“Quite the coincidence, Master Tinto, I was just on my way to see you,” Tulcetar called as he made his way from bank to bridge, eight soldiers of The Order marching in double-file behind him.

“I will be available very shortly, I assure you,” Tinto replied as the mage pulled up beside him.

“Apparently this is a day of coincidences,” Tulcetar said, his hands on his hips, “How are you, ladies and gentlemen?” the question was directed at the mercenaries.

“Hi Tulcetar,” Gabriel and his troupe muttered like dejected school children greeting their teacher.

“You know these scum?” Tinto’s last word came out with a serpentine hiss.

“Quite. We were travel companions on the road to Tindra. I must admit, I’m surprised to see you here,” Tulcetar was smiling, but there was suspicion in his tone.

“Oh, you know, thought we’d see some of that marvelous limestone in its final glory,” Gabriel said weakly.

“Speaking of final glory, I apologise for breaking up this little reunion, but I really must be killing these criminals,” Tinto said, sighting down his saber.

“Criminals? Oh, they’re nothing but a band of friendly masonaries.”

“I don’t care if they’re descendants of the gre- wait, did you say masonaries?”

“Yes. Is masonaries right, Gabriel?”

Gabriel stared at his feet, “From the Mercanic Guild,” he sighed.

“That’s right, mercenary stone masons,” Tulcetar clicked his fingers.

Tinto looked like he’d just learnt his entire existence was the figment of some daydreaming amateur writer’s imagination. This tidbit of information very clearly made his addled brain hurt.

Gabriel had to admit that it was quite fun to watch the drunkard’s existential crises.

“Regardless of their… occupation, these people have wronged me, and I demand retribution,” Tinto eventually managed.

“What slight have my friends here done you?” Tulcetar adopted a judicial air.

“Where do I even begin?” Tinto scoffed.

Then Tinto hesitated. It seemed he really didn’t know where to begin. When forced to put it into words, it was hard to paint Gabriel and his crew as the bad guys. All they’d really done was have a few drinks with some Wine Merchants, attend a feast they’d been invited to, and leave with a prisoner they had politely asked for. Tinto went for the abridged version.

“They pissed me off,” the mob-lord said.

Tulcetar raised an eyebrow, “That hardly seems like a good reason to kill a person. The Order had hoped to find a reasonable, rational ally in you, Tinto. I do hope our faith was not misplaced,” the mage had an impressive way of sounding simultaneously disappointed and yet sternly reprimanding.

“The Order need not concern themselves with this matter at all. Our business is entirely separate.”

“On the contrary, The Order needs assurance that we can recruit and operate within your territory, without fear of molestation. We need to believe that you will not change terms on a whim. This little episode hardly inspires confidence.”

“I have my reasons,” Tinto said, clearly wavering.

“It is the desire of The Order of the Rising Dragon to integrate as much as possible with the local,” Tulcetar coughed politely, “communities. We concern ourselves primarily with corruption of the state, and rot within government. However, all are accountable for their actions in the eye of the dragon. We will root out malignant leadership,” he forced Tinto to meet his gaze, “wherever we may find it.”

Tinto’s eyes burnt with the intensity of one of Tulcetar’s spells. He was practically hyperventilating.

“Off you trot, Tinto,” Nail-puller said, giving him a little wave, “I’m sure we’ll catch up soon,” she winked.

Tinto lunged forward, but it was a gesture of intimidation, not an attack. He was cheek to cheek with Gabriel, his sword safely at his side. Granted, his breath was pretty bad, but it wasn’t quite enough to kill.

“I promise you that we will meet again. When we do, Ruby himself will not be able to stop me from exacting my revenge,” the Wine Merchant promised.

Tinto spat at Gabriel’s feet and gave him a final snarl before turning heel and retreating back to his manor. He didn’t look at Tulcetar as he brushed by the red-robed mage.

“Why do I always get the death threats? I didn’t pretend to be a god and vomit on his floor!” Gabriel whimpered.

“There’s just something about you that really brings out the murderyness in people,” Vish explained, and there were a few nods of agreement along the bridge.

“Well, fortunately nobody is getting murdered today,” Tulcetar sighed with relief, “It’s a pleasure to see you all again.”

Gabriel remembered to shake the mage’s hand this time, rather than recoil from it.

“In case it’s not obvious, we’re happy to see you too.”

“I do seem to have a habit of arriving in the nick of time,” Tulcetar observed wryly.

“Mm,” Gabriel agreed, “Sort of a shame it wasn’t flames blazing, like last time.”

Tulcetar smirked, “The Order isn’t quite ready to force change with flame and steel. I must admit though, I had hoped I would find a more moderate man in Tinto. His missives showed a great deal of promise, but my interactions with him since arriving in Jandrir have been,” he sighed, “disappointing, to say the least.”

“I’m not complaining or anything, but I’m a little surprised that The Order would want to associate with his kind at all. I mean, doesn’t that sort of go against everything you stand for?” Gabriel asked tactlessly.

“It does,” the mage ran a hand through his thinning blond hair, “The official stance is that there is redemption to be had for the syndicates. We view them as essentially righteous people who have been forced into criminality by corrupt systems and desperate need,” he looked at Tinto and his men still stomping away in the distance, tipping carts and boxes out of spite and frustration, “In reality, we’re just not strong enough yet. We need help to realise our vision, and we can’t be too fussy about which corners that help comes from.”

Gabriel jerked his head subtly back at Nail-puller, “Oh, don’t worry, we know that feeling.”

Tulcetar looked guardedly between the two groups, “I see that you do. You are also moving in unexpected circles, Gabriel.”

Gabriel got a sense that the mage was sizing him up.

“We do what we must to survive,” the mercenary said levelly.

Tulcetar nodded, “It seems that we do. Well, friends, I have business to attend to. I have a strong suspicion that we shall meet again,” he looked at each of them in turn, “but I am starting to worry about what it will mean if we do.”

Tulcetar left with his entourage of crimson cutthroats susurrating metallically in tight formation behind him.

“I think he’s on to us,” Vish whispered.

“You don’t say, Vish. You don’t say.”

“What a letdown,” Nail-puller said, picking her nose and inspecting the contents, “I thought we were in for a bit of fun.”

“Such a shame you missed out,” Gabriel drawled, “Anyway, here’s your ‘package’. Feel free to get him out of our sight.”

“A day early as well,” Nail-puller said appreciatively, “Screamer will be pleased. Afraid you’re going to have to make the delivery in person though. The boss likes to cut out middlemen where he can.”

“Somehow I expected as much,” Gabriel sighed, “Shall we then?”

“Umm, Gabriel,” Figo said, pointing to Lydia with his eyebrows.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot about that,” Gabriel gave the sozzled warrior an appraising once-over, “Any chance you could escort Lydia back to the inn for us? I don’t think Screamer’s going to want to see, hear or smell anything she has to contribute right now.”

“Fair enough,” Nail-puller clicked her fingers and four of her posse set about trying to support the warrior-woman long enough to get her to a bed. It looked like it might take them a while.

“Thanks. Well then, lead the way,” Gabriel said.

“Not so fast,” Nail-puller unfurled a leather hood.

“Of course. Silly me, how could I forget?”

Gabriel wondered how the bunch of them must look, being escorted through the busy streets of Jandrir in the waning daylight with leather hoods over their faces and brutish gangsters guiding them like they were fillies on the way to market. If it bothered the locals one bit then nothing he heard or sensed suggested it. The normal hubbub of Jandrir continued around them, fading in and out as they went from busy throughfare to comparatively quiet alley. The only consistent sounds were the clop of boots, the rattle of chains, and Bling’s persistent, and off-key, humming. It was a long journey, probably with more twists and turns than were actually required, and so Gabriel allowed himself to zone out and get lost in his sister’s poor rendition of one of the ‘hymns’ they had heard at the feast for Wine.

It came as quite a surprise to the mercenaries when their hoods were removed and they found themselves confronted by Screamer’s half-bandaged, half-mangled face. He was already most of the way out of his seat, racing to greet his cousin.

“Vicus, my friend and blood, I am delighted to see you,” Screamer held the other man by the shoulders and kissed each cheek emphatically, “How were you treated?” he was studying the bruises and scrapes as he asked.

“Fairly,” Vicus said somberly, no trace of joy on his face, “and in accordance with our ways.”

Screamer nodded thoughtfully, “It would appear that some part of that drunken imbecile’s brain still functions, despite his best efforts. Perhaps the peace may last longer than I originally suspected.”

Vicus grimaced, “I think that unlikely. These fools you hired may have set back relations by years.”

Screamer didn’t have eyebrows, but his voice suggested he would raise them if he did, “Oh? Did you cause Tinto an upset?” he was addressing Bling.

Gabriel and the mercenaries simultaneously broke into a cold sweat.

“They posed as the aether god of wine and turned half of Tinto’s men against him. It is an embarrassment he is not likely to forget, in this life, or the next,” Vicus answered for them.

Screamer froze as he digested this information. Then, he began to chuckle in his throaty, death-rattling way.

“You posed as the aether god of wine to the Wine Merchant himself? Astonishing! You have more guts than I expected,” he wiped a tear from his eye, “You must tell me more later. I suspect this is a story I shall be sharing for many years to come.”

“I promise you, you would not find it nearly as funny if you had been there,” Vicus grumbled.

“Oh, lighten up, cousin. It worked, didn’t it?”

“It would have been better to have left me there. Tinto was not unreasonable. My treatment was not unjust.”

Screamer was suddenly serious, “It is not our way, cousin. We do not leave blood in the clutches of our enemies, with nothing but their failures to keep them company,” he added.

“About that, cousin,” Vicus said, suddenly small and meek, “We are a long way from home. Perhaps we need not observe our traditions so stringently?”

Screamer put a hand gently on his cousin’s shoulder, “Tradition makes us who we are. It’s a mark of standards, of stability. We are not chaotic, like Tinto and his band of hedonists, the world must know that we are dependable, reliable.”

Vicus sagged even further, rattling the shackles he still wore, “I am sorry that I disappointed you, cousin. Terribly sorry. I hope that you can forgive me.”

Again, Screamer shed a tear, but this was not a tear of joy, “Oh cousin, that is not our way.”

Screamer plunged a knife into Vicus’s heart, and held him in a tight embrace as the other man died in his arms. Vicus’s expression was strange as the life fled him. There was sorrow and pain, of course, but also resignation, and release. He smiled softly as he died. It was the first time Gabriel had seen the man smile at all, and it was meant for the man who had killed him.

Screamer held his cousin for a short time after he had passed, and then handed the body to his guards, who reverently carried the deceased from the chamber. Then, calmly, he sat back down in his chair, and poured himself a drink.

“Merciful, fucking gods!” Vish said after a while, still staring at the place where Vicus had died.

“Shh!” Gabriel cautioned.

“Oh, sorry!” Screamer said, as if suddenly remembering they were still there, “I suppose it would have been polite to warn you.”

“Heey, what you do in the privacy of your own home is your business, we’re just guests here,” Gabriel said in what he hoped was a cool, understanding and reassuring manner, “but please don’t stab us,” he thought to add.

“What? Oh,” Screamer laughed, “No, no. I don’t just stab people for the sake of it. Vicus, failed in his duties, and paid the price for it. I couldn’t let him die at the hands of my enemies, but I also couldn’t force him to live with that shame. You understand?”

“I… guess?”

“You have nothing to fear from me. You did a marvelous job, and have certainly earned your reward,” Screamer slid a slip of paper across the table, “Lance Albright. We sold almost all of the jewels to him. I have furnished you with information on where you can expect to find him, and at what times. He’s an aristocrat, so I don’t anticipate him giving you too many problems,” he gave them a measuring look, “What you do with him is your business, you’ve earned that right, but my preference is that you keep him alive; he’s rather good for business.”

“That’s not something you have to worry about,” Gabriel snorted.

Screamer set down his goblet, “Well, as I say, I would appreciate it, but I know that these things don’t always go as smoothly as anticipated.”

Gabriel got the sense that Screamer was referencing something in particular, and was a bit disappointed when he realised that he could be referring to literally anything the mercenaries had done.

“Anyway, I shan’t keep you any longer. The Blighted Pond is still booked for another night, so please feel free to continue your stay. Otherwise, thank you for a job well done,” Screamer shook their hands in turn. It was hard not to count the number of missing fingers as he did.

There was an odd mood to the room. They had just led a man to his death, and here they were being thanked for it. Screamer had shed all traces of sorrow, and his guards looked as casual as if this were a typical pre-dinner ritual. The whole thing made Gabriel’s stomach turn, and he was just waiting for the floodgates to open and the guilt to drown him. For now, though, he had a task to focus on. He still had to get them out of there alive.

“Thank you for the information,” Gabriel said curtly.

“Pleasure. Sorry once again for shocking you like that,” Screamer tilted his head towards where he had stabbed Vicus shortly before. There was a smattering of blood on the floor.

“Think nothing of it,” Gabriel said, his voice suddenly hoarse.

“Yes, I suppose I shouldn’t worry about shocking you. You’re certainly no strangers to death, and I know you’ve seen far worse,” Screamer said as he returned to his seat, “I must admit, I was surprised when I heard about it. I didn’t think you had it in you, especially after meeting you. It seems quite obvious now, though, that you lot are full of surprises. I shan’t make the mistake of underestimating you again,” he said with a conspiratorial smile.

Gabriel cocked his head questioningly, and the others looked equally confused.

“Goyun?” Screamer answered their unasked question, “My sources tell me that you did quite the number on him.”

“Oh, that,” Gabriel half laughed, “That was Vish. He got a bit carried away.”

“What can I say, the guy was disrespectful,” Vish shrugged.

“Is that so? Well, I don’t think anyone around here will be making the same mistake!” Screamer chuckled, “My men said they’d never seen a body quite so mutilated, my own included,” he smiled mirthlessly, “It must have been a very long, slow and painful death. The scorching was a particularly nice touch. I find fire is the cruelest and most effective of interrogators.”