Farek stopped reviewing the financial report and massaged his closed eyes with the back of his knuckles and then his fingers. He needed a break, to catch his breath. But his breath wasn’t missing; it was more to escape the overwhelming dryness of his tasks and review everything that had happened. Which was, to be honest, very little. Farek sighed. The most consequential event in his sister’s absence was the withdrawal of twelve hundred coins by Paral Magavar, concerning which all of Farek’s research had only revealed one thing.
Paral was a firm supporter of the Grey Brethren, and, with his father’s condition worsening each day, had chosen to donate a large sum to the religion. The Atmos Septi, their proper name, had likely made promises to Paral, and Paral had made promises to the Bank of Soros that he would be able to eventually regain the fortune he was spending. Farek looked forward to seeing how long it took for the stiff religion to produce anywhere near that much wealth for a foreign lord.
He also doubted that Paral’s father would recover. The old man was dying.
“Simi, not now,” Farek said, when his sister came walking through the door. His sister raised his hands in protest and loose bracelets fell up to her narrow elbows. She kept her lips sealed through, and glanced around Jann’s office until Farek said, “This day is dull enough. Do not add to my annoyance, please!”
“Gods, Farek,” Simisar said, with a blink. “I hope Jann gets back soon.”
“You and I both,” Farek muttered.
Simi sat down across the desk from Farek. “A friend of mine wants to borrow some money,” she said.
“Money? You have your own allowance same as Jann and I for that purpose,” Farek said. Their family lived luxuriously on a share of the currency that flowed into and out of their bank. Simi shouldn’t have been here asking about it.
“It’s Imeer,” she said.
“Norrey’s cousin?”
Simi nodded. “He has a debt, a substantial one. It’s from gambling, at Claycroft Tavern,” she explained. “He’ll pay it back, but the shark there, Lott… he beat Imeer up pretty good last week. I know Jann doesn’t like debts either, but Imeer is a friend.”
Farek sighed and took a sip from the cup of ale on his desk. He twisted his moustache between two fingers and considered her request. He could give her the money—he honestly couldn’t guess what Jannia’s decision would be. But his recent fight in the alleyway had made him feel more alive than Gravagan’s plans and prophesies ever could. “I can’t take care of debts that aren’t even yours,” he lied. “If you want to help your friends with your allowance you can, but—”
“Curses, Farek,” Simi said. “You’re as useless as our sister. Imeer is an acquaintance of yours too, and you’ll let them break his legs for family duty?”
Farek hid his face in his mug again. When he lowered it, he spoke coldly. “I’m sorry, Simi.”
“You are not,” she said. With a pout, the twenty-something-year-old stormed out of the office. The door slammed behind her, leaving Farek with all his documents again and sour thoughts. He smiled though—he wasn’t going to let them break Imeer’s legs. He was going to track down the money man of Claycroft, a crooked man no doubt, and break his legs instead.