Rua had been following the fat man for three weeks. He had first noticed him and his small menagerie of armed guards as he left the Aldrimar’s castle one evening. At first he had mistook the man for some visiting dignitary and paid little attention to him. It would still be several more days before he would notice him arriving again and passing through the gates unhindered.

He had tried those gates himself, but without the proper papers the guards would not let him through. Rua had contemplated attempting a forgery, but he did not know what the proper papers looked like. He had looked for other ways up as well, but the castle was built atop a sheer rock rising up out of the river valley. There was no other way up but the gates without the potential of being noticed by half the city as he climbed.

When the fat man was let up through the gate for the third time that week, Rua knew he had to follow him when he left. Carefully, he climbed down from his rooftop perch and followed the man through the city streets that evening. His quarry had a companion with him, and both men were dressed in bright, colorful silks, and were surrounded by six men with iron helmets and swords at their belts. Rua followed behind them, only just close enough to pick up parts of their conversation over the busy streets.

“So, what did you think of our future duke?” asked the fat man.

“I am unimpressed, Thomias,” said the shorter, bald one. So his name is Thomias. “He spent half the meeting staring out the window and hardly said a word. His uncle did all the talking for him.”

“Give him time, give him time,” said Thomias. “Henric has always been a bright boy, but he grieves for his father right now. Give him time, you’ll see.”

“How much time? It was undignified how we were treated! What if this is simply how it will be with him? What will you do then?”

The fat man raised a meaty hand to stroke his chin, then laughed as though he had seen some farce. “You are such a fool Doggen. A disinterested ruler suits our needs just fine. If we convince the boy to establish a ministry, we stand to gain more under his rule than any before.”

Doggen’s face and the top of his bald head turned a deep red. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“No, of course you didn’t Doggen,” Thomias patted his companion on the back, almost knocking the shorter, balding man off his feet. “That’s why I am Mayor and you are not.”

Doggen looked around. They had come to an intersection where two of the city’s main thoroughfares formed into a large square. Doggen motioned to the Northriver road, and said “This is where I leave you, your mayorship.”

“Farewell Doggen!” said Thomias. He turned, and continued down the West Road. Rua followed him to a large home in the middle of the city, a few blocks from the cathedral square. Two more guards stood outside the oak double-doors, and opened them for him with a ‘Welcome home.”

Rua had been following the mayor back and forth from the castle for two weeks now. The way he moved from one hiding spot to another had become routine, a daily dance through the streets below Zaksburg. His routine almost outed him when he mechanically made to move across an alleyway only to see the mayor take an unusual turn, towards Southriver.

They wound up outside a small, well kept shop in the tradesman’s quarter. He could hear the clinks of hammers on stone coming through the shops open door. The mayor went inside, and his guards stood outside, waiting. Less than an hour later, the mayor and his guards were on their way, but Rua stayed behind and slipped inside the shop.

He bowed his head as he crossed the low doorway into the ceilinged room shop. Each step kicked up dust from the wooden floor. Small stonework trinkets lined shelves on one wall. There was nobody to tend the counter or watch the door, allowing him a full view of a shorter man with wooly black hair shouting commands at his two apprentices as they chiseled away at a block of marble.

“You heard the mayor!” said the man. “He’s not going to pay us until we are able to unveil it. Work faster!”

“I can’t work any faster Halad,” said the blond boy, maybe sixteen, as he chipped away at what seemed to be an emerging shoulderblade.

The dark-haired boy stopped his work entirely to plead with his master, “We’ll ruin it and have to start over like last time.”

“No, not like last time because YOU aren’t going to make any mistakes this time. You cannot afford any mistakes, or I will have to find new apprentices. I told the mayor we would be ready to present it to the young lord Henric by next Friday.”

“Friday!” both boys cried at once, but offered no more argument. They returned to their work, and the who shop was again filled with the rhythmic chink of hammer and chisel and stone.

Satisfied, the stonecutter turned around. It took him a moment to notice the tall man standing in his entryway and he gasped.

"Well hello my good man," said Halad. He stepped around the counter and spread both arms out in a welcoming gesture. "Have you had a look around? Is there something I can do for you?"

Rua felt a plan forming in the back of his mind. "Actually sir," Rua let his foreign accent out, carefully saying each syllable as if for the first time. "I come to know if you have work."

Halad gave him a puzzled look, "you want to know if I have work? This is my shop, of course I have work!“

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"No! For me. Have work for me."

"Oh." Halad looked him over for a minute then said, "No, I've no room to take on any more help."

This time it was Rua's turn to play confused. "But I come here because you need work. They say you teach."

"Teach?" He thought for another moment. "What's your name son?"

"Varu.” It was his native word for liar.

"I only teach apprentices Varu, and apprentices do not get paid."

Rua did his best to look excited. "But you teach?"

Halad nodded.

"Oh thank you thank you!“ Rua reached out and took his hand, shaking it vigorously in a parody of the Erazi's strange custom.

Though Halad did not pay, he had offered to let Rua stay on one of the extra straw mats he had upstairs. He would be sharing a room with the two younger boys, but it was "no more than a grown man still apprenticing deserves."

That night, once the others had drifted off to sleep, Rua crept quietly downstairs into the workshop. By the faint light of the two moons he investigated their work. The marble block was some six feet tall, three feet wide and deep. Their past month's work had whittled that block down into the emerging likeness of a man standing tall, with a noble cast to his features. Yes, this will do nicely. His plan was coming together.

The next week was a busy one. By day he played bumbling apprentice in Halad's shop, proving just skilled enough with hammer and chisel that he was trusted to handle the less nuanced work. By night, he snuck away from Halad's and began gathering supplies.

Easiest to find had been the fuel, charcoal pilfered from a nearby blacksmith. It had just been sitting in a large metal bucket behind the smith. Rua counted himself lucky, because it would take him the rest of the week to get the rest of the supplies he needed.

None of the merchants Rua approached had a significant portion of sulfur, and charged an arm and a leg for what small amounts they had. He was separated from five of his gold coins over the next week in exchange for enough sulfur to match as much charcoal had he had stolen.

He had to go all the way across the north river to find a dungshack. Apparently, the city had most of its waste swept away and brought to an order of monks who processed and refined it into some religious oil. This particular dungshack was too far away from the monastery on the west end of town, and in so poor a neighborhood as to be the most convenient waste dump. It was run by a man called Ulman.

A candle was lit in the window of the shack, and Rua could hear the clanging of pots and pans inside. Rua knocked on the door.

“What? Who’s there?” came a muffled voice through the door. The old man opened the door just a crack, “What do you want?”

"I am looking for Ulman."

The door shut in Rua's face. He could hear fiddling with metal locks inside, and then the door flung wide open. The first thing Rua noticed about him were his robes. They reminded him of a monk's, only far more stained and worn. He had a bald head, with stark white tufts of fluff about his ears. "A customer? Come in, come in.”

The old man’s hovel was a cluttered mess. Tables lined two walls and were covered in all sorts of odds and ends; glass bottles, tubes of copper, pots, pans, and stills. He had a small stove in one corner, as well as a rough straw pile across from it where he must have slept. To Rua’s right, next to the window, was another, smaller table stacked high with books with names like “Of Sacred Oils and Their Production" and "The Properties of Salts". He blew a few puffs of air into the stove, and the flame quickly rose.

“I don’t usually expect customers so late. What can I do for you... you? What’s your name?”

“I am called Mora’ai.” It meant untrustworthy stranger. “I need Loamsalt. It seems I've come to the right place."

"The right place, aye" said the old man. "Sounds like you've come a long way, and you've arrived just in time, I should have a new batch ready in a fortnight. How much would you need?"

A fortnight was too long. Rua thought about the other question a moment. He'd spotted a jar in Halad's about the size of his head. "Half a pound."

"Half a... what!? That's half my production. I have orders for more two thirds of the batch already. No, that will be impossible."

“You’ll just have to cancel some orders then,” Rua dropped his heavy coin purse on the table. “As you can see, I can pay well. And I need it by wednesday.”

“Five days? You’re mad! That just isn’t possible.”

“I need it by wednesday,” he said again. “How much can you get me by then?”

“I can’t get you any. A priest may have some, and I could distill some from their oils, but I cannot provide enough in five days with my meager operations.”

“A priest?” Rua thought about that a moment. Over the years, he had made a point to keep out of the affairs of holy men. Rua was not an overly religious man, but he had decided it best to avoid the ire of the gods anyway. But if he must... He turned and opened the door and went out into the night

It took two nights to find the monastery where it sat along the bank of the south river on the west end of the city. Its low walls served merely as a deterrent, and Rua had no trouble getting onto the grounds once he found them. Hiding behind well-manicured bushes, he watched and waited as two sentries stood around for a few moments before continuing on their way. Once the yard was cleared, he continued his search. He found the low, wide building and it’s companion lean-to near the riverside. Under the lean-to, a hundred small mounds of waste and compost sat rotting, and Rua knew he had found the right place.

Listening carefully for anyone inside, Rua attempted to open the door. It was locked. He circled around the building and found a small, shuttered window. With his knife, Rua forced open the shutter’s lock, the shutters clacked against the wall, and slipped inside. He had only the dim moonlight from his opened window to light the room, he was forced to pull out his tinderbox and a candle from his cloak, and lit it.

The whole building was a single large room twice as long as it was wide, and like Ulmans, was filled with tables with all kinds of bottles and stills. Against the far wall he found what he was looking for, a shelf lined with small bottles. Rua uncorked one of the bottles, and poured a grain or two out onto his candle, turning it’s flame purple for a moment. Perfect.

Rua was grateful for the extra pockets in his cloak, and stuffed as many of the bottles as he could into them. In his haste, he accidentally knocked a bottle from the shelf where it shattered on the ground. He grabbed one more.

“Hey!” someone was at the door, working the mechanism to open it. “Jon, somebody is in here!” Rua moved back to the opened window, careful not to drop any bottles out of the coat.

More light filled the room from the door, and Rua was face to face with a monk, torch in hand. He dodged backwards. The monk saw him, and began chasing him through the lab.

Rua ran around the table, and slipped past the monk out through the door. He was out into the night, dashing across the grounds. With only a bit more carefulness than before, he was over the wall and away into the city.

By the time he stashed the bottles and his cloak in his safe place with his bow, the sky was already beginning to take on its predawn grey. It was dawn by the time he made it back to Halad's and snuck back onto his cot. He lay there for an hour in silence before anyone woke, thinking of how next friday would be his last day in the city, and Henric Aldrimar's last day alive.