As Lorian walked toward the market, he couldn't help but marvel at Jax's lethal intuition. Even barely awake from a coma, the Beastman had correctly sniffed out the sender- Grisel Gabon, the proprietor of the Whispering Door. Jax had recognized the faint, oily scent of the tavern's distinct moonshine on the parchment. He had also been wise enough to stay behind; the shady corners of the docks were no place for a recovering warrior. But then, he had sent Zara, his love, in his stead to act as Lorian's shadow.
The trio, changed their attire in one of the establishments of Thrones in the marketplace. They cloaked in hooded commoner's wool, and slipped through the back alleys which were shortcuts that would help them avoid the watchful eyes of the city's upper crust.
As they arrived at the Whispering Door, they found a burly man in servant's attire was sweeping the street in front. In the shadows, he might have been mistaken for an Orc, but the daylight revealed a massive, scarred human. He paused his sweeping, cast a sharp, predatory glance down the street to ensure the three weren't being followed, and gave a quick, silent jerk of his head toward the entrance.
Lorian noted the man's efficiency, but he had no time for curiosity. He pushed inside.
The interior was unchanged, save for a few pieces of sturdier furniture. Grisel was cleaning a glass with a greasy rag, but he dropped it the moment the door squeaked.
"My Lord," Grisel purred, leaning over the counter with a low bow, "Welcome back to your humblest establishment." He didn't miss a moment before barking toward the door- "Nodar!"
The burly man from the street entered.
"Seats for the Master and his honored blades. Move," Grisel commanded.
Nodar didn't speak. He looked at the trio, his gaze scanning the hooded trio before he dropped to one knee in a quick, respectful salute. Then, with a lightning reflex that betrayed his massive size, he stood up, rearranged the tables and chairs into a private nook. Once finished, he vanished back outside to resume his watch.
"Who's the new muscle?" Kaelen asked, his hand resting habitually on his sword hilt.
"Oh, him?" Grisel grinned, "That's Nodar. Just Nodar. I bought him a few weeks back."
Not again, Lorian thought, a wave of frustration hitting him. Is the entire economy of this world built on buying and selling souls?
Lorian's frown didn't escape Grisel's sharp eyes. The tavern owner held up his hands in a pacifying gesture, "Peace, My Lord. I know your... peculiar and particular distaste for the slave trade. As your obedient servant, I've stayed my hand. I bought Nodar's contract, yes, but I burned the papers. He's an employee now. Gets a salary and a bed and meal. He's free to walk- though he'd have nowhere to go but the gallows."
"Fine," Kaelen grunted, as he was still suspicious, "But why keep a man that big just to sweep a porch?"
"He's a bouncer," Lorian interjected with a smirk.
The room went silent. Grisel, Kaelen, and Zara all stared at him. The word was alien to them, yet its meaning was instantly clear.
Grisel's eyes lit up with genuine appreciation. "A Bouncer... My Lord, your tongue finds the perfect word for every occasion. It's brilliant. Truly."
Kaelen looked confused, but seeing Lorian's smug satisfaction, he decided it was better not to ask.
Grisel turned his attention to Zara. "And you must be Mistress Zara Sunstreak. Welcome. I trust Mister Nightclaw is clawing his way back to health?"
Zara looked at Lorian, and upon his signal as assurance, she lowered her hood and smiled at Grisel, "He's awake, Master Grisel. The Nightclaws are hard to kill."
"By Bahak's Misty Breath," Grisel made a quick prayer gesture, "I'll have a keg of the good stuff waiting for him when he can walk."
"Business, Grisel," Lorian snapped, his patience was wearing thin, "The letter."
"Forgive me My Lord, it's my habit to get distracted, part of the tradecraft" with Lorian's permission Grisel sat opposite him, his posture shifting from a jovial host to a cold informant, "I've had my 'stray cats' prowling around the Bistro Mansion since day before yesterday's midnight. The updates are... unsettling."
"We saw the carriages," Kaelen cut in, his chest swelling with pride, "I already briefed the Prince. Seventeen carriages moved in and out of that estate. My Throne Guards noted every single one."
Grisel chuckled, a dry, raspy sound, "Is that so? Seventeen?"
"That's Throne Guard intelligence for you," Kaelen boasted, "We even spotted four of your men shadowing the gates. They were shabby, Grisel. Too easy to spot."
Grisel rubbed his chin, looking genuinely amused, "Shabby, were they? Well, I'll tell the boys to work on their acting. But since you didn't mention the other six, I suppose they were doing their jobs perfectly."
Kaelen's brow furrowed, "Six? I was told four."
"Precisely," Grisel leaned back, his eyes were dancing with triumph, "The four you saw were the rookies. They were just the bait- shabby, loud, and obvious. They were meant to keep 'elite' guards busy while my real shadows slipped through the cracks. While you were counting carriages, my men were counting heartbeats."
Kaelen's face flushed red, "Wait, you mean…."
"Tell me, Sir Knight," Grisel's voice turned sharp like needle, "How many times did Lady Bianca Bistro leave the mansion?"
"She didn't," Kaelen countered instantly, "None of those seventeen trips contained the Lady. We checked the manifests."
"Eighteen," Grisel corrected, his smirk widened, "There were eighteen trips. Seventeen were decoys to keep your prying eyes occupied. On the eighteenth, the Lady herself slipped out the servants' door in a kitchen-maid's rags. She took a common carriage from the docks and made twelve stops."
Lorian leaned forward, his interest peaking, "Twelve?"
"Six were to the Families allied with the Bistro. Four were to the nobles who are speculated to preside over the upcoming trial, most probably, you know, greasing the wheels of justice. But the last two stops..." Grisel's face turned grim, his playfulness vanishing, "The last two were the strangest."
"Go on," Lorian commanded.
"The first was a high-end curio shop, a place for the ultra-wealthy. The second was a rat-hole in the Sinks- a place where smugglers trade in things that don't officially exist. And can you guess what the 'Pearl of Bistro' purchased from under the counter?"
"What?" Kaelen and Zara asked together.
Grisel leaned in, changing his voice to a low whisper, "A Void-Mirror."