The Mimic Becomes a Merchant King

Elijah was indeed home in time for dinner, and looked rather haggard in the aftermath of meeting with Lady Greatglow. She was glad the paintings had been delivered safe and sound to Gilly Froth, but she was still a woman who did not appreciate being kept in suspense. The long wait for their return had irritated her significantly.

But, Elijah had said, that did not means he would never ask for their services again. They were, to use business terminology, on 'thin ice.' Whatever that meant.

The meal itself was a thing of beauty. A roast pig served with stuffing, a side order of mixed greens, and gravy so rich that Coin's mouth would forevermore water whenever he thought of it. Even if it had been a long time since the servants had cooked a meal for their master, they had clearly not lost their touch.

Pearl, having had a chance to properly wash up, looked rather radiant. Her ebony hair fell in lustrous ringlets down her shoulders with newfound radiance, and her road attire had been replaced with a silken white shirt with ruffled sleeves and a pleated black skirt. A gift that the servants had in reserve, only needing to hitch the hem a little bit to make it an ideal fit.

Essine, similarly, had been washed and dressed for the evening. The whole affair had been a flustering ordeal for her. Kobolds had no notion of servants, or the idea of being able to give orders to others. Thus she had been too embarrassed and shy to turn the maids down as she was led through a rather extensive bath.

But the end result left her fur a gleaming and silky shade of brown, which now carried a faint waft of lavender to it. It was hard to complain about that, Essine reasoned. Nor could she fault the emerald dress she had been given for the night, a gift of such beauty that it had nearly brought her to tears.

Come the end of dinner, by which point sunlight filled the long dining hall as a steadily fading orange haze, Elijah sighed happily and sank back into his chair with his hands on his stomach.

"I take it Ser enjoyed his dinner," Domajor said, standing ramrod straight at Elijah's side. It was not a question. A true manservant down to the very marrow of his bones, Domjaor had no doubts in the capabilities in the cooks he had personally hired.

"Oh yes Domajor, wonderful. I fear if I stayed around the house for too long, I'd fast grow fat and slothful," Elijah replied with a chuckle.

Leonid, standing prim and silent by Coin's side, deftly poured an extra glass of water for the mimic. Coin nodded his thanks and glanced to Elijah at the head of the table. "So, er, Valle?" he asked.

Elijah considered the question for some time. "I plan on speaking to him in person. To give him a chance to get his affairs in order and flee Sentinel before going to the authorities."

"You're... giving him a chance to flee? After everything that's happened?" Pearl asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

The older man shrugged. "He was my friend, once. Saved me from a few nasty scrapes. Him working with such twisted people... I doubt he would do it unless he was forced to. I want to at least give him a chance to save himself."

"You are kind, Elijah. But this sounds dangerous. You may make a target of yourself through your honesty," Essine said.

"Perhaps. But I have my integrity when it comes to some things. And they'll make a target of me, regardless, when I don't hand the black powder over."

"Should have just handed the casks back over, refused to take them back in Grafia," Pearl remarked.

Elijah shook his head. "It would have been easy, were it so simple. But with people from the Brotherhood keeping an eye on us... we would have been in danger regardless."

"Well... we may be in danger now, you know. I assume you have security working here?" Pearl asked, furrowing her brow.

But the old merchant merely waved her off. "If Coin isn't around? Domajor can handle any threats."

"The protection of this estate is one of my top priorities," Domajor replied.

Coin stared at the estate manager for several moments, trying to sense any trace of magic from him. But if he had any magic potential, it didn't radiate off of him with the same ease it did for Scylla and Igrei. Those two had enough magical power that Coin could feel it without actively trying to feel for it."

Yet he sensed nothing unusual about the man. Still, Coin got the odd impression he was more than capable of protecting himself and others. A stern look alone would make even the most fearsome ruffian think twice about bothering him.

Slowly, Elijah pushed himself to his feet and grunted as he did so. "Damnation, my knees are at me," he muttered, rubbing at his knee. "But, better get a move on. Sooner I get in touch with him, the sooner we can get the ball rolling on dealing with these bastards."

Coin stood to join him. "Well, er, let's get going in that case. I'll watch your back."

An irritable groan rose in Elijah's throat. "Were we just dealing with Valle Irons, I'd say that was excessive. But considering who he has ties to? Doesn't hurt to be cautious." Ideally they wouldn't have to fend off another gaggle of maniacs on horseback again.

But in a city laden with twisting alleys and deep shadows, the Brotherhood were quite adept at killing men without a trace.

The two set off at a steady pace, while the fading sunlight was being replaced by the glow of oil lanterns on the cobblestone streets. Lamplighters, dressed in thick black coats, strode about lighting each lantern with clockwork efficiency.

Few men took their jobs as seriously as the lamplighters brotherhood of Sentinel, who saw themselves as the vanguard against the deathly cold darkness of night.

Most everyone else saw them as pillocks whenever they spoke like that.

Coin was at least somewhat used to the other parts of the city like Lowtown and the Merchant's Quarter, but the Spokes was rather new to him. And he would admit, even at a glance, it was markedly uglier than Lowtown.

Piles of soot and ash filled the gutters of the streets, and the surrounding red brick buildings had been dyed black by years of smoke. Even now, hours after the last of the coals had been doused for the evening, a thick smell of burning fuel lingered in the air.

To say nothing about the architecture.

Lowtown was unappealing to the eye, and rather ramshackle to boot, but there was something to be said for how lived-in everything looked. A cosiness born from families and groups of people trying to live their lives as best they could.

The little details and flourishes were nowhere to be found in the spokes, where everything had been built in a brutal, utilitarian style. Filth aside, the streets were narrow and choking, where the looming buildings and towers would work with the smoke to blot out all light in the daytime.

Coin assumed no sane man would live here, but that was not entirely true. They passed the rear yard of one structure, the gates ajar to reveal rows of tents and cookfires beyond. Coin peered inside and was surprised to see many kobolds scattered about. They chat, ate whatever meagre stew was being cooked, and gathered around storytellers or musicians who busied themselves with makeshift pan flutes.

They spoke in a low, muttering language that even Coin's sharp ears could barely grasp. Yet, even from where he stood, he occasionally heard utterances of 'this one' or 'that one' among the younger kobolds.

A few heads turned to regard the two men in the darkness, beady eyes and rodent muzzles twinged with uncertainty. "Some factory owners pay kobolds to work for them. It's far from pleasant work, certainly not safe, and the pay is lousy. But kobolds will work for less than humans, and... nobody will stick up for them if they are mistreated."

Coin frowned at Elijah's explanation, and the old man hardly looked pleased by his own words. "They live... here?" Coin murmured. "In all this filth?"

"They're allowed to. Kobolds living even in Lowtown is rarity," Elijah said. "I know it's not fair. It's not right, and the kobolds deserve better. But folks like me, thinking the way I think, are a rare breed. Come on, we better keep moving."

They pressed on. Coin briefly met eyes with a kobold boy in passing, who barely passed Coin's knee in height. And in the back of his mind, a horrible thought bubbled uncertainly. That boy, and every kobold like him, could be killed in broad daylight with nobody around to care or act in his defence.

"You sure he'll still be here?" Coin asked.

"Knowing Valle? Yes. He always was the sort to burn the midnight oil after hours, checking his books and... fretting over his debts." He frowned and shook his head. "He's a sharp man, in many respects. But his vices... I don't know. They haunt him like an evil spirit."

Coin frowned. "If he's working with a bunch of dangerous people? He's doing that by choice. And I can't say I feel bad for him if he gets in trouble." He scratched at his shoulder, a phantom pain of the emerald venom briefly throbbing through his veins.

Valle had not personally stuck him with poisoned bolts, but his dishonesty had pushed the group into a very dangerous situation. Anger blossomed in the depths of Coin's mind, a storm cloud on a distant horizon.

"I know, lad, I know. It was a rather terrible situation to be put into but we can't blame him too harshly for it," Elijah said. The two halted just outside a looming soot-caked structure. 'Valle Forge' was printed above the two front doors in sculpted steel letters, glinting when the lantern light struck them.

It seemed, at least, that the letters were cleaned regularly.

"Right then," Elijah said, "let's get to it."