from CHAPTER EIGHT ~ LADROA ELEGY
Characters: KIAN, MISERO
After his short time in Ladroa's Carcelario, Kian is released into the city again. Owing his freedom to arrangements made with the Mariscales, he needs information.
Both his life - and potentially that of the young Lady Belasca De Cinza - hang upon his ability to untangle the web of plots that draw closer around them in Ladroa: Di Magappi, the Mariscales, los Mendigos, the Hundred Curses, and now, the murder of a high official. As a relative newcomer in the city, Kian decides to enlist the services of a dangerous man... one who is not who he seems, and whose trust is measured only in gold coins...
He was hunched over a table, watching a game of dice keenly. Kian couldn't see his face but he recognized the smell of his tobacco, and imagined that the Iagosi was either sizing up his competition at the dice tables, or had already exhausted his sizable pay-out on poor bets and libations. For the sake of his negotiations, Kian hoped it was the latter. “Let me buy you a flagon of wine, old friend.” Kian whispered from behind his mask as he brushed past on the way to a darker corner of the tavern. Misero did not flinch. Instead, he waited three beats and then rose to casually follow. As he pulled up a chair, the swordsman tipped his wide-brimmed hat but slightly. “Your mercy, it is an honour to...” “Shut it.” Kian interjected before Misero could complete whatever lengthy courtesy he had intended on verbalizing. The swordsman did not feign injured feelings, but smiled instead under his moustache and drew a cigarillo.
“I’m not here to listen to you prattle on. I’ve got a proposition.” Misero nodded benevolently and kept his peace. Kian felt relieved, then briefly flustered. “Alright, damn it. You know my game. I admit you guessed it well enough back in Aesos. And it's true that I can use a man like you on my side. As you deduced, the Grey Stripes are on the rise. De Cinza is a new young face with an old noble name, and she's going to bridge the old world and the new one. I don’t know what the new world is going to look like, but I can smell that change is coming and I think you can too.” He paused to for a response from Misero, who dignified the statement with a nod and a knowing smile. Kian was grateful that the Iagosi wasn’t wasting his time with gloating or his baroque manners so far, but Misero's impassive manner was also faintly unnerving when Kian was the one showing his cards Kian produced a small pouch and set it on the table with just enough force to give an impression of how many heavy gold coins were within. “You seem to know what goes on in Ladroa. This payment is for what you know right now, and for keeping your mouth shut about it otherwise. There will be more whenever you bring me information that’s actually useful to me.” Misero gave an inviting wave of his hand to indicate this was the simplest of requests. The gesture left a smear of cigarillo smoke lingering in the air. “Where shall I begin, your mercy?” Kian gave a covert glance over his shoulder, but there was nobody near their table. “You’ll soon hear that Nino Arriaga has reappeared. He will be going back to work for us now -- not that he knows it. Los Mendigos are also going to end up affiliated with the Grey Stripes sooner or later. I need to know who would be disturbed by that. Who’s watching and who’s worried? I think a man such as yourself might be positioned to hear such concerns. Also, specifically... I know there’s a significant new player in town, a Capracian who goes by the name of di Magappi. We’ve had some dealing with him, but I don’t know enough about his game. Tell me as much as you can about him.” Misero pondered Kian’s words, drawing smoke into his mouth and casting his gaze to the ceiling. After a minute, he released the smoke and nodded to himself. Reaching forward absently, he looped a finger around the drawstring on the small money pouch and dragged it slowly across the table. When it came to rest before him, he met Kian’s gaze. “Firstly, you should know there is grumbling about the Grey Stripes among the smugglers and vice-mongers of the Puerto district. Nothing significant just yet, but there is concern about whether the young lady’s declarations of virtue are simply a bid for power, or if it may actually be genuine, which is much worse for them. They worry the new Grey Stripes will become a thorn in their side. Will the Stripes begin policing areas where the Ladroa Watch usually turn a blind eye? Or are they perhaps in league with the royal family, seeking to assert stronger Church control over this city? As of yet, nobody is sticking their neck out -- especially not after Arriaga disappeared. Though perhaps his return may allay some of those fears.” Kian simply nodded. He’d noted how Misero’s answer had been laced with implicit questions. “Remember that I’m paying for information, not doling it out. When you have something more --” He began to rise, but Misero raised a gloved hand motioning him to stay. “There is more, senor. This past year several unusual thefts have occurred in Ladroa. Of course, theft here is simply part of life, but rarely for such important or influential targets. These heists were very bold, and in some cases, so very delicate that those who were robbed could scarcely acknowledge it. I speak of sacred objects, sensitive documents, blackmail materials... that sort of thing. The Thieves' Guild has hinted at their involvement with some of these crimes, but this is only talk intended to heighten their mystique. Crime in Ladroa is decentralized, and their reach is not so great. And besides, truly competent criminals remain silent about their exploits. This means that there is someone new in Ladroa this past year, with agents who operate outside the Guild. This is someone whose interests are more political than monetary, I would think.”
Misero paused to smoke, his face a somber mask, but Kian could feel him studying his reaction, waiting for him to ask how any of this related to his questions. He resented giving him the satisfaction, but was too impatient to wait him out.
“Interesting hearsay. So, why do I care about this?”
Misero released a long puff of smoke and continued. “Do you know who used to broker that kind of special work in Ladroa? It was none other than the Stottenlund Brewmaster's Guild, whose guild house burned to the ground while we were all at sea. Some believe this terrible fire was a punishment on the Brewmasters by powerful people. You see, their Guild had long been rumoured to have certain... Northern affiliations. It’s thought that before the war, they answered to the Clarion Throne itself.” Misero paused meaningfully, studying Kian’s response.
Kian only huffed. “Don’t expect me to recite The Song of Erithain. The North was a backstabbing shithole long before the Regicide.”
This much was true; feudal skirmishes had already cost him his home long before the High-King and his family were butchered. Even so, Kian still remembered the moment he’d heard the news of the Regicide, and how it had shaken him. It was easy to be cynical about petty local kings and noble titles, but the line of Erithain had been unbroken for 2000 years. Without a Clarion High-King, the Hundred Thrones of the North had erupted into bitter internecine warfare that even now had barely cooled a whole decade later. Like any Lundishman, Kian felt a strange sadness over this -- but it wasn’t something he was about to share with this Iagosi.
Whether he saw a hint of Kian’s discontent or not, Misero seemed satisfied. “Indeed, and now the Clarion Throne sits empty, and the new Empire rules the South. So, what else could the Brewmasters do with all their resources and connections, after the throne they served was gone? I expect they had to go independent, and turn instead to whoever put gold in their pockets. Yes?”
Kian narrowed his eyes at Misero. “And how about you, eh? Did the Brewmasters ever put any gold into your pockets?”
“Hm? Not directly, your mercy... though I am sure I’ve taken coin that passed first through their hands on some occasions. But now, the Guild headquarters in Ladroa is destroyed, and all their officers have perished. That leaves a special void waiting to be filled by a... new player, yes?” He let the question linger again.
“Right. So the old Northern spies are out. Someone else has moved in.” Kian rubbed the stubble on his chin and shifted impatiently. “I assume you're about to get to the point, yeah?”
The Iagosi bravo paused as if considering some idle thought that had just popped into his head. Then he nodded and leaned in slightly. “As you recall, you asked me about this merchant called di Magappi. He is a bit of an odd fellow. Last winter, he set up shop in a shabby warehouse on the Puerto, and does only some light money-changing and import work. He is not a remarkable player in the Ladroa market. However, I have heard a rumour that sometimes, some very rare and… sensitive merchandise has passed through his warehouse.” Misero rocked back in his chair and stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “So, perhaps it is as you say, and this funny old Capracian is more than he appears." Kian frowned. He already knew the truth of di Magappi’s identity - at least part of it - but he was still grudgingly impressed by how well-informed Misero seemed to be. And Kian had to wonder - besides holy relics, what else was the Baron trafficking in? Was he responsible for this wave of mysterious high-value thefts? Misero seemed to anticipate Kian’s next thought. “You are surprised that I know of di Magappi, your mercy? It is simple. When he arrived in Ladroa, some old soldiers approached him looking for security work. Di Magappi sent them away, claiming he had no such need. Perhaps this is true, for two of these veterans - men of low character, you understand - said they would rob the Capracian to teach him a lesson. As it turns out, those men have not been seen since. Not whole, in any case.” Misero stumped out his cigarillo on the edge of the table. “For this reason, I took note of him. And now you say you have had dealings with him? How interesting.”
Kian gave him a long, hard look. “You’re always fishing, aren’t you?” Inwardly, he was starting to wonder if he'd already given away too much.Misero only made a face of mock confusion and gave small indifferent shrug, as if Kian's accusation was mildly bewildering to him.
After a long moment, Kian ran his hand over his scalp and lowered his voice.“Alright... that brings me to another question. About those kinds of special jobs you said you do... I’ve heard tell that the parishioners at the Temple of Imparthas are also known for work of that nature. So tell me, are you a churchgoer? And can you find out how I can attend a mass?” “Ah, the Temple of Imparthas... the so-called Telosian of Death. I do not think these gods are well-known in your North?” Kian shook his head slightly. “If you will indulge me, your mercy… long ago, when the peoples of Siiga ruled these lands, Imparthas served as their God of the Dead. The Siiga wanted a world with laws, and under the Telosian Imparthas, death was dictated by fate, not accident. Because all things must have an end, all things should have purpose. Everything - even death - happens for a reason.” Misero leaned in. “So, perhaps you understand why those who kill for money might seek sanctuary and pay homage at a temple to such a god?” Kian nodded, and Misero continued. “The power of the Telosians waned long ago, but Temples of Imparthas still hold services, and open their doors to travelers from many places. Of course, the priests of Imparthas do not conduct business. They are not concerned with such secular activities. Nonetheless, the temple is known as a place where those who practice a certain profession may gather, rest, break bread, and share... tales of faith with each other.”
“You seem to know quite a bit about these Old Gods.” “Misero has much time to read, your mercy. Lopedo Del Gerrico has an excellent history of the Siiga era. Sadly, it is only available in the Imperial language, so...” “Yeah, yeah, I get it." Kian interrupted impatiently. "So, you got someone at this temple that you can introduce me to?”
Misero gave him one of his mirthless smiles. “Ah, as you know, Misero is one who commends his prayers to the Holy Saints and the Prophet, our Blessed Child. I would fear for my soul in such a place. But for you, Senor Grey… if a man like you were to attend the Temple of Imparthas here in Ladroa, I do not think anyone there would question your piety.” Kian rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Right, then...” He drained his wine goblet and made to stand up. “Consider the coin in that purse a stipend. You work for me now. There will be another purse on any week you bring me something useful.” Misero closed his fist around the pouch, and tucked it into the folds of his cloak. “Ah, if only our goodly King of Iagos - may the Saints preserve him - saw fit to reward his old soldiers as richly as your patron. A sum such as this is too generous for mere hearsay. For this much coin, one could ask for a man’s life. Or, for merely double, an important man’s life.” “Don’t get greedy. If someone needs killing badly enough, rest assured I'll handle that myself.” Misero sighed. “Of this, there can be no doubt, your mercy. But to have a man killed, and leave no thread behind that entangles you? This is another matter.” Kian gave Misero a distant look, then shook his head. “Maybe that day will come, but for now... only information. You can kill people on your own time.” With that, he turned and left the Iagosi to his vices.
