Lupi 04 - Night Season

stopped that with an angry kiss…proving that once he’d begun screwing up, he couldn’t stop.
    She’d responded, yes, but with confusion as much as desire. And wariness. Not that he blamed her. He’d known she wasn’t ready, and he’d pushed anyway.
    He hadn’t been invited past her door. No surprise there.
    This morning they’d all met in the common room for breakfast. Well, almost all—there’d been one missing and one addition. No one had seen Gan since she went off with First Councilor. The addition was Steve Timms. Last night, while Cullen was getting his brains fucked out, Brooks had gone to see Steve and Marilyn Wright. She was still unconscious, but the healer had begun treatment and was cautiously hopeful. Ruben trusted the woman, so Steve was back with the pack for now.
    They’d discussed what would happen if Cynna’s Find was successful—who would go on the trail of the medallion and who wouldn’t. Cullen had some firm ideas about that. Fortunately, Brooks had already decided he and McClosky would be more hindrance than help. Timms would go with Cullen, Cynna, and whoever the gnomes sent; Brooks would stay behind to keep an eye on the Wright woman’s condition. McClosky would stay in the City, too, of course, where he could talk trade to his heart’s content.
    Cynna had accepted all that with a nod, adding only that she might not know right away if she’d be able to Find the thing. If her initial Find didn’t work, she’d just keep trying, refining the parameters, moving to other locations, until it did.
    Cullen had assumed that, but the others probably didn’t know enough about how she used her Gift to realize how many trials it could take. He’d asked if it would help her to draw on his diamond. She’d said no. He’d asked if she needed him for anything. She’d said no. He’d said in that case, he’d head out, check out the market, see what he could learn. She’d looked relieved.
    Dammit.
    Cullen stopped at a stall displaying stacks of paper. Handmade, he judged, and not of high quality. Paper mills probably required more tech than was possible in Edge, and imported paper might be pricey, or not widely available.
    The gnomes had come up with acceptable clothing this morning. Cullen wore leather pants such as the guard here favored with a loose jacket in a finely woven indigo wool. It had pockets, thank God. He’d missed pockets. From one he pulled out the cheap pen he’d borrowed from Cynna—she had six or seven in the bottom of that huge bag of hers—and began with the questions.
    He’d been doing this all morning. The pen gave him a reason to talk to people. Supposedly he wanted to learn who might be able to duplicate it and who might be interested in selling such pens. In fact he was picking up gossip, putting together a picture of the society, and enjoying giving the gnome tailing him a hard time. The little fellow skulked about so obviously.
    Edge was largely preindustrial, but magic made it more comfortable than, say, medieval Europe. They had decent health care, since healers were common. There was even a public health service to deal with broad issues such as clean water and epidemics. The sanitation system in the City was excellent, far better than in any comparable preindustrial society on Earth. Even the slums had clean water, waste disposal, and public toilets.
    Printing presses existed, but most books and pamphlets were set the way Gutenberg did it. Metal was expensive. Edge had plenty of ore and magic helped with the smelting, but tempering and working the metal were done by hand. For the very best weapons you went to the Ahk, who were highly skilled artisans and spellcasters in all matters of weaponry and battle. Cloth was pricey; the best stuff was imported. You could tell someone’s status by the quality of their clothing and their footwear. The poor wore sandals.
    So did Cullen, at the moment. Of course, he qualified as poor, since he owned literally nothing here.
    Plastic, of course, was nonexistent. Everyone he’d shown the pen to was fascinated by the substance. Some were dubious; some, excited. Cullen figured McClosky would have a great time with his trade treaties. Edge was going to have one hell of an effect on U.S. and global markets…assuming everyone here didn’t die.
    Great timing he had. Cynna was doing her sorting today. The