A long row of shops lined Varant’s main thoroughfare, each occupying its own building. Prestigious enough to afford the land and stand independently, these shops were neighbors to guild halls and centers of the city's administration.

Situated near the cathedral that was the centerpiece of Varant’s tourism, this upscale street was where the nobles liked to go shopping. Even the merchants came here to indulge themselves, so long as they were rich enough.

At odds with Varant’s normally austere character, yet too pleasant on the eyes to draw all that much contempt, the people of the city had taken to calling it Fat Rat’s Row.

“Am I… truly here to assist you in buying a birthday present, Ailn?” Kylian asked. He seemed to be wondering if he’d merely replaced one type of useless work with another.

“Relax,” Ailn said. “After I check a few things out, we’re headed to the cathedral where I’ll need your assistance. For Renea’s birthday, I’m getting her a dog.”

“A dog? That doesn’t strike me as wise,” Kylian said, giving his honest opinion. “It’s a gift that could cause more resentment than happiness. Given recent events, Lady Renea may find herself unwilling to provide the hound with emotional attention. It would also presumably either share the lord’s chamber, which may cause friction—”

“Kylian, girls like dogs,” Ailn said, looking a bit miffed.

“Have you personally discussed it with her?” Kylian asked, exasperated.

“It’s not a surprise if I ask her if she wants a dog,” Ailn said, arching a brow. He was about to continue his case, before he spotted someone. “But if you really think I need a backup plan…”

Ailn walked up to an older child who was chomping down on a handful of bonberries kept in a tied up rag. He caught sight of Ailn and waved to him.

“You buy those bonberries, Farroh?” Ailn asked.

“Sure did,” Farroh nodded, grinning. “Sweet as a summer day ‘cause they’re the fruit of my labor and purchase of the duke’s coin.”

Typically street children would’ve been pushed away from storefronts. But there was plenty of room to loiter on the main thoroughfare.

“It’s only the fruit of your labor if you found what I needed,” Ailn said, tilting his head. “Otherwise, it’s just bad service. You find anything yet?”

“You still paying me if the report’s bizarre, and the tidings are ominous?” Farroh squinted.

Ailn flipped him a copper. “There’s your pay. But if your info turns out bad, don’t count on me hiring you again.”

Farroh caught the coin. “The lady’s up vanished—that’s what her apprentice says. Now her husband and daughter are ‘round, claiming she was murdered.”

When Ailn had looked through what little records there were of the extramural businesses, he found that the hostel Ceric had stayed at belonged to a ‘Maria Chaya.’ Unfortunately, beyond that, info was lacking.

“...Her husband showed up?” Ailn’s brows furrowed. “Why do they think she was killed?”

“The daughter said she’d stopped writing letters a year ago. Then they find out they’ve been written out of the will,” Farroh said. “So they think the apprentice schemed something shifty and wicked. But the apprentice wasn’t on the will herself.”

“Who’s the new owner?” Ailn asked.

“Dunno. Even the assistant just got a letter saying to continue on as always. That’s why the family’s so suspicious,” Farroh shrugged.

“... Alright. Well, keep looking into it and tell me if you see the new owner,” Ailn said. “I’ve got another job for you, on the side. If you can do this for me in the next two days, I’ll give you a tin.”

“A tin?!” Farroh bolted up, and a few bonberries spilled out of his rag.

“A whole tin?” Kylian, who had been standing by quietly, couldn’t help but voice his skepticism. “That’s a week’s pay… Why not just send a knight?”

“How about you mind your own business?” Farroh snapped at Kylian.

“It is my business,” Kylian said calmly. “This seems like misguided generosity.”

“It’s about maintaining relationships, Kylian,” Ailn said. He pulled a small piece of vellum out of a scroll case and handed it to Farroh. “I need you to find where this pendant was crafted. I’m guessing the material was bronze, and the cord was made of leather. Note the inlay, even if it wasn’t filled.”

“How big is it?” Farroh asked.

“The drawing’s to scale. Oh, and it was bought two years ago,” Ailn said. “Remember: I need this done within two weeks. Don’t get lazy and expect your tin if you do it in three.”

“It’s as good as done,” Farroh grinned. “Mind standing around for a short flash, Duke Ailn? Friends of mine don’t believe I know you.”

“Pretend you were lying unless you want more ‘friends.’ People crawl out of the woodwork once they know you’re connected,” Ailn frowned. “I’ll catch you later, Farroh.”

Waving him off, Ailn and Kylian headed toward a building made of marble, with a colorful sign displaying a loom.

“Knights make people seize up, Kylian. There are some places where it's harder for them to get info.” Ailn said. “Plus, an old mentor of mine used to do this trick.”

“A mentor?” Kylian raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Er… a Sir Holmes,” Ailn looked away. “You wouldn’t know him. By mentor I mean I read a book.”

Kylian continued giving Ailn a doubtful look, but said nothing until they reached the entrance to the weaver’s shop—the finest in the city. “What are you intending to purchase here?”

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“I’ve already bought it. I’m just seeing how my commission’s going.”

“And your commission is…”

“My inauguration tapestry,” Ailn said, with a satisfied look.

“From here?” Kylian asked. “This shop is—”

“Don’t worry,” Ailn waved his hand dismissively. “A duke’s investiture always allows for extraordinary expenditure—at the new duke’s discretion.”

“If we’re here at all, it means you’ve already failed to show discretion,” Kylian said. “What will you do if the royal family truly does slash the duchy’s subsidies?”

“That’s what I need your help with later,” Ailn shrugged. “We’re going to ensure Varant’s financial independence—by finding the location of Noué Areygni’s vault.”

----------------------------------------

‘Q: Why did I hear my grandpappy?’

‘A: Open your heart as much as your ears. The key to communication lies in what is not said.’

‘Q: Is there danger in the catacombs?’

‘A: Sometimes, it’s the shadows that keep you safe.’

The curse of the intrepid is that they’re drawn to shadows. That, of course, is also their blessing.

For what treasure is found where the sun is shining? Where there are secrets, there is shade—and where there is shade, there are shady people. And in front of that shade must be something dazzlingly bright, whether it be kindness or flames.

Ceric Windrider knew as much when he’d decided to travel to Varant. To lead an expedition through the ruined lands, and help reclaim them was but the first step to solving the first great mystery.

What is the miasma?

If only they could find its source, then it could be eradicated. Like smallpox. Or malaria.

So many wished to dispel the darkness, but Ceric believed this was at its core misguided. There is no way to fully dispel darkness; and in fact the brighter the light, the starker the shadows.

But there was surely a way to bottle up the foul air. What if there was simply a giant crater, which the miasma billowed out from? Then, all they would need is a very large blanket.

A gigantic plug was too ridiculous, of course.

Unfortunately, Ceric had found himself stymied. Of course he would be. He had no funds! What knight would dare risk escort him for no pay? He’d spent all his on misguided ventures, and it would take time to rebuild from nothing.

The good news was, he was well on his way. Just a few days ago he had traded for a very nice glass jar. By his estimates, he was only twenty or so steps away from owning an empire.

The call of the explorer is always the detour, however, and when Ceric learned of the depths of Varant’s catacombs he shelved the larger mystery to solve a smaller one. A few days after endorsing Ailn’s rise to dukedom, he returned to scouring the catacombs’ depths.

His brief stint as a kingmaker was just another one of those little detours.

“Just whose voice did I hear that day?” Ceric muttered to himself. He had found his way back to the catacombs’ widest expanse, from which so many veins sprouted out like streams from a river. The loan sharks had taken him through here, when he heard a voice calling to him from the deep darkness.

It was his grandfather.

Ceric was not foolish enough to believe the voice was actually his grandfather’s. But he had the courage to nonetheless pursue it, lest other men less wise than he fell for the voice’s trap.

Now, though, he couldn’t seem to find the voice at all.

“I’m here, you fiend!” Ceric shouted loudly into the darkness. “If you wanted to meet me before, then why not now?!”

The darkness did not respond.

----------------------------------------

Kylian stared at Ailn, doubt clouding his eyes—much like the time Ailn had declared he would solve his own murder.

“Your plan for financial independence… is finding a three hundred year treasure that no one is certain exists,” Kylian said, incredulous, as they entered the weaver’s shop.

“That’s right,” Ailn said.

Draped over long wooden tables were silks and velvet. On one table, robes and cloaks that were sleeker in appearance, to match the warmth of the coming spring. On another table shimmered ornate dresses, adorned with delicate embroidery suggestive of flower petals, delicate and vivacious.

Everything in the shop was exceptionally colorful, with lush greens, rich blues and purples, and soft pinks.

"Ailn, that would be an almost sinful waste of your time," Kylian said, his tone firm. "You’ve already shown your capability as family head, and we should focus on—"

Kylian's voice faltered as he looked around the shop, his words trailing off. The oppressive silence hit him, and a shudder ran through him as he realized just how quiet it was.

Normally, a weaver’s shop would be noisy with the sound of looms. But strained looks came their way, upset at how loud they’d been—even though their speech has been at a casual volume.

“Don’t worry,” Ailn said, announcing his presence. “I’m the new duke.”

The looks only grew more upset, and out from the back came shuffling a svelte woman with long sable hair. She wore a bell hat with a ribbon falling elegantly to its side, the ribbon’s length reaching even further down than her hair.

“Duke eum-Creid, you’re back,” the woman said, speaking in a quiet voice as if to coax them toward the proper volume.

Presumably, she was the proprietress.

“That’s right,” Ailn said, ignoring the ‘suggestion.’ “I wanted to check in on the tapestry. And to see if you could fill my other order.”

With a barely stifled sound of impatience, she turned and gestured for the two to follow, her hand moving in a soft, beckoning motion.

Her fingers fluttered like cloth caught in a gentle breeze, and with her long nails, the motion might have seemed coy—if not for the consternation clearly reflected in her large, gently rounded brown eyes.

They came to a display room where long tapestries were draped along racks and hung from the walls. Presumably here they could talk at ease.

“Yes, well, as much as I tried to encourage our weavers, none were comfortable working with the material,” the proprietress said. “I’m not certain I could manage it myself, not that I have the time anymore…”

Her voice betrayed her disappointment, and Kylian noticed her ears drooping within her hat. She was likely a therianthrope.

She continued, “We were forced to send the design to… our ‘friends’ from sil-Kytsune.” The proprietress sighed, looking away to hide the irritation in her eyes. “Much as we would love to extend our competencies to geomisil.”

“Geomisil?” Kylian repeated, arching a brow at Ailn. “It would certainly afford you protection.”

Geomi were gigantic spiders found on the border between sil-Kytsune and mer-Sereia, and their silk, known as geomisil, made for a resilient material excellent at dispersing force. Nobles with an abundance of coin would often commission tunics of geomisil to wear under their armor.

The woman’s attitude suddenly brightened. “The tapestry you have so generously commissioned for your investiture, however, is quite nearly done. I hope it pleases you, milord.” Then, calling to one of her subordinates, she asked the man to go to the atelier and carefully retrieve it.

When it was retrieved, Kylian paled at the sight. “Ailn, this is…”

“Perfect, isn’t it?” Ailn remarked. Then he turned back to the woman. “So, if you didn’t weave the clothing in-house, how’s that going to affect the costs?”

"For you, rather pleasantly," the proprietress replied. "Her Grace Maribelle sil-Kytsune, the heiress apparent, has decided to cover the cost in full herself."

“...Really.” Ailn’s eyes narrowed for a brief moment. Then his expression eased up. “Hey, can you get those sketches of what I asked for?”

“You should reconsider this tapestry, Ailn,” Kylian said, feeling another headache coming on. “Else this ceremony will go… terribly.”

“You think so?” Ailn asked. An assistant came by, bringing those sketches he asked for. “I’m of the opinion it’s all gonna turn out very classy. Here, check this out: my new ducal raiments. Can’t be wearing a knights’ uniform as the duke.”

“...I don’t see why you couldn’t,” Kylian frowned, glancing at the sketch with some interest. He’d expected a tunic, yet the garb on the page was something rather more novel. “Is there a name for this type of surcoat?”

“Not a surcoat,” Ailn said, correcting Kylian. “Trench coat.”