The main square outside Citadel Fionni was always a busy place, crammed to the brim with sailors off ships on the Gulf of Lum and the Adriatic Ocean, merchants restocking their wares from ship holds and tradesmen hawking their services to any who would listen. There was no sign of the typical denizens of court squares. Things like produce or livestock rarely found a place in the primary market of Nerona's southernmost city. Farmers or peddlers hawked their goods in other, less prominent places in Fionni.

  The main square was for the best of the best, things like exotic goods just imported or olive oil and rare marble bound for the far corners of the earth. Only the most valuable goods and rarest skills were worth trying to sell in the main square.

  Although he was no stranger to town squares Cassian Ironhand found the Citadel's too bustling for his taste. However there was only one man in southern Nerona who could do what he needed and that man was last seen selling his services in Fionni.

  There weren't many bravos plying their trade in town squares. Most clustered around gate houses or in the potter's fields just outside city walls. These were the places that prompted the average merchant or traveler to think about hiring men of arms to protect their lives and livelihoods in the unsettled parts of Nerona.

  However Adalai Carpathea was not strictly a bravo. When people first started mentioning his name a few years ago it was as a Herald, although the man himself supposedly hated that term. Regardless, he had a rare Gift, and that was what Cassian needed.

  And so the young man picked his way through the carts and the cargo and the merchants and the sailors, looking for a man in dark colors with a single ostrich feather in his hat. It took a surprisingly long time to find him. Adalai must have had great confidence in his reputation, or he really didn't feel a strong desire to take on work, because he had tucked himself into a far corner of the market, sitting on a dull red rug with a shield embroidered on it.

  He peered up at Cassian from under the broad brim of his wine red hat, mild curiosity on his face. "Good morning, friend," he said, voice thick with a strange, foreign accent. "What brings you to the largest market in Fionni on this fine morning?"

  Cassian frowned as he looked Carpathea over. He had to admit he found Adalai's dress and attitude a bit curious. The man wore a black cloak that hung to his waist in the front but tapered down to knee length in the back. It didn't look particularly warm. Nor was it in fashion or serving to conceal armor or weapons. In fact he had set his two swords on the blanket beside him so as to sit at his ease so concealment was clearly not a priority to the man. Yet his pantaloons and dublet were unremarkable so displaying his sense of fashion wasn't a concern either.

  In short he was not dressed like a bravo. He wasn't flamboyant or flashy enough to be promoting himself nor was he really armed or armored in the way you might expect if he was working. Best to make sure this was the right man. Cassian braced his hands on his hips and said, "My name is Cassian Ironhand. I'm looking for Adalai Carpathea, the Arminger. Are you him?"

  "Yes. You came here to the market rather than tracking me to my inn and waiting there so I presume you want my services to commune with something rather than as a mercenary?" He asked Cassian the question with the detached attitude of the casual observer rather than someone trying to assess a prospective employer. At least that was Cassian's impression. His accent made his mood as hard to understand as his words.

  "You're correct," Cassian said. "Although depending on what you learn I may need to put together some bravos to mount a rescue. Would you be interested?"

  His sour look suggested he was not but Carpathea did not immediately answer the question. Instead he started tugging off one of his gloves, saying, "We'll see. Just to be clear, when I commune with an object the impressions I get are based on the residual thoughts, emotions and sensations left on the object by it's owner or owners. For example, if you need to learn where your crazy uncle buried his gold you better have brought his shovel with you. Or at least something he always carried with him. The facts I can glean from communing with something are not infinite."

  "I understand," Cassian said, although in truth he did not. However complete understanding of another person's Gift was rare and he didn't concern himself with it. Instead Cassian dug a piece of the axel of a large wagon out of his heavy leather shoulder bag. It was an iron hub cap, some splintered spokes and about two feet of axel. Cassian set it down on the blanket in front of Adalai. "This is from a wagon in a caravan that went missing crossing the Drownway. I was hoping you could tell me more about what happened."

  The other man took the piece of wood gingerly in his gloved hand then poked it with one finger of the other. His eyebrows shifted upward a barely perceptable amount. "Well there's definitely something there, which is surprising given that it's a wheel. Not to beat a dead horse but I don't know how much of use it will be to you. Thirty lira."

  That was nearly two days wages for a laborer. Cassian tried to control his surprise at Adalai's blunt demand. "That's a lot to ask for in exchange for a service you insist may not do me any good."

  "My Gift has limits just like anyone's, Cassian. I don't expect you to know what they are anymore than I know what the specifics of an Ironhand are." Adalai offered a dissolute shrug. "It's up to you to decide if it's worth it or not."

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  Cassian grit his teeth, realizing Carpathea had the strong hand over him and he knew it. "Would it serve as a preliminary retainer for your services as a bravo as well?"

  There was that sour look again. "No. I can't commit to such a step just yet, there are... other obligations that I would have to check in on before committing to leaving Fionni. Who else have you recruited for your cause? Do you have the lira for a large party?"

  "Not as such," Cassian admitted. "However the merchant who owned the caravan's cargo has offered a reward of two thousand lira if we can retrieve it, an extra five hundred if we can see it all the way to Renicie. I am offering equal shares to anyone who helps me retrieve it."

  "That... that isn't terrible," Carpathea admitted. "Still, I can't say whether I can join you yet. Will you pay for the reading?"

  Cassian sighed and dug a handful of coins of of his belt pouch. "Very well, Signore Carpathea, thirty lira for the reading. What can you learn?"

  Adalai pulled his other glove off and gasped the axel in both hands. "Whoever owned this cart took very good care of it," he muttered, concentration furrowing his brow. "It's extremely rare for something that primarily sits on the ground to have any impressions at all."

  "Wouldn't there be some from the craftsman who made it at least?"

  "Not unless it was very new, the traces fade quickly unless they've been reinforced for years." Adalai's face scrunched up as he concentrated. "Damp. Something very impatient and very moist. Jostling, dragging and blood? I think there was excitement mixed in with a sense of satisfaction but the emotional overtones are very fragmented."

  "Excitement and satisfaction?" Cassian frowned. "That doesn't make a lot of sense. No one looks forward to crossing the Drownway and a broken wagon wheel would be more a cause for heartache than excitement."

  "Not if you were planning to drag the wagon underwater," Adalai said, shifting the chunk of wood over into just his right hand. "I don't think that impression was left by the men of the caravan. It doesn't feel like the kind of impression a human leaves behind, the thoughts were jumbled and alien, especially the sensations, which are usually the clearest thing. My guess is the caravan got snatched by the Benthic. The wheel got caught as they dragged it into the water and they left these impressions as they tried to free it."

  Cassian was shaking his head now. "It makes no sense. What do the Benthic want with a caravan of air breather goods? A few days in salt water makes most of it useless."

  "I don't know, signore, but I know that wheel was last touched by something inhuman. I've never handled something belonging to the Benthic before but I have seen things from the Fair Folk and they're just as inscrutable as that wheel axel. Just with a different flavor, if you follow me."

  Cassian didn't. However he didn't have much choice other than to take Adalai at his word. Armingers weren't exactly rare in Nerona but there were perhaps half a dozen in the whole continent of Iberia who could use it to glean impressions the way Carpathea did. Finding anyone who could check the accuracy of his conclusions was virtually impossible. "The Benthic," Cassian muttered. "Really?"

  Adalai handed him the chunk of wood back. "I'm afraid so. Do you know what the cargo was? If it was something like marble or jewels it might survive."

  "Signore Marelli did not say, nor did he seem eager to explain himself." Which Cassian really couldn't blame him for, given that the Marelli family was the city's best known cat's paw for the Borgias. Crossing Nerona's most ruthless merchant leader wasn't a good way to live but it was a fast way to die.

  "What about the rescue you mentioned?" Carpathea asked. "Was that Signore Marelli's goal? Or yours?"

  Cassian's eyes narrowed. "Why do you ask?"

  The other man offered a shrug far easier to understand than his normal speech. "Call it a hunch."

  "Well if you must know it was mine. My brother is a bravo who was hired to guard the caravan. They're only two weeks overdue and I still hold hope to find him alive."

  Adalai's face fell. "I'm sorry about your brother but unless he had a Gift that helped him breath under water he's probably dead. Outside of the Benthic dragging him under the waves with them I can't think of any reason he'd be gone so long."

  "Cazador is a clayheart. He can turn completely to earth and stone in a pinch and once he does he didn't need to eat or breath. He just can't move either." Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose. "The problem is the cargo."

  For a moment Adalai looked confused. Then understanding dawned. "No reward money if the ocean has destroyed it."

  "None."

  For a moment Cassian just stood there brooding, trying to figure out how he was going to raise a rescue team with no promise of reward to entice them. He'd just determined he'd have to go alone when Adalai said, "Come by the Quarrelsome Widow tomorrow morning. That's where I'm staying right now. I should know if my other... patrons are willing to spare me for a few days by then."

  Cassian stare blankly at him. "You do realize the chances I can pay you are paltry to nonexistent, yes?"

  "Be there by midmorning bells, signore, or I'll assume you changed your mind about your rescue mission." Adalai sat back down on his blanket. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to try to earn some coin today. The next few days could be quite slow on that front."

  A grin slowly spread across Cassian's face. Perhaps he still had a chance to make this work after all. "Thank you, Signore Carpathea. I will see you in the morning."

  He hurried out of the square with a new spring in his step. There was still a chance to find Cazador. He was always the toughest of their parent's sons, even when they were young, and if anyone could survive under the ocean for weeks it was him. That was why he'd been the one to take up the life of a bravo in the first place. Cassian really only knew about the life from the stories he heard from Cazador and his customers at the smithy.

  Still, those stories had gotten him Adalai's name and from there a start on finding his brother.

  Yes, getting dragged into the ocean by the Benthic wasn't great as such things went. But bravos had survived worse things in the past and this wasn't just any bravo. It was his brother. He'd just have to hope Cazador could hold out until Cassian could put something together and come save him.

  Cassian knew he'd need more manpower to do that, though. It might have been difficult to find that manpower in any place other than Fionni but the Citadel was one of the largest ports on the Adriatic. There were plenty of desperate men willing to gamble their lives for a share of a few thousand lira. Fortunately he had a hunch where he should start. Cassian turned his feet towards the Slavic quarter and hurried there as fast as he could go.