CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE - GOLDEN BEDWARMER

"Did you find him? Was the journey alright? What did you eat? What did he say? Who did it? How was the tower? How many did you need to search? Would you like some breakfast? Lunch? Dinner? I can fetch some brandy, whisky, wine, sherry, port, Ina-liquor, or rectified spirit. What did he say? Did you find him properly? Is he still alive? Why did he leave the colony? Did it have something to do with Them? How long did it take? Did the cover story hold up? Would you like me to take your coat? Your boots? Would you like me to run you a bath? Would you like to sleep?"

Tanner blinked.

She'd just walked into the improvised study. Wasn't ready for the barrage of words, even if they were being whispered at a volume that small rodents would've struggled to pick up on. Definitely wasn't ready for those staring eyes. Definitely wasn't ready for being sprung at by a short redhead immediately after seeing a mutant redhead huddling in a dark room inside the city for reasons she couldn't fathom.

"Uh."

Yan-Lam came to a halt. Her eyes widened. And she bowed her head formally, lacing her hands together behind her back - probably wringing them to express her tension, felt like something Tanner would do. Her voice, when it issued from the bowed head, was significantly... slower. And somehow, that was more stressful - seeing a rock in free-fall was one thing, you just had to adapt to it, but seeing a rock inching towards free-fall, but in one of a whole variety of directions, was like being hit over the head with a large stick at unexpected intervals. And based on Tyer's experience, being hit with a stick in general was deeply unpleasant. Everything else was just salt in the proverbial wound.

"I do apologise, honoured judge. Would you like some tea?"

"Coffee, please."

"Of course, honoured judge."

And she sidled away, her face as calm and still as a moonlit lake. Eerie, seeing that from the outside... no, no, she was very obviously tense as tense could be, and her mouth kept twitching like it had to be forced to not continue asking questions in an aggressive manner. Tanner slumped down, exhausted, not even getting out of her coat. Tal-Sar. The mutants. The revelations about Rekida. Gods, Yan-Lam had... really dodged a bullet, hadn't she? The orphaned child in an isolated colony full of murderers was lucky, somehow. Could've been born while Rekida was still active. Really, she was one of perhaps a very small minority of Rekidans who could be said to be lucky, historically speaking. The Great War, the desolation that followed it... and then (at minimum) multiple centuries of slavery and isolation. If you weren't a noble - and honestly, Tanner really couldn't imagine those nobles being happy either. Unless you were among the highest castes of the delusional, how could you not realise how close you were to violent rebellion every other day? How could you... order people around, and not flinch internally as you realised 'you could kill me, and you probably want to kill me, and every order I give solidifies your resolve'. Resolve that crystallised, most finally, in the fact that... well, the slave caste, the people of rope, had survived. And the nobles were all buried beneath the frozen ground, or mutated into eerily silent animals, unaware of the grandeur of their own existence.

An idle thought.

That... girl mutant. There was... something about her dress. Now, Tanner's memory was good, otherwise this would've eluded her entirely. But back around that first coach station, where she'd first encountered that thing, she'd been slightly more human, more intact. No way she'd been alive since the Great War - that was a whole damn generation ago, no silk dress lasted that long in those sorts of conditions, not when it was worn by a mutant that thought of clothes as... well, as any animal thought of clothes. She'd seen one cat compelled to wear a tiny hat, and the response had been illustrative. And the dress hadn't just been intact, it looked almost... repaired, in a way. Large, clumsy stitches, made with crude thread, used to hold the thing together. All decaying now, obviously - the dress was barely hanging on, mostly in absolute tatters. Mutants being mutants, if it didn't actively inconvenience her at a specific moment, it was probably beneath her... its attention.

They'd decided not to kill them.

Decided to leave them be. Well, others had, and she'd concurred. There was something profoundly wrong about them, and Mr. Canima seemed adamant, according to Sersa Bayai, that they be kept alive. Tanner's judgement was pointless, she had no expertise. On matters like mutants, she was happy to trust anyone, so long as they were truly, fully human. And Mr. Canima was old. He likely remembered the Great War. He wouldn't be a fool on the topic of mutation. Maybe he'd order them bricked up for good... but again, no idea why they weren't already dead. Personally, Tanner would've immolated them.

But if they did that, then all answers died with them. If they were here for a reason, if they broke their deeply instilled biological commands that all mutants carried around in place of a soul, then learning that reason was probably a hell of a lot wiser than burning them and dealing with the consequences, trying to solve a case after killing the primary witness. At least, that was what she assumed Mr. Canima's thought process was. Assumed.

She looked out of a window. Still there. Still in the dead city. Five of them. Five. Not six, like they'd been at the carriage. Presumably cannibalised, but...

One was gone. Five remained. And something had made them come here, ignore every habit mutants formed with regards to humans and survival, and sit in a dark room where no-one would bother them. Closing that metal door whenever it was left open for too long.

The files before her... she tried to turn her attention back to more human matters. Placed her satchel on the table with a thump, brushing away the loose snowflakes that clung adamantly to its surface. Drew out the papers, carefully wrapped to protect them from damp... all here. Tal-Sar's testimony included. She examined them all carefully, reminding herself of the truths she'd learned. And reminding herself of the route she'd chosen to investigate. Obviously, something was wrong here. Obviously, there was a conspiracy at play, and the most definable actions she'd seen were the movements of people comfortable with violence into the colony, pasts scrubbed and rendered snow-white. Rekida was a slave society where the bottom caste up and left when the Great War came to their door, heading south to escape the slaughter. Rekida had no mentions of the hammer and the eye. Tal-Sar had refused to talk about them, though he'd talked about affairs far more sensitive than... folk superstition. Yan-Lam had, indeed, mentioned that in the slums of the shantytown, there was cultural admixture, and a distinct habit for not talking to authority. Tal-Sar had mentioned that in the chaos of the Great War, people could get into the slums, learn to keep their mouths shut, and by the time the Erlize got around to cataloguing everyone, years later... they were presented with a whole damn settlement of people who didn't grass, not for any reason, nor for any policeman, no matter how secret.

She knew who she needed to talk to.

For now, she just needed to do a tiny bit more work. Build up a slightly bigger base of evidence.

Yan-Lam kept trotting back in, teeth clenched as she focused on hurrying as quickly as possible without spilling the tray of coffee arrayed before her. The coffee percolator gleamed in the winter light, dim and hollow as it was, and Tanner gratefully reached for a cup. Immediately, Yan-Lam started to go red with frustration, practically shaking as she tried to resist asking more questions. Tanner took a single, solitary sip. Sighed. Coughed. Rubbed a hand through her hair to draw the wind-tossed strands firmly into a position of respectability...

"What's happened around here while I was gone."

Yan-Lam quite possibly set a record for talking as fast as humanly possible.

"Some business at the gate, no-one told me anything about it, but I heard they were waiting to talk to you. Ms. Marana returned, threw up in the toilet, and stumbled away again after finding out you were gone. Mr. Canima came by, flicked through a handful of ledgers, and left as well without saying a word beyond 'hello, Ms. Yan-Lam' and 'good day, Ms. Yan-Lam'. Cook said she saw you putting a sandwich down the front of your dress, but I think she was lying, that's just too vulgar for words. Erlize man came poking around as well, didn't bother saying anything to me, just looked around and left. Nothing besides."

She clamped her mouth shut, restraining the new flood of questions.

Nothing especially unusual. Right. Except...

"Is... Ms. Marana alright?"

"...she threw up in the toilet, honoured judge."

"Did she do it... differently than normal?"

"No, honoured judge. I... no, no, she was... rather groggier, I thought. Just stared at me silently and stumbled away without washing her face very thoroughly."

Worrying. Very worrying. Tanner needed to talk with her, needed to... well, once she had this final leg done, Marana's job would be finished. Theoretically. Gods, Tanner... she'd been unwilling to drag Tal-Sar back to the settlement, because she knew he'd immediately become a target. She'd been unwilling to bring Yan-Lam with her because it was irresponsible to bring a child into the wasteland. But Marana? Let her indulge in her most unhealthy habits for the sake of cover. Paranoid wreck of a judge, convinced people were out to kill her, convinced that she needed to mislead them... had to get her out. Had to get her out. This wasn't a matter of cover and individual safety, this was about... about history, about conspiracy, she'd seen mutants today, the world was a vast and terrifying place, and by gum and by golly, she wasn't going to be this sort of animal. She stood suddenly, guilt churning in her stomach. Yan-Lam squeaked slightly and jumped backwards, still practically vibrating.

"Honoured judge?"

"I need to find Marana. Immediately."

"What about... about..."

Tanner blinked.

And withdrew the immigration folders. She already had copies made of all of the relevant details, and as a judge her word was impeccable, above question, beyond doubt. And she... mostly trusted Yan-Lam. No, no, she did. She dropped the folders down onto the table with a thump, and spread them out like a hand of playing cards. The documents which revealed the scrubbing of past records, the heavy involvement of a powerful figure in the Colonial Office, Mr. Gulyai, all of it.

"I need you to go through these folders, just while I'm out. I'll be back as soon as possible. It's vital you look for discrepancies - not just with the bouncers, with the ordinary civilians too. Look at the names, if they're modelled like yours, look at other documents, and see if you can pinpoint any problems. Check parentage, check their hair colour, check the things which make them different from you. A choice of phrasing in their interviews, a detail about their old life, particularly the references from parents. Then, we're going through the sales records for furs, pelts, anything along those lines, making a list of hunters. For now, just stick to these folders."

She paused.

"Would you feel safer if I locked you in?"

Yan-Lam blinked.

"...if you locked me in here with the folders?"

"Yes. Given that I'll be out."

Her mother did this to her all the time, made sense, why would you leave a child with the ability to open the door and walk away, or open the door to strangers? Yan-Lam blinked again. She was a shantytowner, presumably she was familiar with locking doors.

"Of course, honoured judge. My father did the same to me when I was young, I'm not claustrophobic."

"To stop you wandering off, I presume."

"And to stop me from answering the door to ne'er-do-wells, yes."

Tanner nodded contentedly.

"Very good. I'll see you shortly. Do you know where Marana is?"

"No, honoured judge. I do not."

Her fingers were itching to begin - she could smell answers, couldn't she? Just like Tanner did. The rest of the papers were bundled back up, Tanner wasn't a fool, she wasn't going to just leave them lying around, not when things were so... so paralytically sensitive. She left with no further ado, locking the door behind her with a small key, and she heard Yan-Lam calmly propping a chair against the door, and... oh, goodness. Retreating into the governor's office, it seemed. Multiple layers of protection, she was shantytown born-and-raised, wasn't she? A little burst of kinship with the little tyke. She still remembered being shocked when Eygi revealed that she didn't tend to lock her door, never saw a point in it. Absurd. Completely absurd.

Good thing she hadn't removed her coat, huh?

She rushed downstairs, nodded calmly to the guards at the door, and exited the mansion barely a few minutes after entering it, still carrying most of the papers she'd entered with. The cold welcomed her, and she advanced quickly into the colony proper. Paranoia immediately clawed at the base of her neck, reminding her of what was at stake - stick to main areas, stick to places where people could see her, ideally keep within view of a soldier or two. Never allow herself to remain alone, and keep one hand on her cudgel at all times, ready to crack a skull (figuratively) if anyone dared to start any funny business. Keep a hand on the satchel, wrapped around the bottom so she was practically holding all the papers at once - no way of sneaking them away from her, no sir. The list of places to check was... small. The merchant houses. Maybe the house they'd been using before the poisoning. Any inns of any kind as a last resort. She'd been studying the ledgers for so long, studying the maps alongside them, that she practically knew where everything was. Even so, she was startled by how quickly she found the merchant houses - tall, domineering things, yet strangely ashamed of their own grandeur. Hiding their luxury behind thick walls and small windows, with roofs that draped downwards like rain-slicked hats with brims pulled down for anonymity. She had no mind for the subtleties - just knocked curtly on the first one she found, and asked the bleary-looking servant if Ms. Marana had been there at any point.

Last he'd seen her had been a few days ago, at a dinner party. She'd been drunk as sin, and clearly on something, though he declined to tell her what, exactly. Tanner paused before she left, and asked his name.

The moment she heard a Fidelizhi suffix drop from his lips, in a Fidelizhi accent, from a Fidelizhi face, she was gone.

The next house held nothing better.

The house after that had nothing at all.

The fourth house held another infuriating mention - she'd been there yesterday, breakfasting with the family - not uncommon here, given how isolated and afraid the merchant families felt. Always best to breakfast, lunch, and dine together, just to make sure that no-one was dead yet. Tanner was keenly aware of how far apart these houses were - embedded in the colony like mulberries in porridge. The governor, trying to keep them from collecting together, from becoming a single enclave surrounded by a mixture of poor locals and poor Fidelizhi. Quotas, the folders had said. Quotas, to keep the colony stable, to promote cohesion, to stop things from just becoming poor locals and rich Fidelizhi. A caste system that might remind them too keenly of the old way of doing things... well, if the governor had known about those ways. Had he known? Had anyone?

The secret history danced around her fingertips, at the edge of her mind, a burden that demanded to eb released, to be shunted to someone else as well.

She ignored the impulse.

And kept asking questions.

At this point, it was routine. Skip from place to place. Ask questions. Then, ask names. Slowly build up a picture of things. She saw... in all her wandering, she saw maybe a single redhead. A single one, hurrying back home to keep from becoming too cold. And she looked into the houses, looked into the dark windows, and remembered where locals had lived, on the map. Where bouncers lived. And she fancied she could see cast-iron decorations everywhere... or maybe just with the bouncers. Every single local house connected to the conspiracy - Dyen's house, Myunhen's house. Tom-Tom's house. Tyer's house. The cold-house. All of them, with the heavy wall-hangings, or the remnants of them. The inns had them, for crying out loud. And not one had a cage. Not one had a chain.

She hurried.

And as the leads dried up...

She entered one of those inns. Stared at one of the cast-iron decorations.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

And asked where she could find a man called Fyeln.

Marana's lover, apparently. Someone she might well stay with, if she felt like she needed somewhere familiar and Tanner was out of town. Disliked invading privacy. Disliked... poking into this sort of thing. But she was running out of servants to bother. The inn opened before her smoothly, innkeeper out, only one man sitting at the bar. Someone she knew by name. A bouncer stared at her with naked hostility, gripping his truncheon tightly in one hand, the other clenching into a fist. No, not a bouncer - not just that, anyway. Name of Byuln. Bouncer for two years. Local. Associated, or his inn was, with the accidents of a smelter worker (fatal), and the permanent and crippling injury of a city worker, one due to excessive drunkenness, the other due to extensive bruising that stopped him from handling things correctly. Both worsened by overseers who also used to be bouncers. She stood before someone with a past scrubbed a nice, clean white, nothing to object to. She could drag him aside right now and pull information from him like a dentist with a tooth.

But that wasn't part of the story she was telling.

She drew back from the glare, shivering. Clutched her satchel tightly. Looked around nervously - a Fidelizhi god of paranoia settled on her back, and whispered motions. Shiver, let the eyes dart around, don't make perpetual eye contact, and when you start talking, talk too quickly, and precede everything with needles prevarication. Go on. Go.

"Uh. Ah. Sorry, sir, I don't mean to bother you, I mean, I hope I'm not bothering you. But... would you know where a gentleman by the name of Fyeln could be found?"

Byuln glared.

Chewed at a slice of meat, worrying it away like a dog at the back of his mouth, grinding it between molars.

"Why do you want to know, big woman? Not got murders to solve?"

"Yes, well, I do, this is... other business. But please, I'd appreciate it."

"Man drinks... hell, too early to drink... uh, think he lives around here, go down the road, first left, knock on doors, ask questions, be a judge or something."

Tanner nodded... and remembered something.

"I'm very sorry sir, could I ask your name? I don't believe we've met."

His eyes narrowed.

"Byuln."

"Oh, thank you. Thank you for all your help, Mr. Byuln."

He grunted vaguely. And now he thought she hadn't known his name and his criminal history from the start. And the image of Tanner, the paranoid wreck of a judge endured. As she left, she wrapped a scarf tightly around her face, and hunched her shoulders a little, nodding nervously to anyone who passed. Very image of a frightened judge in over her head, hm? The god of paranoia - unnamed, given that Fidelizh wasn't odd enough to have a god of paranoia people willingly invited onto their backs. Hm. The... Sweating-Smelter-Trapper. There, the Sweating-Smelter-Trapper dug long, burning fingers into her shoulders, and murmured of scarfs and glances, of shaking voice and poor eye contact, of sweat. Couldn't do that part on command, but she hurried along regardless. Fyeln's street presented itself, much like all the others. Tanner hesitated. The god on her back told her to not knock on doors she didn't know. Her own mind told her to not knock on doors she didn't know. And her rationale smacked her around the head and told her to get back to work. With a deep breath, she walked to one, raised her hand...

Stepped backwards. Took another deep breath. Hated knocking, hated it, the person inside was probably bathing or on the toilet, or sleeping or... or... oh, gods, would she knock on the door to find a disrobed Marana on the other side? Come to think of it, maybe Marana was fine, and...

No, no, no.

She knocked firmly, gritting her teeth.

A woman answered. Fully clothed. She glanced around quickly, and stepped back from the door with narrowed eyes.

"What is it."

"Looking for a man named Fyeln, I believe he lives on this street, ah, I'm very sorry to disturb you, I was told I ought to... knock, and-"

"Two doors down."

"Thank you, miss. Thank you. I'm sorry, could I ask your name, just out of interest?"

The woman blinked, and spoke slowly.

"My name's Pen-Bar. Not that it's your business."

A name like Tal-Sar or Yan-Lam. Oh, here she went. The woman had hair dark as peat, and eyes that reminded her of river stones. Her arms were folded over her jumper-clad chest, and she was very suspicious indeed. Tanner smiled, mopped her brow for a little imaginary sweat...

"I'm really very sorry. But I was wondering if, ah, you... could I come inside, just for a moment? I just need to ask a question, it may be slightly personal, I do apologise, I..."

The woman grunted, twitched.

"Fine. Come in."

Tanner obliged. Slid inside. Her eyes darted around rapidly. No cage on the kitchen ceiling, like in Lam's house. No cast iron decoration in the bedroom, or anywhere else she could see. Could see a few keepsakes, though... most notably, a large pair of weathered ivory dice lying on a shelf near her bed. Tanner took this all in very quickly indeed, noting it down in her memory room, and her nervous smile remained glued on her face. She gulped. Hesitated.

"Now, there's been... a spot of rumour, I didn't want to probe too deeply, it's... terribly personal. But... do you have... or have you had, at any point in the past, and I do understand if you don't want to answer, but... have you ever had in the past, a relationship with a man called Dyen? Your name came up in a conversation, and-"

The woman's eyes narrowed into slits, and her voice became an unpleasant hiss. Tanner knew nothing about her before today. But she needed a question. And the embarrassed heat burning through her stomach, her back, her face, her neck, well... probably added a little to the image, now didn't it? The woman hissed angrily at her.

"Don't you come in here with gossip, young woman, I've no connection to that greasy old frog, and you tell anyone who said there was, that they can expect a bloody... a bloody knuckle supper if they keep going with such flagrant tripe, you hear me? Do you?"

Tanner was shuffling... pushing her slightly back into the kitchen...

Her eyes darted, now she could see the whole thing, and...

A cage on the counter-top. Her mind twitched...

And she saw something.

Her apologies flowed like wine. Like wine, by gum. She apologised for being an oaf, for being a fool, for taking up gossip too readily, for embarrassing her, she insisted that nothing would result from this, it wasn't even noted down, it was on no records, and she deeply, deeply apologised. She even started writing down the address of her cell in Fidelizh so the woman could apply for compensation from the inner temple for this embarrassment, this slander, this libellous slander. The woman seemed more embarrassed than Tanner by the time she was done, and seemed content with just shooing her out of the door and slamming it behind her with a crash, making the whole damn rickety house shake like a leaf in a storm. Tanner strode off instantly, heading for what was, apparently, Fyeln's door. She had what she needed. Her theories were developing. Now, she just needed to find Marana, and everything would be fine, she'd have everything in place. Gods, it was strange to feel... somewhat in control. Stranger still, given that she felt like she was being carried along by a tide she had absolutely zero control over. Maybe that was it - going back wasn't an option, going side-to-side was basically out of the question, getting ahead of the tide was utterly nonsensical, escaping the tide might as well be in the further realms of delusion. What choices remained? Examine the tide, perhaps. Understand where it flowed. Act as it guided her, and try to keep her head above the water. She was out of control, and by removing her ability to choose, she could focus on being in control of the few things that still remained to her. A child built a sandcastle, that didn't mean the child was the supreme imperial master of all sand.

But they were certainly the master of their sandcastle, so long as the water kept its distance.

...she didn't know what she was talking about.

Either way.

Fyeln's door loomed before her. Tanner hesitated... and quickly darted forward to lean her ear a little closer Any creaking? Any... noises? Anything that could possibly be interpreted as undignified? Or, gods forbid, unsanitary? She bit her lip slightly, profoundly nervous of committing a woeful social faux pas... hm, maybe listening at a door for any signs of undignified activity was... something of a greater social faux pas. She took a deep breath. Leaned back. Raised her fist. Kneaded her skirt with the other hand to release some tension. Stared at the door. Took another breath...

And knocked.

It only took a few seconds for it to open. No-one was out and about, not in these conditions, not at this time. A wave of trapped heat slithered out through the tiny crack in the door, and a single bright eye stared out. Tanner forced a faint smile onto her face, even as tension made everything else lock up with intense speed and certainty. The bright eye blinked. Drew back for a moment... then slowly came back into view, accompanied by the door rattling open, releasing yet more heat into the world beyond. A dull red glow was emanating from the kitchen behind the man, giving him a faintly fiendish look, and casting his face into a mix of flickering shadows and unyielding winter light. And Tanner was able to look upon Marana's lover.

A little older than Tanner, it seemed. Weatherbeaten, with very large arms that bristled with wiry, slightly ginger hair. He smelled very strongly of stove fuel and sweat, and his head was covered in a patina of the stuff, dried into a kind of shiny lacquer. Clean-shaven, but with the beginnings of stubble sprouting all around his face - if he chose to leave it alone, seemed likely he'd have quite the beard after a little while. Dark brown hair cropped close to the scalp, and his eyes... bright, yes, and they moved very frequently indeed, even as his body remained completely at rest. He stared up at her.

"Help you?"

"I'm sorry, are you... Mr. Fyeln?"

"'s me."

His voice never rose beyond a low rumble. She could almost see what Marana saw in him. Almost.

"I was hoping to ask you a few questions, I'm very sorry, could I come in?"

He glanced around. Crossed his arms over his chest, like he was clutching the warmth of the stove to himself.

"Do as you like."

He turned on his heel and retreated, letting Tanner follow him, kicking her boots against the doorframe to shake some of the snow free. A second after entering, she knew Marana wasn't here - this place was small, like all the other houses in the colony, and any amount of noise was clearly audible, any amount of movement was impossible to conceal. The bedroom was empty, the bed well-made. She saw no cast-iron decorations, and when she entered the kitchen to stand uncomfortably close to the large man as he warmed himself by the stove, she saw no cages swinging from the ceiling, nor standing anywhere else. Her theories continued to develop. Fyeln didn't offer her anything to drink, just leant against the tiny counter and stared at her with his bright, rapid eyes, even as the corners of his mouth tilted slowly downwards.

"...thank you, I won't take too much of your time. First, when was the last time you saw Ms. Marana? I do apologise for... asking about her, I understand your business with her is personal, and I don't want to intrude, but she's not in her usual haunts, and..."

Fyeln blinked. And for once, he looked genuinely surprised.

"Must've been... over a week ago, I'd say."

Tanner blinked back. Over a week... that placed it in the range of before when Marana departed from the infirmary with her nosegay from him, the charming little bundle of dried flowers from an erstwhile admirer. Hadn't seen each other since? Did Marana just drink and eat and spy all day, no downtime, just the intervals between the darkness of unconsciousness? Oh, gods, had Tanner be sabotaging a courtship with her own need for time, for distraction? Oh, gods, oh gods...

"I'm sorry. I really am. I don't... do you know where she tends to stay, if you ever needed to find her?"

"Inn, s'pose."

...again, a shiver of unease. Very flippant. Very, very flippant.

"Which one, if you don't mind me asking?"

He shrugged.

"Met her at the Bristling-Crane. Good boozer. Not sure if she goes there often."

"...you're not sure?"

"Nope."

He stared at her flatly, like he saw nothing odd about his statements. Tanner swallowed down her reluctance to press further, forced herself to go on.

"I'm very sorry to probe-"

"Why're you apologising so much? I don't know where she is. Not like she's my mother."

A pause.

"...have you visited her since the accident?"

"The accident? What, did she get drunk and do something? Or... no, no, nah, heard about that. Bad fuel, right? Shabby business. Ought to judge someone for that, you should."

"...did you leave her flowers?"

The man blinked.

Coughed.

Leant back further on the counter.

"Listen, big lady, I don't know what you're getting at. I'm a bloke. I live alone. Toilet seat's up, y'hear? You think I go around delivering flowers to everyone?"

"But-"

"But what? The lady paid me to give her information, I gave her information, she sodded off and paid me more to keep my trap shut."

Tanner froze.

Stared at him.

"She..."

Couldn't manage to finish the sentence. Too surprised. Fyeln reached over the counter and grabbed a loose box of cigarettes, fishing out one and lighting it from the stove without offering any to Tanner. A cloud of smoke issued from his mouth and nose, and he remained in that state for a few seconds. Enough time for Tanner to regain the will to speak.

"She paid you for information?"

A slightly toothy grin met her question.

"Paid me through the nose, she did. Pl-enty of cash. Very nice woman, have to say. We met in the Bristling-Crane, she was drunk as sin, asking people question after question about everything in the world, I had nothing better to do, so I said 'buy me a few drinks, we'll talk'. Had a lot to drink that night, I'll say that much. Too much, arguably. Shambled back here, and I... may've had some more to drink, not going to lie, and started talking to her."

"About Tyer?"

"Yeah, him. No idea what I bloody said, too drunk. Woke up, lady was gone, left some cash. Came back a while later with more questions. Learned not to get too drunk in future, so I just asked for cash. And cash she gave. A lot of it, too."

He seemed... smug with his own business acumen. Something twisted in Tanner's stomach, and she wasn't quite sure how to identify it. Embarrassment? A hint of anger at Marana for lying? A hint of... pity for the woman that she'd felt the need to lie? A pulse of stress as she realised that this meant no-one knew where she was, all she had were vague hints of where she might be, no eyewitness reports, nothing. She'd just paid Fyeln for information. Hadn't had a relationship. Where had... hold on, had she just brought a little bundle of her own flowers, dried, into the mansion to make it seem like someone had come to check on her? And... how much of Fyeln's information was remotely usable? Paid informants were risky, their accounts always dubious, because... well, it was the same as torturing someone for information. What you got was whatever they thought you wanted to hear. A paid informant with nothing to give would just make things up, exaggerate truths, sculpt things into a more thrilling shape, because otherwise they'd be out of a job. If their job was information, then they'd make information, matching supply to demand. There was a reason you had to cross-examine sources, had to drill out how they acquired information...

Marana had just bought his help, then told a story about having a lover.

...she had seemed uncomfortable about the idea of Tanner meeting Fyeln. And she'd behaved a little oddly whenever he was brought up, seemed to relish in being unnecessarily vulgar, with very little in the way of... well, sophistication.

Tanner's face gave none of her internal chaos away. Thankfully.

"I see. May I ask how much she paid you?"

A moment of silence, and Fyeln scratched the back of his head, as if deep in though. The hand dropped from the head to scratch at his chin instead, rasping against the stubble...

"...hm, must've been... over the course of the whole thing... couple of visits... not counting what I spent..."

His eyes darted, and a small smile crossed his lips.

"Must've been a hundred and fifty brokens."

Brokens? What? What? No, no way, that was... Fidelizh worked with two basic units of currency, the throne, coins with an empty throne depicted. Most people just used those. Brokens had a broken crown on one side, and the founding independent cabinet of the Golden Parliament on the other. Brokens were notes. Brokens were used for... for big transactions, you still had to get the damn things signed by hand at the bank to make them valid tender. Closer to cheques than anything else. Tanner knew some judges who worked in forgery cases, apparently trying to forge brokens was one of the first signs of an amateurish forger, because they were so unusual in their use that any trader, any dealer, anyone became suspicious when they were thrown around. A hundred and fifty was more money than a skilled labourer could expect to see in a year, that was a ludicrous sum. Tanner didn't make a hundred and fifty a year, only senior judges tended to make that sort of money.

Gods... how rich was Marana? How... what kind of impetus would make her splash money like that?

"May I see them?"

"No. Don't want to cut open my mattress to fish them out."

"You're... certain it was a hundred and fifty?"

"Counted them myself. Keeps me warm on winter nights."

Another smile, this one a little broader.

"I see. I see."

Tanner nodded a few times, lost in her thoughts...

Her eyes suddenly sharpened.

"One last thing. May I ask why you came to Fidelizh?"

The man stiffened, eyes flashing with surprise.

"It's cold up here, it's dark, it's hardly easy. Why would you come?"

She kept her voice low, regular and professional, even as emotions swirled around in chaotic eddies.

"...well, made more money here than I ever did back in Fidelizh, hm?"

His small laugh echoed hollowly in the silence.

"And initially?"

"Shantytown's a crumbling mess, who'd want to live there?"

"There are hinterland colonies. You said you knew Tyer - I believe he was in an hinterland colony at one point. Those are warmer, safer, closer to familiar territory..."

"Listen, I wanted fresh air, wanted a fresh start. Who wouldn't?"

"A fresh start from what?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Am I being interrogated?"

"Do you feel as though you're being interrogated?"

He thrust his chin out towards her pugnaciously.

"Little bit. Don't appreciate it. The last lady was better, she paid well for information."

Tanner smiled faintly.

"I'm afraid I can't do the same. Judges operate differently to private citizens. Our standards of evidence are higher. I'm afraid I can't offer to get you drunk, either. I'm just wondering why you came up here, is all."

She was flying a little close to the sun. Could feel the heat on her back even now. But something about Fyeln was making her... irritable. Just a little bit. And really, she was just doing her job, now wasn't she?

"I came up here because I wanted a job, this place was hiring, and I didn't want to go to the hinterlands. Miserable spots. My pa was from the north, so here I am. Always been fine with the cold."

"What were you doing beforehand?"

"Isn't there a file with this?"

"Perhaps. I want to know your account, though. More convenient."

"Odd jobs. Nothing regular."

Tanner hummed.

And the heat on her back escalated. A little too close to the sun for her comfort. Time to back off.

"I understand. I apologise for bothering you. If you remember anythnig to do with Ms. Marana, please, just ask for me at the governor's mansion."

He glared at her.

"How's that case going, by the way?"

Tanner didn't reply. Simply paid her respects and left... and the moment the cold met her, she strode to the nearest guard, and asked him to do her a very small favour. She put on the whole paranoid recluse act, shifting regularly, eyes darting... asked him to simply do two things. First, to stay here and tell her if anything happened on the street, she was fairly sure that a friend of hers might be coming here, she knew a few people here, after all. She presented it as a case of simply keeping an eye out for a good friend - and to keep track of anyone leaving, obviously. That was just completely obvious - if they left, and Marana showed up to knock on their door, it'd be mightily helpful if the guard could tell her where they went. The guard nodded wearily, repeated her orders back to her for confirmation, and stood at attention once more, staring at the street with profound resignation.

Not ideal. Ideally, she'd relay a message to Sersa Bayai. But the idea of abandoning the street for even the briefest period felt foolish. She hurried away, doing all she could to scan the streets for Marana, looking for any likely spot... and finally, she hurried to the old house. The poisoned one. Should've checked it first, but... but she knew she had to ask some other questions to certain people. This was good cover, excellent cover. If she just found Marana instantly, then her asking any number of questions would be completely bizarre. As it was, she'd asked one man a few awkward questions (a man who'd taken bribes from Marana to dole out information), and embarrassed another woman with the idea that she had a fling with Dyen. One bouncer had seen her, talked to her. That was it. Her cover as a paranoid recluse was, in many ways, still completely intact - for crying out loud, she still had the grime of the road on her coat and the hem of her dress.

The house lay before her.

With a deep breath, she pushed it open, holding a cloth over her mouth just in case there was anything lingering...

The place was chaotic. Dusty. Practically abandoned, with everything just as it was when the attempted murder had happened. Still smelled foul, like sulphur and something else, deeper, earthier. Mutalith, that was the name of the stuff. The cleanest thing in the house was where the stove had been - they'd ripped out the whole damn thing to scrub it top to bottom, remove any residue that could poison them in future. Tanner had never bothered to ask for a replacement. The idea of coming back here was far from her mind as... well, as a whole variety of things she was thinking so little of at present that they didn't even occur to her. No sign of Marana, no sign at all, but...

No, hold on.

A note. Elegantly penned, and weighed down to the dusty dining table, which still had the plate Tanner was eating from when the poisoning started, speckled with cold-preserved crumbs.

Oh, gods. Had something happened? Was this a ransom note? Was this a suicide note? Oh, gods, oh, gods, oh gods, shouldn't have asked so many questions, shouldn't...

She read the note hesitantly.

Dear Tanner,

If you're looking for me, I'm taking a teensy tiny minute miniscule microscopic little vacation from Our Business (to show you how much I respect Our Business and its importance, I've bestowed capitals upon it) because I am tired and my body must rest. Currently passed out in Tyer's old house, he wasn't using it.

M

Well.

...well.

She was just sleeping off a hangover. Of course she'd been sleeping off a hangover, she was Marana.

Tanner folded the letter carefully and placed it in her pocket.

Took a deep breath.

And began to stride towards the door, fast and strong enough to make the floorboards shake beneath her.

There was business to be done.

Business of a serious nature.

And a certain woman she needed to interrogate.

And another woman she needed to pick up and drop into a bucket of water until she sobered up. And who also needed to sleep for quite a while. And explain her reasoning, show her working for Tanner's benefit. And many, many other things.

But for now... she had enough. Her information was by and large complete, in her mind. A story was forming.

Now she just had to test it.