Chapter 4 - Part 3

“Mm, yes, excellent pork,” Petran said to the serving woman. The haggard-looking half-elven female was a petty criminal who had fled Valenar or something. She was a cook, and a good one, even if the brand on her forehead proclaimed her to be a perjurer.

“Thank you, MiLord,” she said, curtsying. She poured him some more wine.

“So, you saw the statue of the gnoll on the central square?” Petran asked conversationally.

“Came straight here, didn’t do any sightseeing,” Delegado said around a mouthful of rice. He refused to drink the wine, instead enjoying the same ale that the common soldiers did.

“Yes, all business, that is your reputation,” Petran laughed. The staged laughter and easy diplomacy did not bother Delegado as much as it did a quarter-hour earlier. Petran played the pampered dandy, but he had a tongue of gold and a keen business sense, so he wasn’t as useless as Delegado had initially judged him to be. “The statue is alive. Shaidan Infernix has a medusa adviser. She punished the gnoll, a former watch commander, for allowing a riot to get out of hand. A new warehouse had been destroyed.” He paused with some shrimp halfway to his mouth. “You know what a medusa is, don’t you?”

“Khyber-born humanoids with snakes on their heads with faces that turn men to stone,” Delegado said. “I’ve talked to an Eldeen Warden of the Wood who likes to hunt things that are just too monstrous to be proper humanoids. He said best to use ranged attacks on them. Their knees have a double sheath of cartilage, but their ankles are more vulnerable. Blow both ankles out with arrows or sling stones and they tend to pass out from the pain. This medusa still around?”

“Indeed, as professional as your reputation,” Petran said, chewing the shrimp. “No, the thing had to go north for something, it won’t be back for a week.” He swallowed. “Ah, delicious! With a meal this fine we must speak of subjects more pleasant than a medusa. You saw the recruiters? They pay a set bribe to the town government, and they do not flaunt their flags. More fuel for the war. I would not be surprised if Cannith came here with some of their forged-for-war, heh.”

“Warforged,” Delegado corrected. He watched as the half-elf with the brand on her forehead brought in a steaming serving bowl of soup. It smelled delicious. “Pour of small bowl of that for my hawk, would you?” he asked the woman. “He likes okra.” She nodded and set up a third bowl.

“Whatever, they are horrible, unnatural things,” Petran said, tucking a fresh napkin in place as the half-elven menial placed his soup bowl before him. “I saw a few in Sharn, Cannith bodyguards. They brought them to a social function, can you believe that?”

Delegado shrugged. “I have seen them at a distance. Saw one of those titans on a battlefield once, too. Have no desire to have anything to do with any of it.” The half-elven woman started to give him his bowl, but he motioned to her to give it to Feather first. She only partially managed to conceal her surprise. “It’s not our problem, so I don’t worry about it.”

“Hm,” Petran said. “Ah, excellent soup!” The half-elf blushed and set out Delegado’s bowl. “Well, what if you have to track one some day, eh? Will your dragonmark work on it?”

The half-elven woman’s hands shook, but she set the bowl down without spilling it. Terror filled her eyes. Delegado caught her arm. “Easy,” he said. “You didn’t hear some secret. I’m dragonmarked. I don’t hide it.”

“Forgive me, sir,” she whispered. “I – I just didn’t see it, and marked ones usually – I thought that –”

“You are not paid to think,” Petran said. The woman shut up. “Go attend to your other duties.” The half-elf nodded and left, heading out towards the stairs.

When they could no longer hear her footsteps, Delegado got up and closed the door. “Okay,” he said. “Shaidan Infernix. Have you had contact with him?”

“I have had several meetings with him,” Petran said. “He is in the port far more often that his blue-skinned master is. Shaidan is trying to make a name for himself, he’s reaching out to the medusas for that reason. Tzaryan puts up with it because Shaidan is careful to not take from Tzaryan, and because Shaidan gives a tithe of his earnings to the ogre sorcerer.” Petran dabbed his lips with a napkin. “It won’t last, in my judgement. Shaidan is too greedy. One day he’ll come across something really juicy and decide that he can hide it for himself. And within some time after that someone will turn informer, hoping for a better position on the food chain. But until that day comes, the two seem to have a fine working arrangement.”

“You’ve negotiated with him?” Delegado asked. “So, Shaidan has no issues with Tharashk, then? That’s surprising.”

“Oh he has issues,” Petran said with a laugh. “But the Daughters of Sora Kell have declared that Tharashk has a presence and a right to operate here, and he understands his place on the totem pole. When our House first came here, a powerful ogre chieftain refused to let us operate near his tribe. Sora Maenya tore the recalcitrant to pieces with her bare hands. Publicly. Slowly.” He chuckled. “Anyway, I told him that the House had only supported the Gatekeeper’s edict against him while he was in the Shadow Marches’ boundaries. On foreign soil our alliance does not require us to take action against him.”

“Is that true?” Delegado asked.

“No reason why it can’t be,” Petran grinned.

Delegado tasted the soup. It was just as good as it smelled. “Does Shaidan know I was coming here with Marcuiss?”

“I did not tell him, but I assume the gnolls you hired are getting fat and drunk right now, telling the tale.”

Delegado put his spoon down and rubbed his eyes. “I’m the one that gave Shaidan that scar on his cheek.”

“Really? The famous Delegado let one get away?”

“I was part of a team of four a decade ago. We were tracking him to collect the Gatekeeper bounty, but he got the drop on us. Some warriors from the tribe that summoned his father aided the ambush. I’m the only one that got away.”

Petran considered that. “Well, given that you are in the enclave I should think that you are safe.” He took another swallow of soup. “Was his father really a demon of some sort?”

“Of some sort. I can’t stay here, Petran.”

“What? Why not?”

“I can’t look afraid of him.”

“Are you afraid of him?”

Delegado briefly considered lying, but realized there would be no point. “Yes. I am. But I can’t look that way. I’m going to have to show myself in town, be seen, be obvious. Otherwise there will be trouble. I know that with the certainty of a Medani. Shaidan is the crocodile that goes after the most timid calf. I have to go.”

“You’re serious,” Petran said, his foppish mask dropping. “Delegado, you are tired and road-weary, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Petran, look,” Delegado began. “I may not like life as soft as you, but I know my business. I know my quarry. I know Shaidan. I have to be out there, appearing unafraid, doing nothing. Believe me I’d rather go get drunk and fall asleep until the Lyrandar boat comes in tomorrow, but I don’t have a choice. Shaidan could give us all sorts of f’test at the docks tomorrow if he thinks he smells weakness. And we can’t afford to lose this bounty. Do you know how much Haruuc is paying for Marcuiss?”

“No, but I can imagine,” Petran said. “Alright, it’s your call. But see the armorer before you go, he can stock you up on things.”