Ean approached the formidable closed gates at the border checkpoint on the bridge over the Silvergleam River and into West Brindle. Two royal guards stood watch, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords.
The first guard approached him and scoffed, "Behold, the great sleuth returns." He placed a gentle hand on Ean's shoulder. "If you're thinking of going into Brindle to find your lowlife, we're not allowing Argonian citizens into Brindle."
Recognizing the good-natured guard from the other day, Ean accepted the jibe in good spirit. "Travel restrictions? I wasn't aware of any new orders."
The other guard, whom Ean didn't recognize, scowled. "We're taking some initiative to keep Argonians out of Brindle for their own safety!"
Ean maintained his polite demeanor. "I appreciate the concern. However, I'm on the king's business and…" He produced a sealed letter bearing the royal insignia. "I have these diplomatic papers to protect me."
The first guard took the letter with reluctance. "If you'd heard half the barbaric things I've heard, you'd know those papers won't mean a thing over there. Turn back now while you can."
Ean met the stern gaze of the guard evenly. "I appreciate your concern, Guardsman, but I must serve my king when he calls on me."
The guardsman stood up straight and stuck out his chest. "My apologies, sir. I did not mean to imply you should not."
Ean gave the man a hard stare. "What's your name, guardsman?"
"Royal Guardsman, Second Class Aaron Blackwood," he replied.
Ean stuck his chest out and spoke with authority. "Remember my face, Guardsman Blackwood."
Guardsman Blackwood flinched at the command but held Ean's gaze. "Yes, sir. Burning it into my memory now, sir."
Ean allowed a grin to relax his stern demeanor. "Good, because if you see me running back across the bridge, you'll know you were right about the papers being useless."
The guardsman broke into a relieved smile of his own. "You can count on me, sir. Best of luck to you."
* * *
Ean's pulse quickened as he stepped up to the security gate into West Brindle, clipboard with attached paperwork in hand. A guard inspected his papers. "What's in the parcel?" he asked.
Ean swallowed hard, fighting to steady his voice. "Delivery to South Brindle," he replied, feigning confidence.
"Hand it over."
Ean's gut clenched as he handed over the parcel. If he opens the parcel, I have no idea what kind of books are in there. What if they're contraband?
The guard rotated the parcel, inspecting the packaging. He gave Ean a tired look. "It's missing the postal tax stamp."
Without missing a beat, Ean replied, "As a postal inspector, I have a waiver for personal deliveries."
The man sighed. "I'll let it through this time, but you should know the emperor suspended all tax waivers to help pay for increased defense."
"Right you are. I'll pay it at the post office."
The guard waved him through.
Ean's false sense of confidence evaporated, his knees trembling as he walked away. He wasn't entering Brindle as a visitor - he was a spymaster in disguise, an enemy of the state. A single misstep now could cost him his life. It was too late to heed the Argonian guards' warning to turn back.
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Exiting the bridge into West Brindle, he was struck by the region's similarities to Argonia North. Though the peoples had grown apart over the centuries, vestiges of their shared ancestry still echoed in the architecture of Bridgewater. Rolling fields stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted by the same oak and ash trees that populated Argonia's landscape. On the western horizon, the telltale silhouette of foothills rose up to meet the Ironstone Mountains, their craggy peaks split evenly by the political border.
As he approached the central marketplace, the air was thick with shouts and accusations from protestors. A frustrated shopper approached him and pointed at the market. "If you're looking for any deals, don't bother. The new tariffs and embargoes on Argonian goods has made it impossible to afford even basic supplies." The woman walked off in a huff.
Ean skirted along the edges of the market as he made his way toward the post office, weaving between clusters of arguing citizens. Most shouts echoed the same frustrations at rising food costs and diminished trade he had heard in Argonia. The Brindle protestors laid the blame on King Lionshield and Argonians.
After delivering Samuel's package, Ean inquired after lodging. "The Border Inn is your best choice, sir, though I'd keep your head down in these parts," the postal clerk replied before returning to his duties.
SIDE QUEST COMPLETED: SQ-04 Find someone to deliver book bundle into West Brindle
Satisfied with the recommendation, Ean exited the post office and turned north toward the park. As he walked, his mind wandered to the mission that lay ahead. He found a secluded bench and encrypted the message 'The kingdom requires your service' in the Pigpen Cipher.
SKILL UPGRADED: Pigpen Cipher +1 (3/3)
= = = SKILL LEVEL UP: Pigpen Cipher II = = =
Once complete, he searched the park until he located the dead drop. He placed the encoded message behind the access panel at the base of the hollow brass column supporting a broken gas lamp.
As lovely as the park was, Ean decided he would feel safer hiding out in a room at the local inn. The stress of being in hostile territory was taking a bigger toll on him than he anticipated.
The Border Inn turned out to be easy to find. It was one of the largest buildings in the town.
Ean entered the inn and was surprised to find it quiet and empty in contrast to the commotion outside. The interior was spacious yet cozy, its wood-paneled walls radiating warmth.
The innkeeper eyed Ean with thinly veiled suspicion as he approached, his posture tense. "Welcome to The Border Inn. How may I help you?"
"I just came up from the North and would like a room for the night."
The man relaxed. "You can have a room on any floor. Business has been slow since the troubles started." He lowered his voice. "At first, I thought you were another protester wanting to use the facilities — or complain that we do business with Argonians."
"Not me. Here on business," Ean said as he eyed the staircase spiraling upward. "The third floor, if you please."
The innkeeper nodded. "Very good, sir. I'll have it ready presently."
While the innkeeper disappeared through a doorway, Ean took a seat in the adjoining dining room. A fire crackled in the hearth, its dancing flames casting the only light in the otherwise dim chamber. Ean stretched his legs out with a sigh, glad for a moment's rest.
He ordered a pint of ale and scanned the room, looking for any sign of trouble. A couple of middle-age dock workers two tables over were blowing off steam.
"Did you hear about the new tariffs on Argonian goods? Prices have gone through the roof." The first man shook his head. "I can barely afford a loaf of bread these days."
His co-worker swallowed his food and replied, "It's only going to get worse if things don't return to normal. Less goods for us to handle, less pay."
A third voice spoke up, "Blame it on the greedy Argonians!"
The voice drew Ean's attention to a group of rough looking young men sitting in the corner, their faces flushed, and voices raised in anger. They were talking about the protests and the rising tensions with Argonia. He listened closely to the men's conversation as he sipped his ale, hoping to glean any useful information.
"I heard Argonian spies are swimming the river to sneak into Brindle. Be wary of strangers," said the first patron.
"How can you tell if someone is a spy?" asked the second.
"They could be sitting next to us, and we wouldn't even know it," replied the third grimly while his eyes darted in Ean's direction.
"Spies wear strange clothes, like purple hats or red shoes. And they speak with an accent," the first patron offered.
Just then, the innkeeper walked in with a brass room key. He loudly stated, "Your room is ready, sir. Always good to have someone from North Brindle staying here. Please let me know if there's anything else you require."
Confused by the innkeeper's comments, he noticed the group of angry men had stopped eyeing him with suspicion. Ean turned to the innkeeper and responded in his approximation of a North Brindle accent, "Remain vigilant. The Emperor is counting on us all."
Ean drained the last of his ale and headed upstairs.
His room was small but tidy, with a sturdy bed, nightstand, and washbasin. He locked the door behind him and sat heavily upon the bed. Being in hostile territory had worn on his nerves. He flopped onto the bed. For the first time that day, Ean allowed himself to lower his guard.
LOG ENTRY CREATED: Rumors - West Brindle