“I believe I have an idea,” Harold said, striding back to the table and sitting down with speed borne of excitement. “One that has never been possible before. But with Fletcher here … It is not perfect, nor does it solve all of our problems. But it’s the only one I can think of.”
“What is it?” Fletcher asked, confused.
Harold leaned forward and steepled his fingers.
“Raleighshire. The dwarves can resettle there.”
Understanding dawned on Fletcher then. Of course. No noble would have allowed dwarves to live on their land, and Seraph’s patch of desert was made up of hot, shifting sands, near impossible to build livable dwarven homes in.
But Raleighshire belonged to him now, gifted by the king as his inheritance from his parents, and his to do with as he pleased. He was already resettling the people of Pelt there … why not the dwarves?
Even as he opened his mouth to agree, Uhtred shook his head and interrupted.
“Our businesses are here. Our workshops, our friends, our homes. Everything. You want us to leave it all behind to go and live in the wilderness?”
“No offense, Fletcher,” Briss said quickly, giving her husband’s arm a remonstrative squeeze.
Fletcher held up his hands and forced a smile.
“None taken.”
The fear of trying to relocate the citizens of Pelt to this unknown place bubbled at Uhtred’s words, but Fletcher forced it away. This discussion was too important.
“I don’t mean every dwarf,” Harold said. “But a colony. The young men and women, those who are yet to put down roots.”
“What good would that do?” Othello asked.
“Your entire species would no longer be confined to one place,” Harold explained. “It would spread the risk. Get some of them away from the Pinkertons and the army.”
“You say it like it’s a mathematic equation,” Uhtred said. “These are real people, Harold. Mothers, fathers, children.”
“There’s another reason,” Harold said, ignoring Uhtred’s condescension. “If anything like this ever happened again, you would have somewhere to go at the first sign of trouble. You could disappear through the tunnels without Alfric even knowing and follow the paths to Raleighshire. It’s only a day or so’s journey on foot, even faster with your boars and carts. You could be there before anyone even noticed you had gone.”
Uhtred stroked his beard, leaning back and closing his eyes as he did so.
“Would Fletcher even be open to such a suggestion?” Briss asked, her veiled face turning toward Fletcher. “He might not want us there at all; it’s his land. And the people of Pelt would not relish the idea of sharing their new home with a bunch of dwarves. Corcillum’s folk have accepted us, but humans from a rural village like Pelt may be more … stuck in their ways.”
“If they’re anything like Fletcher,” Othello said, smiling, “we shouldn’t have a problem.”
“And if they’re like Didric, Calista or Jakov?” Fletcher said, his heart sinking. The thought of conflict between the dwarves and the people of Pelt had not occurred to him until that moment. Dealing with the small group of refugees would be hard enough, without adding dwarves to the mix.
“Fletcher, you will need more than the impoverished remnants of Pelt’s population to bring Raleighshire back from the dead,” Harold said, waving away Briss’s concerns.
“Nobody has agreed to anything yet,” Uhtred said, his eyes still closed. Harold threw his hands up in frustration and stood once again, walking to the fireside to curb his impatience.
Finally, Uhtred sighed and leaned forward, before spreading his big hands on the table.
“If we do this, I won’t force anyone. Volunteers only,” he said, looking into Fletcher’s eyes. “And we do this fairly. Fletcher gets compensated for allowing us to move onto his land.”
“That’s between you and him,” Harold said, holding his hands up. Uhtred’s demeanor had changed. He was sitting up straight, and his voice took on a businesslike tone.
“You’re going to need supplies to rebuild Raleighshire,” he said. “Money, manpower, materials. Right now, you have little of all three. Knowing this, we can provide you with the latter—food, tools, livestock, transport, everything you could need to start a new life. But in exchange, we need more than the simple leasing of your land.”
“Father…,” Othello began.
Uhtred held up a hand, silencing his son.
“Seraph was the first to suggest it, back when you were in prison, Fletcher. Bringing in a third partner to our business. One with land, real land, not the barren dunes his father owns. Where there are resources that we dwarves and the Pashas don’t have access to, things like wood, iron, wool. At the moment we pay exorbitant prices for these raw materials. It’s killing our business.”
“But nobody would risk going against the Triumvirate,” Briss interjected. “Even Captain Lovett’s family refused us.”
“So what are you suggesting?” Fletcher asked, his mind reeling. Where had this come from? One moment they had been celebrating their success; the next he was negotiating a business deal.
“An equal partnership between the dwarves, the Pashas and you,” Uhtred said. “Our own Triumvirate, so to speak.”
Fletcher felt sweat break out on his forehead. This was not how he had thought the night would go.
“How would it work?” Fletcher asked. “How would it be equal if we are all putting in different things?”
“The details can be hammered out later,” Uhtred said. “But we will make sure that nobody is providing more than their fair share. You can trust us.”
It was all so abstract. Exploiting a land he had never seen, in a business he barely understood. But he needed all the help he could get. He pictured the hovels that the people of Pelt had been living in before. Would their settlement in Raleighshire be any better, without the dwarven help?
Fletcher turned to Othello.
“What do you think?” he asked. If anyone knew the ins and outs of what Uhtred was asking for, it was Othello.
But Othello looked panicked, caught between family and friendship.
“I think … it’s up to you,” he said carefully. “It’s a big decision. I can only promise you that we will be true to our word.”
Fletcher was scared. Somehow, the pressure of this decision was far greater than when he had risked his life in the ether. He wished Berdon was there, to advise him. But this was a burden he must bear alone.
“Fifty dwarves at the most,” Fletcher said, after a moment’s thought. “At least to begin with. So that they do not outnumber my own people.”
“Agreed,” Uhtred said.
“My people will need accommodation for when they arrive in Corcillum, before we make the journey to Raleighshire and you prepare the supplies for them. Can you arrange it?”
“Yes,” Uhtred said, waving at the stairs behind him. “This tavern has fifteen rooms, and the rest of them can use this bar area and the basement. I’ll have Athol arrange the extra bedding.”