Just Business

[Tismri]

"I can find the information you're looking for," Raven said, leaning forward against the ornate oak desk with her fingertips arched together. She gave a cool stare to her visitor who seemed at once nervous and determined. "It will take some time, however. And specific requests like this cost extra."

"Money is of no consequence," her guest assured her. "I need this intel, for my own sake and others. Perhaps even for the very world." He shifted as Raven smirked at his words. Saving the world had little meaning to her. Both sides of each conflict had their own point of view, and their own reasons for their actions. There was a reason she chose to stay as uninvolved in war and politics as possible. She worked for whomever paid her.

"Very well, my friend. Give me two weeks and I will have what you want." She stood and escorted her new client to the office door, where her butler, her lone servant, met them to show the man the rest of the way out of her home. With him gone, Raven went to the tray that held a variety of liquors and poured herself a drink, knocking it back in a single gulp. From the recesses of her bookshelf, she heard an impatient caw.

I'm surprised he didn't haggle more, Maurice commented once Raven lowered her mental barriers and let him in. The ebony raven flew across the room and perched upon the corner of her desk. She could sense his distaste of her choice in beverage, but he didn't comment on it.

It helps when I don't mention the price, she replied, taking another drink before capping the bottle again. As long as I deliver results, which I always do, most fools will pay any amount I say. And they never question how I find it. She turned as her butler, Altaan, returned to the room.

"Altaan, I will be leaving on business shortly," she informed him. He alone knew what the truly meant. He grimaced for a moment and nodded.

"Of course, madam. I take it you will be leaving the usual way?" She nodded and, with Maurice perching on her shoulder, left the room to her bedchambers. As she passed by the older man, she paused and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you for everything you do," she told him sincerely. Her operations would not run nearly as smoothly without him, nor could she maintain so comfortable a lifestyle even with the wealth she acquired. While she had been initially hesitant to trust him, he had long ago proven himself invaluable to her, as well as reliable. He would never let others in on her secrets.
***

After three days of being locked in her bedchambers, Raven was ready to leave. She was dressed in the worst rags, hardly fit to be described as clothing. Her hair was tangled, damp, and dirty. Her left arm was wrapped tightly in bandages to hide just how deformed her injury had left her. Thus prepared, she climbed out of her bedroom window late into the night, when all the world was still and the darkness was nearly complete. She journeyed through the nights to reach her destination, staying out of sight during the day, until she came to the city of Feinster. The gates were closed at night, of course, but she knew ways in that only those who lived on the streets would even think of.

Quietly, she sat near a group of beggars; some of them were sleeping while others were talking amongst themselves of rumors about the nobility of the city. Rumors that piqued her interest. She would confront them for details later, but for the moment, she needed to be as desolate as those around her, as she had been all those years ago. She was no longer Raven the mysterious information broker of Teirm. She was the girl cruelly named Crow, who sat starving on the streets while the wealthy folks discussed some of their deepest secrets well within her hearing, never even knowing she existed.

This was her business. This was how she worked and earned her place in the world.

[iapetus]

OOC: My first rp post, so excited!!! Btw, my character is probably older in this post than the app says. I based that off of the plot, but from what I've been able to tell of Raven's history her age puts this several years later. I may be wrong, though.

***

The day dragged on far longer than was comfortable for the people of Feinster, and Pierre was no exception. Surda's summer was always enough to bake you alive, but the past week had been enough to make even the lizards abandon their sunny perches for the relative coolness that shade offered. Normally Pierre would have prefixed them as the "good" people of Feinster but today he had his reservations. There hadn't been a soul in his shop all month, which was certainly thanks to the sun's exuberance in performing his seasonal task. The children complained of the heat in the streets, opting to sit in the shade rather than play ball; the older generations swore that it had been much hotter under the Empire's rule and that the young didn't know how easy life had become. The various opinions made little difference to the weather itself. It would go on as it pleased for as long as it saw fit, and did not care to change just for Surda's pleasure. Days came and went, the heat making them blend together as if there were no beginning or end to the unchanging ordeal that was summer. Even the normally placid jeweler was finally becoming impatient for something to happen. He got up and left the workshop, where he had been cutting a piece of colored quartz into a setting for a cameo brooch, and paced through the open doorway into the front of the shop. Here shelves lined the walls of various sizes and heights, and on the shelves examples of Pierre's work stood. Some more cameo brooches, an intaglio ring or two and a few curiosity pieces like the jade dragon head that he had just finished the other day. Finished in all of the free time that last week had afforded him. Pierre was ready to get out of the shop for a walk and some fresh air, but heat and habit kept him at his station until the sun started dropping below the eighty-foot walls that kept Feinster safe. Finally relieving himself of duty and locking his doors, he headed out towards the square keep standing at the center of town.

Pierre was beginning to wish he had invested in the room conditioning spell that had become popular among the richest traders, but the price that was being asked was exorbitant - and now that the heat was here, it would have quadrupled at least. It would certainly have relieved the monotony of sitting around without any commisions, though. A clever young magician in King Orrin's court had apparently discovered a new way to make things cold and it was catching on like wildfire in the circles of those who could afford such luxuries.

No, that money will be much better saved and spent where it is needed, Pierre thought to himself. Thanks to the deal he had negotiated with the baker Aran, the old bread he handed out to the poorest on the streets cost next to nothing. Pierre had given quite a steep discount on a ring the baker's daughter had wanted, but he knew it would pay off in the long run. It had felt good to make the skinflint compromise, the jeweler reflected. Maybe once in a while he does think of something besides himself, but if any Feinsterian has seen it they certainly aren't coming forward.

The smell of warm bread wafted out of the door as Pierre approached the keep. Aran was standing outside, taking advantage of the approaching shade. He grunted when Pierre greeted him. "I don't have any more for you today than I have this fortnight," he said gruffly. " 'Themselves' are keeping the ovens as dead as possible to keep the heat from wafting up the tower." He gestured to a bag partially full of old bread. "You are welcome to what we haven't used, though, as always."

The gemcutter almost rolled his eyes at the man's implied charity. Before their deal, the baker had charged him by the quarter pound for the bread that would have been thrown to the birds otherwise. The profit had gone in the baker's own pocket, of course, not to Feinster's treasury. Even now, Pierre was responsible for providing the bags that the bread was put in. Other bakers were more generous to him, but none had bread left over in the quantity and frequency that the keep did. Making sure that there was enough was always the keep kitchen's first priority, what happened to the waste was something that Orrin's nobles didn't generally concern themselves with.

As the shadows of the wall fell over all Feinster, Pierre passed out the little he had to the poor that were making their way out of the shady hiding holes where they had avoided the sun. King Orrin had rid the city of the sea of hovels that surrounded the walls during Galbatorix's reign, but nobody could heal all the crippled and maimed in the world. Because there was so little, Pierre saved what he had for those who he knew were in most need - young orphans and the oldest of the widows without any family to care. Most of them he knew by sight, if not by name. It took him over an hour to find the intended recipients, but each was grateful. They always ceased talking among themselves when Pierre came close, and he couldn't imagine what they had to gossip about. Surely there wasn't any interest among them about the latest dress that the Queen had worn on her last visit, or any of the other gossip Pierre heard from the clientele in his establishment. As he handed out the last pieces and prepared to go home, a young woman caught his eye. Her face seemed new, and she was dressed in rags that would have ashamed even the poorest of the beggars Pierre had met. The least revealed part of her body was her left arm, most of which was thickly wrapped in a bandage. Making note of her face, Pierre decided to bring some extra food for her the next day and see if he could find some more modest clothing. Certain women in the keep had clothing tastes constantly in flux, and occasionally a tailor would be willing to rework one of the castoffs for him. Until he had a material reason for the young woman to trust him, though, the jeweler knew that any attempt at conversation with her would be so much wasted breath.

[Tismri]

Raven sat with her head down, but her eyes and ears open. Most of the merchants in town were closing up their shops and heading home. Some were grumbling among themselves about their customers from earlier in the day and the treatment they had received. She paid close attention, listening for the name of the nobleman she was here to spy on. She knew very well that the wealthy had a habit of sneering at those beneath them and mistreating others. The lower the social status, the worse the treatment. While the shopkeepers might have to fight for their due gold and a modicum of respect, the beggars like those around her were either ignored completely, or struck if they had the misfortune to be noticed. As a child she had learned to be invisible; nothing good ever came from being seen, at least until Elaine and Dublin took her in.

As she sat back after the streets had mostly emptied, one man caught her attention. His clothing told her he was likely another merchant of the city, not a member of nobility. He was giving bread to some of the street children, who approached him with trust. The sight of it made her remember the old man in Dras-Leona who would feed her, along with Mouse, Pup, and Beetle. A very slight smile came to her face as she was grateful to see that kindness did still exist in the world for those whom fate had neglected. When he looked her way, Raven quickly moved her gaze elsewhere, back down to the ground at her feet. In spite of his apparent compassion, beggars her age would almost never meet the eyes of someone higher classed than they, for fear they would be beaten and imprisoned.

"Out of the way, filth!" a snarl echoed down the street. Everyone around her darted away, the orphans shrieking in terror as they hid. Raven looked up to see a middle-aged man in obnoxious finery riding up on a magnificent stallion, accompanied by no fewer than four guards who were shoving at anyone foolish enough not to make way for them immediately. Her eyes narrowed on the nobleman, her anger rising. She remembered well his type, the kind who enjoyed abusing those beneath him. Anyone foolish to beg from him would receive nothing more than a sound beating and the threat of death or imprisonment if they ever dared sully his presence again. Everything within her wanted to stand against him defiantly, even though she knew she shouldn't. She remained where she was sitting with her head down.

"I said out of the way, you worthless garbage!" one of the guards kicked her viciously in the side. She winced at the pain and was sorely tempted to teach him and his charge a lesson, but she couldn't bring attention to herself. She had to keep her own business in mind. So she settled for standing, holding her wrapped hand against her bruised side and glaring at the one who kicked her as the group passed by. Once they were gone, she sank to the ground again, keeping her breathing shallow against the pain. Luckily, she could tell nothing was broken, but it was going to hurt like heck for the next few days.

Maurice dropped from the sky and landed on a windowsill across the street from her, letting out a single caw.

And that was our target, he informed her, tapping his bill against the stone wall beside him. His annoyance was as clear as her own. Despite her condition, Raven gave a smirk.

Well, if he treats everyone the same way he just had his guard treat me, finding proof of the dirt on him should be easy. She gave a small laugh that turned into a groan. The abuse was one thing she did not miss from her days on the streets.

[iapetus]

As he turned to go back to the shade of his home, Pierre heard a commotion coming up behind him. Quickly getting to one side of the street, he turned and saw a corpulent nobleman being borne on the back of a horse far too well bred for him. At least in Galbatorix's time our nobles were worth the sword at their side, Pierre reflected sourly. The noble in question was most notable for being the father of young Lady Opal, one of his most frequent customers and a leading member of society in Feinster. She was also, by a stroke of coincidence, among his least favorite clientele. These were the kind that found a flaw in every gem he cut, and not just as a haggling procedure. For them, everything in the world that was not "theirs" was inferior in some way, and pointing this out to others was one of the joys of life. This less than charming trait was from her father, no doubt.

Pierre's reflections were cut short when the nobleman and his guards reached the girl he had noticed earlier. Unlike everyone else in the street, she did not move to the nearest wall. Instead, she stayed standing on one side of the street watching the approaching thugs with a strange intensity.

Why isn't that fool of a girl moving? Pierre couldn't fathom her actions. She must see him! No beggar would risk a beating or worse simply to stand idly in the street... Does this waif think she can get something from that entitled curmudgeon? Certainly the girl seemed new here, but even so she must have known just by looking that this was not the type of noble who cared for those in his charge.

The girl did not try begging, however. She stood still as the procession neared and tried neither moving nor appealing to the horseman. Her head was turned toward him, unwavering, but not giving any attention that would please or flatter. The whole street flinched when she was kicked in the side, as they knew she must be, and the nobleman passed on content, for the moment, with his seat above the world. Several of the braver street dwellers murmured in appreciation, knowing she had done what they dared not. Pierre had watched, first in sympathy, then in shock, as the young woman stood up for herself. The blow from the soldier, while not life threatening, certainly should have knocked over any weakened beggar that roamed the streets. This stranger did not even flinch when she was hit. To the jeweler it looked like she wanted to strike back, the slightest twitch of her hand showing a desire to retaliate.

First she tempts fate by blocking the road before a nobleman, then she takes such a blow and stays on her feet? Who is she? Pierre couldn't help admire this young woman for her courage. It had been such a long time since he had been with the Varden in the war, but watching the beggar stand in silent protest brought back all of Pierre's youthful desires to work for a nobler cause than that of money.

He shook his head. Now that Galbatorix was dead, rebellion had no place in Alagaesia. Nasuada was proving to be as good a queen as could be hoped and surely that was what mattered, not the trifling vanities of this or that landowner.

Watching the girl sink down once her assaulters had passed by, Pierre realized the pain she must be in. While she certainly looked tough for for her station in life, it was obvious that flesh and bones could hurt her just as much as they could anyone else. The man only briefly hesitated before heading to the herbalist's shop down the street. The compress was easy to obtain, but he couldn't leave without satisfying the woman's curiosity about who had been going by. Women, the bachelor thought comfortably after he had extricated himself from the establishment, are all the same when it comes to gossip.

Pierre approached the young beggar with the wrapped compress in his hand. She still sat on the hard street holding her side and looking around, as if trying to take in the whole world. Crouching a few feet from her, he offered it quietly. "This should help the bruising, just tie it to your side with this rag. I want to thank you for what you did. It was good to see that such a man as that can still be defied. Especially once you have met his daughter! Not many of us would risk the pain to keep our dignity,... " he paused, wondering if he were about to offend her pride himself, "And we would certainly never expect to be reminded of this by a cripple in the street." He did not wait to see her reaction, continuing quickly, "I do not have much compared to some, but if you are ever in need of help you will always be able to find it with me for what you have done here today."

[Tismri]

Raven opened her eyes, having closed them to concentrate on willing her pain away, when she heard the sound of footsteps near her. She glanced up to see the merchant she had noticed before holding an item toward her. She recognized the compress; little Elise from the orphanage had taught herself how to make them in order to help her "siblings" whenever they were hurt. As she reached for it, she scoffed at the man's words to her.

"I've never been one to grovel," she stated, tying the bandage against her bruised ribs. "Probably why I'm here. Too stubborn to ask for help when I should." She paused when the merchant referred to her as a cripple. She involuntarily clenched her fist as she remembered the pain from her injury, and how mangled her arm had been. True, it was fully functional now, but its appearance was horrifying with its scars and shape. She bit back a sharp retort as she was stunned by his offer. Such kindness was incredibly rare among all people these days.

"Thank you," she told him, touched by his generosity. She gazed over at where Maurice still perched, eyeing the two of them keenly. She mulled quietly for a moment before she finally said, "Crow." She glanced back at him before lowering her gaze to the ground, as if ashamed. It was something a beggar in her position would do. "The others call me Crow."

[iapetus]

Even though he knew it would help, Pierre was still surprised when she took the compress from him. It was obvious by the ease with which she tied it on that she was well used to applying it, at least to others. He didn't offer to help, knowing she would have refused it. A smile had to be hidden when she confessed to more pride than was good for her. That pride was obvious from the way she had taken the soldier's blow, and it was the main reason Pierre had offered help so generously. She was not the type of person who would come to him for just anything, of that he was sure.
Her comment made him wonder, though, if she had family somewhere. What else could she have meant? For Pierre, who had never known his blood relatives, the idea of willfully leaving family was a source of disbelief. Happiness was a two-way street, in his opinion - finding what you truly wanted had to be tempered by correcting your own flaws and misguided desires, not feeding them.

Pierre's amazement only mounted when, after staring over his shoulder for a moment, she told him her name. Crow. It was undoubtedly the name of a street urchin, for no parent would christen their child after such an ill omened bird. She seemed ashamed to even mention it, as if he wouldn't care. Then again, most people could not care less what she is called, Pierre thought angrily. It never ceased to amaze him how little others seemed to recognize the humanity of those around them. Her shame was at odds with her previous display of pride, though. While she certainly could not be vain about her name, Crow seemed the last person to show anyone such an obvious weakness as that.

"I am Pierre," he said. "You can find my shop in the thirteenth sector of the city, close to the keep." Feinster was divided into sixteen wedges with the northern most sector being the sixteenth and the easternmost being the fourth. Knowing that his shop was at the skinny end of the sector, it would be easy enough to find if she ever tried.

"On second thought, it may be better for you not to come to me tomorrow," Pierre said ruefully. Speaking of his shop reminded him of tomorrow, which he had been trying not to think about all day. Lady Opal was due for her monthly visit to the shop. While he was eager for business over the past few days, money was not enough of a concern yet to make him welcome her visit. Far from it! The only thing he liked less than a visit from Lady Opal was when both she and her father came in to look at his wares. The two of them were enough to make him consider closing shop and moving to somewhere cooler.

"Lady Opal will most likely be visiting my shop and her father comes sometimes, usually on the way to other business. While I doubt he would so much as recognize you, it is better not to tempt fate unnecessarily."

The shadows were growing and Pierre knew it was time to bid his adieus. "Farewell, Crow. I am," he paused, "glad to have met you." As he walked away, Pierre found himself wondering again just who Crow was. While he was not fool enough to expect any answers from her, it was possible that others among the poorest might be able to tell him what he wanted to know. Pierre was a little troubled over what the girl might do if she found him to be enquiring after her, but he was not overly worried. Discretion, after all, was the 'other' business that he worked.  

  While his feet slowly trudged their way back to his home, the jeweler's eyes and mind were too preoccupied with the curiosity of Crow to notice that the lengthening shadows seemed to have a life of their own.  Movement, twisting and snakelike, began to stir in their depths.  Invisible steps lead their owner silently along behind Pierre, unnoticed by him or any of the other merchants heading to their last business of the day.

****
(OOC:  Oops, I did not know that Surda had fallen to the Shade army!  I was under the assumption Feinster was still a free city in a free state, would you fill me in on what the status is here? )