The merchant Devonport practically drags me through the Tower's front door. Captain Tiff yells out and grabs my other arm. The two of them threaten to tear me apart, their grip and strength relentless.

“I still have procedures, Merchant!” She snaps at Devonport and then quickly pats me down for weapons. Finding none.

“Don’t even try to use ya-”

He slams the door on her.

“The density sticks in your mouth and dissolves with such sweetness to melt away your problems. Like decent swill for a cheating husband, but we can’t sell booze to everyone. No no no, gotta be at least 13 summers to buy even the filthiest grog in a backwater tavern.

Not your Sana syrup though, we can market it to everyone. Not just the men, but the women and the children too. Especially the children, they’ll be like animals when they get a taste of this.” He rattles off as we ascend the curving stairs that wrap around the Tower’s sides.

Burning torches flicker on the walls to produce more smoke than light. The sun’s waning rays cut through windows to stop me from tripping. I try to keep pace with the rapid merchant, his legs barely matching his overflowing vocal thoughts.

“... then onto the alley bazaars beneath the Brave’s keep. I have several stalls that’ll pay my Father’s weight in silver once they get our free samples. Oh don’t fret about the word free, it’s a gambit that always pays off.

I fronted the idea at the Lonely-Kings theatre for the original sale of bukkehorn, my gosh we had them swooning in their seats. If only we’d held onto the slaves and not let those damn Letterman get a hold of a herd. Tell me, lad, can you mass produce the Sana syrup?”

He inquires as we pass by several guards, they’re sitting around a candlelit table playing a game with cups and varying sided dice. They take my measure with a glance before returning to the game, my appearance is one of a frail non-threatening presence compared to them.

The rattle of bone dice on wood, the slam of cups and an irritated grumble chase us up the stairs.

“Orda’s watching over me today.” A guard claims with hearty excitement.

“You mean Omnia. Those dice are more crooked than your sister's toes” Another snaps.

“How do you know what her toes look like?” He spits accusingly.

“Cos I rutted-

“Well?” Devonport asks as the argument is swallowed by the granite walls.

“Sorry, what did you say? I was thinking about logistical packaging.” I lie.

“By the by, I was having the exact same thought. This partnership will have us stacking coin on a moonlit arse by the Sixthday.” He gleams back at me as the top of the stairs comes into sight. This can’t be the top of the Tower, we only went up several flights.

“Stubs, we’ll sell them in stubs.”

“What are those?”

He skips over the last step onto a landing. A reinforced door blocks our way with two gargoyle bulwarks on either side

“Like a short-girthy barrel. The outside tends to dry out in the sun, but the contents always stay fresh, I’ll show you if the meeting goes well.” The merchant explains.

“No one wants ta see ya toadstool, Devonpork.” One of the gargoyles says as she lifts her Devilish visor. A deep gravelly laughter escapes the other. All 7 ft of them are covered in thick carapace, its charcoal surface flexes like natural flesh as they step forward to meet us.

Their lack of weapons intimidates me more than any huge axe or sword ever could. What Will do they possess to be the last line of defence?

Devonport smoothly slicks back his hair with one hand, before squaring his shoulders and retorting. “The Houses of Heroes maintain their power with the strength of their members. Guilds are built on the foundations of money.

And since your lack of both has brought you here, to watch this door for a mere trickle of coin, that I sign off on. You will move aside and be thankful to keep this job.” He coolly locks eyes with the gigantic stone woman without flinching. I take a delicate step away, hoping it separates me from being associated with the suicidal man.

The tension on the landing builds like a coming storm. The hierarchy chain in Silva tends to buckle and overlap into sheer violence, the Tower could do with a human resources department to avoid these situations.

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Finally, the other gargoyle speaks up. “Barons busy with some recent purchases. Come back another time.”

“Watchers and Co do not pass on opportunities. Step aside.” The merchant must have a large sack of potatoes under that toadstool for he stands his ground under the shadow of these Amazonian she-knights. I take another step away.

“He is not to be disturbed during our time of plague. If you don’t know the way out, I will show you the window.”

“This is about that very supply of chaos affliction, you welp. The demand is high for the cure in our possession. You’re the only thing hindering the people, so move.” He says with a decorum of professionalism, though his face turns to port red.

The gargoyle guards finally take in the seriousness of the merchant's declaration. One bangs a heavy gauntlet against the door and waits for a response.

“If this is all a ruse to pass us. I will soak you in oil, cover you in hair and treat you like a slave.” She sneers at him.

“Like you could afford enough oil to cover my grandness.”

A man giggles from within the room. They take that as a cue to enter, swinging the door open as a strange smell of roasted almonds and the aniseed haze of burning ebonys leaks out.

The sudden success of my plan dawns on me, sweat leaks down my spine. Anxiety beckons me to leave. They will see through me, these sociopaths only look for advantages and steps towards wealth or power.

Whether those require the blood and flesh of innocents, they care little. I think about the burning field, the Satyrs in chains and their futures grim. Steady yourself for them, a Goddess believes in you, you can at least believe in yourself.

The Baron’s office is that of a pirate king’s treasure hoard after a successful career. Tapestries and carpets cover the stone walls like a psychedelic frog puked out a rainbow. Glossy stained furniture has been shaped with scenes of epic battles and love stories on their sides.

The surfaces are decorated with neatly arranged ornaments and artefacts of precious metals and crystals that display flickering light shows all around.

A huge window of glass covers one side and shows the twilight world of Silva going to sleep. We stand at the top of the Tower, looking out across the world. Surprisingly I can’t see the edge of the forest, maybe there isn't one. How did we ascend to the top so fast?

“My lord Baron, may I introduce you to this fine gentleman… em.” Devonport stutters, realising in all his excitement that he never got my name.

“It’s Se… Seb.” No need for truth in these dark walls.

A red eyed man is splayed across a gilded sofa, a hefty gold chain with the guild's logo on the pendant rests on his silk robes. His head rolls to find the source of his disturbance.

“Dev, you obese rabbit. You must try this bukke. I just saw a world of metal and glass, inspiring stuff. We must build it. Order shows only the truth to those worthy of it.” - His head rolls onto a patch of drool as he spots me. His squinty eyes suddenly leap open like the mouths of two screaming toads. - “Order’s balls Dev, there's a wildboy in here.

Straight out the bush from the looks of him.” His thick preppy accent slurs the words as his high continues. A metal plate beside him holds the point of a Satyr’s horn, a metal file and a smoking wooden pipe. I clamp my teeth together from the fury I hold down.

“Dev, Dev! I think he’s going to muk himself. His face is all weird and full of hate. Can you see him too?”

“Yes my lord, I brought him here.”

“Well tell him to stop staring at me.” The Baron whimpers as he retreats into his cushions.

“Stop being strange, you’ll freak him out.” Devonport whispers beside me.

I force a fake smile out.

“My goodman here has indeed come from a recent expedition into the wilds and discovered a miracle. A new product that will hit the free cities like a storm and drain the population's wealth into our open arms. Sana syrup.” He booms out the pitch while pushing me deeper into the golden trove and onto a seat across from the Baron.

“Sana, that pagan weed that wilts before you can heal the boils off your bits?”

“Actually it’s a refined concoction that stores perfectly and helps with rejuvenation. With a hefty amount, we can stop the Rot.” I chime in, wanting to be seen as a serious partner and not the fiendish vagabond that my garb indicates.

“I have sampled the syrup myself, regardless of its healing benefits. The taste alone will sell itself. Mass production is the main concern. Tell me Seb, do you have an estimate for weekly yield?”

“Initially a few barrels, but I reckon a few hundred in short time.”

“So you must have a whole garden, no a field of the Slave’s God's flower?” Devonport questions while sharing a look with the Baron. They’re scheming already, control source and you have the entire market. That’s fine with me, I’m here for the tribesmen and information about the rest.

“Actually an entire valley, completely overflowing with the flower and they never die or wilt until you take them out. Magic in the air I'm guessing. Just need the labour for harvesting and processing. I imagine those slaves you purchased won’t be enough. A whole herd might work.” I gush out with false speculation.

“Far too expensive, children are cheaper and easily replaced. Protecting the infrastructure and trade routes will be the challenge. We can provide the numbers for a reconnaissance mission to calculate logistics and set up a processing station.

I will personally supervise it myself.” They smile together. I have no doubt they’d bash my head in once I led them to this mystical place and provided the purifying method. I need to think of another way to separate the Satyrs from the Tower.

“This Sana syrup, have you more on your person?” The Baron asks.

“It’s in my inventory space, do you mind me grabbing it?”

“The Tower’s Will blocks access to such abilities, so powerful are the stones that we built the Guild upon.” He gloats with pride.

A breeze from the large window tickles the smoke in the air, I see a slightly askew gap and make for it.

“Give me a moment then.”

I squeeze out the space, my back to the men while I dangle out the window. The rush of wind and sudden drop below me ruts my mind, I almost fall and grab the edge.

“Seb, what the Omnia are you doing?” Devonport bellows within the room, barely audible over the turbulent outside world.

I ignore him and the chill as my lucky guess pays off. The Towers blocking magic doesn’t take effect beyond the stone. I quickly browse my items and grab the two I need. Another droplet of Honeydew and Suze.