No More Mistakes

Writers: Estelle
Date Posted: 1st January 2020

Characters: Varlin
Description: Varlin discovers that Lusilk has let him down
Location: Elsewhere on Pern
Date: month 12, day 13 of Turn 9
Notes: Mentioned: Lusilk, Lorican
Notes: This post follows the events of "SWE: You Know Too Much", "SWE:
Lessons on Respect" and "SWE: Suspects". Sorry it's late!

Varlin waited a sevenday, watching the cothold by the sea, before he
decided that the men who'd hired him were not going to come, and neither
was Lusilk.

He'd expected to be the last to arrive. He'd passed on the job of
dealing with the smith, Lorican, to Lusilk, while he'd taken the more
difficult job of tracking down the thief Jilmon, whose exact whereabouts
were uncertain. Fortunately, the holdless man had turned out to be as
predictable as he'd hoped. It had only taken a few days of asking around
the sea holds closest to Cedar Vale, where he'd last been seen, before
he'd found the tavern where the man had holed up, waiting for the next
ship North.

After that, he'd simply had to wait until his target left the tavern
alone. It had taken time, but Varlin was nothing if not patient, and
eventually Jilmon emerged after midnight and headed for the docks.
There, he skulked in the shadows, gently trying the locks of darkened
buildings. He couldn't have looked more like a prowling burglar if he'd
tried. It was sheer luck that the sole guard on night duty was snoring
at his post.

It had been almost too easy to walk softly up behind the man as he
tested the door of a large warehouse, lay a heavy hand on his shoulder
and introduce himself as the captain of the guard. In his fright and the
dim moonlight, the thief hadn't noticed the lack of uniform, nor
questioned his good fortune in being escorted out of the sea hold rather
than arrested.

That had been a fatal mistake. His end, in an isolated cave by the sea,
had been hard. Not the kind of work Varlin enjoyed, but he'd got the
confession he needed.

Now, at the agreed meeting place, Varlin wondered if something had gone
wrong. Lusilk was good at what she did; he wouldn't have asked her to
assist him, otherwise. She should have been more than capable of dealing
with a crafter, but no job was without its unpredictable circumstances.
Smiths could be tough and strong, and this one had reason to be wary.

It comes to all of us holdless, he thought, the day when our luck runs
out. The knot of worry tightened in his belly.

Not her. Not yet...

He had to be practical. If she'd failed, then he'd have to do her job
himself. Not only his payment, but his reputation was at stake. If word
started to go around that he was unreliable, then he was lost.

It was a sevenday's travel to the seahold where the smith lived on foot,
maybe less if he stole a runnerbeast. Varlin pushed himself to his feet,
scooping up the pack and the bag containing the proof he'd brought from
Fairhaven Seahold. Then he started to walk out along the long pier, the
damp and rotting wood creaking beneath his feet. At the end, he dropped
the pack and swung the smaller bag gently in his hands, looking out at
the waves.

The warning came from below conscious thought. A slight change in the
air, the damp crunch of a boot on the rocky beach. Varlin felt it like a
prickle at the back of his neck. Slowly, he turned, holding the bag in
his hands like a ripe fruit.

There were three men coming down the cliff path, the one ahead and one
in the rear moving with the kind of upright bearing that suggested
guards - but not the kind who were used to being this far out from the
comforts of their Hold. The one in the middle wasn't a fighter at all,
picking his way clumsily on the rocky ground. Up on the clifftops he
could see a fourth, holding the reins of a runnerbeast.

They were not the ones he was expecting.

Varlin watched them cross the beach, his stance deceptively relaxed,
considering possibilities. A knife in the throat of the first man, shove
the smaller one aside and a blade into the belly of the third before he
could react, then down into the water, ducking under the pier in case
the man on the cliffs had a bow.

As they advanced down the pier, the second man took the lead, the two
fighters - obviously guards - falling back. He was sensibly dressed for
travelling, but it was clear the clothes were new and well made. On his
shoulder were the knots of a steward, and he appeared to be the one in
charge, the guards deferring to him and eyeing Varlin warily.

The steward's eyes fixed on the bag. "So this wasn't a complete and
utter failure, after all."

Varlin gave no answer to that, recalculating. Fling the bag at the
smaller guard's head, get him off balance, move around the holder and
behind the bigger man to draw a knife across his throat then shove him
into his comrade... "And you are?"

"The one who's here to sort out this sorry mess, it seems." He studied
Varlin, sizing him up. "I'm steward to Holder Belkas of Shadow
Peak. I hired a friend of yours to sort out a little problem for my
Holder. Man with a brown firelizard."

"You're a long way from home, Steward."

"Aye, I am, and have been for longer than I'd have liked." There was a
faint note of disdain in his voice. "Well? Did you find the one who
stole from my Holder?"

Varlin stared back at him, impassive though his mind worked furiously.
He'd never seen these men before, and they clearly weren't holdless.
They might be the ones who'd hired his services through the Garnet
Valley gang...or this could be a trap. If they'd caught Lusilk, would
she have betrayed him? He wouldn't have thought it, but he'd not lived
this long by giving his trust easily.

If it was a trap, those woods atop the cliffs would be swarming with
guards, and he was already lost. Silently he stepped forward and opened
the bag. The steward coughed and recoiled from the stink of blood and decay.

"I'll assume that's his head. Never saw the fellow myself."

"You want it?"

"Ugh, no, by the First Egg. Get rid of it."

He turned and with a smooth movement flung the soiled bag and its
contents out into the sea. It hit the waves with a heavy splash and sank
at once. Varlin had taken the precaution of weighing it down with stones
from the beach so it wouldn't resurface, though after a day or two in
the water it'd be unrecognisable.

"I questioned the thief before he died, as you asked," he said. "He
admitted to stealing the letters, but the other man who was with him,
the smith, pursued him and took them back. He didn't see them burn, though."

"So this man Lorican could have read them. Probably did. Why else would
he have destroyed them?" The steward sighed. "I'm afraid that man knows
something he shouldn't."

Varlin shrugged. **Idiots.** They should have hired him in the first
place; he could have got hold of those letters quietly and
professionally, taking no interest in their contents. Instead, they'd
thought to save the marks by using two amateurs who happened to be in
their debt, with the result that they'd have to pay him a far greater
fee to clean up the mess.

"So he's still alive?"

"There was an explosion at the forge. Tank of agenothree caught on
fire." He shook his head. "Nasty. It's hard to credit, but the man
survived, though he was badly injured."

Don't react, he thought. "And the man with the firelizard?"

"He and his associate haven't been heard from since, but two bodies were
found by a hunter, out by an abandoned cothold. The place was well
hidden, they'd never have been found if the man hadn't been hunting with
canines."

"Two bodies?"

"Two men."

Varlin let out a slow breath. It sounded like one of Lusilk's hiding
places. He'd shown her how to make a bolthole, safe from prying eyes,
but it was difficult to hide from a firelizard. Not that it had done the
men from Garnet Valley much good.

So she'd failed, and fled.

"I'll deal with it," he said, evenly.

"Good. Eliminating the thief is worthless without the smith as well.
He's the dangerous one. He might be believed." The steward gestured to
one of the guards, who handed him a small pouch. "Half your fee for the
thief. You can have the rest and the marks for the smith when the job's
complete."

Varlin controlled his anger, only a slight narrowing of the eyes
betraying him. This failure was his, too. He'd trusted Lusilk, and she'd
let him down and then made it worse by killing their clients. If he
didn't handle this quickly, he'd never get another job and he'd just be
another holdless man, alone and without protection in the Pass.

He took the marks and tucked them into his belt. "You said the smith was
injured. Is he still at Rocky Bay?" If he could get into the man's
sickroom then he shouldn't be hard to deal with; a pillow over the head
would be enough.

"Word is, he was taken to the Weyr, for healing."

"The Weyr?" Varlin raised an eyebrow. "If you want a job done at the
Weyr, the fee is double. The place is well guarded and crawling with
dragonriders."

For the first time, the other man's voice lost its pleasant tone.
"You're in no position to bargain. My Holder has already paid out far
more than this whole ridiculous affair deserves."

Don't flinch, he told himself again, and stared the steward down. "Suit
yourself. Good luck finding someone else who's prepared to work in the
Weyr."

There was a long silence. The bigger guard shifted his weight, causing
the wood to groan faintly under his boot.

"Very well." His gaze dropped for a moment, then returned, suddenly
affable again. "See that it gets done properly this time. No more
mistakes. And send word to me at Shadow Peak, I don't plan on waiting
for you in this benighted wilderness. Write in the name of Trader Orglev
and say...say you've sold the shipment of blackrock from the northwest
quarry. I'll respond with your marks."

"It'll be done."

"Good. I'll await your letter." The steward turned and walked past the
two guards, who stood aside for him and then followed, retracing their
steps across the beach and back up the cliff path.

Varlin watched until long after they were gone, turning over the small
bag of marks in one hand, and thinking of what had to be done. Then he
picked up his pack and walked slowly back along the pier, across the
stony beach and up the cliff path. Without looking back, he turned
north, following the road that would lead him to the Weyr.

Last updated on the February 1st 2020

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No More Mistakes