Fun fact: In the part “In my line of work though, you don’t go very far if you’re not paranoid.” I accidentally wrote “if you’re not monologuing.”

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It was a pleasant morning.

The kind of morning that makes people glad they’re alive.

Not the kind of morning for a dark, brooding detective such as myself.

It can get awfully hard to get information out of people with birdsong in the background.

That usually means I have to hit them harder.

And I needed information.

I was on a case.

I wasn’t investigating for the fuzz, but I’d tell them if things got hot, or I got tired.

I was in this one for myself.

I pulled my .34 repeating crossbow out of my desk.

I made a mental note for the hundredth time to visit my enchanter to see if she could make me something a little more like a gun, because c’mon, a detective with a crossbow?

It would have to do for this case though. I wouldn’t have time to visit her on this case.

If I did visit her, it would be because I needed repairs, so I didn’t want to see her until I was done.

Besides, she takes enough of my money as it is.

I stowed my crossbow where it wouldn’t be noticed and stepped out into the street.

From my hat, to my coat, to my unshaven face, I was the classic example of a detective.

Except, of course, that I was anachronistically placed in a medieval fantasy setting.

Well, they can just adjust to me.

As I walked I went over the facts of the case in my head again.

Fact 1: Five nobles killed.

Fact 2: Last nobles were increasingly sure they were going to be the next victems.

Fact 3: Nobles had masks on them spelling “Mania”

Fact 4: I have no idea what that means.

Brie had pointed out to me that the last nobles seemed suspiciously sure they would be the next victims.

I had decided to pull that thread and see what unraveled.

Sure, I knew I was probably just being paranoid.

In my line of work though, you don’t go very far if you’re not paranoid.

Actually, you go really far.

You might even make to the bottom of the sea in some nice new shoes.

As a detective, I went to some strange places.

I did most of my investigating in the seedy underbelly of the city.

I had searched for clues in filthy alleys and piles of trash.

I had talked to people who viewed the law as a joke, or even a scorecard, in order to get information.

This time, I would be going to the noble’s district.

I would be looking for clues in mansions.

I would get my information from nobles’ gossip and mechants.

I wished that my underworld contacts could help me with this, not so that I wouldn’t have to make new contacts, just so that I wouldn’t have to talk to the nobles.

I would probably focus on the servants, just out of preference.

But first I needed to find someone who would be able to give me the information I needed.

I needed a broker.

I walked into a tavern.

I know, cliche, right?

I went up up to the bartender.

He was rubbing a glass with a rag I was certain was dirtier than the glass itself.

That was good. I wouldn’t have to deal with someone with too much class.

“I’m looking for someone.” I said.

“None of my business.” he replied, and went back to cleaning the rag with the glass.

“I can make it your business.”

He put down the glass. “How much?”

He didn’t beat around the bush.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“It depends what you can give me. A name, location…” I trailed off meaningfully.

I had enough money to buy him off, if I was asking for normal information.

“Who are you looking for?”

This was the moment of truth.

I would have to convince him that I had less money than I did.

“You see,” I started, “I recently joined a guild of merchants. They told me to find them an informant in this city, someone who knew everything there is to know about the upper merchants and nobility. They didn’t even give me money for it.” I added hurriedly, “I can make it worth your while though. I promise you that.”

“Hmm,” the bartender said, “I think we can work something out. Two gold.”

I let the color drain out of my face. It was an exorbitant amount, but I would be able to pay it. I just wanted to give him a proper show.

I sadly searched my bag and pulled out the money.

I paid half of it in silver, partially to make it easier for him to spend, and partially to convince him that I couldn’t just throw around gold pieces.

Some people would be surprised that I didn’t try to haggle him down. Especially considering I was pretending to be a merchant, they would think it would be in character to haggle with the bartender.

Of course, I would never do that.

One of the first things anyone who buys information is that you don’t haggle.

Sure, you can do what I did, and try to convince them to give you a lower price, but that’s only before they give the price.

After they say their price, you pay what they ask, or leave quietly.

There is a simple reason for this.

If a broker says that information is worth ten gold pieces, and you give them eight, they will be perfectly fine with that.

And they will give you eight gold pieces worth of information.

The other two gold pieces of information will never come up.

That is, the broker will not bring it up.

The information itself will come up.

It will come up when the dragon immune to magic just happens to have been evaluated as worth two gold.

It will come up when you find out that you didn’t pay for the information on where the key was, or what the password was.

It will come up when you find out that the additional two gold was the “Not telling people who want to kill you where you will be and when tax.”

I knew that chances were the bartender wasn’t much of a broker, and wouldn’t have been smart enough to do that, but contrary to what you hear about me, I prefer to avoid danger.

I just wished that just once, danger would try avoiding me.

Unfortunately, this would not be that time.

[p=center]* * *[/p]

“Here’s what I’ve got so far Brie. What do you think?”

“... This last line here. ‘this would not be that time.’”

“What about it?”

“Well, what if this is that time?”

Seg laughed.

“Then I start going to church.”

“Really Seg.”

“Look Brie, if nothing interesting happens, it doesn’t matter. Worse case scenario, we just change it or call it a joke.”

“I don’t really like either of those options, but I guess that if you’re going to be speaking in past tense all the time, you’re going to brush on knowing the future occasionally.”

“That’s great Brie. Can I go back to investigating now?”

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