Thar Shaddin

Domingo stared at Cristobal momentarily, his eyes wide, then pulled back and sank into his chair. He covered his mouth with his hand and lowered his gaze to the floor, quickly losing himself in thought. After a lengthy silence, he lowered his hand and spoke: “If what you say is true, señor, then this is a crisis for all of Corezo.”

He shifted in his seat, still avoiding looking at Cristobal. “What you see here – this town – is not the true Los Malecón. It is part of it, do not mistake me, but not the whole. For an average man like myself, this is all we ever see in our lifetime. But those of status, those who find favor with the Order, witness the truth.

Señor, an attack on this Los Malecón will only provoke the real one. Think of it as a mother bear and her cub. The cub may be harmless, but the mother is Death itself. I don’t mean this as a boast. If the Order retaliates, there will be death on a massive scale.”

Finally, he met Cristobal’s gaze. “I did have loved ones, once. I know the pain of losing them all too well.” He paused briefly, then sighed. “If going back empty-handed will mean an attack, you should continue your search – for everyone’s sake. I’m sorry to say I don’t know where the Order keeps its prisoners, or even if they’re still alive, but I wish you luck.”

He stood. “I’ll give you three pieces of advice. Firstly, you don’t have much time – a few days at most. If you overstay your welcome or draw suspicion to yourself, it’s all over. Secondly, there are people here you can trust to help you, if you’re smart about who you approach. And lastly, what I’ve told you is more or less what the average Los Malecón citizens knows. You might be able to find people who know things they shouldn’t at one of the inns or pubs, but that information would be pricey. If you choose to visit one, your best bet is to sneak out at night.”

Cristobal still had no real understanding of what the old man was saying, but he could only assume that the propaganda and persuasive techniques the so-called church used on the townsfolk were both sophisticated and effective. For a citizen to discount the military experience of the empire and be more worried about their own local ghosts and ghouls was as good as proving that the lot of them were completely detached from reality.

And yet, because they believed it, he had to construct his approach on the basis of assuming merit in what Domingo was saying. Already it was getting horribly complicated. "I thank you for your advice. Maybe we can turn this situation into something other than a disaster. Who do you recommend I approach, and where do I find them? After all, the last thing I need - or you for that matter - is to get that first step wrong. If the people who have taken the noblewoman are as bad as you say, I doubt I'd have the strength to resist interrogation if caught."

The nobleman felt a little guilty for what was basically manipulating a kind old man with an approach that was essentially extortion. But Changers help him, if the old man was right, he needed every edge he could get - and every ally, no matter how unwilling.

“You’d be wise to speak with Gervasio.” Domingo walked over to the desk and went through its drawers, pulling out a sheet of paper. He scribbled down the name and handed it to Cristobal. “He frequents Alonso’s inn most evenings, drinking with his cohorts. His assistance carries a high price, but if you’re willing to pay it you won’t find a more trustworthy man. Tell him I sent you.”

He then went over to the window near Cristobal’s bed and stood before it, surveying the streets. “Whether you want to look for Gervasio tonight or wait is up to you. There’s always guards on patrol, but I can’t see any from here. Avoid the main streets, go through alleys whenever you can, and most importantly conceal your face at all times. Just because you don’t see anyone doesn’t mean you aren’t being watched.”

Domingo looked back at him. “Unless you have any questions, I should leave now. Don’t forget: this conversation never happened. If you see me around the manor during the day, you don’t know who I am. Do you understand?”

Cristobal most definitely saw the sense in what the old man was saying. "Aside from Gervasio: I don't know your name, haven't seen you before. On my word as a De Quijas."

He let the old man leave without further interference. Changers help him, all he wanted to do was go back to sleep, yet sense told him that time was of the essence. Cursing all the misfortunes which seemed to entangle what should have been an easy task, Cristobal took a look through the wardrobe of guest clothing Blanca had pointed him to earlier. He needed to act this evening

Most of it wouldn't do. The finer clothing would all scream 'outsider' the moment he entered the township. The undershirt he'd wore on the hike to this damned place was suitably dishevelled and didn't much smell like nobility, so with a grimace of distaste Cristobal donned the unwashed garment. At least at night it would be hard to tell he was any form of nobility. In the daytime, however, the cut of his clothes would be a dead give-away.

He found a coif hanging with a dress, and a screwed up oilskin sailor's cap jammed in one corner. The latter was not the usual kind of garb he'd expect of a nobleman, and Cristobal assumed it had been a last-minute resort in the face of inclement weather and discarded when unneeded. But for his purposes, the combination would hopefully conceal his features enough from a distance. He selected a different pair of shoes from the cupboard, so that extra dirt on his own would not reveal his night-time wanderings.

Much like his earlier outing, he took a satchel with some food, drink, and his diary. Dagger was brought along as well, though if there was any grace he'd not need to use it. This time however he made sure to take a generous offering of Bishani. He was not short on money, and was careful not to bring it all with him for his first visit, but what he did bring would hopefully whet the appetite of any greedy man in a town this small.

Cristobal carefully made his way through the manor, quiet footsteps further muffled by his socks, until he found his way to a side entrance. He quickly put on the shoes, which were a little too large for him, donned coif and cap and crept out of the manor to find Gervasio.

Los Malecón's streets were mostly empty: A few guards were standing at corners and leaning against lamp posts, but none seemed to be paying much attention to their surroundings, either resting their eyes or whispering amongst themselves. In a town filled with religious zealots, criminals wandering the streets at night wasn't much of a problem.

The town's labyrinthine layout, however, presented a challenge. None of the streets were clearly marked, and all the houses looked similar, especially in the dark. As Cristobal went deeper into Los Malecón, it only became more confusing. But fortunately for him, the inn itself was easy to identify, being one of the few places with the lights still on. It was a large, stone brick building with a mix of branches and hay for a roof. The windows had no glass, so the rowdy patrons' noise spilled out into the street.

Once Cristobal reached the inn, the front door burst open and two drunks stumbled past him. “Can't believe I lost my week's fuckin' pay,” one of them grumbled.

“Your own damn fault for putting it up in the first place,” his companion said, patting him on the back.

“Thanks for the damn support. Why do I hang out with you, again?”

“I pay for your drinks.”

“...Oh, right.”

The companion swung the drunk's arm around his neck and looked at Cristobal. “Here for the game, friend? They're just wrapping up now, but you could probably get in for a round or two, assumin' you have stuff to bet.”

By the time Cristobal found Alonso's inn, he'd needed to slap some awareness back into his fatigued mind several times. Changers help him, he'd do no good if he fell asleep before he even reached the place.

It was with a profound sense of relief that he saw the inn, and he gave the drunks a wave, a nod, and a grin, as if to indicate 'of course it's about the game'. Cristobal just hoped to hell the game was La Mano Conquista, and not some bizarre local game he didn't at least know the rules to.

With a sense of foreboding, Cristobal entered Alonso's inn.

Clouds of cigarette smoke welcomed Cristobal as he entered the tavern. Large men were crowded around the tables, laughing and yelling, while a few waitresses circled around to refill their drinks. Food scraps and puddles of alcohol littered the floor, and a few chairs were overturned. An unconscious man was lying against the left wall in a puddle of his own urine, his head resting on a rolled-up shirt.

A commotion was starting at the table nearest to the back. Two bouncers hoisted a man up from his chair and started to pull him away. “Just one more round! I’m good for it – by God’s truth!” the man yelled, struggling to break free. The crowd laughed as another man took his chair.

The mustachioed bartender chuckled as he poured a glass of beer. “Some people just don’t know how to lose, mmm?”

“Hiring those strong-arms was the best call you ever made, Alonso,” said the patron sitting across from him. “Nice to come here without a brawl breaking out. Entertainment’s nice sometimes, but I don’t want to be lookin’ over my shoulder every couple of minutes.”

“A justified concern. My patrons’ safety is my greatest concern,” Alonso said, sliding the beer over to him. “A little rowdiness is to be expected, but there’s a line. We’re all family, after all, yes?”

“Got a good head on your shoulders, Alonso,” the man said with a laugh, sipping his drink. He motioned to the door. “By the way, we got company.”

“Oh?” Alonso looked over at Cristobal, smiling. “Welcome, senór. If you’re here for tonight’s game, I’m afraid there’s quite a long wait. Please feel free to sit at the bar and have a drink in the meantime. Can I get you anything? First is on the house.”

Cristobal had never felt more out of place in his life. Part of that was due to the ever-present fishy smell lingering underneath the scent of sweat, smoke, and spilled ale gone stale. Part of it was the fact that he had no real point of reference from which to proceed.

The nobleman tried to reassure himself: at least he didn't stand out too much, and if one looked at matters differently, there wasn't truly a vast difference between arguing trade deals in a rival's office and working out arrangements with a stranger at a bar. Except, of course, Cristobal had almost always known who he was meant to be talking to. Entering negotiations with an unknown party with no real leverage to speak of would equate to economic suicide in Qadis. But what else could he do?

Well, money is better than magic, his father always used to say. He replied in a cheerful manner, but not so loudly that his voice would carry over the hubbub of folks entertaining themselves "That is mighty generous, and I'll happily accept some ale! But please, a rather shy friend asked me to make sure I bought a drink for yourself and for Gervasio at the same time." Cristobal placed some bishani on the counter, enough to cover the costs for several drinks.

And now, Cristobal prayed that he'd read the mood correctly, and hadn't breached some obscure local etiquette. It had been his safest opening gambit, but what was truly safe in a town as strange and perplexing as this?

Alonso chuckled, pulled out a few glasses and began pouring drinks. “How surprising: I never would’ve thought there was a single person left on this whole continent willing to buy a drink for our Gervasio. If this is Gervasio is trying to avoid being called on his tab again, you should warn your friend that he never pays anyone back.”

“Son of a bitch owes me enough for a new house,” grumbled the man who had been talking with Alonso.
“Ah, yes, I don’t doubt that,” Alonso said, sliding the drinks over to Cristobal. “We’re all men of God here, but alcohol has a way of weakening one’s principles. Generosity is easily abused around here.”

Meanwhile, laughter and applause erupted from the table at the back. Two men stumbled out of the crowd, in the beginning of a brawl. The larger man slugged his opponent in the face, knocking him out instantly and sending him stumbling back into a nearby table. Once the crowd calmed down and the victor returned to the game, a wiry, dirty man with a thick beard approached the unconscious man and started rummaging through his pockets.

“And here’s our friend now,” Alonso said, flashing Cristobal another smile, then turned to Gervasio.

“Gervasio! If you are going to rob someone, at least be subtle about it.”

“Huh?” Gervasio looked up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. For your information, Alonso, patting someone down after they’ve been knocked out keeps them from swallowing their tongue or choking on their own vomit. All the science backs it up. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“Mmm. In any event, this gentleman’s bought a drink for you on behalf of his friend.”

“On behalf of a friend, eh?” Gervasio grinned at Cristobal. “Some pretty woman put you up to it? Can’t blame her, I’m kind of hard to approach. Bit too intimidating, you know?"

Cristobal carefully suppressed his sense of profound relief at having passed the first hurdle of locating Gervasio. Although a positive step, it was just the beginning of things, with many potential pitfalls yet to navigate. The first most obvious hazard being that he still had to convey his intent to Gervasio without making it obvious to any curious onlookers.

"She's quite the shy thing" Cristobal conceded genially as Alonso presented them their full glasses. He took a drink of his ale. He really didn't want to, yet appearances had to be maintained "Said I was only allowed to whisper her name, all secret-like. Who can read such creatures? But if you're willing to play along with her silly games, I'm already feeling my own tongue loosened by the ale."

Gervasio grinned lecherously. Usually women avoided Alonso’s, and those who didn’t sure weren’t among the town’s prettiest. But he had a good feeling about this one. A shy little dove, admiring him from afar, too taken with his charm and looks to approach him – it sounded perfect! And even if she was ugly, he could drink until it didn’t matter. He’d be getting some action tonight either way.

He laughed. “I got kicked out of the game in the back hours ago, my friend, so I’m lookin’ for a new one. I’ll gladly pay along.” He leaned closer to Cristobal. “But before we get to that, just between us, what are we talking here? Nice face, good measurements, all that?” he asked, his breath stinking of ale.

“You certainly have an eye for what’s important, my Gervasio,” Alonso said, smiling as he cleaned a mug.

“I’ll leave you two for now. Let me know if you need anything else, mmm?”

“Maybe another ale on my tab?”

“I’ll make an exception tonight, just for you, my Gervasio. Have fun with your new friend.”

“You’re the best, Alonso!” Gervasio smiled, returning his attention to Cristobal. “So, scale of one to ten…?”

Oh dear, the man hadn't been using code or double talk. Gervasio had taken Cristobal seriously. What a bed of eggshells he'd laid down for himself to carefully tread around.

Cristobal leaned in so that only Gervasio could hear him "She's a curvy thing, green eyes, named Bishani. Apologies for the double-talk, but Domingo said secrecy was imperative, and that it was urgent enough that I should approach you and no other."

He leaned back out, and added for the benefit of others "Do you see what I'm dealing with here? It's madness, really, but what else could I do? Buy you another drink, perhaps?" Cristobal nodded to Alonso, and paid the tab for Gervasio's second ale. As he did, he glanced around the room, to check on how many people might have been paying attention to their conversation.

Gervasio frowned and wrinkled his nose. What kind of nut would name their kid that? He supposed it didn’t matter. If she looked passable and was up for a hot night, then… His thoughts trailed off when he realized the stranger mentioned Domingo. This was a business visit. Thinking back, he was the one who assumed there was a lady in the equation, so he had himself to blame.

But why was this guy pallin’ around with Domingo? Old bastard didn’t have much of a life outside of the mansion. And that puppet of a mayor probably had him waiting on that Quijas nobleman.

Oh.

Oh shit.

He glanced at Alonso, who was talking with that other guy, then scanned the area. Mostly everybody was hovering around the game, so he and his new “friend” looked to be in the clear.

“Should’ve figured this would happen,” he grumbled. “It’s fine, can’t blame you for being careful. Gotta say I’m pretty impressed, though – you getting here in one piece and all. Guests tend to get disappeared by the Order if they’re caught snooping around. Before we talk any more, though, we need to move. Not taking any risks chatting it up down here.”

Gervasio laughed obnoxiously and patted him on the shoulder, giving the bar another quick look around. “I’d say your lady friend’s got one dirty mind! Never really understood that voyeur shit, but if you wanna watch, eh, why not. Pay for a room and we’ll wait for her upstairs.”

Cristobal laughed weakly "I always found it hard to tell her no, y'know. A bit embarrassing, but there you have it."

The disguised nobleman paid for a room as suggested, and followed Gervasio's lead. He was not sorry to leave the main room with its cacophony of sounds and smells to something a little more sedate where he could think more clearly.

Gervasio winked at a few men around the game table, grinning as he went upstairs. It wasn’t uncommon for men to rent out rooms to spend a night – or even a couple hours – with a woman. Bringing another man into the equation wasn’t really a thing, but he knew he had a strange enough reputation that nobody would bat an eye at it.

Once they were in the room, he closed the door behind them, locked it, and sat down on the corner of the bed. “We should be good to talk. Before you start explaining what you want with me, I have a question for you, and I expect an honest answer. Do you have reason to think anyone at the manor might know you’re gone? Because if word gets to Renata, you’re a dead man walking, and you might as well get out of town now. She’s one of the few around here who doesn’t need permission from the boss or the other higher-ups to sic a Visitor on someone.”