The city of Trell did not compare to Saanazar or Ith in size, but it was grand in its own way. A nearby marble mine provided the city with a nearly unlimited supply of what importers considered expensive building materials. Grand pillars lined the road approaching the gate, while a governor’s mansion rose from a hilltop on the northern seaside.
Ren and his friends felt a little out of place at first—it seemed like this place was a city for wealthy rulers not sweaty coin-counting crooks. Once they got through the city gate, they saw a different side of things. A slum of grassy-rooved homes ran along the waterfront. Scrapped branches from recent building projects were discarded in big heaps in some yards. One courtyard showed the signs of a recent bonfire, likely burning the leaves and twigs unneeded for their construction. There were marble-lined streets a dozen steps from some of these low-income neighborhoods; in Sheld, Ren had grown up with similar class districts, but the money that paved their wealthier boroughs had been provided by crime, not the good fortune of a nearby mine.
After a few days in Trell, they began to hear about a recent murder. Ren went with Asar to speak with a town watchman they had convinced to share with them. Short on money, the story had been that they were mercenaries hired by one of the local merchants to protect him—and they bought him drinks.
The guard, a short man by the name of Dego, met them on the corner of a street, having just come from his post at an inner-city guardhouse. He told them what he knew of the victim, a magician from a research house. Ren had never heard of such a place, or, at least, he had never distinguished it from a library. Dego only shrugged at his ignorance. “It’s like experiments and such, right? Like how different metals can be moved, how to manipulate sound in new ways—at least, that’s what they told me.”
“So, is it dangerous work?” Ren asked.
“I wouldn’t know,” Dego admitted. He glanced at a few passing guards nervously, but they paid him no mind. The citizens of the city, dressed in a variety of brightly-dyed clothes, were the majority of their potential eavesdroppers. “But it doesn’t seem his work is what got him killed. His home was looted—and, I mean, rightly plundered. They took every bit of copper, silver, or gold that was in there. They couldn’t be looking for information on his work because the researchers share their successes and their failures openly.”
“So, this mage got killed interrupting some greedy robber?”
“That’s what it seems,” Dego said.
Ren pursed his lips. It seemed quite coincidental—enough so to lead him to think this mage had been the Conclave operative. It was only a month after they had told Par to look into it.
Asar crossed his arms and asked Dego another question: “Are there many thefts like this in Trell?”
The nervous sentry nodded slowly. “I guess you could say that. There’s a gang of sorts in Trell—though no territory wars, thankfully. They’ve been known for occasional intimidations in the market, robbery, smuggling. They’ve been pretty illusive, but we usually bust a safehouse or find some boss to arrest each year. If your merchant will be handling lots of money in the streets, be on the look-out for groups of men, doing a pat-down of sorts. You can always call for the City Watch.”
Ren nodded. “Thank you, friend,” he said. “We’ll make sure to be properly armed and attentive.”
After Dego had continued on his route, Asar and Renado headed back to the inn where they were staying. Woodro was risking some money against Ira, at a table near the front windows, while Virn drank and smoked at the bar. In the middle of the day, they outnumbered the locals in the establishment.
Ren wasn’t in any rush, so he ordered a cider and a few rye wafers for a snack. Once the card game was done, his comrades joined him at the bar. He glanced at Woodro. “Well, anything about the priests?”
Woodro nodded. “They have a lot of visits from Saanazar, but regular faces. The last few weeks, though, they’ve been seeing a lot of unfamiliar ones. Guest appearances and the like. Could be nothing.”
“Same as the robbery gone wrong could be nothing,” Asar recounted.
Renado nodded. It seemed likely they were connected, but not certain. He wanted it to be certain. “We keep working then,” he told them. “I want to know who the dead mage knew. If we can catch the robber, great. If not, we wait for a similar crime and compare.”
“Clever,” Ira said.
“Tradecraft,” Woodro countered, with a cheeky smile. Virn scowled at their humour and took a swig of beer.
After their meeting, Ren and Virn went to check for news at a local scribe’s shop; it was one of the main locations for messenger pigeons in Trell. Their visit was brief, and they learned that no news had arrived for them. Urro, Kalikus, and the rest of the crew, were continuing their investigations in Saanazar without success.
Nor had they learned anything of the success or failure of their assassin. Ren may have already earned the first step toward justice against the Matriarchs—or his assassin had been caught and questioned. For him and his friends, it was just another day of waiting.