It took most of the afternoon to walk from the harbour village to the walls of Lo Mallago; by the end of the hike, Farek was exhausted. He had no experience in a climate so arid. The sun felt hotter, the ground harder, and the wind filled his eyes and mouth with gritty sand. Out of necessity, the first order of business for Farek’s small troop, was finding shelter and a place to stay.
Ralla Navero had been to Lo Mallago before. The guardswoman had explained the geography of the city as they walked, though Farek only remembered the important highlights. Even after hearing about the strange distribution of wealth, Farek was surprised to notice the lack of a palace or ruling structure. The wealthiest district was named High Manto, but the Rebel King held his Market Court in the streets on the edge of it. Nonetheless, the most comfortable places to stay were in High Manto.
The innkeeper of the Old Glory Tavern welcomed them with a wide grin. “Only a few weeks left, unless you fine folk change that,” he said, with a smirk.
“What’s that?” Farek asked.
The man spoke with Farek in the front of a dusty common room; despite the sun streaming in the windows, the man’s scarred forehead remained dry of sweat. “The last couple years have seen my business deteriorate, thanks to the new order. The lords who were once wealthy are wealthy no more, and so do not frequent my establishment.”
“I see. Will you be able to put my friends up for the next three or four weeks?” Farek asked.
The innkeeper counted with a growing smile. “There are five of you? Yes, I can keep the doors open that long. What’s your name?”
“I’m Farek. What will you be doing after you close?”
“Enress,” the man replied. His accent was Raderan with a hint of the Elder Coast heritage his complexion represented. “I have a cousin who works as a merchant. We’re planning to open a shop here. We’ll sell textiles—silk, linen, flax, hemp. There’s a seamstress in talks with my cousin, too. Who knows?”
Farek nodded. “Well, best of luck,” he said. “And thank you for your hospitality.”
As they were shown to their room, Farek considered his leads in Lo Mallago. Lord Thrane’s top references for finding Harloss included a powerful lord, an indebted lady, and an ally soon-to-be by marriage. The first, Lord Reez Atho, had been appointed to manage the town of Wartha Mull and its famous gold mine. Farek had learned that the previous owners had been murdered a year and a half ago, though King Borik had appointed Reez Atho after determining he had no prior connections to the deed. Secondly, Lady Enesi had borrowed a vast sum from Lord Thrane, without delivering a single coin of repayment as of yet. She would be obligated to answer a “friend” of Thrane’s. Lastly, Lord Honran and Lord Thrane were working out the terms of a marriage between Thrane’s son and Honran’s daughter.
Lord Sha’s contacts in the city were all spies and smugglers. Instead of meeting them on equal terms, they were to be contacted anonymously using keywords or secret signs.
By the time Farek and his guards had settled in, dinner was served and a dozen men and women from the streets of Lo Mallago trickled into the common room. After the dishes were cleared, Farek bought his three guards and Devender drinks in an effort to break through the magician’s reserved demeanor. Devender thanked him amiably for his beer and downed it as quickly as Matek—but when Farek ordered a second glass for both, Devender barely touched it. He maintained his distant manner, not rudely or secretively. He just maintained his air of professionalism.
The same could not be said for Farek and his armed comrades. Their first round of drinking was followed by a bout of cards—which Ayvim Four-Finger won easily—and a later epilogue consisted of heavier drinks—which Matek dominated. Farek read over his sister’s notes for the third time since arriving, perhaps appreciating the quality his lack of sobriety spun into their words. He had read the first name a dozen times: Lady Kirai. He sipped his whiskey and stared at her brief description disdainfully. “Lady Kiraiii,” he whined. She was a powerful member of Borik’s Market Court—thus, assumedly, she was good friends with the Rebel King. Farek didn’t want to marry into the pawns of the Matriarchs. He looked down the list and smiled. There she was. Ofena Wartha was the young cousin of Lord Reez Atho’s chief competitor, Lord Wartha. While Lord Wartha ran a dozen warehouses within the city and a lumber industry without, Ofena had built her own business to the degree she would soon be recognized as a Lady of Lo Mallago, according to Borik’s system of merit-rewarding. Farek liked her description more—it included words like successful, intelligent, and young, instead of important, connected, and powerful.
He was also intrigued by Tieri Manosa. Jannia had written in the margin, “If she’s even there,” next to Tieri. Tieri was the daughter of a merchant who had captained one of his vessels for years. Her wide travels both inland and on the sea had cultivated a network for her father’s industry. To Farek she seemed driven by family and the excitement of exploration. He finished his third whiskey and rested his chin on one palm as he regarded the list wistfully. He wished he had more time for explor—
“Sir,” Matek mumbled. He had to turn his head far so that he could meet Farek’s eyes with his good one. “You’re going to soak that page if you keep slobbering on it any longer.”
Ralla and Ayvim froze, uncertain, in their relatively addled states, how Lord Gallendris would react to being reprimanded by his subordinate. Farek looked at Matek blankly, then lifted the page and licked it. He was guffawing loudly by the time he finished the jest, and Matek joined him with an echo of chuckling.
The ink had smudged across the page and tasted awful. Farek quickly washed it down with another round of booze. He was very good at giving people the impression he was an alcoholic partier. His trove of secrets, haunting memories, and incognito hunts for crime, were all that much easier to keep—and to carry—when people watched him spill on his lap or slip off his bar stool.