Could be.Nevertheless, she cursed.The human mage underground had established the clandestine path-channels so that regular folks could have conversations without going through the heavily monitored public networks.You never said anything on public path-comms that you didn’t want the fae or human law to know and potentially arrest you for.The underground path-channels allowed anyone with the reasonably cheap—although also contraband—enchanted path-boxes to send and receive messages.
Despite the name, the path-boxes didn’t depend on mental telepathy, instead working via a magical facsimile of that ability, which only the fae possessed.Also, the underground path-channels didn’t work for private conversation, as anyone—anyone who knew the channel codes, that was—listening to the channel could hear the path-messages and potentially butt-in.Most people figured that was half the fun.
An unexpected side-benefit of the underground path-channels being open to anyone with the ability to chime in was that the various channels also allowed for a number of grassroots groups to organize judicious resistance to the iron-fisted control of fae nobles and their puppets, the human councils.That went beyond smuggling expensive magical goods.Some people were actually altruistic and cared about improving the world more than making their fortunes.Guess which camp Cha fell into.
If the law-hounds had figured out how to listen in… Well, a lot of people would suffer.Good people, not ones like Cha.
“Think that’s how Monat got caught?”
“Going to Moonstone, anything could happen.”The poor sods who returned mutated were the lucky ones.Only whispered rumors hinted at the dire fates of those prisoners never heard from again.
Garaile raised his bottle with a grim smile and Cha joined him in a solemn toast to Monat.
“Who was she running the dust for?”Cha asked.
“You don’t know?”Garaile asked, squinting at her and apparently unsure if she was yanking his chain.Cute, nicely muscled, young enough he could probably go for hours, but really not that bright.Alas.
“How would I know?”Cha waved a hand at her surroundings.“I’ve gone legit.Mostly,” she amended, since the tourney circuit wasn’tentirelyaboveboard.Still, it was as legit as she’d ever gotten.
Garaile snorted, shaking his head at her with a grin.“Oh, right.The day the Bandit turns law-lover is the day I stop riding the lines.”
“Can’t move anything without Dy’s rig,” Cha replied, swallowing back the old hurt and shaking her head.“You know who Monat was running for or not?”
“Yeah.Otto.”
Of course it was.Cha seriously considered opening another bottle of ale, the first had gone down so easy.It just figured it was Otto.Always happy to profit off the smuggling of contraband magic ingredients so in demand by everyone from minor hedge-witches to the magic academies, then never around when the law came sniffing for the ley riders taking on all the risk.She was on the verge of asking Garaile if he wanted another ale—maybe he wasn’t allthatyoung and she didn’t need sparkling conversation for a quick pressure-release—when someone rapped on the door.
It could be only one person and hewouldn’t dare.
The door popped open and Otto stuck his head in, round face creased in what he no doubt thought was a charming grin.“Bandit!”he crowed.“Got a minute for an old friend?”
~3~
The Deal
“No,” Cha answered,tempted to kick the door shut in Otto’s face.
Naturally, he swanned into the room anyway, far too shiny in his sharp suit for the surroundings.Her perfectly nice, private changing room suddenly looked all kinds of shabby in comparison and Cha didn’t care for it.“What part of ‘no’ don’t you get?”she asked irritably.
“The part where you haven’t heard my offer yet.”Sweeping back his celadon tailcoat to reveal his substantial belly, Otto rocked on his heels, gleaming boots spattered with dirty white pixie dust from the arena.He eyed Garaile.“Number 54, right?You did okay out there.”
Garaile beamed, actually blushing.“Oh, thanks, Mr.Otto, I—”
“Can you give me a bit of privacy with the Bandit here?”Otto winked broadly.“We got old times to talk about, doncha know.”
Cha set her teeth against Otto’s faux-folksy slang.Just one of the people, not a wannabe royal, fae-ass-kisser at all.
“Sure thing, Mr.Otto.”Garaile stood, quaffed his remaining ale, and tossed the empty in the glass recycle.Putting on his hat again, he tipped it to Cha.“Later, Bandit.”
“Thanks for the gossip,” she replied.
Otto watched him go, then shut and locked the door behind him.“Little young for you, isn’t he?”
“Did you or did you not see us fully dressed having a beer?”Cha snapped back.“We were just talking.”
“Is that what you kids are calling it these days?”He grinned, went to her cooler and snagged a bottle of her ale for himself without offering her one.Just as well.Whatever he wanted, she was best staying sober for it.“You looked good in the race today, Bandit.”
“I always look good.”
