"…including expenses traveling from the last job, our profit is 5721 petals," Stillwater concluded. Her ring device, Lebendiger Flügel, was projecting her accounting records over the table between her and Captain. Mittens, in leopard form, perked up at the realization that the bean counting was over.
Captain glanced ruefully at her bandaged arm. "A good payout, but that was rougher than I'd like." She shrugged. "Then again, if the simple things were easy, we'd have to look for another job."
"We do have a decent reserve," Stillwater noted. "We could take a lower-profit contract and allow the company to rest."
"I don't think that will be necessary," Mittens put in. "They're a bit exhausted, but the larger bonus has cheered them up. As long as the next mission doesn't involve bugs, tunnels, or especially bugs in tunnels I think they'll be fine."
Captain nodded. "No serious injuries and they're getting leave in a real settlement." Stillwater nodded silently, deferring to their judgement in such matters.
She shifted the projection to a global map of Keneran, then zoomed in on the "four corners" region, where Covria, New Shutra, the Maschinenbauer, and the Ascendancy met, centered on Celes Port. At the convergence, and radiating out along the borders, a large region was striped in grey. "The Shutran offensive in the Zuflucht valley is ongoing at last report; the Hegemon appears to intend to seize all three of the Keystone fortresses with his mustered vassals before their annual service expires, then hold them through the winter with his personal knights, and any new castellans he installs."
"Definitely not there," Mittens declared. "Field battles are one thing, but I don't want to hire on for a forlorn hope."
Captain nodded in agreement. "There will be secondary jobs in the vicinity, though."
Stillwater shook her head. "Operational Solutions is already there; they were in the border regions before the offensive started and hired on immediately."
"Got it," Captain sighed. "Audi has probably snapped up all the decent contracts. Where else?"
Stillwater zoomed in on the northwestern side of the grey area. "This year the Hegemon didn't assign a third of his border muster to patrol duties, sending them all to the Maschinenbauer front. There's been an intensification of Covrian raiding, and some strikes by the Ascendancy slavers."
"Seeing as static guard pay is bad, and this sort of raiding generally isn't hiring, I assume this is going somewhere else," Mittens said.
"Yes," Stillwater replied. She moved the focus northwards. "With the dragon-khans raiding south, the Covrian towns don't have their normal allies to call upon. There's a surge in bandit suppression and monster hunt requests on the network."
"Sounds good," Captain said. "It is a bit far, though; is there a caravan job to help cover expenses at least?"
Stillwater shifted the hologram to the caravan request board, already filtered to Shutran-Covrian trips. "Unfortunately, most of the big caravans that aren't confident in their in-house security have rerouted to internal travel. However-" she highlighted a particular request "-the Order Of Saint Celes has a two-leg journey from Isdera castle to Port Celes and then to Mozo. The payment is their standard authorized rate."
"Order jobs are always popular with the crew, though," Captain noted. "And if we don't work for them occasionally Angel might run off and join them." She scanned the rest of the list. "A lot of the others pay better relative to caravan size, but we'd have to split the Company to make the same total elsewhere. Plus, the Order is always on time with its payments." She nodded. "And it's a chance to swing by the spaceport."
The last factor was decisive; Port Celes was by far the largest spaceport on the planet, and the safest-once you arrived. The Order might be chronically underfunded, but it had a generous supply of idealistic off-planet knights and mages willing to work cheap. Its true defense, though, was the fear the TSAB might take a massacre of its own citizens doing humanitarian work very badly indeed. No one who could overrun the security forces cared to find out exactly how badly.
That protection didn't extend to their relief caravans. There were monsters aplenty, and bandit gangs, or an individual lord or khan, might decide they wanted some supplies bound elsewhere. That occasionally meant the Order devoted some of their limited budget to hiring local mercenaries to support their own security personnel.
"It will cover our base salary and supply expenses, but it's likely we'll pay out combat bonuses at least-" Stillwater began. Mittens settled back down; this part was definitely not going in the annals.
"You think we're going to sit it out?" Pretty Boy asked Granite, walking with Prince down the neatly laid stone road through the center of the rather substantial castle town. The stones of the road were cut uniformly rather than the irregular cobblestone common in other New Shutran settlements and sealed together with concrete. "I'd think there'd be plenty of opportunity in the fighting."
Granite shrugged. "Lots of opportunity, sure, but Captain doesn't like fortress assaults."
"Not big ones, at least," Prince put in. "Employers are willing to offer a lot of money to lead the charge, because dead mercenaries don't have to be paid. The first knights up the wall don't tend to come down. There is always good work for bombardment specialists, but we don't have enough for that."
"Plus the Keystones are probably the strongest fortresses on the planet," Granite added. "Maschinenbauer fixed mana cannons are pretty nasty."
"Why is the Hegamon going after them anyways?" Pretty Boy asked. "Isn't the valley the one part of the border where the Maschinenbauer actually have enough soldiers?"
Granite snorted loud enough to startle passersby but switched to telepathy. Captain wouldn't let them hang for lese-majesty, but she'd make her displeasure very clear after rescuing them. +Because the DSAA has two new rising stars with four eye colors between them+
Pretty Boy blinked. +What does a Mid tourney have to do with anything?+
+The Hegemons like to pretend they're the legitimate heirs of Shutra, but they've all worn color contacts for court functions+ Prince replied. +That's well-known. The rookies don't just have the royal heterochromia, Stratos looks like Klaus Ingvalt's sister and Takamachi looks like Olive stepped out of a stained-glass window. Stratos even calls her fighting style 'Hegemon Style'+
+Which shouldn't be a real problem+ Granite continued, +seeing as they're a couple of kid martial artists from another planet, except that the current Hegemon isn't really impressing anyone. Mid news doesn't tend to dig into family backgrounds, so there's all kind of crazy rumors around, like Olive had a daughter or Klaus's secret sister froze herself, or one is a clone+
+Wait, so he's called the entire muster, declared war, and launched a major invasion because he feels upstaged by a couple of sports stars?+ Pretty Boy asked incredulously.
Granite grinned. +Makes you feel a bit better about just fighting for pay, huh?+
+There are a variety of other factors+ Prince said, +Including the fact that the Maschinenbauer originally seized the Keystones from the Shutrans about fifty years ago, but it is largely an effort to shore up his rule. They make his claim to rule by bloodline and history look weak, and various lords like the Mercedes have a much better reputation for rulership+ Prince gestured at the store they were approaching, a large sign proudly declaring it to be an authorized Midchildan importer. +If he claims a prize as big as the valley, it will silence the whispers. If he fails, his cousins are going to start measuring themselves for crowns, and we'll have plenty of work+
"Welcome!" the merchant called out as Prince stepped into the shop. She faltered momentarily at seeing the mask, but spotting Pretty Boy following behind convinced her that they weren't robbers.
The shop's shelves held a wildly diverse array of goods, primarily electronics and appliances, though the counter itself was loaded with various Mid packaged foods. A large display case next to the counter showed off branded storage devices behind thick glass and a heavy lock.
"Are you in the market for a new device?" the shopkeeper asked hopefully, noting Prince's interest. The lands of the Mercedes were rightly famed for their device meisters, but their best custom work was snatched up by knights from across New Shutra. Midchilda's mass-production models, stamped out by the thousands in factories, were popular among the wealthier freeholders.
Prince held up Reichsschwert, currently a diamond on a golden necklace. "I was wondering if you might have parts compatible with our current ones. Reich wants an upgraded cartridge system. Do you have Belkan-type components?"
"Ah," the shopkeeper said, deflating slightly. "I don't regularly carry custom parts, just the repair components for the mass-production brands you see here. I could place an order with my suppliers, but it'd take weeks to arrive." She sighed. "And these days it'd cost a lot of thalers, what with the conversion." She raised her hands to preempt their response. "I can't take petals, only thalers. Conditions of the lease, you understand."
"I see," Prince replied, nodding. That stipulation was usually honored in the breach, but it wasn't worth pressing matters; Stillwater had made arrangements with a Mid currency dealer who offered market price rather than the crown's increasingly fictitious rate. According to her, the market had fallen again on the expectation of a new round of printing to cover the Hegamon's war costs. "We won't be in town long enough for an order, unfortunately."
"Hey, you have the 0080 Striker championship!" Granite interjected, looking at a shelf of data slates. "I couldn't find a quality copy anywhere!"
The shopkeeper broke into a grin. "It's an official release, actually. Full quality with contestant interviews included. Apparently, the Administrated Worlds mostly watch live, but my suppliers got their hands on a limited commemorative run."
"Great!" Granite reached forwards carefully, minding her injured stomach. "I'll take the set. For a bunch of softies, the Bureau people sure know how to put on a good tourney."
"The Hegamon's tourneys are just as good," the shopkeeper replied loyally if not entirely accurately. "The young mistress placed third in her age category last year; not a lot can stand up to her axe! She comes by here sometimes, you know."
"Really?" Pretty Boy asked, browsing the foodstuffs. "I'd have thought she'd order directly."
"Ah, well, mostly for the candy," the shopkeeper admitted sheepishly. "It's real popular with children."
Pretty Boy flushed slightly but kept browsing, pointedly focusing his attention on the jerky. The prices were shockingly high, almost triple what jerkied meat would typically sell for. "Do you have any raw offworld meat?" Pretty Boy asked hopefully.
The shopkeeper startled at the question. "Afraid not. I take it you're those mercenaries in town." Not a particularly difficult guess; she'd almost certainly know everyone in town with the money to even ask that question on sight.
Pretty Boy nodded. "Just got our pay. This is the most Midchildan stuff I've seen in one place outside of a port town, so I was hoping." He picked up a few packs of jerky and started scrutinizing the labels.
+Looking for an offering?+ Granite asked, moving to the candy section. Covrian religion wasn't terribly popular in the New Shutran heartlands, but several members of the Azure Company practiced it. Granite couldn't really follow the bewildering array of spirits worshipped and rites conducted but was loosely familiar with the high points.
+Yes+ Pretty Boy replied. His expression matched the one he wore when checking over Windstalker after a battle. +Ideally four distinct sources+
Prince moved over to investigate the small selection of books in the corner. To her disappointment, but not surprise, it consisted entirely of popular fiction, most of which she'd previously passed over and the rest of which she or Captain already owned.
In the end, she picked up a couple slates with news from Midchilda, and Pretty Boy found his jerky. Granite added several sweets to her collection of slates, which Pretty Boy protested but nevertheless ate.
"Offering Torch," Pretty Boy said, a small fire appearing in his cupped hand. It was a struggle to maintain a fire without an elemental conversion affinity, but he'd practiced this spell many times. He aligned himself with a marking in the dirt pointing directly to true north, slightly off from where a compass pointed.
He held a piece of jerky in his left hand, its normal archer's glove reinforced. As he lowered the jerky to the fire, he spoke. "Spirits of the North, children of Winter, I make this offering to you. I call upon you to grant strength to Captain and all her company and bring destruction upon our enemies." The glove scorched slightly as the jerky ignited and turned to ash.
Pretty Boy turned ninety degrees to face directly east and withdrew a piece of jerky from another bag. "Spirits of the East, children of Spring, I make this offering to you. I call upon you to bring us new comrades and birth new opportunities." East normally led the ritual, but Captain was favored of the North, born with dominion over Winter's cold. Failing to acknowledge that would offend them gravely.
He turned south, bringing out another piece of meat. "Spirits of the South, children of Summer, I make this offering to you. I call upon you to aid Dawn and Dusk in the working of metal and to grant us safe travel."
Finally, he faced west. "Spirits of the West, children of Autumn, I make this offering to you. I call upon you to grant us the bounty of the harvests and succor from the storm."
After the last piece burned away completely, he carefully rubbed out the markings and headed back to the assembling company.