Schimmel had taken the announcement of their departure with his typical prattling cheer. The Roadwarden, though Adebar had once suspected otherwise, was simply too used to drifting between the watering holes of the Empire to ever settle down anywhere for too long, and, though his search for leads had been halfway successful, the matter no longer concerned them.

Garbed in a high-collared coat, a ward against the cold mist that rolled into Streissen from the creek quarter, as well as ample defence against being found out. Where his feet took him today, through the muddy streets, and down the Red Lane, precariously close to the University as well as many of the Apprentice Houses, he could not afford to be recognised. Not even Schimmel knew where he had gone, and the Wissenlander knew better than to question his master’s nightly journeys.

Adebar’s heart thumped in his chest when he finally made it to the chalk-white door, hidden in the back alleys of the Red Lane. He rapped at the door, in an agreed upon, distinct manner. Stepping back, the young man looked over his shoulder nervously, exhaled the air that seemed unbearably hot in his lungs.

His heartbeat seemed to stretch into eternity before the door inched open, and bright, wakeful eyes appraised him wryly.

“You come late, your highness. Thought there wasn’t much work in our quaint little town?”

He remained quiet. Weeks ago he had protested, but this one would not be shut up. She’d play her little games.

“Well, I suppose I best let you in. Won’t do if a man like you dies of the rickets.”

Without looking back, he entered the warmth of the dimly lit room, reaching into his thick coat.

Ina, his most gracious hostess, lounged on a divan that, frankly, looked out of place in the Red Lane, much like the good perfume that wafted through the air. Whorehouses always had strange ways.

“I almost didn’t think you’d come tonight. Would be a shame, really.”

Her dainty features, while a mask of feigned disinterest, betrayed an earnest concern.

The two had met every two nights, ever since his arrival. While he had originally been just another customer, albeit one rich enough to outbid all others, their relationship had soon become both profitable and so, so very much so more personal, though none of the two had ever broached the matter.

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“To settle the matter of payment.” Red wine appeared from the folds of his clothing. He set the bottle on the low table, then he disposed of his coat.

He feared no recognition here, and soon, he thought with a crooked grin, he wouldn’t fear cold either.

His cheeks were flushed with the afterglow of a long night spent with anything but sleep. The man chuckled slightly as he swaggered into the latest hours of this night, immune to the cold, immune to all threats. Who could truly threaten him?

Did anyone in Streissen have what it would take? Did anyone have the gall?

No.

No, they did not. They were nothing to him, sheep that feared the wild dog, the free man!

The man let out another chuckle, thinking about his newest conquest.

It was good to be better!

His uncertain footsteps took him through winding alleys, onto the abandoned Pauper’s Market. The wide open place did not concern him, could not bother a man like him!

Suddenly, in the thick fog, he saw the outline of a figure.

“Hey you!” The bellowed words were slurred but loud. The shape did not move, did not acknowledge his challenge. It seemed a refresher was in order.

“Around here people listen to what I say!” He staggered closer, hands inching toward his belt. He’d thought folk had wisened up by now that he did not look kindly at dullards.

The man drew closer and closer, and the outline became a cloaked figure that slowly, ever so slowly turned to regard him.

“Shouldn’t be down here, with your fancy clothes,” he said, observing the silver inlays in the figure’s doublet, the fine, white leather gloves and the black velvet of the cloak. The man’s face was hidden, partly by the shadow of his cowl, as well as by, what looked to be, a white half-mask.

The man licked his lips. It seemed he’d get a chance to vent a few of his frustrations on a rather rare, choice, subject indeed!