Lord Thrane finally found Farek for that drink they had agreed to share. Lord Gallendris was on his way home when he’d been stopped by the older man. Farek followed Thrane’s suggestion and they sought out a bar known as the Royal Whale, the finest of the maritime locations in Soros. Their meeting in the streets reminded Farek of news he’d received recently. News that might change everything.
It had been more than two weeks after the assassination on Lord Thrane’s estate when Farek had found himself stopped on the street out of the harbour by a man he had never met. The fellow who had accosted him had a dark beard and dark, sunken eyes, rimmed red from tears or alcohol. He had spoken quietly, and had told Farek, “My father was the man killed in Lord Thrane’s estate.”
Farek had gaped at the man—did this person know what role he had played? Was that the reason for this chance meeting in the deserted avenue?
But the poor fellow had said instead, “I can’t speak for long, because of the danger. Here. Read it, and please trust it.” He had passed a folded parchment to Farek and slipped away down an alleyway. Farek could have followed him, but he knew that alley would emerge in the Harbor Centre.
He had read the letter, there in the street, and then looked around him, at the homeless man drawing with a pebble against the base of a building, at the young boy with a trade cart of clams, at the eyes in the windows. He had read the letter a second time: “There is a plot against House Gallendris by two major Houses. My father knew something that got him killed before he could make it public, and that is all that my father told me.”
There had been no name, nor any clue as to what Houses opposed his. House Gallendris was not just a power to be contested with; they were an infrastructure, the bank, the building blocks on which Soros was built. Whoever dared plot against them did not seek power—they sought chaos.
As Farek walked toward the Royal Whale, he remembered the encounter with another man in the streets. Beyond the questions he already had for Thrane, he now had one more—do you oppose House Gallendris? He walked beside the other lord and looked at the silver buckles on the man’s leather boots, as they rapped the wet cobblestones.
They were offered a table, upon entering the sprawling two-storey establishment. The air inside was cooler than the air without, for the building was constructed of big, salty stones. White and salmon-shades stains marred the adjacent stone buildings, but not the Royal Whale. Thrane declined the table, and ordered a beer for both of them at the bar.
“So… Farek,” he said, as he watched a barmaid thirty years his junior pouring their drinks from an enormous blue keg. “How did you apprehend the assassin?” He smiled.
“He dashed right into me! He seemed fishy, in all the commotion,” Farek replied. “So I grabbed him.”
Thrane chuckled and shook his head in delight. “That’s incredible. Was he difficult to apprehend? I trust you’re a warrior of mastery.”
“Of course, but I think I caught the man by surprise. Have you learned anything from him?” Farek asked. Thrane pursed his lips and took a sip of his drink. “Assassins entering homes at will… This is concerning to my interests as much as to yours.”
Thrane scoffed. “I’m not certain about that. But… I will tell you of it. He divulged some information before expiring in the torture chamber.”
Farek leaned closer. “Yes?”
“Not here,” Thrane said. “Barmaid, a private table, please.” He made sure she topped up their drinks first.
They were ushered to a curtained round table, down a hall of similar spots, and well away from the ruckus of the common room. Farek felt the dagger tucked inside his belt, just in case. It was quiet enough here, he could kill Thrane if it came to it. At last in seclusion, Lord Thrane shared his secret words at last. “Two houses plot against the peace of Soros,” he whispered.
“Gods,” Farek said, unable to come up with what else to say. He had certainly not expected the slimy and corrupt lord to tell him what the son of the dead man had. “Two?”
“House Viodro,” Thrane said, gravely. “And House Mavagar.”
Farek leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. House Mavagar—Paral Mavagar had withdrawn a fortune from him a few months ago, to “invest” in the Atmos Septi, a religion from Radregar. That had been awfully recent… the implications were truly troubling. Farek swigged his beer and set it down again. House Viodro was another major member of Soros. If you asked a man from Soros who controlled the largest fishing and marine fleet, it was Viodro. Running a major industry, Lord Viodro had stakes both at sea and in the swamps of southern Var Nordos.
“I don’t have any substantial details,” Thrane mumbled. “The man who died in my hall supposedly had enough actionable evidence that the rival Houses arranged his death.” He held out his hands in futility. “And the assassin died before giving me more.”
“Unfortunate. I’ll need to look into this,” Farek said. He wondered if his sister the Mazaar would know more. She did not govern Soros because of her looks, that was certain.
Thrane nodded, and turned his mug around in his hands. “I’ve already committed significant resources to learning more.”
Who wants me dead? Farek wondered. Gravagan had prophesied that Farek needed to take two actions to save his life: save Lord Thrane from assassins—have I completed that one? he wondered. He had not intended to—and burn down the house of the man who would kill him, the house of a golden dog. House Viodro had a fish crest, not a dog. And House Mavagar was a red sword over white stars, an old imperial emblem. Had he saved Thrane? The assassin had not even targeted the man.
And was Lord Thrane telling him the truth, here in the tavern? Was it a game—was Thrane the one plotting against him?
The only House that had not recently presented Farek with cause to suspect it, was House Viodro. “I think we should focus on Viodro first,” Farek said. He wanted to see what he hadn’t seen of them. He felt like the years leading up to Gravagan’s prophesy had left him blind in one eye. His spontaneous choices since then were giving him another view of Soros.
“I agree,” Thrane said. “Perhaps, causing some chaos will draw out their true intentions?”
“What did you have in mind?” Farek asked.
Thrane shrugged. “Nothing legal, of course. Dare I suggest it?”
Farek smirked. There was the scuzzy lord he had come to count on. “What if a huge hold of fish goes missing, and for weeks their markets reek of fish guts?” he asked.
“That would certainly send a clear message,” Thrane said. “Their economy might even falter. Ours will be strengthened.”
“Do it,” Farek said. “But you don’t have protection from my House. I’d need to talk to the Mazaar first.”
“Of course. Nothing will be public anyway. If it is, we’d be in danger,” Thrane said.
Farek nodded. He could rely on Thrane’s greed and corruption—at least in one way, Farek could predict what was going on. But he certainly did not trust the man. The ‘two houses’ letter could have been planted, for all he knew. Killing Thrane would eliminate a potent variable, but Farek had no clue what other things such an action would alter irrevocably.
Besides, Farek hadn’t decided what he thought about committing murder yet. He shook Thrane’s hand, and they returned to the bar for another round of drinks. If Soros fell into chaos, Farek would be forced to determine his thoughts on the matter.