Gold Wins Wars

by Verlax

Chapter VI - Of Fish, Whales and Mind Games

Grainwood carefully read through the list of guests, scrutinizing it from top to bottom. The sheer volume of names and the number of cities and trading posts was surprising, even taking into consideration the recent formation of the Hansa. The Circle’s size was far beyond her expectations.

“Please sign below,” the clerk asked from behind his desk, pointing out the right place on the list. “And do be careful with this quill. At least three hundred ponies used it today, and it’s already in a bad shape.”

He was right of course. The quill she was supposed to use looked like it would snap at any second. Grainwood tried to use it as carefully as she could, and thankfully it didn’t break. The assistant took it back and hid it in his desk, as if hoping that by doing so he would somehow dissuade the rest of the would-be guests from bothering him. A glance back at the grumbling queue behind her, growing impatient with each passing moment, was enough to tell him otherwise.

“Unfortunately Miss Grainwood, you missed the opening ceremony,” The annoyed unicorn assistant explained in a bored tone. “If you’re quick enough you’ll be able to make it for the lecture on economy by Professor Smith. According to the schedule, it should start in fifty minu—”

“I’m not interested,” she cut him off. “Tell me, is Mr. Partial Right attending?” Grainwood asked, ignoring the fact she was blocking the passway.

“He is.” the unicorn replied. “Partial Right came about an hour ago.”

“Thank you.” She nodded and finally entered.

Grainwood once more found herself in the most renowned building of Lubuck - sometimes referred to as the ‘Meeting Hall’; the same place where the first Hanstag had takenplace. Of course, this time the building served a completely different purpose. It was hosting not the ‘Tagfahrt’ but the ‘Circle’. The difference between the two was largely in scale. The Tagfahrt had Equestria-wide authority, having influence on the going-ons of the most influential merchant cities across the nation. The Circle, in turn, was a local meeting of merchants and business ponies. Some merchants argued that the Circles were more important than Tagfahrt, thanks to their more direct impact. Others held that the Circles had no meaningful political power. Grainwood didn’t care either way. She was there to get information, and make money.

Finding Partial Right was surprisingly easy. Grainwood knew full well that the noisy unicorn was utterly addicted to gambling. He was thus found sitting with three other merchants and playing cards in one of the many corridors leading to the central meeting hall. It looked like, yet again, the gambler was winning by a landslide.

Partial Right was, at least according to Grainwood’s sources, the son of beggars who managed to achieve his small fortune through unorthodox means, such as gambling, foul play, and financial tricks. Normally she wouldn’t even bother with somepony like him, but the same sources also claimed that Partial Right was known for his philanthropy and for looking out for the beggars who had once been his companions. He was also known as an expert in the new system of Equestrian law, despite his inability to write.

…

Or maybe it was just a story he created to make his clients feel more sympathetic towards him. It was hard to tell for sure.

Grainwood approached the stallion from behind. From her unique perspective, she learned what the other players didn’t know—Partial Right was cheating. He had another deck in his jacket pocket and from time to time he was smuggling cards from it into his hoof.

“An extra deck? Seriously? That’s old,” she whispered into his ear.

Partial Right didn’t grace her with any response, pretending not to be surprised by her sudden whisper and maintaining a perfect poker face. The rest of players were persistently gazing into their own cards, ignoring Grainwood’s approach.

“Damnit Grainwood. You’re ruining the fun,” he hissed silently back.

“We need to talk. If you’ll leave the game now, I promise not to say a word about the deck to the others.”

“Deal.” Partial Right nodded, after which he cleared his throat and folded. “My dear friends, forgive me for breaking the rules of honor, but I need to leave the game now. It was a pleasure playing against you, and you can henceforth boast that you have managed to walk away from the table without me sucking you dry!” he announced boisterously while standing up.

The rest of the players moaned and complained, because Partial Right had already won three times the amount of money he had brought to the game and by walking out on them, he effectively ruined their chances at winning anything back. Meanwhile Grainwood and the ‘winner’ left the hall, ignoring the seething gamblers and leaving them to play for what few coins were left.

“Idiots,” Grainwood said shaking her head once they had left the sight of the players. “They played with you, despite your reputation as an unbeatable opponent and a cheat”?

“That’s the point. They want to prove the stories wrong.” Partial Right shot her a lopsided grin. “Let’s get down to business. What do you want?”

“I need information about a certain persona... if you know what I mean.”

“Ah… I guess I can humor you. And who’s the lucky sod that’s caught your interest?” Partial Right asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Grainwood rolled her eyes and responded simply.

“Shabby Rich.”

The unicorn stopped in his tracks, taken aback by her declaration. It took him a moment to come up with an answer, and when he spoke again, Grainwood heard a hint of worry in his voice.

“Why him?”

“Business, what else?”

“Well… as you may know, there are three kinds of business ponies in the world. There are small fish, big fish and fucking whales. Shabby Rich is certainly in the last category. He may not be the richest per se, but right now, he has the biggest share in the mining industry in the Ridge region, and thus he’s crucial to the entire Equestrian economy. He’s too rich; his money has to be dirty. It stinks, despite what certain Cirran Emperors may say. Stinks like the Hayburg port in the morning.”

“Umm…” Grainwood had no idea what to say in reply.

“Okay, why do you want to know about him exactly?” the trickster pushed forth.

“I’ve just signed a contract with him recently. I wanted to get somepony’s opinion about him,” the merchant replied.

“Sooo…” they started walking into another section of the Meeting Hall, “first you sign a contract, and then you check the pony you’re supposed to work with?”

“I want to be sure that he won’t change his mind and go to my competition,” Grainwood explained, although just as those words left her mouth she realised how stupid the lie sounded.

“Riiight.”

Grainwood didn’t need to be an expert in reading other ponies to realize the unicorn thought of her as stupid and naive. His tone said it clearly for him. It looked like Partial Right wanted to say something else, but he was interrupted by the dance that just begun. Both ponies turned toward the noise; their segment of hallway had a perfect view into the ballroom. A large group of merchants and nobles alike were preparing for the polonaise - a traditional, ceremonial dance. It didn’t have any fancy moves, nor any spectacular figures; it rather looked like a coordinated walk. But still, it was a really beautiful coordinated walk. Suderhoof, the mayor of Lubuck and Princeps of the Hansa, was sitting in the corner, discussing something with his secretaries while the dance started. The hall was incredibly crowded and despite being spacious, it was virtually impossible not to have one’s personal space invaded.

“Back to the topic.” Partial Right rolled his eyes, ignoring the dance. “Making deals with ponies like Shabby Rich is by no means a bad idea. Quite the opposite, actually. Ponies like Rich need to have loyal merchants that will supply them with all the goodies they need. In his own interests, he’ll try to maintain good relations with you, probably by overpaying you by a large margin. Tartarus, with contracts that good, you’ll quickly get promoted to the upper class. I hear Platinum will be selling noble titles at a good price soon…”

“Seriously? Noble titles?” Grainwood couldn’t believe it. “What for?”

“Well, our rulers tend to get creative when it comes to saving the country’s budget.” Partial Right smirked. “You wouldn’t believe how much ponies can pay for the sake of putting the word “baron” in front of their name.”

“Huh. So I guess then it wasn’t such a bad idea. I mean, sticking with a ‘whale’.” Grainwood concluded.

“No, it wasn’t. But you need to be careful. Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes between the pass and fell incensed points of mighty opposites.”

“Shake Spear?” Grainwood guessed.

“Beautiful author, isn’t he? His works are simply marvelous. Shame nopony reads him. But then again…” Partial Right shook his head and went back on topic. “... I once asked a pony of science how exactly a whale eats. Well, according to him, whales suck down water, because there is something very very small in it, and they can eat it somehow. Of course, they don’t look at what is in front of them, so often they also suck in some fish by accident. It’s actually good for their diet…”

“Are you suggesting something?” she asked, getting tired of the biological metaphor.

“I’m not suggesting anything, Grainwood,” he replied with a smile on his lips that was hard to decode. “However, if I was a lawyer, I would be asking you to pay for this advice.”

“Really?” Grainwood smiled in return. “Then you might enjoy this joke. What do you call a thousand lawyers at the bottom of the sea?”

“I have no idea.”

“A good beginning!”

There was a short burst of laughter that quickly died down because of the sudden approach of a third pony to the conversing duo. Partial Right’s smile vanished immediately. Grainwood at first didn’t know why, but when she scanned the newcomer before her, her expression dropped too.

The newcomer was a pegasus, and a small one at that. His build was below average, though he masked the fact somewhat with a heavy leather jacket, covering his body almost completely. The only visible part of his body was his head, covered by a grey, unremarkable coat. Grainwood could also spot a hint of steel behind his jacket, suggesting that beneath all his clothes he wore a suit of armor, or at least a breastplate. Still, the real reason why their smiles dropped was his face, completely devoid of any semblance of emotion. He didn’t greet them, nor did he say anything at all. The pegasus before them just stood there silently.

“Ehm… hello?” Grainwood tried to initiate contact.

Not a single word was spoken from the pegasus’ lips. Instead, he pulled a small paper note from his jacket. Partial Right, who was closer to the strange pegasus was the first to take it from his hoof. Both Grainwood and Right read it.

My name is Silencer. I’m mute. Speak slowly, so I can answer accordingly.

“Ah, I know you.” Partial Right said, however he failed to bring even a fake smile to his face. “What do you want?”

Instead of answering like a proper pony, Silencer took out another note. Instead of giving it immediately, the pegasus started writing on it with a pencil hanging on a string from his jacket. Then, the message was delivered.

Not you. Grainwood. Go away. Buisness.

“He is creepy, isn’t he?” Grainwood whispered into Partial Right ear.

“I need to go,” he replied evasively. “Bye.”

“Wait, what…”

Within a second, Partial Right obeyed the newcomer’s order and headed towards the exit. Two seconds later he vanished in the next crowded corridor, leaving Grainwood to face Silencer alone.

It was all so sudden and so surprising; it took Grainwood completely aback. How was it possible that this single pony could force somepony as fearless as Partial Right to leave so hastily? The green earth pony once more felt a very unpleasant feeling - the worry and fear that she was getting closer and closer to something that shouldn’t be getting close too.

As she was thinking, the pegasus in front of her took another two notes from his pocket and passed them to her. The first one read:

The Marshall wants to meet you ‘face to face’. I was sent to escort you. He is a few rooms away from here. I do not accept ‘no’ as answer.

While second one, in turn, was:

In your free time learn sign language. I hate those cards.

Grainwood might have chuckled at the last one, if somepony other than Silencer had handed her the card. Despite not saying a word—or perhaps because of his silence—the pegasus was giving off a worrying atmosphere. But Grainwood refused to be worried. In fact, she was getting angry. Now she was being pulled away from the dance floor by a group of ponies she didn’t even know. Such arrogance!

“I don’t need to go to your Marshall, and I’m not interested in any sort of meeting. And you cannot stop me anyway, especially in public.” She delivered the answer firmly, though it came out soundingmuch rougher than she had intended.

Silencer’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. Instead he signed something with his hooves that Grainwood interpreted as ‘Give me a second’. Pulling out two more cards Silencer wasted no time and filled them with his practiced script. Within a few seconds he finished and passed them to her.

No, I cannot stop you. But it would be in your best interest to meet with the Marshall. He wants to talk business with you, and by business he means real business.

“And by the way, it would be a real shame if you were to refuse. Think about how many ponies you would disappoint by doing that.”

The second one must have been some sort of threat; that much Grainwood was sure of. As for first one… seriously? Maybe if she went with the frighteningly quiet stallion, she could convince this ‘Marshall’ that she wasn’t interested in whatever he had to offer, and that he should leave her alone for good. Yes, that sounded like the best plan.

There was only one more mystery to solve. Who was the ‘Marshall’? Grainwood ran over the list of names and functions of the Circle’s attendees in her memory. He couldn’t be a Cirran legionary; Hurricane’s armies had no such rank. She pondered for a few moments longer, struggling to recall a name, as her mind glossed over Coltland, Ridge, Mareggen, and a dozen smaller cities. And then, all at once, it clicked.

“So, Marshall Cold Steel from Novigrad, huh?” Grainwood said, a bit of determination leaking into her voice. “Okay then, lead the way.”

---

Each corridor they passed was less occupied than previous one. After a few turns Grainwood realised she was completely alone, if one didn’t count Silencer of course. Even the servants vanished into the woodwork. Silencer, of course, was oblivious to the growing dread in Grainwood’s heart and pushed forward as if nothing was wrong. Hoping to clear her mind, Grainwood used what little time she had en route toquickly analyse and prepare for the upcoming confrontation.

She had no idea why Cold Steel would want talk with her about ‘business’. Grainwood was a wood supplier, while Steel dealt in arms. To create a weapon or armor he needed mostly and correctly to his name - steel. Yes, it was true that Cold Steel was also a Marshall and the ruler of Novigrad. But Novigrad, as opposed to say Ridge or Lubuck, was a city built entirely out of stone. Its ruler was an unlikely customer for her bulk construction timber.

Perhaps Cold Steel had ‘political’ business in mind. She didn’t have anything to offer, though; she had no political function. If Cold Steel wanted to give her some political power she would refuse immediately. In her experience, political power was a quick way for a pony to lose her money, if not her life.

That thought concluded as the duo reached a closed door. Silencer knocked three times and then opened without asking for permission. Grainwood followed him immediately, still trying to make heads or tails of the situation.

She found herself in a formal cabinet, strictly prepared for a meeting of two. That much was clear form a simple inspection of the provided furniture. There were exactly two chairs in whole room and only one short table, enough for two ponies to comfortably discuss business. The rest of the equipment was only for the sake of decoration; mostly shelves filled with dusty books whose pages hadn’t seen light in months, if not years. The whole room was lit by the sun peeking through the opened balcony door. It was quite windy outside, filling the room with a small draft and seeping in an uncomfortable chill from the streets.

Cold Steel was the same as she remembered him from the first Hanstag. Still the same uniform, still the same blank expression, and still the same indescribable , unnatural atmosphere about him. The old pony didn’t seem to notice their entry. His focus lay on a strange machine beside the table in the center of the room. It consisted of five steel pipes, each a bit bigger around than one of Grainwoods hooves. The pipes were connected together, side-by-side, all pointing in the same direction. Together, the machine looked like a gigantic harmonica.

Grainwood prepared the best fake smile she could bring upon her lips and decided to seize the initiative.

“Good evening.” Her voice trembled a bit, but she didn’t let that deter her.

Cold Steel finally took his eyes from his ‘toy’ and made contact with her.

“Greetings,” he said with his raspy voice, followed by a single cough. “Silencer, wait outside the doors.”

The pegasus nodded and without a single sound left the room, closing the doors behind him.

“Silencer is your bodyguard?” she asked, trying to strike up a conversation, if only to gauge his mood.

“Yes,” Cold Steel answered in a wheeze. “And my adopted and only son,” he added after moment.

It was surprising to say the least, at least for Grainwood. She hadn’t expected that a pony who claimed racism and war were beneficial to Equestria’s economy would adopt a foal to raise. It just didn’t add up.

“Ah,” was the only thing that escaped Grainwood’s mouth.

Silence returned again. Both Cold Steel and his ‘guest’ remained silent for a while. Grainwood was simply too confused to say anything. Her mind justified the pause, because it was Cold Steel who wanted to strike a deal with her, not the other way around. So she waited patiently for the old warrior to proceed.

After several long moments, the old pony coughed again and continued as if nothing happened.

“Let’s get straight to business. As you may know I’m the leader of my city—Novigrad. Therefore I need to secure its interests, no matter the cost. I have good ears, and so I heard a little rumor that you made a contract with a certain pony.” He coughed again. “Shabby Rich, to be exact.”

Grainwood pretended not to be surprised by the knowledge that Cold Steel somehow had of her recent business venture, despite the fact that only three ponies were witness to the signing of the contract.

“Go on,” she encouraged him, now actually thankful for the cold draft in the room.

“I think that your wood should serve a better purpose than whatever Rich has in mind. Therefore I want to make you an offer. Break your contract with Shabby Rich, and instead send the wood to Novigrad. I will pay you double whatever Rich offered you.”

“You’ll pay double, huh?” Grainwood raised an eyebrow at that. “You clearly don’t know how much Shabby Rich offered me.”

“I know.”

Cold Steel said with such firmness and lack of emotions that it was clear to Grainwood that the old veteran knew exactly how much she was being offered.

“It is between eleven and thirteen thousand bits” Cold Steel added after after a few seconds of thinking and gazing into ceiling.

“How do you get that information? Are you spying on me?” she asked, sounding more determined than she really felt. Even so she leveled a glare at Cold Steel; this was without a doubt a breach in her privacy, if nothing else, and she would be damned if she didn’t get to the bottom of it.

“Spies? No. I have only one Lictor, my son. He is like a guide for a blind and weak old pony such as myself. The reason why I know so much is quite simple: I have a lot of experience, and have had years to study and understand the way ponies think.”

Cold Steel stopped for a moment, looking at Grainwood calmly. After a moment he stated simply “You don’t believe me, do you?”

She shook her head.

“Okay. Let’s play a game, then, and I’ll show you.” He suggested, adjusting his sitting place and looking at Grainwood carefully, caughing under his nose. “Follow my instructions carefully. Think of a number between one and nine. Don’t tell me anything,” he ordered.

Grainwood thought the request was stupid and blamed it on the fact that the old pony was probably senile, but did what he asked regardless. The number… seven would work.

“Done.”

“Multiply it by nine.”

“Done.”

“If your result is bigger than nine, add the two digits together. If it’s twelve, you will get three for example.”

“Done.”

“Deduct five from it.”

“Done.”

“Now, turn your number into a letter. If it’s one, it’s A, if it’s two, it’s B, etc. etc.”

“Done.”

“Think of city that starts with with such a letter.”

“Done.”

“Think of a flower that starts with the third letter of this city’s name.”

“Done.”

“Final part, think of a colour that starts with third letter of your flower’s name.”

Grainwood thought it over for several seconds to make sure she didn’t make mistake.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Cold Steel authentically chuckled, the first show of any type of emotion on his otherwise empty face.

“Do turqoise roses grow in Detrot?” he asked.

Grainwood didn’t know what to say. It was simply beyond her.

“How?” was all she managed to ask.

“Mind games,” Cold Steel replied simply. “It often doesn’t work. But the truth is, ponies are incredibly predictable. I use my experience to my advantage, I know why sometimes ponies refuse when they should accept, and sometimes accept when they should refuse. The brain is the most complicated organ in a pony’s body, but even this is not beyond the reach of a sharp mind. I didn’t really know who did you signed your contract with. I guessed it. Your reaction only confirmed my speculations.”

Grainwood wanted to leave. Now. Games are all fine and dandy, and perhaps the old pony was just having fun at her expense, but this were quickly getting creepy. She had come to solve a problem, not to be creeped out by an old, wheezing airbag.

“Okay, let’s get back on track. I’m not really interested. Even if you did pay me double. What would you even do with all that wood; what would you need it for?”

“For ships,” He responded quickly. Too quickly.

“What kind of ships?” she pushed the issue.

“Ah, many kinds,” Cold Steel answered evasively.

“Specifics, please.” Grainwood narrowed her eyes.

“And why you would be interested in that? It’s for the use of the Novigradian shipyards.”

“Well, I need to know what kind of wood you need, because certain types of wood are better suited for certain types of ships.”

Cold Steel grated, definitely not happy with the outcome.

“I need it for warships. Galleys and galleasses,” he muttered. “I need them to deal with the Victa,” he added, before she could ask.

So, that was the full situation. If she accepted, she would make a fair amount more money than she would dealing with Shabby Rich. That was about the only positive of the deal she could think of. The negatives outweighed them by a large margin: the investment would go into warships instead of homes for ponies, something that she really wanted to avoid; she would be forced to break the contract she already signed, and to be honest, Shabby Rich still had better reputation than Cold Steel, even if his money ‘stinks’ as Partial Right said; and to top it all breaking any sort of agreement would negatively impact her reputation as a honest merchant.

“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to decline. The risks are far too high. I guess that negotiations are over then.” She said those words as quickly as she could, trying to get out before Cold Steel could think up something else. She stopped however and looked at the contraption on the table, just as she was reaching for the doorknob. “Just one more question before I leave. What exactly is this thing on the table?”.

“This?” Cold Steel didn’t seem the least bit affronted by her hasty departure, nor by her refusal. “This is the Claw”.

“Claw? And what’s the purpose of it?” she pushed.

“It’s a weapon,” the pegasus replied.

“I see. And how does it works?”

Cold Steel fell silent. The next words were spoken in such tone, that Grainwood was sure that he was telling the truth, and he really hated that. “I have no idea,” he murmured with contempt. “It’s a relic from the reign of Marshall Tinker the Mad. It worked back then, but now it doesn’t. I’m trying to repair it, without much success.”

Grainwood wanted to ask more questions,, but she was getting sick of the small cabinet, the pony in front of her, and the dreadful atmosphere. She pushed the door open and without much thought said “Good bye.”

“Farewell.” Cold Steel answered back, not leaving his seat.

She quickly closed the door behind her and started down the hallway.. To her surprise, Silencer was nowhere in sight. Grainwood ignored his absence, however, and set about enjoyingher ‘freedom’. She decided to find Partial Right again, so he could finally explain what he meant by saying Shabby Rich’s money ‘stank’. And why he obeyed Silencer so readily.

---

“So naive.” Cold Steel commented inside his cabinet.

He wasn’t talking to himself, because the marshall wasn’t by no sense of the word alone. Silencer left the shadowy corner he occupied and stood in front of his marshall. During the conversation Grainwood hadn’t heard, nor noticed Silencer slipp back inside the room and hide in the shadows.

“So, Shabby Rich’s case remains unsolved,” Cold Steel murmured.

“...”

Instead of words, Silencer used the series of taps to pass the message. Cold Steel observed them carefully, making sure to not miss a single movement.

“Really? I don’t think so,” he replied with a shake of his head. “She is not only naive, but also too ambitious, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.

“...”

“Huh?”

“...”

“Yea. I didn’t guess her number.” Cold Steel chuckled. “I knew it was her favourite one.”

“...”

“Hmm.”

“...”

“Yes. If enemies within the Hansa start to interfere with politics we will have to react properly. Shabby Rich or Suderhoof may say what they want to, but Novigrad is still their only true military force. If some bastard tries to take control of Equestria’s economy the threat will be eliminated.”

Instead of using sign language, Silencer raised his hoof and very slowly moved it across his throat.

“Hmmm…” Cold Steel murmured to himself, thinking about Grainwood. “No” he said. After the moment he added. “At least, not yet.”

---

Grainwood was unable to find Partial Right again. The Circle had ended an hour ago and she had left unsatisfied. Besides getting a few tidbits of information, the only thing she managed to take back was a bad mood. The talk with Cold Steel had been exhausting, and her mind was simply overwhelmed with thoughts, trying to figure out what Cold Steel’s motives really were, and if she had really done the right thing siding with Shabby Rich.

When she came back to the “Atelier”, Blank Slate had already taken care of most of the minor chores. The filly was supposed to do some homework, but Grainwood was too tired to check it. The sun was already setting, so the mare headed to bed. Her mind wandered to one more topic she hadn’t had the chance to think about in her busy day. Before the Circle, the Conqueror had departed on its first cruise with wood to Ridge. She hoped that at least this time there would be no dangers on the sea…

---

While Grainwood was getting ready for sleep, Winterspell was fighting for his life. At first there was chaos:Lightning, gigantic waves throwing the ship like a ragdoll, and treacherous currents threatening to push the ship toward the nearby shallows. The crew worked hard, trying to maintain discipline on the ship. The boatswain was running in every which direction, trying to coordinate the mats, who were in turn coordinating sailors. The chain of command was clear and their vessel was still advancing. Yet the ship was rocking mercilessly and several times sailors had almost fallen off the deck. Their work accompanied by the furious roar of the sea, so loud and powerful that Winterspell couldn’t outshout it, even if he was screaming directly into a sailor’s ear.

“You pathetic bunch of land lubbers, MOVE!” he shouted, in another futile attempt to motivate his crew.

The cacophony was still rising, the rumbling of the storm painfully tormenting his ears. Winterspell was already wet from his hooves to his head, the water pouring from his sleeves and from behind his collar, the droplets constantly falling from his cap. In the middle of the ship the rain created a little pool, which was hastily poured out by several sailors, and since they were a few hooves short to do this, also by Winterspell himself.

Somepony actually managed to outshout the storm and Winterspell heard a loud cry, which sounded suspiciously like “KUURR…” but the rest he lost as another waved crashed upon the ship, throwing gallons of water on the deck. It was probably one of those strange ponies from Danzig praying to Lün. Probably.

A few seconds later, the slipping hooves of Casimir Dostoyevsky managed to reach the Captain. The sailor cried into Winterspell’s ear.

“Hey, at least it’s not a dead calm! We’ll reach Ridge faster!”

Winterspell cursed under the muzzle and gripped his bucket tighter.

Comments

[RoboRed]

Ugh...few things are as terrifying/annoying as a mentalist with an agenda.

[Brown Books]

Your right about that Robored.

This chapter was an imporvement from the previous chapters! Well done. Just came back to the forum after some months, found you made some updates, and...joy! New GWW chapters...I was excited as usual. You dont find too many political oriented stories around here.

Grainwood is stepping on something trifling...though I may need to reread the chapters again. I like to predict things as I go or analyze everything (I know it's strange).

Keep up the good work with the story I squee whenever I read stuff like this, so your on the right track and never give up. Keep writing.