The Dreaming Mark and the Vessel of Fools

The cost of doing business

Wagonmaster Bren yawned in no direction in particular. He'd intended for it to be a sigh, but things were tiring him, and the account ledgers were not helping.

Lynia peeked over his shoulder, having not gotten his attention already. "Bren, is something the matter?"

"Ugh... business," was his reply. He poked a finger at the last line in his book. "The caravan can just about get by, on our trading and the tips we earn from Jasmine's dances, but unless we can find a way to turn a profit, financing the Wagonsguard will become an issue soon." Bren lets out another sigh. "This'd be a lot less frustrating if you being here meant we were getting any funding from the Royal Treasury."

"If I'd thought to take any money before I absconded, you can believe me that I'd have given it all to you."

"And you're sure you're not going to sell that fancy staff of yours?"

"Cloudbreaker is not for sale." Lynia gripped the royal heirloom staff a little bit tighter. It had been uncannily useful, for however much anybody else believed Lynia that it was speaking to her in her sleep.

"I'm joking, Highness. If I thought hawking our weapons was going to keep us afloat longer than one day worth of shopping, I'd have done that by now. But we need a longer term solution."

"There are enough people who'd see fit to attack us, especially if word gets around that I'm here, that keeping the Wagonsguard armed, funded, and well-staffed is not negotiable. I'd imagine you're considering other avenues?"

"It's not a comforting idea, but given that the Caravan already hosts several skilled fighters, I'm considering..." He stopped, as his face scrunched up in half-disgust.

"Mercenary work, yes?"

He held his head in his hands, in a futile attempt to stave off the feeling of dread. "I wish you weren't right about that. I'm not OK with killing people for profit. But the Rigan encampments we've encountered on our route have all needed capable sword-hands for their defense, and it's no secret that it pays well."

"I'll join the fray myself, if it helps us achieve our goals."

"The thought of you killing for money makes me even less comfortable, your highness." He still doesn't seem like he's invoking the title with any sincerity. "You said you were trying to stop a war, didn't you? Doesn't that defeat the point?"

"My success depends on me getting where I need to go. The Caravan is my only ticket. So it's only fair that I chip in where I'm able... and if it's putting down marauders, I'll do what I must." She ran a finger up her staff; it vibrated imperceptibly in her hands, like the purring of an elongated, rod-like cat. "It's got to be less degrading than dancing. I can only pretend to lose fights to Jasmine on stage so many times."

"You could fight her back, you know. The crowd appreciates a little drama in their shows sometimes."

"I'm not positive they enjoy seeing their darling dervish battered and bruised, though..."

"And this, coming from the same person who wants to fight alongside the Wagonsguard?" Bren chuckled a bit, already looking a bit less glum than before. "Well, your willingness is duly noted. Just remember to let me do the negotiations; if you're going to stay incognito during your stay, it's best that you not be seen by whoever is paying us, regardless of whether Jasmine's fake-princess idea actually works."