After leaving the gates of Derran manor behind him, Galier felt his mood begin to worsen almost immediately. The ride with Jormand had helped to stave off the worst of it but now that he stood alone in the darkened streets, the fog of thoughts pulled over him again. In his mind, Galier vividly saw the assassin climbing over the wall, slowly, as if inviting Galier to stop him. He remembered standing stock still, only a few paces away, dagger in hand. He remembered the fear, the paralyzing, all encompassing fear. He had felt as if he would simply collapse, unable to move at all. Then he had, once the assassin finished his climb, when he turned to torment Galier below him. Galier remembered the shame. He felt it still. Thinking back on it now, he felt a hot flush in his cheeks and was thankful for the cooler sea breeze. He struck out down the street, eager to be moving. At least moving was something.

Galier did not think about where he was going at all. He kept his head bowed and just walked. After walking for some time, he realized he was nearing the harbor district. The sounds alerted him first, the crashing of waves was louder now, echoing through empty streets, and the creaking sounds of ships in their berths made him feel as if he were on the docks even though he could not yet see the water. The air was a little damp so near the shore. As he walked down the shallow incline leading to the city proper, Galier could feel it change. The sharp smell of salt grew stronger along with the other, less pleasant smells of the harbor district. Rotting fish, old tar, and other, even less appetizing things.. It did not bother Galier so much anymore, not like it used to. When he had first arrived in Maerin, the odor of the harbor district had prompted terrible headaches but once he saw the potential, the sheer magnitude of opportunity, he had been forced to accept it. Now, it was the smell of his home in the city. He knew he should have been spending more time in his house’s holding, but the empty building with its constant reminders was rarely a welcome sight for him. Tonight, it was especially unwelcome.

Galier was lost in thought, making his way to his tavern simply by instinct. He did not notice his surroundings at all until he neared the junction of the side street he occupied with the main thoroughfare along the water. There he stopped, surprised to find the road not nearly as empty as those he had passed through already. Interspersed throughout the wide road, leaving large gaps between them were a handful of rough garbed people. Men and women dressed in little more than rags who did not give Galier any more notice than they did eachother.

Galier paused at the mouth of the side street he stood in. On each side of him were tall buildings that cast him partly in shadow but there was no way these people could not have seen him. As he watched, the flow of people did not lessen but neither did it grow. Always the people walked with more than a polite gap between them, never in pairs or groups, always alone. Everyone that passed him by was dressed in clothes he would not have been surprised to see in a rubbish heap, so when one man, walking much faster than the others, crossed his path, he took instant notice.

The man wore a dark jacket and dark shirt over matching trousers, nothing particularly noteworthy but gaudy by comparison to those around him. It was not the clothes that caught Galier’s attention though, it was the thin dagger on his thigh, a dagger held in one of three matching sheaths. The other two were conspicuous in their emptiness. A quick look at the man’s face filled Galier with an icy chill. He knew those eyes, that face. He remembered it smiling down at him from the wall as a rope was pulled away. The assassin. Galier had found him again. And this time, he did not intend to let the man go.

Without a thought for his defenseless state, Galier struck out into the street, walking just slower than the man he followed and staying behind the other people in the street where possible. The assassin fervently looked over his shoulder from time to time and each time, Galier hoped beyond reason that he had not been spotted. At least, nothing seemed to change in the assassin’s quick stride.

Galier knew what he was doing was foolish immediately but he could not let that stop him. He followed the assassin intently, not bothering to pay any attention to the others around him, they seemed content to return the favor. The wide road began to fill with more and more people as Galier neared the great Maerin wharf. More often than not, his view was blocked by the bodies of people all moving with the same unhurried pace but there was always space to weave between them. The assassin did not walk so quickly now, he matched his pace and distance with all of the others. Galier did the same, he was worried about just how out of place he was in his finery, disheveled as it was. He was certainly a prime target for muggers, dressed as he was. He blundered about and did not blend in at all, it made him more than a little wary of the people around him.

Galier waited patiently for the crowd to thin. He knew he stood no chance in such a large group, they would see him as the aggressor, he would just have to wait until he was alone with the assassin. By then he would surely have a plan. He would have to. But as he continued to follow along, the traffic only thickened. It grew so greatly that Galier began to find it difficult to avoid bumping into those around him and that began to draw their notice. The eyes that turned towards him held nothing but disdain, they took in his fancy clothes at a glance and immediately sneers replaced previously blank expressions. Around Galier, ripples of mumbles and whispers spread. They were all looking at him. He could feel the eyes on him, feel the disdain coming from their stares. His hair felt like it was all standing on end. He had to get away from them but he did not want to leave and let the assassin get away again. Galier turned, looking through the crowd but the assassin was gone. He searched for the dark coat and the shine from the dagger but he saw nothing, in the dim light he could not tell where the man had gone.

He looked about in a frenzy, peering through the gaps between people for just the slightest hint of the assassin but there was nothing. And then the flow of people began to slow. They were nearing the steps up to the wharf and as the people waited to climb them, heads began to turn about again, towards Galier. The faces were unfriendly, unwelcoming. There was something about them, their wide eyes and shocked, open mouths that looked to him like a scandalized lord, unhappy to find his daughter in bed with a vassal.

The press of people no longer seemed so ambivalent. Their murmurs were darker, threatening. They still ignored each other but they did not ignore Galier. Hands reached for him and he darted away, pushing back away from the wharf towards an alleyway only a few paces away. His way was blocked, he was in the thick of it now, surrounded on all sides by men and women, children even, all dressed in uniform squalor, all staring at him intently, eyes burning, lips peeling back in a multitude of snarls.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, a strong grip. It stopped him in his tracks. He turned his head raising his arms to defend himself but he let them fall when he saw the face the hand belonged to. The man was grizzled, that was the word. He stood a few inches shorter than Galier but made up for it in sheer indifference. Short stubble made rough skin rougher. Deep scars made wrinkled cheeks more furrowed. None of that really mattered though, it barely registered to Galier’s panicked mind. All he saw were the three dried drops of blood, crusted low on the man’s cheek. That was Adelphine’s blood, the same blood that stained Galier’s shirt and jacket, now dried to a flaky brown like river clay left on a pair of boots in the sun.

Galier could feel the breath of the crowd on him. The sweat running down his back had nothing to do with the latent heat of the day. He could hear the shuffling of feet and he needed to leave. Galier gave no thought to the value of his jacket as he tore his arms from the sleeves. The expensive wool passed slowly over his skin, as if moving through honey and though each step carried Galier farther than any of those around him could match, he felt unable to escape that phantom hand on his shoulder. He broke through the crowd in only a few steps. He did not look behind but ran for the alleyway at a reckless speed, not so much running as delaying a fall. The shaded stone walls were his haven, in the maze of like alleys, he would be lost in moments and so would his would-be captors.

The mouth of the alley was blocked with a tall crate, set back from the street, he had not seen it before. It proved no obstacle however. In his haste, Galier heaved himself over without regard for the splinters doubtlessly driven home in the delicate fabric of his shirt and trousers. As he let himself down the other side, he caught a glimpse of the street again. The assassin had disappeared into the crowd. Nobody followed him, few even looked his way. Was that it? Would they let him go? He looked behind him, cautious, perhaps they knew of another way in. The possibility ended there. The alley was a dead end, it only ran for another dozen paces or so before coming to a stop at a sheer stone wall. On either side was a door, bolted tight. The alley was probably used for deliveries or the like, it did not lead anywhere. Presently, Galier stood atop one of those deliveries, a flat crate behind the first. Standing on it, he could see well out of the alley and remain unseen. He hoped.

Galier resolved there was little he could do but wait. He dared not risk the street again until it emptied entirely. So he waited. He waited until the moon was high in the sky and the crowd had grown immensely. No others seemed to be joining them now, they all simply gathered on the wharf, the ones who could not pressed forward at the base of the steps. It was even more quiet now, not a word came from them. Barely a breath. Even the coughing stopped, the weezing, the pained sounds that so often accompanied the poor. Every head faced the same way, towards a pile of crates on the wharf, far enough away that Galier could scarcely make out the figure stood atop them. But he could see well enough. It was a woman, he thought, at least by the hair and dress, both dark enough to nearly blend into the night. Even from that distance, he could feel her presence, almost like a force that compelled him to both stare and look away. So he did. He looked until he could look no more, then turned his gaze away. Painfully.

He could not tell if she was talking but the people were enthralled. It continued, for hours at least, until she raised a hand, a motion that was startling in its simplicity. Galier could have sworn she pointed to him with that imperious hand, it felt like she did, even as far away as he was, as hidden as he must be. He ducked behind the large crate again, huddling against the rough side, arms gripped painfully around his knees. The splintery wood pricked through his thin silk shirt and into his back. It itched horribly but he could not bring himself to move. In his mind was fixed the image of that woman, arm stretched towards him in the night. He felt compelled to go to her, through the crowds, they did not matter, not if she wanted him.

But he could not. The assassin was in that mess of people somewhere. But she would protect him, Galier knew that. He found himself trying to stand. That shocked him back to his senses. The sharp wood in his back kept him there. Was I really about to go out there? He wondered to himself, disbelieving even though it had just happened. The urge to go was not so powerful now, though he still felt it. It pulled at him, like an invisible cord anchored to his chest. It made him squirm. Sitting still felt wrong, like he was betraying a long kept promise, like he was abandoning a long held friend. He felt tears in his eyes for the second time that night though he had not realized he was crying. It took all he had not to cry out or do something. Instead he sought a distraction, anything to keep his mind from wandering back to the wharf.

The sea breeze pushed against Galier’s crates, it was picking up now. There was probably a storm coming. The wind forced itself over Galier’s barricade only to howl through the short passage it found was blocked on the other side. It made the tears on his cheeks feel cool and sharp as they dried. It kept him focused on something else, other than… Something else was good. Time passed more and more easily now. Galier’s ears were full of the wind and the minutes became less agonizing to sit through. The pressure released from the breath he had been inadvertently holding in. He lolled against his improvised seat, the discomfort was good, it was a welcome feeling, now that he could feel it.

Galier did not even peek over the crates again until he heard the shuffling of footsteps, the crowd was dispersing. He waited a while longer until he was sure they were all gone. The only sounds left were the waves and the wind. They seemed like they could be hiding anything now that they were alone. He steeled himself to look over again and found the roadway and wharf empty. Nothing remained to show that they had been packed with people only moments ago. The night was still again but that just did not seem possible. Atop the wharf, the pile of crates that the woman had stood upon was still there, just some supplies or provisions waiting to be loaded or moved.

Grumbling to himself, if only to lift the silence, Galier walked back out into the street. He looked both up and down it but so no one, not a single person was in sight, not a single light or sound interrupted the stillness now. Galier shook his head and gritted his teeth. He still felt uncomfortable.

Galier struck out back up the street he had come down, towards his tavern. The cozy atmosphere and comfortable beds in the Captain’s Cat would do him a lot of good. He needed a good night’s sleep. In the morning he would surely feel better. Galier knew the way well, he owned a depot near the wharf as well and often had to make the trek between the two himself.

He turned into an alleyway next to a shuttered shipwright’s shop. The alley was damp, as alleys always seemed to be. It was stacked with boxes on the sides but there was ample room to move between them. He took a few turns he recognized even in the night and was about to take another when he stopped. Around the corner, he could hear something. It sounded like an argument in whispered voices, in the quiet night they were as loud as screams.

“We’ll just sell ‘er too then.” The first voice was ragged, like it belonged to a man who shouted too much. It reminded Galier of the bouncers he employed for events at the tavern.

“Better to stick her with a knife and be done with it.” That voice surprised him, it belonged to a woman with a sickly sweet tone. Upon hearing it however, he did not stop to think. He bolted around the corner. He did not intend for any other innocents else to be stabbed tonight, not if he could do anything about it.

The sight that greeted him nearly caused Galier to reconsider but by then, they had seen him. In the alley before him were four people. Two large men and the women he assumed had spoken before stood in a rough semicircle facing him. One of the men wore Galier’s jacket from earlier in the night. It was hard to miss. The rich red fabric embroidered with gold thread was eye catching even in the dim light. It stretched around the man’s wide shoulders though it hung too low for him around the waist. It was incredibly out of place over a ragged pair of trousers and no shirt. The other two who stood beside him were dressed similarly though the woman wore a shirt as well, if it could even be called that in its state of disrepair. All three of them were arrayed in front of a slim girl who faced away from Galier. She crouched low to the ground but did not move to leave. In her hand she clutched a long knife but her fist was shaking. Her blond hair reflected the moonlight dully.

Before Galier could even see where from, the three had produced knives of their own. It did not hinder Galier though, in that moment he wanted the fight. He was wound tighter than a spring from sitting in that alleyway all night and that man was wearing his jacket. So he sprinted down the length of the alley, passing the blond girl with a rush of wind. Luckily, she did not seem to question his assistance, she charged at the group of three as well.

Galier collided with the man who wore his jacket whose knife was raised in an attempt to fend Galier off. It did not work. Galier had learned to fight an armed opponent with nothing more than his fists as a child and though he was not the warrior Jormand was, he could hold his own. Galier blocked the knife strike by gripping the man’s wrist. The thug may have been well muscled but his wrist twisted easily and he dropped his knife with a cry of pain. Galier could hear the sounds of a scuffle behind him. He had to deal with this man quickly, before he got a knife in his back. He ducked and rammed his shoulder into the man’s gut. He doubled over, heaving. It gave Galier time to stoop down and pick up the discarded knife. He did not hesitate to ram the blade deep into its owner’s neck. The man fell to the cobblestone floor of the alley, gurgling noisily. Galier did not stay to watch him fall.

Galier spun around, ready to defend himself and was surprised to see the one assailant, the woman, motionless on the ground and the other hesitantly engaging the slim blond girl. It seemed she had the situation more than under control but Galier was still full of pent up energy. He yearned to fight more, he wanted an opponent who would put up more of a fight, something to exhaust himself on. He launched forward and grabbed the remaining ruffian about the waist, pulling him to the ground with a painful sounding crack as his head hit the stones. After that, he did not move.

Galier sank to the stone floor himself, all of a sudden he had no energy left. He looked about at the three dead forms on the ground. It was all over so fast, their blood was already stopping its flow. In front of him, breathing as heavily as he, the stranger girl still crouched, knife drawn. Her wary eyes never let him leave her sight even as she slunk around him to pull his jacket off of the first dead man. She threw it around her shoulders as if it fit her perfectly. It was a ridiculous sight. The thing was no doubt covered in blood, dirt, and other things by now and it hung well past her waist. The shoulders were far too broad and the sleeves too long but she looked satisfied.

After pulling the jacket on, she turned back to Galier. Her knife was still in her hand but she looked less on guard.

“Why did you help?” She asked, gesturing with her knife. It made the question seem more important.

Galier shrugged. “He was wearing my jacket.” He responded simply. He knew he should still be afraid, this girl was clearly handy with a knife and did not appear to be planning to put it away any time soon.

“It’s mine now,” The girl replied. She tugged at the open front in what passed for a pretentious manner. “I found it.”

“Yes, well I don’t really need it now, I suppose you could sell it for something.”

“Perhaps I will.”

She turned to leave and finally put the knife away somewhere Galier could not see. It occurred to him that she might have seen the assassin or where he went, there were so many people at the wharf, it was possible she had been among them.

“Wait!” He shouted, too loudly in the small alley. She turned in an instant, knife out again. Galier raised his hands, palms out to show he meant no harm. “Did you see someone tonight, dressed like me only in black, not so fancy. With a jacket, a little like mine,” He gestured to the coat that she now wore. “Down by the wharf maybe?”

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Were you at the meeting?” She asked.

Galier paused for a split second, thoughts racing. What would it mean if he had been? He did not have any idea what the meeting was about. “I was… nearby.” He managed, it would have to be enough.

The girl nodded slowly, as if she understood exactly what he meant. “I saw him,” she said. “I saw him arrive but I did not see him leave.” She turned to leave, walking to the end of the alley where it met the street. “I am sorry.” She said as she stepped out onto the wider street.

Galier hurried after her, ready to beg on his knees for any information. Now that he had the space to think about it again, this third near miss with the assassin was more than he could take. The guilt of doing nothing was burrowing ever deeper within him, it was all too present now.

“Wait!” He shouted again, entering the street only a few paces behind the girl. The street was lit, if only by a few lights and the moon. In that meager light, Galier could tell he had misjudged her age before. She was easily his age, maybe a year or two younger or older. She certainly was past her twentieth year, not the youth he had thought but then he could see her bones even through layers of clothing. “Please.” He begged, it was all too evident in his voice just how desperate he was. “You have to tell me what the meeting was about. I need to know, I need to find that man. Please tell me.”

She turned once again. What light there was cast one side of her face in dark shadow but the other was set in a grim expression. Her skin was deathly pale, like those strange fish sometimes dredged up from far out to sea. In that mask of white, her eyes gleamed dully like bits of oily glass. Galier took a step back, hesitant again. He had been warned to not interact with the people on the streets in Maerin, he had heard the horror stories they told about blood curses and the violent rage they brought. But this woman was the only chance he had left to find the assassin and redeem himself. He had to do it, he did not think he could live with himself otherwise. And, though he did not want to admit it to himself, the tantalizing glimpse he had of that woman on the wharf filled him with curiosity. He had to know who she was and more importantly, why he had had to fight to control himself there.

“I can’t tell you.” She said slowly, choosing her words carefully. “Nobody talks about it, it just isn’t done.” She shivered even though the night was still warm. “I can’t.”

“But why?” Galier asked, rushing forward as she began to walk away. “Are they going to hurt you? I could protect you, I have the means if you only tell me what I need to know.”

That seemed to get her attention. She stopped but did not turn. He could not see her face, there was no expression to read but she stood so tensely, caught between running away and what Galier offered. She turned her head to look over her shoulder at galier. The image was haunting. Her eyes were sunken deep in her skull and surrounded by dark circles that had nothing to do with makeup. Thin lips twitched before she even spoke. “Do you have food?” She asked.

Galier cocked his head in confusion. He had expected her to ask about guards, safehouses, about something to do with his offer. “Um, yes, I have food.” He said. He motioned down the street behind him. “I own an inn, the Captain’s Cat, there’ll be plenty of food there, and drink too. All the best I assure you.”

The pale woman licked her lips hungrily, a little spark appeared in her eyes that Galier had not seen before. She did not look so forlorn now, underfed and weary still but in better spirits.

Galier motioned down the street again, beckoning for her to follow him. He needed her to help him, if she could tell him what that meeting at the wharf had been about, he could find the assassin. It was a tenuous link, granted, but it was all he had. It would work.

“Come on, it’s not far.” Galier turned to go, walking nonchalantly, he did not want to spook her now. It eased his nerves greatly when he heard the quiet patter of footsteps following him.