B.T.V. -- Session 11 Prologue: Finndo's List

Rising to his feet, he winces. Not in pain. In self-directed disparagement. Slept in your clothes again. What would father say?


Finndo’s father was King Oberon of Amber. Irritating any king wasn’t wise. Irritating the King of Amber wasn’t difficult either. Finndo had rarely pleased his father. He’d left home when he was young to go with his older brother Osric, to keep him company and possibly to keep Osric alive. Leaving Amber had meant that Finndo’s chances to please his father had ended then. Traveling with Osric more or less meant that Finndo was in exile. Osric had really put his feelings about the king out on view. Oberon had been less than impressed with Osric’s bravery. Bravery was what it was because denying the king and disagreeing with him was a dangerous thing to do. Son or no, Oberon could be coldly punitive. His kingdom and his place at its head, were that important 'to the Realm' or at least to Oberon.

Getting rid of thoughts of the past like throwing off blankets, Finndo looked for his belongings. Throwing on his weapon belts and grabbing his hat, he made for the bar. He’d fallen asleep beneath a table on the upper level. That level was called the ‘Windows’. Finndo called for Houk. Houk had instantly become Finndo’s favourite server at the Coalfires Tavern. That was because Houk had a fine-honed sense of humour. Finndo could abide almost anything but a lack of seeing the absurdities of life wasn’t one of them. Houk smiled warmly at Finndo, took his order and moved into the kitchen.





Waiting, Finndo took the time to watch the Teckla, Plaget Kiene fussing inside the new carriage, located a half-level below, in the ‘Entry’.

“Kiene, what are you doing to that seat cushion? Do you mean to make it grow into a bed?” Finndo asked.

“N’las, easterner. I mean to get this food off it. It’s well stuck on.”

“There should be a rule about that: ‘No eating in the carriage’.”

“Su, but it was you that was eating in it last night.” Plaget Kiene said, with a half-smile.

“Damn me, yes it was. I recall a plate emptied of all but gravy and my voice calling out for bread to sop it up with.”

“Gravy? That explains it. Framinham’s sauces and gravies tend to be oily. It may never come out.”

“I feel badly. I will make inquiries at a fabric maker. A simple thing to re-upholster a couple of bench seats, I should think.”


Kiene looked at the easterner closely. Kiene was a Teckla and while somewhat accustomed to easterners, few had this one’s ease. To suggest that he would easily get a suitable draegeran business to fix things was confronting. As well, Kiene had already been fooled by Finndo’s sense of humour and he couldn’t tell if the easterner was joking. It had been Houk who had told him Finndo had been joking, when he’d told Kiene, that easterners had the ability to adjust their dimensions to become fantastic beasts. Houk had explained that you could tell Finndo was joking by watching his moustaches for movement. Kiene, like all draegerans, found the facial hair of easterners a disturbing mystery.

The easterner was still talking, “— my list. Not a problem.”

“List?”

“Yes, of things to do. I have one you see? It’s my practise to set a list of things to do each day. Otherwise, the day ends and you’ve done nothing. When you’ve got a lot of days to come, it makes sense. You might look at a century past and wonder if you had done anything at all, eh?”

The easterner was likely mad. Everyone knew their lives were short. The oldest might reach their ninetieth year. Kiene stared at Finndo’s hairy face. Did it twitch? Houk had said to watch for that especially. Kiene wasn’t certain.

Finndo said, “Now, I learned a time ago to not write up my daily list. No, I keep it up here.” Saying this he touched his hat.

The easterner’s hat was large. Kiene had no memory of anyone, easterner or draegeran, ever having such a hat. The brim was more than a hand’s span wide. Kiene wondered at why Finndo would write his list on his hat but felt sure that the wide brim would allow for a longer list than most hats and said so.




Could he be joking? His moustache seemed not to move, the easterner’s words were serious.

“Your hat should not get wet, lest you lose your list, Finndo of the land of Amber.” Kiene said seriously.

“Not. Get. Wet… A possibility but I have yet to see it properly rain in Adrilankha. Does it rain here, Kiene?”

“Yes. It rains, sometimes heavily. Except in Brightstone. There are sorceries there that prevent the rain from falling. Elsewhere it can come down by the shipload.”

“You might say, like dzurs and lyorns?”

Mad as an upside-down hake.






Outside there was no threat of rain but the air was warm. Humid and close and still.


Finndo carried his hat, occasionally wafting it to cool himself. He considered his list. The Teckla girl, Illa Kaes, was his first item. He had not gained anything from Sadderome before the captain’s death. Finndo did know where to begin his search. The captain had placed the girl into the shaft that was in the lowest part of the tavern. He wasn’t fool enough to venture into this straight away. Not that he feared how his progress in the shaft and the likely tunnels that fed into it, would go. Finndo’s arts lay deep where the oldest of stone existed.

Finndo had served long years below the surface of many places. Some were likely to have been far less hospitable than whatever was under Adrilankha. His skills were; the siege, the sapping, the counter-tunnel, the maze, the bulwark, the last stand, the barricade, the deadfall, the pit, pendulum, phalanx and trap.

Any earthwork that could be imagined, Finndo had made. Any defender’s hope, Finndo embodied.



He found a woman, who was seeing a man, who knew a blue-coat, that had heard of a cellar, where a girl had been taking meals.

Finndo dealt with the Jhereg stationed just outside Illa Kaes’s cell.

Who was this easterner with his guards and parries, half-sword and wryness, they wondered after revivification. Their leaders wondered and worried as well.







He freed her. ‘Item One’ on the list, done. ‘Item Two’ was simpler. Finndo made straight for Agru yn’Havatha’s. He’d met this draegeran yesterday. An exchanger of worthwhile objects for coin. Finndo had several worthwhile objects but had no need to exchange any of them today. It was Agru’s capacity as a commercial facilitator that Finndo needed him for. Agru had dealt with Calcitrant e’Drien’s affairs for decades. Finndo gave Agru the previously agreed-on sum and the ‘affair of the carriage’ was concluded.



When Finndo told the Coalfires and Red-Hot Pokers’s owner the good news, he was surprised. He’d been expecting agreeableness, especially as he still had the rescued Illa Kaes with him, having not yet returned her to the tavern. Despite the dark-haired draegeran’s pleasant presence and Finndo’s affable manner, Chaethan was unpleasant. After a discussion that Finndo had to navigate like an experienced admiral, it became clear that the draegeran wanted nothing more to do with the tavern and wished to sell it. Finndo assured Chaethan he knew a suitable buyer. He arranged to return the next day with an offer to purchase the place. That will be ‘Item One’ for tomorrow.




‘Item Three’ was locating a necromantic draegeran. Finndo had his own interests but primarily this was for Asher’s immediate benefit. He used Illa’s better knowledge of Adrilankha. She led him to Hill Street in Charhollow District. She knew nothing of necromancers but believed that a Jhagaala one who used to frequent the tavern, lived somewhere in this place. Finndo could sense sorcerers the way a dog can find table scraps. In little more time than this, he was looking at a Jhagaala caster. The draegeran proved his capabilities without any encouragement from Finndo.

Sorcerers who made public display of their ability could be untrustworthy. Caine had once told him, “Magic freely cast is a good sign and a bad omen.” Something to remember in this city of uncommonly common castings.

For the moment it was enough to keep his cousin’s words in mind but to get what he could from Graith se’Vanavan. This meant the fellow would venture to the tavern with Finndo and Illa to tend to Asher.

The unusual trio made their way toward Colleridge, attracting stares that were full of interested consideration.

Many of the draegerans who watched them pass, had heard of the events the night before. Calcitrant’s efforts were too large to go by without notice.

Some of the draegerans tried to understand this easterner in his passing by.

Few of the draegerans could see what made him different.

One of the draegerans thought he understood. He was a Dragon, named Morollan.

Finndo also arranged for new fabric to be installed in the carriage before reaching the tavern. It might be most important to get it done quickly, he'd decided.