Aaron Hildesman was, understandably, exhausted. The past three weeks had seen him through more trouble than even his occupation managed to give him in a year. So once he finished turning in his borrowed equipment, including the special steambow cartridges Brother Davvis had made for him, he took the opportunity to pay a visit to the Seeker's Glass.

Business there was slow, which was understandable. The Glass catered mostly to people like Hildesman, who spent their time away from the city. There were enough of them around for Miss Wester to keep the place profitable, but that was under normal circumstances. With able-bodied trappers being conscripted to scout in response to the attack on the city, there were fewer left within the walls.

Miss Wester kept the place open, nonetheless. More than one retiree continued to frequent it, and Hildesman noticed several trappers with their arms or legs in plaster; unable to perform their jobs or the jobs the Order wanted of them until they finished healing. An older, more morose crowd than usual.

"Aaron. Surprised you aren't out scouting with all my other young men and women," Miss Wester opened as he approached the bar. "How'd you manage to dodge that duty? Just too pretty to send out?"

Aaron grinned, despite himself. He knew that Miss Wester wasn't trying to court him, of course. Miss Wester was a barkeep through and through. Casual flattery and patient listening in equal measure. It still felt good to hear a familiar voice. "Already been. Early assignment. Vehicle assist. Just got back earlier today."

"Tea?" Miss Wester asked, not acknowledging his story directly, but somehow giving the impression that she already knew it front and back.

"Wine. Something dark. Maybe the Northvine? Yeah, the Northvine. Whatever you've already uncorked." Hildesman answered. He was normally a fairly sober person, but one glass of wine after a month like his seemed perfectly acceptable.

The barmatron had already grabbed the dark-tinted bottle and was pouring a measure out into the appropriate glass. Hildesman had asked her, once, what made each glass appropriate for different types of drink. She had answered, at length. Almost none of it had made sense to Hildesman, but he stopped asking for everything to be served to him in a wooden mug. Better to let the experts ply their expertise.

The wine was rich and slightly fruited, though not terribly sweet. Aaron preferred it that way; he spent too much time with bitter lime juice for company to ever really enjoy the fruit juices and sweet wines that seemed to be growing in popularity.

Miss Wester gave him a smile and a nod before she turned to the next customer at the bar, and Aaron made his way out into the room. He knew some of the faces, especially of the retirees. Nobody he needed to talk to immediately, though. He chose a stool near the door and settled in to savor his wine, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall.

"Mister Hildesman?" A voice interrupted. Hildesman opened his eyes to see a short man in rough-made trappers' gear. Hildesman didn't recognize the other man, but he trusted the people of the Glass to not pester him without cause. It was half of the reason that so many trappers made it their haunt.

"I'm Hildesman," he answered, leaning back forward to his table. "Have a seat if you have business."

The short man took the offered stool, setting a plain steel flask on the table in front of him. "Not business in the working sense," the man started to explain. "Hope that doesn't put you off conversation."

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"Just got in from a job that went sideways. I wasn't looking for another commission just yet," Hildesman answered. The amount he had earned from his survey job was enough to cover his living expenses for several months, in theory. In practice, about half of it would wind up keeping his personal equipment in good repair, and he'd need another job sooner than later. But sooner still gave him a couple weeks of low-risk haggling.

"Oh. Well, I guess that's fortunate for me, then. I really do hope you can help me. A friend of mine recommended you highly."

"Oh?" That surprised Hildesman. Usually his friends didn't send strangers his way without warning him first. Now he was getting Brother Thestle and this unknown trapper on two consecutive trips to the Glass. "Who's your friend, then?"

The short man shifted in his seat, and Hildesman caught him eyeing the mirror on the wall, trying to see if anyone was within earshot. "It might be easier to explain who I am, Mister Hildesman. My friend doesn't like to have their name strewn about."

That put Hildesman's hair on end faster than if the man had said his friend was Old Tessen's Automaton. He started to wave a discrete signal to Miss Wester. She wasn't looking his way right this moment, but Hildesman kept the signal up. It was meant for patrons who grew too drunk or too rowdy, but it should work just as well on this man, who was too shady.

"My name is Percival Walthers." Hildesman froze, aborting mid-wave before Miss Wester even noticed. The man continued to explain. "To most, I'm known as Percy. To my family, I'm known as Pin. Uncle Pin, to the only family I have left, unless I have been a great deal more fortunate than I think."

"Go on." Hildesman said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"My niece is Francine Walthers. Sometimes, she goes by Fennie. My friend had it on extremely good authority that you had met her and could help me to reconnect with her. Please, Mister Hildesman. If you are who my friend claims, you know at least some of what happened to that poor child. For her sake, and for my peace of mind, help me find her."

"How is it that you found me here? I didn't even know I would be back today." Hildesman asked. He had an inkling that he already knew the answer. He hoped he was wrong.

"The directions of my friend. They keep track of comings and goings. They saw you enter the city earlier today. I've actually been waiting here for several hours, hoping you would show up. It's the only watering hole worth the price in this quadrant."

"Have you been in the city long?"

"Oh, about a week. I made my way straight here after what happened. Well, as straight as I could trying to pick up Fennie's trail."

Hildesman relaxed incrementally. A week ago, Mister Walthers wasn't on the watchlist for the wall guard. At least that would explain why he didn't already know where to find his niece. "Any proof of your identity, Mister Walthers? It seems like someone has it out for your niece. I'd not like to reveal her position to some sympathizer looking to curry favor with the cult that attacked your farm."

Percy Walthers turned over his flask, then. It was engraved. His name, and an unusual criss-cross pattern etched alongside it. Another name, Evagline, and a date were etched below it.

"Something more substantial, preferably. A flask isn't exactly secure."

Percy was already at work undoing the buttons at the top of his trapper's shirt. Hildesman didn't comment further as the man opened the front and pulled the neck collar down. A mosiac of scars, likely caused by the attack of some manner of beast, were outlined palely against the skin there.

Hildesman realized, then, that the scars and the etching on the flask were a perfect match. One had been created to resemble the other.

"Ordered that flask special to remember," Percy said quietly. "I doubt anyone else matches their flask quite as well as I do. Is that sufficient proof?"

Hildesman considered. "It works for me. But I'm not the one you have to convince." He left his wineglass on the table, a third of the liquid still in the glass. "Are you familiar with Sister Margaret Porriss?"

"Heard of her. The sharpshooter?"

"She's also the one who knows about your niece's situation. She'll have to decide how to help you."

Percy Walthers got up to stand beside Hildesman. "Okay. I just have one question for you, first. My niece. Fennie. Francine. She...is she safe?"

"In the safest place and with the safest person I know, or she was when I dropped her off there."

"Good." Hildesman was surprised when the other man grabbed his hand in a quick gesture, shaking it gratefully between both of his own. "Thank you, Mister Hildesman. Let's go see this sharpshooter."