by Randy Nargi
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JUST BEFORE NOON, BANDER AND VALA LEFT THE PALACE DISTRICT BY WAY OF THE CITADEL GATE WHICH MARKED THE BEGINNING OF WIDDERS WAY, THE LONG, PARKLIKE BOULEVARD MARKING THE BOUNDARY BETWEEN THE TEMPLE DISTRICT AND THE MANSION-FILLED GOLD COIN DISTRICT. Their destination was neither. Instead they sought out the part of the city where a famulus mage might spend his day off: the Merchant’s Quarter.
Vala was dressed in the black leathers of her office and Bander wore a borrowed Falward uniform without any insignia save the palace brooch he had been issued yesterday. They cut imposing figures as they strode through the already-crowded streets of the Quarter. No merchant welcomed a visit from the Falward, so shopkeepers arranging their wares averted their eyes as Vala and Bander passed.
Mill Street ran along the southern border of the Bazaar, a maze-like square teeming with hundreds of shops ranging from ancient two-story buildings of timber and stone to tent-like stalls erected that morning. The Bazaar stretched for almost a quarter mile on each side and arguable was the center of commerce in the North. Inns, taverns, bistros, and public houses bordered the square. Vala led Bander to a relatively new establishment at the end of Mill Street called The Plover’s Twin. It had been built just last year upon the ashes of the previous alehouse, The Crooked Goat, which Bander recalled from his past visits to the city.
The Twin was filled with light-colored wood and decorative plants and had a row of large windows facing Mill Street. It was the complete opposite of the dark old pub Bander remembered. Vala explained that this establishment was owned by the Tyroda family, a long line of barkeeps and innkeepers who also ran the venerable Plover Inn in the Silver Coin District.
While Vala spoke with the publican, Bander surveyed the tavern. It wasn’t crowded. Most of the patrons appeared to be merchants and tradesmen who looked a bit more prosperous than the usual pub rabble. There was no sign of Hal Deorr, the young mage they were looking for.
“The barkeep knows who Deorr is, but hasn’t seen him for a week, but the mage does frequent this place,” Vala reported back. “Apparently he also spends time at a gaming hall on Spoke Street. I’m going to go there. You stay here in case he shows up. I’ll be back in an hour. Less if Deorr’s there.”
Bander nodded and seated himself in a corner table with a view of the front door. A serving girl walked over to his table. She was young—not yet 16—and had an unruly mass of curly red hair. Bander guessed she was new to the job. She still seemed interested in her customers and hadn’t acquired the protective veneer of a seasoned tavern wench. He ordered a flagon of spiced wine and some honey cakes, and leaned back to wait.
More patrons trickled into The Plover’s Twin over the course of the next hour, but none of them were Hal Deorr. And none of them ventured close to Bander’s corner table. He guessed that his Falward uniform had something to do with it. The citizens of Waterside had good memories. Under Vala’s predecessor, the Falward had a reputation for ruling the streets of the city with an iron hand, terrorizing merchants who didn’t cooperate, and causing certain citizens to disappear from their homes in the middle of the night.
The red-haired serving girl brought him another plate of honey cakes and refilled his glass. He placed his shortstaff on his lap and examined it for cracks. The weapon was three hands long and carved from fire-blackened ironwood. Bander typically went through three or four of them every year, so he never got attached to any one particular weapon, and he certainly did not give the shortstaff a name like other warriors did with their swords. This one had seen some action back in mid-Horning at a freehold near the Rainbow Hills, but he’d avoided any physical altercations since then.
Bander looked up from his shortstaff to see two men enter the tavern. Unlike most of the other patrons, these two were tall and thickset, dressed in the distinctive suede capes and wide-brimmed hats of Underfoot rangemen. Definitely out of place here. The taller of the rangemen, who had sandy hair and a short beard, spoke with the barkeep. The other, darker with a big bull neck, surveyed the Plover’s customers—including Bander. Bander met his gaze with the bored, but aggressive stare he’d perfected as an Imperial Guard and eventually Bull Neck looked away.
The two rangemen left after a few minutes. Bander signaled to the serving girl and asked her to tell the barkeep that he wanted a word. The man received the message, nodded at Bander, and walked over. He was a redhead like the serving girl and Bander wondered if they were relatives.
“Is everything to your liking, constable?”
Bander ignored the question. “Sit, please.” He leaned back in his own chair, but was careful not to break it. “Those men—the rangemen—what were they inquiring about?”
“They were in need of a mage, they said. Some sort of issue with their wagons…”
“And why would they not go to the guildhall?”
“I got the impression that they did not have the coin to hire a mage through official channels.”
“So they were looking for a famulus?”
“I believe they were, constable. They asked about young master Deorr. Said that he was recommended…”
“And what did you tell them?”
“The same as I told you, sir. That Deorr sometimes spends time here—and sometimes he plays pone at the gaming hall.”
“Did they ask which gaming hall?”
The publican paused for a moment, trying to remember. “I don’t believe they did, but there is only the one here in the Merchant’s Quarter.”
Bander was getting a bad feeling. “What’s the name of this gaming hall and where exactly is it?”
