The Leaky Mug was less a tavern and more a festering wound in the undercity's gut. It was a low-ceilinged, smoke-choked den where the light from the sputtering tallow candles seemed to die before it could reach the room's grimy corners. The air was a thick, unholy brew of cheap, sour ale, unwashed bodies, and the simmering, metallic scent of desperation. This was a place for forgotten people, a hub for the transactions that were too dirty for the sunlit world above.
Zero sat in the darkest booth at the back of the room, a chipped clay mug of watered-down ale untouched before him. He had been waiting for nearly an hour, a silent, unassuming figure in a simple, hooded cloak. He was a ghost in a den of ghosts, his stillness a stark contrast to the room's nervous, twitching energy.
He was beginning to think his gamble had failed when a small, wiry figure detached itself from the bar and slunk towards his table.
Kael the Rat was exactly as Zero remembered him: small, with twitching whiskers, a long, hairless tail that coiled and uncoiled with a life of its own, and sharp, intelligent black eyes that seemed to see everything, especially the things people tried to hide. He wore a patchwork leather jerkin and carried the cheerful, utterly amoral air of a man who knew the price of every secret in the city.
"Fancy seeing a topsider down in the muck," Kael chirped, his voice a high-pitched, scratchy whisper. He slid into the booth opposite Zero without an invitation, his black eyes darting around, assessing, cataloging. "You're either very lost, or you're looking for something you shouldn't be."
"I'm looking for Kael," Zero said, his voice a low, even murmur from the depths of his hood.
The Rat-kin's cheerful demeanor didn't falter, but a new, sharp, calculating light entered his eyes. "Lots of people look for Kael. Most of them have more coin than sense. I don't see a heavy purse on you, friend."
"I don't have money," Zero stated simply. The admission hung in the air, a blatant, almost suicidal breach of undercity etiquette. In this world, to be without coin was to be without value.
Kael's grin widened, showing a row of sharp, yellow teeth. "Then I'm afraid you've wasted a trip. Kael's time is not cheap. Information is a hungry beast, and it feeds on gold."
"I have a more valuable currency," Zero countered. He leaned forward slightly, his face still hidden in shadow. "A gift. A demonstration of my value. A debt of silence, to be collected upon in the future."
He slid a small, folded piece of parchment across the sticky, ale-soaked table. Kael looked at it, then back at Zero, his whiskers twitching with amusement. "A gift? How sweet. What is it? A love poem?"
"It's the duty roster for the City Watch's B-sector patrol for the next three nights," Zero said, his voice a flat, simple statement of fact. "Including the unscheduled 'customs inspection' they're planning for the Shadow-Slit Passage tomorrow night. I believe you have a... vested interest in a certain shipment of Serpent's Kiss wine that is scheduled to pass through there."
The grin on Kael's face vanished. His entire body went still, his cheerful, amoral mask evaporating to reveal the cold, hard face of a professional. The Shadow-Slit Passage was one of his most secret, most profitable smuggling routes. A surprise customs inspection would not just cost him a fortune; it would expose his entire network in that sector.
He slowly, carefully, picked up the parchment. His eyes, no longer bright and cheerful, but sharp and deadly as shards of obsidian, scanned the neat, precise script. He saw the names of the guards, the exact timing of their patrol shifts, the secret command word for the inspection. It was all there. It was all terrifyingly, impossibly accurate. This was not a rumor. This was a direct leak from the heart of the City Watch's command structure.
He slowly folded the parchment, his nimble fingers creasing it with a new, profound respect. "This," he whispered, his voice losing its high-pitched chirp and dropping to a low, dangerous growl, "is not information. This is a ghost story. Where did you get this?"
"My sources are my own," Zero replied. "Consider it a free sample. A gesture of goodwill. Now you know that my currency has value."
Kael leaned back, his sharp eyes studying the cloaked, unassuming figure before him. This boy—and he was clearly just a boy—was not a simple client. He was something new. Something dangerous. He didn't operate on the normal currency of gold and silver, but on the far more potent, far more terrifying currency of prescient knowledge.
"Alright, ghost," Kael said, his voice returning to its more casual, business-like tone, though the new, hard edge of caution remained. "You have my attention. You have bought a debt. What is it you want to collect?"
"Information," Zero said. "I need to know about the new muscle a certain minor noble has hired. His name is Marcus Vance. He's been using academy students for his dirty work, but they've proven… unreliable. He's looking for professionals now. Off the books. Thugs from the undercity with military experience. I need their names, their histories, where they drink, where they sleep. Everything."
Kael was silent for a moment, his sharp mind connecting the dots. A spoiled noble brat from the academy. A mysterious, seemingly omniscient ghost who wants to know about his hired thugs. A story was taking shape, a story of secrets and violence. And stories like that were Kael's stock and trade.
"Vance," Kael mused, tapping a long, sharp nail on the table. "Yes, I've heard the whispers. He's been putting out feelers, looking for a pair of blades with a… flexible moral compass. It's a small contract, but messy. Most of the top-tier guys won't touch academy business. Too much political heat if things go wrong."
"But someone will," Zero stated.
"Oh, yes," Kael's grin returned, this time a thin, predatory slash. "There's always someone hungry enough. It will cost you. That kind of real-time intelligence is not cheap."
"Our deal stands," Zero said. "My information for yours. A debt of silence."
Kael studied him for a long moment, weighing the risk versus the reward. On one hand, this boy was an unknown, a ghost, a potential agent for a rival guild or the City Watch itself. On the other hand, the information he had already provided was going to save Kael a fortune and, quite possibly, his life. And the promise of more such information… it was an intoxicating prospect.
"You're a very interesting person, ghost," Kael said finally. "And interesting people are good for business." He stood up, his small form a study in sudden, decisive motion. "You'll have your information. Leave a marker—a dead crow's feather—on the windowsill of the abandoned clock tower at the edge of the academy grounds. I'll make the drop there. It's a safer place to do business than this sewer."
He gave a slight, almost mocking bow. "It has been a pleasure. I look forward to our continued, mutually profitable, and deeply unnerving partnership."
And then he was gone, melting back into the tavern's smoky, shifting shadows, leaving Zero alone in the booth.
Zero allowed himself a small, internal sigh of relief. The first, most critical piece of his proactive plan was in place. He had secured his informant. He had forged his first real alliance, not with a knight or an artificer, but with a creature of the shadows, a fellow ghost who understood the true value of a well-placed secret.
He stood up and dropped a few copper coins on the table to pay for the untouched ale, a simple, mundane gesture to maintain his cover as just another patron. He walked out of The Leaky Mug, the tavern's oppressive atmosphere giving way to the cool, damp air of the undercity.
The board was set. The pieces were moving. He was no longer just a pawn, reacting to the moves of his enemies. He was now a player, with his own bishop, his own spy, moving silently across the board. The hunt had officially begun.