Seeing Ailmon sitting alone at a table in the crowded tavern, Aran sighed. He wasn’t really surprised. Still, it would be nice if, just once, everyone would be there on time. He made his way into the tavern, past tables of more or less drunk or dodgy parties to whom breakfast was obviously a meal that came in a mug. He pressed the hilt of his short sword down, so the weapon wouldn’t clatter against the bench, and took a seat opposite to the slender bald man, dressed in his customary attire of an unassuming grey tunic and trousers.

Ailmon nodded politely in welcome, but said nothing, and just continued eating his scrambled swizzard eggs.

“Do we know where the girls are?” Aran finally asked.

“I doubt if Shale would appreciate being termed a girl,” Ailmon mused with a small, thoughtful frown. It seemed to Aran like his face was made for that exact expression.

“Fine. Do we know where Shale and the girl are?” Aran countered, slightly exasperated.

“Shale is over there. Rough night is my guess.” Ailmon pointed to the end of the large taproom at a table in the far corner. The half-orc woman was draped across the tabletop, halfway hidden behind a wall of empty bottles, fast asleep. “As for Naia… Honestly, I doubt any of us have the mental fortitude to know.”

Suppressing a small, theatrical shudder, Aran nodded and got to his feet, walking over to Shale’s table. One of the many long braids that snaked across her head had been unbound, the tuft of hair stuck into one of the bottles in front of her. Vaguely wondering whether it was good for one’s long-term health to poke a sleeping orc, Aran did just that and quickly stepped away.

Shale slowly stirred; the violent reaction Aran had expected was completely absent. She blearily opened an eye and then pushed herself into an upright position on her chair, wiping the drool from her mouth.

“Ech. Dog-brown…” she muttered before blinking and focusing.

“Ready for the work meeting?” Aran asked and gestured towards Ailmon’s table.

“That lousy little grotbag…” Shale just stated slowly and, going cross-eyed, looked at the un-braided lock of hair hanging into her tusked face.

“What? Ailmon?”

“Braid your hair for luck…” Shale rubbed her eyes and checked her belt pouch. “Yeah… I’ll… be there in a…” She shook her head.

“You better check if you have all your teeth. Falling asleep in a place like the Shindig…” Aran shook his head.

“Money is gone…” Shale said blearily. “Good thing I drank almost all of it up… Gotta find a loo. Get me some food, will you.” She stood, half a head taller than Aran and just as broad-shouldered, and made her way a little shakily outside.

For the second time that morning, Aran sighed, ordered breakfast for both of them, and took a seat again.

“That went better than expected,” Ailmon commented.

“Didn’t it just… She mentioned you, though.”

“Pardon?” Ailmon looked up, face expressionless.

“Were you drinking with her last night?”

“Me? Good grief, what a thought,” Ailmon said.

“She must have been referring to some other grotbag, then.”

“Quite so. You did say ‘meet at the Shindig at eight’ and she was here.”

Aran just rolled his eyes in reply, watching as a tray with legs made its way from the bar towards them. The tray was pushed onto the table, revealing a man of the small tribes with curly blond hair and large blue eyes underneath, smaller than others of his kind.

“Thanks,” Aran said.

“No probs.” The small waiter smiled and turned to leave.

“Wait, quick question. Isn’t it rough waiting tables in a crowd like the Shindig when one is…” he gestured up and down the small man.

“Nope. I punch at groin height.” The small waiter flexed his arms, making rude hand gestures, and went back behind the bar.

“Being weird to the staff?” Shale asked Aran and took a seat. “Dibs on the apple spider!” She grabbed a plate and hungrily began eating.

“Ehm, maybe. I was just wondering how a little shit like him got around.”

“Same way everyone else does,” Shale grinned. “I vaguely remember him being crazy drunk last night,” she looked questioningly at Ailmon.

“I really couldn’t comment,” Ailmon said evenly.

“Where’s Naia?” Shale asked between mouthfuls.

“She’ll probably be here. Maybe,” Aran said.

Shale nodded, somewhat doubtfully, and went back to shovelling food into her face.

From the direction of the Guildhouse entrance, a laugh reached them. “Be honest now, did I bed you already?” came a loud feminine voice over the din of the tavern patrons. All three at the table turned to look at the woman with short black hair, wearing a purple, clingy, knee-length dress that showed off a generous bit of cleavage and a pair of tight-fitting red trousers underneath.

“Oh, new victim,” Ailmon commented dispassionately.

The handsome young man being addressed slowly shook his head, staring hypnotised at Naia’s bosom.

“That’s a problem! Meet me here tonight and we’ll fix it,” she stated and, looking around, spotted her companions. She waved before making her way over. The young man’s companions laughed raucously at his expense in her wake.

“Get your own breakfast,” Aran commented when Naia was within earshot.

Casually, she gestured at the enormous orcish barman and took a seat, slamming a piece of paper down on the table with a flat hand.

“You’re late!” Aran stated.

“Pff, details!” Naia retorted. “Besides, we don’t need to have a work-meeting, I already logged us a job! Solid pay. One hundred gost per person. That’s a fortune!” She slid the paper over the table to Aran and shot him a confident smile.

“You logged it? You took a job on everyone’s behalf?” he asked, incredulous. “That’s a group decision! You can’t just…”

“I did! I logged it with …raisin-lady, whatever her face is. At the counter. Besides, it’s high profile.”

“That is not a consolation!” Aran barked.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“Just read the thing!” Naia exclaimed and nodded at the paper in front of him. “The Guild Mistress, something something Bartolin, came down to hang it herself. She said it was vitally important. We have an appointment with someone, some Sef-guy, in an hour. Upstairs.”

“Hm,” Shale said, reaching for the paper and getting into a tug of war with Aran before Ailmon snatched it from the both of them.

“Investigative assistance needed,” he read out loud, ignoring the scowls at the table. “Thinking about the recent murders in Wallsen, I feel it is time to show our civic-mindedness and put a stop to this nonsense. If I lose another guild contact, someone will pay in fresh liver. Talk to Sef for briefing and details.” Ailmon put the paper down. “Interesting,” he commented.

“I think so too.” Naia nodded at him.

“And written with the guild’s customary eloquence, I see,” Ailmon commented dryly.

“And especially wonderful since up until now we’ve been hunting down nasty people who were alive! Not solving murders,” Aran said caustically. “We can barely figure out how to meet at a tavern…”

“Hey! I was setting us up with a fabulously paying job, I wasn’t late!” Naia said sharply.

“It’s half past eight…”

“I like it.” Shale commented. “We’re probably ready to do something else... Besides, I felt sort of bad for the last fellow we tracked down.”

“He killed three people!” Aran stated.

“In self-defence, as it turned out.” Shale shrugged. “Seemed sad to turn him in. So, you talked to the Guild Mistress?” she asked Naia.

“I did. Handsome woman, I must say. Really forceful, with this billowing aura of dark deliciousness just–“

“Can we please get back on track?” Aran interjected.

“It seems to me like the job requires the same level of tracking skills we’ve displayed in our previous jobs,” Ailmon said evenly, making the others fall silent. “Tracking down a living mark is the same whether we’re dealing with a murderer or any other kind of fugitive.”

“Except this time, we don’t actually know who we’re hunting.” Aran threw his hands in the air.

“No, but that’s the fun bit!” Naia grinned.

“It’s not fun! None of this is fun,” Aran exclaimed.

“Fine… It’s serious. But it doesn’t matter how you feel, because we have to meet with this Sef-guy in about an hour.”

Aran ran his fingers through his short blond hair in frustration. When he began working with the others, he’d secretly felt excited to not have to bear the responsibility of finding and doing the job all alone.

That responsibility had certainly been lifted.

o-0-o

Over the last nineteen years, the Freelancers’ Guild had grown and expanded organically in the slums known as Wallsen, ‘wall’s end’ because it was where the city walls gave up, in the northern part of the city of Sonderport. By organically, most people, members of the fine problem-solving guild establishment included, meant to say like a tumour or one of those really annoying little blisters you sometimes get inside your mouth which just ruins your day a little.

During a minor tiff many years ago with the more upscale establishment known as the Old Town Qualified Freelancers’ Guild, which occupied a much fancier address in Sonderport, a banner had been nailed to the façade of the Guildhouse saying, ‘Absolutely no qualifications needed’. Every member of the bureau in Wallsen had taken this upon themselves as a badge of honour, and the guild formally changed its name to the No Qualifications Needed Freelancers’ Guild. Long-term members weren’t shy to call themselves ‘no qualifiers’.

The multi-coloured, timber-frame Guildhouse itself was really a sprawling hodgepodge labyrinth of several buildings, huddled weirdly and haphazardly together, sometimes connected by rooftop bridges or stairs, holes in the floor and secret doors.

Aran, Shale, Ailmon, and Naia had made their way up stairs, down halls, up a suspiciously rickety ladder, over a connecting rooftop bridge, down more halls, and through an indoor marketplace where they doubled back, realising they were lost, before they finally found the right office. It was in a shabby corridor where the floorboards creaked so loudly it sounded like an animal in pain.

Aran crossed his arms. Naia shrugged and knocked at the door where a small sign just said ‘Sef’.

“Do come in,” came a pleasant voice from inside, and when Naia opened the door, she stood still for a few heartbeats in astonishment. The spacious office stood in stark contrast to the shabby corridor, with soft sofas and chairs in bright colours, a beautifully carved desk, and a large cabinet of multi-coloured, expensive-looking bottles of liquor.

“Please, take a seat. The Guild Mistress told me you have come to solve our embarrassing little murder-problem.” The man who occupied the office fit the luxurious surroundings well. Tall and slender, with green eyes, dark hair down to his shoulders, colourful clothes of high quality, and a well-groomed short beard. He swung his feet off the sofa where was lounging and put down the book he’d been reading.

“Come in, please.” He waved the group inside and they filed in, taking seats in the luxurious sofas. “Shale!” Sef exclaimed.

“Forget it. I’m not getting naked with you,” Shale stated evenly.

“You know each other?” Aran asked.

“Oh, yes,” Sef smiled brightly and looked at the half-orc woman. “And somehow Shale believes that statement makes her less interesting…” He shook his head.

Shale pointed to Naia. “Other pair of tits. Focus on her.”

Naia made a growling purr in her throat and shifted in her chair when her eyes met Sef’s.

“We have to make sure to run into each other later,” Sef said to her, then clapped his hands. “Well, to business. I don’t imagine the Guild Mistress was very detail-oriented in the task statement?”

“No. Murders have been committed, the murderer should be stopped, but there were no details,” Aran said. “So, we’re going in blind and might not even be the right set of skills for the job,” he finished, looking at Naia, who just rolled her eyes.

Ailmon held up the paper with the task briefing. “As my compatriot hints, we need quite a bit of information. What exactly has happened? Which murders are we investigating, and have all the victims been guild contacts? Also, we need a timeline of the events as far as possible, what services the victims provided to the guild, and where they were found.”

“To business means to business with you, excellent,” Sef smiled broadly, got to his feet, and took a piece of paper off the desk. “Here’s a list of the deceased, their addresses, if applicable, where they were found and when. This last week has been quite annoying to the guild, as you can imagine. The first couple of murders, we thought nothing much of, to be honest. It’s Wallsen. Not a day goes by without someone turning up dead. The guild has several contacts, as you can no doubt guess. It’s good to stay informed on opportunities in the area and elsewhere. But now, it’s beginning to look rather vengeful, if you have that sort of …dirty mind.”

Naia and Sef stared at each other for a moment, before he cleared his throat and continued, “The latest victim was Sargon, the odd, screaming priest. Do you know him?”

Shale nodded.

“He was active in Old Town, wasn’t he?” Aran asked. “I’ve seen him stand there, near Mirea’s temple. Tall, lanky fellow?”

“The very same. He went there every day to spread the, ehm… good word of his god,” Sef confirmed. “But in the process, he also picked up a wealth of information that was of occasional use to the guild.”

“But to my knowledge, Sargon was …how do I put this diplomatically? A drooling lunatic. How was his information reliable to anyone?” Aran persisted.

“True, most of his information was shaky at best.” Sef nodded. “But Sargon had his lucid moments, and even in his raving state, he was a curiously keen observer. He just did not know how to make use of the information he gained. That’s where the guild stepped in to assist.”

Aran just nodded. Assist, take advantage of… maybe that was a grey area.

“Well, Sargon was found dead in front of the Guildhouse yesterday morning,” Sef continued. “The corpse is down in the alchemy basement, perhaps you should start there? We spent yesterday making enquiries and talking to witnesses but …here we are. Sargon wasn’t the first to be killed; two of the guild’s contacts in the area have died in the last week, as well as a young lady at a brothel that we are occasionally trading information with. She met a nasty end, and it’s beginning to look like someone dislikes the guild for some reason.” Sef put the piece of paper he held down on the table between them, and Aran quickly snatched it up before any of the others could get to it. He quickly read the information and passed the paper to Ailmon, who read it with Shale looking over his shoulder.

“Keep me in the dark, why don’t you,” Naia said with a theatrical sigh.

“Wait, Nester? The old drunk?” Shale asked, looking at Sef.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Who’s Nester?” Naia asked.

Sef gestured to Shale, who replied, “A knight of the street. A sweet sort.”

“What’s a knight of the street?”

“A beggar, sorry,” Shale said. “I didn’t know he worked for the guild, though.”

“Well, none of the victims, so far, have been high profile informers, as you can probably guess,” Sef said, draping himself gracefully on the chair. “But it’s still enough to be worrisome when you add them all up. As you can see, I’ve added a few words on the services they supplied us with.” He gestured to the list in Shale’s hands. “We need you to discreetly look for clues and find whoever is doing this. How you choose to deal with the responsible person is completely up to you, as long as the problem is solved discreetly. …Did I mention discreetly? As in inconspicuous, unobtrusive? The Guild Mistress was quite clear on that. We can’t risk things getting out until we know what we’re dealing with. It won’t do to tell everyone and their mother that we’re attackable.”

“Alright,” Aran said, somewhat grudgingly. “We can look into this.”

“Lovely,” Sef said. “Any questions?”

Aran looked at the others. Ailmon was characteristically dispassionate and wore his customary slight frown, Shale just nodded at him and Naia smirked predictably, her golden-brown eyes almost twinkling with triumph.

“No questions,” Aran said. “Not at the moment. Except, how do we get to the alchemy basement? It took us half an hour to find this office.”