The innkeeper shoved two mugs across the table, and the man seated next to Farek took one. Dorgan Thrane smoothed his greying brown hair back with one hand while he palmed the drink. Then Farek led the way to a table near the window of the Royal Whale. They peered out into the afternoon ocean, before the two lords turned to look at one another.
“Why’d you distract me from my beloved warehouse?” Farek asked.
Lord Thrane grinned and took a drink. Farek tapped the table while he waited for the other to get around to him. At last, Thrane mumbled, “Viotro knows. But—wait—good news. They buckled.”
“They buckled? What does that mean?” Farek questioned.
Thrane showed his teeth again, but tried to contain himself. “They want to pay me off. They must have paid one of our mercenaries off, in the stinking fish mart, because they determined I was behind it. They sent me a letter, and I met with Lord Viotro in Ronder Square. He wants to know how much to pay me to pull my men off. They need their income back.”
“That’s… that’s quite a change. Why wouldn’t they just hire more guards? Are they really that tight on finances?”
With a shrug, Lord Thrane had another drink.
“If someone talked on the inside,” Farek said, “That’s bad.”
Thrane blinked and shoved his mug aside. With a tapping index finger, he assured Lord Gallendris that, “My men are all under investigation. If it was a merc, he’s gone. If it was a member of my household… it will be handled.”
“See to it,” Farek said, nodding. If Viotro and Mavagar were planning a war for the city, loose mouths could win or lose battles.
“And Viotro?” Lord Thrane asked. “How much? I was thinking two or three thousand Grey Sea coins, enough to cripple whatever plans they might have in the near future.” He folded his arms and considered the amounts.
“Fine. Two and a half,” Farek said. “But you’ll deliver a sealed letter from me also, for my own small payment—a favour.” If someone in Viotro’s employ was capable of determining which lord was haranguing their fisheries, they might be able to determine the origin of Farek’s magic glove. Thrane likely had the connections for such answers also, but something about him still rubbed Farek the wrong way.
Thrane nodded to the amounts. “Very good,” he said, tapping the tabletop. “Perhaps we should turn the pressure on House Mavagar next, if Viotro is truly subdued.”
“You’re certainly eager, I’ll give you that,” Farek said, grinning. Dorgan Thrane was an aggressive man, as Norrey’s hearsay had suggested months ago. “Give it a full moon before we begin a new plan. Neither of those houses have acted against us, save the assassination of your employee two months ago. I’d rather test the waters first.”
“It’s Raider’s Bay,” Thrane said, smiling. “The waters are full of blood.”
Farek rolled his eyes and had another swig from his mug.