Vampa looked up as Dantes approached, his eyes darting up and down as if assessing a threat and quickly determining there wasn’t one.

“Who are you?” he asked, as he began to unwrap the cloth he had around his hands.

“My name is Ed. I’m a friend of Vera’s. She asked me to bring you this.”

Dantes reached into his jacket and pulled out the folded piece of paper he’d been given. He held it out as Vampa met him at the bottom of the stairs. Vampa’s gait reminded him of watching a cat walk across the top of a fencepost. He was large, larger than even any of the fighters he’d just watched brawl, but his footsteps were completely silent and every movement he made, even just taking the paper and unfolding it, had a kind of disciplined deliberateness to it. He smelled the paper of the letter for just a moment. It would’ve been too subtle to for most people to notice, but Dantes caught it.

His eyes quickly went over the letter, and he nodded to himself. “I will watch over the Vixen and Vera and keep them safe.” He looked at Dantes again. “Leave.” He walked back into the pit, and began collecting clothing and weapons.

“Can I ask how you know Vera?”

“No,” he said as he slid on a thick wool shirt.

Dantes sighed. He knew when he was talking to a brick wall, so he decided not to push. “Thank you. For looking after her and the girls.” He turned around and walked back out of the building, passing the guard who was by then fully asleep. He glanced around, and lifted a small jingling purse from the man’s pocket before making his way back toward the main streets.

His eyes on the Vixen confirmed that things were still okay, so he began making the long walk toward the nearest one of his gardens. Even as he walked through the guild district he heard retellings of Gavain’s triumph in the arena, slowly hearing his feats exaggerated as he moved. By the time he reached lowtown, where all three of his gardens were located, Gavain had gone from defeating four well trained combatants in combat alone to vanquishing nearly one hundred with only one hand, while a seagull pecked at his testicles.

He could feel the pull of the thread that connected his garden to him vibrate slightly as he got closer, as if anticipating his return. The closest one was also the smallest of them. He’d planted some fruits, some vegetables, and a tree seed. All of them had begun sprouting, and he reached his energy out to them and made them shift a bit to test his will. He sensed that he needed to do more than he had been. The innate knowledge he’d received from his initiation coming to him, as did the memory of his conversation with the god of bats. He couldn’t gain favor and power just by feeding things that were hungry, there was a balance to things that he needed to help create and maintain.

He looked across the block he’d started gardening in. There was a collection of spiked and rusted metal, its purpose long forgotten, on a nearby roof. He climbed onto it, and pushed the spikes off. Then he began collecting scattered wood-scraps and placed them into a corner. He noticed that one of the empty houses that bordered the garden was actually well sealed, so he formed his new tree branch into a pry and busted boards off of it until any animals that wanted to could come and go as they pleased. Finally, he took an old basin that had been buried in rubble, and positioned it where he sensed it would catch rainwater. Once that was done he took some extra time to water and check on each of his budding plants. Sensing their needs and doing his best to force compromise where they had conflicts with one another, even re-homing the small sapling by reforming his branch into a trowel.

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When he was done he looked over the garden again, and extended out his senses. He could feel that some nearby birds were already looking at the roof he’d cleared, and a rat was already in the process of making the pile of wood scraps homey. The line of power that connected him to the garden seemed more firm, and flowing more freely, even though there wasn’t yet that large of an increase in life. He took one final moment to bury some gold and gems in a small unmarked portion of ground, to act as a fallback space, and then he moved on.

He hit the other two gardens as well, taking the same time to try and improve them, to make them have some kind of balance. When he was done he felt as if all three were in a much better place, though the line that connected him to his old garden in the Underprison was still much stronger than all three of the others.

He settled into his main garden, sending hellos to the bats that roosted within it, and greeting the plants as well. He checked the Vixen, and sent the critters he was connected to there to search the area. It took some time, but he eventually found Vampa already in the brothel. He was wearing a comically small apron and working in the kitchen, pouring a dark red wine over a beautiful cut of meat, and causing it to sizzle. He hadn’t expected him to be able to cook, and he also hadn’t expected him to be watching the Vixen from the inside. He’d had it in his mind that the man would’ve been observing things from the shadows. Still, it wasn’t like those Mondego had assigned to watch the Vixen would know that he wasn’t a regular cook, bouncer, or even client. It was clever, and had Vera’s fingerprints all over it.

He let out a sigh of relief, but left all of his animals there to keep watch. He could see his favor trickly slightly upward across the board as he gazed at his growing sleeve of tattoos. Not his favorite type of gold, but he certainly enjoyed having it.

He had at least partially solved his immediate concerns with the Vixen, but he still had other problems. He needed to try and locate some of the other prisoners who had escaped. If Wane or Merle were among them, and he could somehow release them from their collars, then he would have some powerful friends on his side. He also needed to determine the status of his old garden. Now that he knew what a risk it posed, he had to find some way to manage or mitigate the danger it represented. If the escapees could give him the information on where things stood then he would be able to assess his options.

He opened his pack and began sorting through Pacha’s notes one by one. Over the last few weeks he’d been studying them while adding information of his own. He knew where Mondego’s shipments came in, how they were stored, where they were sold, and what they funded. He knew who was who and what was what. The only thing keeping him from having all of the information he needed, was the enchantments on a number of buildings that prevented rats, roaches, or other vermin from entering them. He needed to find a mage with loose morals, or that he could control by some means. He’d prefer to find the escaped collared and work with them, but he couldn’t wait until one turned up, besides if he had an uncollared mage under his thumb he could use him to help the collared once he came across them.

He also needed to start looking into Danglars more. He was involved in Mondego’s operation and besides that he wanted his revenge on him just as much. Pacha theorized that he was using his legal authority to somehow ensure that certain boats that came into port weren’t searched, or ensure that any that were smuggling without Mondego’s blessing received additional scrutiny. Luckily Dantes didn’t really need to figure out the exact workings of Mondego’s operations. He only needed to know enough to break them, and that was a much easier task than building them up. There was a reason he’d stuck to thievery with his gang rather than any deeper machinations. Harder to fuck up. Though once he was through with his former companions he would need to fill his time with something and regular thievery didn’t have quite the same appeal to him as it once did.

He worked his way through everything again in his head. Spinning ideas of what to do, and what to target. He could cover a lot of ground alone, particularly with his abilities, but if he wanted to move quickly, he’d need the support of an equal.

He turned his attention to Jacopo, who was gorging himself on a piece of rotten fruit.

“I think we may need to split up for a while.”