Inside the washroom at Number two, Clyster Street.
"Boss, what do I look like now?" Lambert's voice was a bit hoarse without his usual mane and beard.
"Aren't there mirrors? Just like that. Passable, so don't be embarrassingly shy." Murphy was gently consoling Lambert. "Why? Did you think you were some kind of rugged heartthrob before?"
Ever since his return from running errands, Lambert had started calling Murphy 'boss' instead of 'Mr. Mage'. Eager to clear his name, Lambert had decided to contribute to his new team's cause. With his face plastered on wanted posters everywhere, Lambert had no choice but to seek Murphy's aid for a disguise.
Without a second thought, Murphy conjured two magical blades that zipped around Lambert’s head, shearing it clean.
"I was handsome once, you know. Faithful followers came to confess and said so." Lambert mumbled.
"Young man? These followers—male or female? How old?" Murphy was intrigued. Lambert, like Byron, gave off a vibe of steadiness, though internally more fragile, hardly fitting the 'youngster' label.
"Female, probably in her seventies..." Lambert trailed off quietly.
Murphy burst into laughter. "Don't worry. You now look nothing like your portrait in the wanted poster. Just dress down a bit, you'll fit right in as a down-and-out but well-read commoner. Handy you can write, right? I've got some tasks for you later."
---
While Byron and Brue were brewing soup at the mine, two long-missing guests arrived at Number two, Clyster Street.
At the invitation of Pepe, acting for Murphy, Guild Chairman Alaric and Murphy's lease-paid messenger tube, Sam, descended to the townhouse's reception room.
As they settled, Murphy cut straight to the chase. “Gentlemen, I've invited you here today in my capacity as aide to the new Lord Viscount…”
Since the Earl embarked on his one-way trip to the capital, and with Byron asserting his identity coupled with the evident protection Murphy had from the upper echelons in the City of Gath, Alaric had begun to grasp just how formidable the mysterious Mr. Toras's clout was.
Despite expecting the extraordinary, Alaric was still astonished by the capture of a territory beneath the notice of kingdom and church. Not a mere case of stealing meat from the jaws of a beast, but ripping flesh from its back.
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Resigned to the 'pirate ship' he was aboard, Alaric was determined to paddle rather than fish slyly, hence deeply interested in Murphy's next endeavor.
Murphy prattled on, mostly for Sam's benefit, about him no longer being just a speaking tube but a valued servant on nobleman's radar for his quality work.
Setting the stage, Murphy addressed Sam: "I hear you've unofficially become the ringleader of the lower town's speaking tubes, is that about right?"
Sam, with a touch of pink on his cheeks and head-scratching humility, confirmed, "Mr. Murphy flatters me."
Though his diet had improved, Sam remained scrawny, just not as gaunt as before.
"The task I have is simple. Mobilize your contacts to map out every gang in the lower town. The clearer, the better. You’ve got a budget of twenty gold coins—don’t disappoint me."
"But..." Sam hesitated.
"Worried about literacy among you and your boys?"
"Yes..." In this world, Sam's admission of illiteracy wasn't shameful.
Murphy clapped his hands and a bald man entered.
"Starting today, he's your deputy—handling all record-keeping and organization. Satisfied?"
"All set," Sam beamed, looking to the reserved Lambert. "What should I call you, sir?"
"Just... John will do." Lambert averted his gaze.
John? Sam mused. Ask around in the lower town, seven out of ten strangers might claim the name's John. Looks like he's not keen on sharing.
Skipping over this, Sam chatted briefly with Lambert, then the duo departed with their budget of twenty coins and a sack full of writing supplies.
Alaric lingered by the window until the pair left the courtyard. Then, ensuring they were alone, he shuffled his chair closer to Murphy, eyes alight with curiosity. "Mr. Murphy, was that just now…"
Murphy's finger to his lips signaled silence.
Muffling his mouth, Alaric gestured upward.
With a genial nod from Murphy, the room's tension dissolved.
"Sir, do you have any tasks for me?" Alaric hastily changed the subject.
"Four things. First, there's too much noise in the City of Gath. Some folk are too cozy with lower town gangs and have a few too many hands in the standing army. Get all the details, I want a report."
"Second, keep the department store running. The one in the City of Gath is fine; start another one somewhere else—White Wolf City or similar. Keep it modest. The goal is intel, not sales."
"Third, we've got a solid grasp on the Viscount’s land and City of Gath. No need for deep cover activities now, bolster trade missions to the demons. There are more good things to find there."
"Fourth, I recall your people came back empty-handed from western territories. That one fled from there, too. Send someone, especially to the capital city of Lofca, see what's new."
"Understood, I'll get right on it." Alaric always unwittingly found himself playing a subordinate role with Murphy, who after attempting a few corrections, decided it wasn’t worth the effort.
All tasks dispatched, Murphy settled back into familiar 'waiting for the harvest' mode.
"What to do for the next few days? Maybe I’ll write the second half of 'The Youngest Count'—another work ready for publishing."
"Then I should visit the demons again; although recent reports say all's well, it’s hard to trust the witless creatures."
"Oh, summer's inbound. Maybe I should invent a magic fan, no, a mystic fan." Murphy mused aloud in the empty reception room, temporarily forgetting the existence of wind magic.