After a short-lived alliance with Tinto, followed by a colourful fallout involving, among other things, Tinto hiring vagabonds to hurl rotten grapes at anyone seen parading the red, Tulcetar decreed that his members would keep a low profile for the time being. He ordered several units to conduct a cleanup operation in the park, promising that they would set Figo’s body aside for transport back to Gladstone, while he and a few others changed into civilian garb so they could move without scrutiny. There was also a change of clothes available for any of the mercenaries who had been spattered with blood, which was everyone.

They got changed in silence, the events of the night heavy in their hearts, with the exception of Vish, who was utterly appalled that he was forced to wear grey.

Before progressing to Tulcetar’s hub of operations, they stopped in briefly at a tavern, so that the mercenaries could clean up, grab a few turns worth of rest, and the mage’s runners could do their work. The mage explained that he had forged new alliances during his short stint in the city, and that one of the caveats of the safety this afforded was a dire need to share information as and when it cropped up. Hubert would hopefully have a wealth of such information, and so Tulcetar was obliged to notify his ally before questioning the young man. Besides, the mage was the first to put his hand up and admit that there were others in Jandrir more capable of conducting an interrogation than he was.

Despite their low expectations, the mercenaries did manage a short sleep. All of their sorrow and fear translated into exhaustion when their heads hit their pillows. Mercifully, they dozed dreamlessly. Gabriel felt guilty for having enjoyed a quick respite so soon after his friend had passed, but there was nothing he could do to prevent it. For too long they had been operating well beyond their bodies’ means. When all was finally done, he imagined they would sleep until the new moonrise.

Tulcetar woke them some time before dawn, with a ladle of water, a heel of bread, and an apology. He explained that, regrettably, they would have to move to somewhere a little more secure, and that his contact had told him that questioning Hubert could no longer wait. He promised them rest once the formalities were completed.

It was still dark outside as the mercenaries followed Tulcetar, but that was never a good enough reason for the occupants of Jandrir to shuffle off the streets. The thinning blonde mage directed them to a safehouse located in Riverside, two districts south of Eifen Square. Members of The Order of the Rising Dragon had been operating out of a building for the last few days, he explained. They had set up sentries on all of the main channels to and from the hideout, disguised as street sellers, beggars and buskers (Tulcetar had to stop and reprimand one young gentleman who was getting a bit too into the puppet show he was no longer just pretending to host). The building itself was kitted out much like any other warehouse in the area, complete with fake insignia, a skeleton crew of operatives to maintain appearances, and a mural on the outer wall of a busty lady spearing fish. It was a lowkey affair, or, at least, it was an appropriate type of ostentatious. Gabriel remarked that they could have walked past the building a thousand times during their stay in Jandrir and never have suspected it was housing members of The Order, which he supposed was sort of the point of a safehouse.

“I confess this one isn’t actually ours, exactly,” Tulcetar responded, “I’m afraid I was a little too trusting of that Tinto fellow, and rather compromised a few of our havens within the city. This one is on loan until such time as we can secure our own base of operations.”

“Are you the only members in town?” Gabriel asked.

“Gods no, but I suspected even before Hubert’s stunt back there that local viewpoints may have strayed somewhat from our original goal. It was my intention to investigate key members of The Order prior to attaching myself and my men to one of the dens.”

“Dens?” Lydia asked.

Tulcetar looked over his shoulder apologetically, “It’s what we call the bases of our various sects. I believe the name was conjured up by the same people who thought it poignant to call every second member ‘Dragon-Wing’. They range in grandeur from back-rooms of pubs to full-scale ‘temples’. Jandrir’s lack of adversity to different religions and cultures allows for such things. Ironically, it’s because of this policy of free expression that we’ve never really had strong traction here; the good people of this city simply don’t care when a new cult pops up in town. If you want to stand on a crate and shout about changing the world, then you’d best make damned sure you’re shouting louder than the dozen people next to you trying to sell fish.”

“Aha, so it is a cult!” Gabriel said.

“Did I say that?” Tulcetar looked thoughtful, “I suppose I’m finding it increasingly difficult to pretend that some of our own members don’t see it that way. I still very much maintain that many of us, I hope most of us, are in it for the right reasons. Anyway, let’s continue our discussion inside. I’m excited for you to meet our new benefactor. I believe you’ll get along swimmingly,” the mage winked.

With a quick and unnecessary scan of the street, Tulcetar slid open the front door and ducked inside. The mercenaries scooted in behind him, less discreetly.

“Good morning. I’m afraid our offices are closed for the time being, please come back…” a perky young lady began from behind the counter, candlelight illuminating her like a beacon in a storm, “Oh, Master Dragon-Wing, my apologies. Your associates are waiting for you in Warehouse One.”

“Thank you. Is everyone here?”

“The patron is here, along with a young man who seemed to,” she looked to the ceiling for the phrasing, “not be here of his own accord.”

“Very good.”

“Shall I send for refreshments?”

“Oh, yes, splendid. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

Gabriel was slightly thrown by the drastic change in urgency, but whatever refreshments were, they sounded appealing. He just hoped it wasn’t tea.

Tulcetar knocked three times on a door off to the side, which was opened from within by a uniformed guard. The mage beckoned the mercenaries over and waited patiently for them to file into the warehouse.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the mage announced, “may I introduce our ally and friend of The Order-”

“Screamer,” Gabriel finished for him, markedly unimpressed.

The rest of the warehouse was occupied by a smattering of guards from each side. Tulcetar’s Order troops stood to attention either side of the door, whilst Screamer’s guards flanked him at a respectable distance.

“Delightful to see you all again,” the mobster tried to smile liplessly, “It feels like it’s been a while.”

“It really hasn’t.”

“I suppose the last few days have been less exciting for me than they have for you.”

“Yes it has been rather ‘exciting’. I’m guessing you played a hand in some of that excitement yet again,” Gabriel accused, his muscles twitching with a fury he knew he’d never be able to unleash.

Screamer held up a hand to stem the mercenary’s rage, “I’ll stop you before you get ahead of yourself. Yes, I told Angelica to notify Tulcetar upon your arrival. I’m a businessman, and so far the only way you have proven yourself valuable to me is through the sale of information on your whereabouts.”

“You son of a b-”

Screamer halted Gabriel again before his tongue got him killed, “I know that you lost a friend last night, so I’m willing to forgive one, mark that, one breach in etiquette. You are still in Jandrir on my suffrage, I am obliged to remind you.”

Gabriel shivered with rage, but he bit his tongue.

“If you would allow me to continue,” Screamer said irritably, “I told Tulcetar about your whereabouts, after satisfying myself that he did not wish you any harm. You operate for me, and I look after my own,” he made sure Gabriel looked him in the eye when he added, “I did not tell this young man where you would be,” he gestured to Hubert, “your own carelessness did that.”

“If we could have left through the front door instead of the gods’ damned window-”

“Then nothing would have changed, Gabriel. You would have been apprehended last night one way or another,” he softened his tone when he added, “I am pleased the rest of you are safe and sound.”

“Oh, pi-”

“Gabriel,” Tulcetar interjected, “we have invited you here to be privy to whatever Hubert tells us. After some consideration, I decided that you four have as much stake in the game as I do, at this stage. That, and we may need some facts corroborated. Screamer is also a guest of mine, although I’m hoping we won’t require his particular brand of expertise. Nor the skills of your mind-mapper, come to think of it.”

“Oh, I actually wouldn’t mind a crack at this one again,” Vish said, waggling his eyebrows at Hubert.

Hubert was sat in a chair, his wrists bound to its arms, being watched over by another familiar liaison.

“Eve’nin’,” Nail-puller said with a doff of her head.

“Oh joys, the whole gang is here,” Gabriel greeted in return.

“Not yet. We have a special guest who should be with us shortly,” Screamer said, ignoring the mercenary’s sarcasm, “I’m actually rather hopeful that neither Vish’s nor my own interrogation techniques will be required. You see, I have something rather special in mind for this individual.”

“I was wondering why he was still in one piece.”

Gabriel’s words caused Hubert to fidget in his seat, but the teenager remained defiant.

“This is not befitting of my station. I am an initiate of The Order!” the pompous youngster seethed.

“Actually, not according to any records I have,” Tulcetar was quick to reply, “As I said, you are known to me, but it would appear not in any official capacity. I had my scribes comb our dossiers last night.”

“I was initiated in Gladstone. Of course you wouldn’t have heard of me, I was doing top secret business for people far above your paltry position,” Hubert sneered.

“What you were doing, was stealing,” Screamer corrected, “Don’t get me wrong, I do it all the time, but let’s not try and make it sound more noble than it is, shall we?”

“The Order seeks to gain influence by changing minds and changing hearts, not by fencing trinkets,” Tulcetar agreed, “No offence, Mr. Screamer.”

“None taken.”

“I was warned about backwards-thinking state sympathisers like you,” Hubert dismissed Tulcetar’s objections, “Send word to the chapter in Gladstone, then we’ll see what The Order has to say. Oh Tulcetar, you have messed this up badly, and I shall take great pleasure in seeing you punished for your stupidity.”

“I must say, he does have impressive gumption,” the mage noted.

“I believe it’s a total lack of sense. Still, I’ll wager he will be singing a different tune shortly,” Screamer said with a yawn.

“Master Tulcetar,” a voice beckoned from behind the door, three knocks later.

The mage opened it a crack, “Yes?”

“Guest for you, sir.”

Tulcetar looked through the crack in the door for an inordinately long time before eventually saying, “Please come in.”

Screamer stood up straight, evidently pleased with himself, “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to-”

“You bloody pillock,” Vagalad shot at his son no sooner than he had navigated the doorframe.

“-a man who needs no introduction,” Screamer finished lamely.

“Father!” Hubert squealed, the colour draining from his face.

“I’ve ‘ad to cross half the bloody continent to track you down, you disobedient little shit!”

“Overstatement,” Vish muttered.

“First you steal from me, then you throw my advice back in my face, then I hear you’re galivanting around the place with these cultist nutters again! No offence,” The Duke said over his shoulder to Tulcetar.

“None taken.”

“I was seeking justice!” Hubert defended.

“You’re seekin’ a few good clouts around the head you soppy twat.”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand. You don’t listen! You never listen!”

“And nor will I,” Vagalad said down the end of a meaty finger, “You’ve embarrassed me for the last time, boy. You’ll hold your tongue now or, gods’ believe me, you will be coming home a eunuch!”

Hubert’s resolve faltered, and his argument died before it left his lips. Instead, he hung his head and said something that may have been, “Yes, father.”

Vagalad grunted his satisfaction, and then turned to Screamer with an entirely different tone, “I’m sorry that my boy has put you out like this, Screamer. He’s a young fool, but a fool no less. No doubt about that. I trust we can agree suitable compensation for the trouble ‘e’s caused you. Fair, like, yes?” it was the first time anyone in the room had actually heard Vagalad sound… what was that? Worried?

Screamer rubbed his broken hands gently, as if he were hunting for his missing flesh, “Not to worry, good Duke, I wish only to continue to enjoy good relations with you and your people down in Gladstone,” he raised his eye, “Of course, our relationship would be better strengthened if those were exclusive relations.”

Vagalad’s hackles stood up like the spines of a wenterfish, “Ah, well, there are certain commodities,” he used the word carefully “coming out of Jandrir that I can only get from very specific sources. You understand.”

“Fear not, I intend to branch out before long,” Screamer shot down the protestation, “An exclusive friendship, Vagalad, and we can forget all about your son’s misdemeanors on my turf.”

The Duke looked at the mutilated man long and hard, spared a glance at his impassive torturers-turned-bodyguards, and caved, “Aye, exclusive friendship it is. Most kind of you, Screamer.”

“Excellent. It pleases me to see our empires continue to prosper together,” Screamer smiled his half-smile, “It would have been a shame to let a wayward child’s mishaps stand in the way of that.”

“As you say,” The Duke readily agreed.

The vulnerability and meekness Vagalad demonstrated was generally met with, suitably polite, feigned disinterest from those who were witness to his public humiliation. Of course, there are always exceptions.

“Holy shit, that was awesome!” Vish whispered in his signature anti-whisper.

Vagalad span so fast that he actually kicked up a mini gale, “As for you, you sniveling whelps, I’m tired of waiting for results! You’ve caused me as many bloody headaches as that spanner!” he tipped his head towards Hubert, “You’ll never set foot in Gladstone again, you hear? And you’re bloody lucky I’m in a good enough mood to leave it there!”

A gentle cough caused Vagalad to bristle once more, “If I may, Vagalad,” Screamer cut in, “the commitment these mercenaries have shown to finding your lost heirlooms has been exemplary. There have been a number of unforeseen obstacles to their success, certainly, but I assure you that they have worked tirelessly to fulfill your wishes.”

Vagalad made a noise deep in his throat that sounded like a cat in heat, “With respect, Screamer, this is my business. Well-intentioned incompetence is still incompetence. I paid these prats hard coin, and I expect results. For all their fannying around, I’m still no closer to getting back what’s mine.”

“We-found-your-things!” Gabriel blurted so quickly it came out as one word.

“What?” the ginger giant snapped.

“Well, not all of it, but the jewels. We found the jewels.”

Vagalad looked around theatrically, “Then where the bloody hell are they?”

“We don’t have them,” Gabriel said, wincing like he was expecting to be struck, “but we know where they are.”

“’Know where they are’. What bleedin’ use is that to me?” Vagalad took a few deep breaths, “They far?”

“No, here in Jandrir.”

“Easy to get?”

“Yes.”

“Hm,” he tapped a knuckle against his lips in thought, “And the pearl?”

Gabriel shook his head as he averted his gaze, “No.”

The Duke was struggling to keep his massive emotions from erupting from his massive frame. His arms flapped and he tugged at his beard and sleeves, evidently trying to avoid making a scene.

“I,” he swallowed hard and dropped his voice as quietly as it would go, “I told you that if nothin’ else, if noth-ing else, you were to get me that thrice damned pearl. Gods help me, I can’t be held responsible for what happens if you don’t find that fucking thing before this day is out.”

There was a small, shrill chuckle.

Vagalad looked around for the source.

It wasn’t the mercenaries; they wouldn’t dare. Screamer was impassive. Tulcetar was making a point of not listening. He checked all of the guards. Nothing.

Then it came again.

It was Hubert.

“What the fuck are you laughing at, piss for brains?” The Duke bore down on his son.

Hubert shuffled back in his chair, but he didn’t wipe the smile from his face, “It’s just funny, that’s all.”

“What. Is. Funny?”

“That you sent these buffoons running all over The Kaden Circle for a silly little pearl.”

“And that amuses you, does it?” Vagalad said, so close to Hubert’s face that surely they must be sharing breath.

“Well, yes,” Hubert quavered, “You see, the pearl never left Gladstone.”

“WHAT?” Vagalad said with a resounding echo from the four mercenaries.

“It never left Gladstone,” Hubert licked his lips, “Hamish took a liking to it and asked if he could keep it, so I let him.”

“Hamish?” Tulcetar frowned, “Hamish Dendraidt? Hamish,” he had the good sense to look embarrassed when he used the man’s ‘Order name’, “Hamish ‘Blaze-Born’?”

“Yes,” Hubert said proudly, “I told you I was well connected in The Order of the Rising Dragon. Do you believe me now? You’ve made a grave mistake, ‘Dragon-Wing’.”

“Indeed I have,” the blonde mage said as he rubbed his chin, “I have made a mistake in not keeping better tabs on that maniac.”

“Care to share?” Screamer asked the mage.

“Hm? Oh, yes, sorry. Hamish Dendraidt is indeed a member of our order, I’m ashamed to say. The man has spent the last dozen turns of the outer wheel writing insane propaganda pieces that he’s had circulated around the major cities. He has some very, how can I put this? Controversial views. Most of his articles and flyers refer to a mass purge. He wants to see all society brought down in ashes, quite literally, and rebuilt from the ground up.”

“Charming.”

“Not much of a people person, that’s for sure. I had no idea he’d actually recruited anyone into his madness,” Tulcetar looked at Hubert with genuine shock and disappointment.

“He’s a visionary!”

“No, no, he’s, pardon the phrase, quite bonkers.”

“And why has your cursed Order allowed a mad-man to infect my son?” Vagalad challenged.

“Well, he’s never really been a threat before. He writes prolifically, but The Order judged his impact to be minimal, given that most of the population can’t actually read,” there were a few mutterings of, ‘Ah, makes sense’, around the room, “This is the first time he has taken a hands-on approach,” Tulcetar explained apologetically.

“Is he a threat?” Screamer asked.

“Well, I hadn’t thought so before, but there is one thing that, well…”

“Out with it, man!” Vagalad commanded.

Tulcetar wiggled his nose like a shrew, “Well, see, he’s a channeler.”

“Ah,” Screamer said.

“Gods,” Vagalad added, slapping his forehead.

“A what?” Vish asked.

Tulcetar was taken aback, “I did explain this to you. A channeler? A ch- never mind. He’s an exceptionally powerful magic user, one who can draw upon his surroundings and the natural energies that course through the land in order to fuel his strength. A true, natural, magical talent,” Tulcetar threw up his arms, “As far as I know, he’s never used his abilities outside of some formal training with the guild in Badanis, but I confess I’m now wondering if maybe-”

“Goyun,” Gabriel said, finishing the thought.

“Precisely,” Tulcetar agreed.

“Dexy too. They were both killed by a magic user,” Gabriel recalled, staring into space.

The brief silence that followed was broken by Vish, “Sooo, after all this running around, the pearl has been sitting with some random guy back in Gladstone?”

“Random?” Hubert was affronted, “How can you call him random?”

“Because this is the first I’ve heard of him?” Vish looked around for support, “Isn’t that kind of the definition of random?”

Hubert was openly astonished, “You broke into his house for f- ahem, goodness sake.”

“I did what now?”

“You held him at knifepoint?”

“I did?”

“Yes! Back when you captured me and subjected me to your nefarious soup torture!”

“Ooooh, that’s right. I did, didn’t I?” Vish started chuckling, “Ah, good times.”

“That old fool you were hanging out with?” Vagalad confirmed.

“Who else?” Hubert responded airily.

“By Mercy’s tits,” Vagalad swore at the ceiling, “Right, you little knobs have got a chance to redeem yourselves. You’re coming back to Gladstone with me and we’re going to pay this plonker a little visit. You get me that pearl back and I’ll wipe the slate clean.”

“What’s so important about a pearl anyway?” Hubert scoffed, “Sure, it’s large, but I don’t think even a big one is all that valuable.”

“Shut up, you! You’ve done quite enough thinking.”

“Well,” Tulcetar stepped forward, “if you’re going back to Gladstone, you won’t be alone. A member of The Order caused this mess, and The Order will not turn a blind eye when it comes to fixing it.”

“I’ll wager that your success is also in our best interest,” Screamer said after a moment’s pause, “Nail-puller and a few more of my men will accompany you.”

Nail-puller dutifully stepped froward for the task she had been volunteered for.

“And if we refuse?” Vish tested.

“That’s up to you, but know that I’ll hunt you down like the dogs you are,” The Duke said dismissively.

“Don’t dogs normally do the hunting?”

“And I’ll feed you to each other for good measure.”

The mind-mapper pursed his lips, “We still might have to think about it.”

“Think fast,” Vagalad instructed, “We leave for Gladstone at noon.”

“No we don’t,” Gabriel said, still wearing that faraway stare.

The Duke hooked a thumb around his knife belt, “Do you wanna say that again?”

But Gabriel didn’t see The Duke. He didn’t see anyone in the room.

Gabriel saw Vish leading a man with a pock-marked face out of a townhouse in Gladstone.

Gabriel saw a man with a pock-marked face, and a black, conical hat, brushing past him (or Gling) on his way into Chloe’s in Tindra.

Gabriel saw the same man, dressed in black, his hand in Gabriel’s own, being dragged from the waters of the Malin, while a wyvern wreaked havoc overhead.

“He’s not in Gladstone,” Gabriel sighed deeply, “He’s here.”