The mansion of Lord Wartha was impressive by Lo Mallago standards. Farek dressed up for the occasion—an hour-long ordeal that involved shaving his beard down to its usual moustache, washing his hair, and buying a loose, clean linen shirt from the market. Of course, House Gallendris’ wealth far exceeded the financial claims of anyone in Lo Mallago. When he attended his self-invited dinner to meet Ofena, Farek did his best to act impressed, not condescending.
Lord Wartha had gone out of his way to display his business acumen and success. The meal spanned two entire tables—visible to Farek from the foyer of the mansion—though it was only to serve himself, his wife, his three children, and Farek. The businessman dressed in a shiny silk tunic without one loose thread, gold earrings and rings, and slicked back hair. He was flanked by servants when Farek arrived: one to take Farek’s cloak, another to begin fixing him a drink before he even sat down, or filling any special dietary requests.
Farek met Ofena when he stepped into the large dining room. She stood up from the table, an unfinished conversation with her younger brother and sister left hanging in the air. Ofena Wartha was thirty-one, six years Farek’s junior. She had the dark brown hair of her father; she wore it in a short cut around her ears. She was thin, but not in an unhealthy way. She looked at her mother, who also stood up. The other siblings quieted and rose to join their family in greeting Farek.
“Please,” Farek said, lifting his hands. “Everyone can sit back down.”
One of the servants pulled back a chair, while Lord Wartha strode to the head of the table. Farek stepped into place and sat down comfortably. The others followed suit, smiling to one another or to Farek. Ofena sat to Farek’s right, while her brother sat to his left. The other end of the table was occupied by Wartha, his wife to his right, and his youngest daughter to his left. “Milord Gallendris, I’m so pleased to meet you. I am honoured to present my lovely wife, Isoli; my eldest daughter, Ofena; my son, Loros; and my youngest daughter, Kaush.”
“A lovely family,” Farek replied. “And please, call me Farek.”
As drinks were served, Lord Wartha asked, “What brings you to Lo Mallago, Farek?”
Farek took a sip of the vintage wine they had served. “Mostly family business and inquiry. I have never been here before, but it is a lovely city and your welcome is most appreciated.”
“Thank you,” Lord Wartha replied. “It is still recovering from its recent history. If you had visited five years ago, it would have been even more magnificent.”
“That is regrettable. I would have liked to have seen that.” Farek smiled and looked at the Lord’s children. Ofena reflected his smile with her own flavour of nervousness. She glanced back down at her plate as food was served. Farek had not said anything about his intentions, but he was a famous bachelor. There was nothing wrong with an unmarried woman in this part of the world, but Farek suspected, from her glances at him, that marriage was not off the table. He only hoped her nervousness did not reflect pressure from her family or from her community. “How have you been fairing?”
It was, of course, Lord Wartha who answered. “As good as ever. The demand for quality building supplies continues to grow as Lo Mallago thrives once more.”
Farek raised his wine glass. “That is good to hear. May fortune and luck smile on you.”
The first course was a mix of appetizers—small breaded shrimp and a salad with chopped pecans layered onto an assortment of kale, cheese, and sliced apples. It was easily the most delicious meal Farek had consumed since his arrival in the city.
Most of the conversation was exchanged between Lord Wartha and Farek. Sometimes, his wife, Isoli, would answer Farek’s questions about the history of Lo Mallago. Ofena offered insights a few times when they spoke about ongoing building projects that were being publicly funded by the Rebel King himself. Her craftsmen’s guild was seeing to a lot of the workload—and profits. Farek picked up that she did not live in her father’s mansion, but in quarters at the guildhall. She struck Farek as very independent.
By the time that dessert—sugar-crusted pineapple cookies with a cool crème dip—was served, Farek was confident that it would not be out of place for him to ask Ofena to show him around the guildhall. If her father had asserted his power over his family in a more controlling way, Farek would not have presumed to get time in private with her, but it was culturally appropriate for him to court an independent and successful woman. He waited to ask her until after dessert, while he was gradually making his way back into the foyer.
Ofena looked at her father when Farek asked it and both smiled. “That would be great. Anytime is fine. I’ll make myself available,” she told Farek. Her earlier anxiety was back, but Farek still couldn’t place its source.
“Excellent. Next week, then,” Farek said with his most charismatic grin.
The day had cooled off nicely, he realized as he stepped outside. He had thrown his cloak over his shoulder when he stepped through the door, but now he unfurled it and pulled it around him. He had one other matter to attend to this evening and he’d rather not shiver. As he walked, he absently remembered a book he had read about the variance in temperature in drylands. Wetlands didn’t get as hot, but they also didn’t get as cool.
Reu was waiting in the alleyway near the market already. When he saw Farek approaching, he smiled. “You said after dinner, not after a feast!”
The initially humorous remark made Farek chuckle, but then he absently wondered if Reu or one of the other spies in Lo Mallago was tailing him. Likely, he thought. He dismissed it. Spies would be spies. “Sorry to make you wait,” he offered. “Did you hear back from your colleagues yet?”
“Certainly did,” Reu chipped. “4 months ago—1,500 coins. Polanar’s financials showed what we feared. I have a strong feeling that he was operating under the name Harloss.”
So Lannon’s first half of payment came from here after all, Farek thought. He quickly pieced together a story for Polanar’s motive. Farek’s family was the financial backbone of the Empire that now controlled Lo Mallago. Polanar lost almost everything because of the Revolution and the system that Borik now ran for the Matriarchs. The only thing that Farek could not figure out was what Polanar’s source was. This plan was seemingly formed half a year ago—how did Polanar know a closely-guarded secret? There was never a public statement about Borik’s allegiances or the financial bargain between the Matriarchs and the Family of Sheld.
“Thank you for this,” Farek told the spy. He’d rather not share his thoughts with Reu; though the spy had been friendly with him, there was no reason to assume trust yet. Instead, he said, “Give me a moment,” and stepped back toward the market to consider the news.
Borik could have told Polanar the truth. That was the simplest explanation. Lord Thrane had mentioned Borik’s recent way of being difficult, holding up permits and slowing transactions between Var Nordos and the mainland. Still… there was a major roadblock between Polanar and Borik—namely, the uprising that had killed dozens of the original lords of Lo Mallago. There were dead friends between Polanar and Borik without a doubt. Until Farek met Polanar, he could not assume that “Harloss” was a big enough man to work with the Rebel King despite all that history.
Farek finally turned back to Reu. “What social circles does Polanar frequent?”
“He’s good friends with Lord Mrivo and Lord Jordiko,” Reu said, eyes gleaming. “They are often seen together at Polanar’s favourite drinking establishment, the Rumrunner Respite.”
Lannon wasn’t paid to kill the financial backbone, Farek thought, barely paying attention. He was paid to kill me, or earn a bonus for killing my sister. An intimately personal motive seemed the only explanation to that, and Lord Polanar didn’t seem to have one. Farek would investigate this “Harloss” suspect nonetheless, but that detail needed to be explained before Farek sought justice.
“What else can you tell me about Master Harloss? What sort of man is he?” Farek asked. He was considering the possibility of some outsider feeding Polanar information—or even orders. The disparity between what Lord Polanar knew and should know was a huge gap to fill.
Reu shrugged. “He’s an old grump with a debt accrued from 3 years of a squandered political career. He has an estranged son who lives in Sheld—talks to him every other year at most. Reportedly, Polanar has been in a number of drunken brawls against the members of Borik’s Court. I haven’t seen him fight, but every time there’s insults turned to fists between the old order and the new, Polanar is there in an angry fit or rum-fueled stupor.”
To Farek, this suspect seemed washed up, like driftwood brought in by the tide. Polanar didn’t sound like the sort of man who was ambitious enough to stage the assassination of a high-ranking foreign family. “To whom does he owe debts?”
“Various other lords,” Reu answered, with a shrug. “The Mercantile Guild of High Raena.”
Farek sighed. Neither of those answers seemed to suggest a realistic plot to use Lord Polanar as a fool or middle-man. The Mercantile Guild of High Raena was one of the Bank’s competitors—it was true—but they were like a mouse beside a badger according to all of Jannia’s sources.
“He may seem burned out, but he’s a man driven by hate and anger,” Reu offered.
Farek patted the spy on the shoulder. “Thank you for all your work,” he said. “I think I’ll start following his patterns a little. I feel there’s a lot of this puzzle still missing.”
Charmingly, Reu saluted Farek before they parted ways. Farek had two dates now. One was with an intriguing woman made of her own success, while the other was with an astringent drunk who may or may not have tried to murder Farek and his beloved sister. I miss Norrey’s, he thought as he strode back to his inn room.