“I certainly hope so.” He rummaged through his belt pouch, searching for the letter. “I was told to ask for an… Aggie?”
Her light brown skin darkened slightly at the name. “Agnetha, my lord. That’s me.” She waved him into the room. “If you’ve been sent to me, then you’re after funds.” She settled behind a large, wooden desk and dug through the piles of paper already strewn across the surface to pluck her quill pen from its inkpot. “How much, exactly?”
“I am not entirely certain how much I shall require.” If pressed, he could hazard a guess in Udynean coin, but Tirglasian? “I suppose—” By the firm look in her eye, he’d need an acceptable amount and a reason. Not too specific, mind. “Well, the fact of the matter is, my stay here is looking to be longer than planned. I merely require enough to see me through until I can return home.”
“To Udynea?” Her full lips curved into a smug smile, likely to his surprise. “The accent gives you away, my lord.”
“No doubt my clothing, too,” he said, settling into the chair opposite the desk. “Whilst we are on accents, and if you will excuse my curiosity, you would not happen to have dwarven ancestors, would you?” The name certainly didn’t seem of Tirglasian origin. Although, there were other reasons beyond heritage for that alone, coupled with the slightly stilted way she spoke, a foreign origin was a far better possibility.
Agnetha smiled. “I am dwarven. The guild invited me to work for them.”
“I was of the opinion that dwarves preferred not to stray from their homeland for long.” At least the hedgewitches didn’t. Although he had never come across a dwarf outside their lands who wasn’t part of their Coven. Maybe they did and the hedgewitches just never talked about them. “I do hope I caused no offence by that statement. My ignorance shows, it would seem.”
“You’ve caused nae offence and you’re right, we typically dinnae leave home for long.” Sighing, she put down her quill pen. “And this establishment also doesnae make a habit of loaning to those from beyond the city. Makes it harder to reclaim should the deal fall through, you understand?”
He did. But he also had ways around that little barrier, which he hoped the guild would accept. Darshan worked one of his rings loose and placed it on the table. “I believe this should be adequate recompense.”
Agnetha took up the ring, gasped and dropped it back onto the papers. “I can’t take that as collateral,” she cried in her native Dvärg tongue, a language slightly more pleasant on the ears. “That’s the royal sigil… uh…” That wide-eyed gaze darted from him to the ring and back. “My apologies, vris Mhanek. I should’ve realised that the Udynean walking through my halls was the ambassador everyone’s been talking about.”
“That is quite all right, I—”
“How much did you say you needed?” she blurted, snatching up her quill pen and writing furiously on the first scrap of paper that entered her hand. She scoffed before he could answer and continued to babble in Dvärg. “I’m sure you don’t need me bothering you with specifics.” Snatching up his ring, she thrust both jewellery and paper towards him.
“Do you not need to keep the—?”
“No,” she all but screamed. Gasping, Agnetha dropped the items and clapped a hand over her mouth. She stared at him, frozen like a mouse before a Niholian hooded asp.
Darshan remained just as still, making no effort to speak or even twitch in any way that might be taken as aggression. He’d never come across a dwarf that was frightened of him before. They were usually curious people, especially around spellsters, always inquisitive about magical abilities and their limits.
Had she picked up that fear from the local people? Was this how Tirglasians viewed all spellsters? Or was it Udyneans they feared? He was never entirely certain people shouldn’t.
Perhaps his position in the Crystal Court was more to blame. What gossip had circulated that he might not have heard? That was an avenue to think on should any more people display Agnetha’s level of discomfort around him.
Slowly, she seemed to regain a modicum of composure. “Take this to Fib down the hall.” She held out the paper, seemingly unaware of how much it shook. “You can’t miss him. Big man. Bald and with a black beard to make up for it. He’ll give you whatever you want.”
Standing at a pace that would make a dead man look lively, Darshan relieved her of the paper. “And the ring stays?” He could hardly have the woman’s livelihood threatened because she feared him.
Agnetha shook her head and picked up the ring. “Take it. Please.” Her eyes were huge, her skin shiny with sweat. Had he not known better, he could’ve been mistaken for thinking she was begging for her life. “Just take it and go.”
He did as she asked with her collapsing in apparent relief once the ring was back on his finger. “I am sorry to have troubled you,” he murmured before exiting the room. Whatever had happened to make her fear him, it wasn’t something he could fix there and then, as much as he wished that were so.
Finding Fib had taken longer than conversing with him. The man had shown no hesitancy at Agnetha’s letter, merely doling out the amount requested of him.
Darshan trotted down the stairs to join the others, the pouch of gold coins tucked securely under his belt. It was a modest amount, enough to afford him some comfort and no more. Whilst it nagged at him that he was taking it without offering anything in return, he made a mental note to have a suitable repayment sent
