âNo hard feelings!â Rusco laughed, patting the air in that placating way he had. âHad to try ⦠you understand. They still like gold up there in Miln?â he asked with a sly smile.
âSame as everywhere,â Ragen said. He was still frowning, but the anger had drained from his voice.
âNot out here,â Rusco said. He went back behind the curtain, and they could hear him rummaging around, raising his voice to still be heard. âOut here, if you canât eat something, or wear it, paint a ward with it, or use it to till your field, itâs not worth much of anything.â He returned a moment later with a large cloth sack he deposited on the counter with a clink.
âPeople here have forgotten that gold moves the world,â he went on, reaching into the bag and pulling out two heavy yellow coins, which he waved in Ragenâs face. âThe millerâs kids were using these as game pieces! Game pieces! I told them Iâd trade the gold for a carved wood game set I had in the back, they thought I was doing them a favour! Ferd even came by the next day to thank me!â He laughed a deep belly laugh. Arlen felt like he should be offended by that laugh, but he wasnât quite sure why. He had played the Millersâ game many times, and it seemed worth more than two metal discs, however shiny they might be.
âI brought a lot more than two sunsâ worth,â Ragen said, nodding at the coins and then looking towards the bag.
Rusco smiled. âNot to worry,â he said, untying the bag fully. As the cloth flattened on the counter, more bright coins spilled out, along with chains and rings and ropes of glittering stones. It was all very pretty, Arlen supposed, but he was surprised at how Ragenâs eyes bulged and took on a covetous glitter.
Again they haggled, Ragen holding the stones up to the light and biting the coins, while Rusco fingered the cloth and tasted the spices. It was a blur to Arlen, whose head was spinning from the ale. Mug after mug came to the men from Catrin at the bar, but they showed no signs of being as affected as Arlen.
âTwo hundred and twenty gold suns, two silver moons, the rope chain, and the three silver rings,â Rusco said at last. âAnd not a copper light more.â
âNo wonder you work out in a backwater,â Ragen said. âThey must have run you out of the city for a cheat.â
âInsults wonât make you any richer,â Hog said, confident he had the upper hand.
âNo riches for me this time,â Ragen said. âAfter my travelling costs, every last light will go to Graigâs widow.â
âAh, Jenya,â Rusco said wistfully. âShe used to pen for some of those in Miln with no letters, my idiot nephew among them. What will become of her?â
Ragen shook his head. âThe guild paid no death-price to her, because Graig died at home,â he said. âAnd since she isnât a Mother, a lot of jobs will be denied her.â
âIâm sorry to hear that,â Rusco said.
âGraig left her some money,â Ragen said, âthough he never had much, and the guild will still pay her to pen. With the money from this trip, she should have enough to get by for a time. Sheâs young, though, and it will run out eventually unless she remarries or finds better work.â
âAnd then?â Rusco asked.
Ragen shrugged. âItâll be hard for her to find a new husband, having already married and failed to bear children, but she wonât become a Beggar. My guild brothers and I have sworn that. One of us will take her in as a Servant before that happens.â
Rusco shook his head. âStill, to fall from Merchant class to Servant â¦â He reached into the much lighter bag and produced a ring with a clear, sparkling stone set into it. âSee that she gets this,â he said holding the ring out.
As Ragen reached for it, though, Rusco pulled it back suddenly. âIâll have a message back from her, you understand,â he said. âI know how she shapes her letters.â Ragen looked at him for a moment, and he quickly added, âNo insult meant.â
Ragen smiled. âYour generosity outweighs your insult,â he said, taking the ring. âThis will keep her belly full for months.â
âYes, well,â Rusco said gruffly, scooping up the remains of the bag, âdonât let any of the townies hear, or Iâll lose my reputation as a cheat.â
âYour secret is safe with me,â Ragen said with a laugh.
âYou could earn her a bit more, perhaps,â Rusco said.
âOh?â
âThe letters we have were meant to go to Miln six months ago. You stick around a few days while we pen and collect more, and maybe help pen a few, and Iâll compensate you.
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