Filtered sunlight danced playfully across the ample greenery of the western quarter. Iskvold and Whydah strolled a wide promenade bordered by trimmed boxwoods. Children played on the green commons framed with residences on their left. To their right, cozy shops catering to the local clientele backed up against the garrison wall. The pace was slower than the commercial quarter, but the main promenade was just as busy.

  “This town is nicer than I expected.” Whydah proclaimed. “But, aside from knocking on doors around the common, which feels pretty intrusive, I guess we just ask around these businesses and see if anyone knows him?” Catching her friend gawping around with a grin on her face, Whydah placed her hand on the drow’s forearm. “Hello?”

  “What? Oh, yeah, that sounds good.” Iskvold replied idly, her gaze quickly turning back to ogle a dress shop.

  “Wait…” Whydah held out her arm, bringing the taller woman to a halt. “Have you never been in a town before?”

  Eyes wide with excitement, lips pressed tightly together, Iskvold subtly shook her head. “Never. I’ve spent my whole life at the abbey, you know, or the nearby mountains.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I mean, maybe with my mom, when I was really young, but I don’t remember.” The drow took a long look around before coming back to meet Whydah’s stunned expression. “This is fantastic!” she whispered, vibrating with excitement.

  Whydah laughed out loud. “Wait until you get to see Buhlent or Glahaneth. Imagine this, but ten times bigger!”

  “You’ve been to those cities?” Iskvold asked, her smile momentarily fading as a human man walking in the opposite direction shot her a disapproving, almost fearful look.

  “Sure, Bird and I spent quite a while in both,” Whydah replied as the pair continued to walk.

  “Of course you have.” Iskvold’s attention turned back to Whydah, her eyes mysterious as a playful grin spread across her face. “Speaking of Bird, does he know how you feel about him?”

  Whydah stopped dead, turning to face the drow woman, her mouth agape. “What are you talking about?”

  Iskvold’s smile never faltered. “I may not be well-travelled, but I see the way you look at him,” she giggled, “I’ve worn that expression myself a few times.”

  Whydah felt the heat rising rapidly in her cheeks. She folded her arms in resignation. “No, he doesn’t know—and you can never tell him!” Her index finger jutted stiffly through the air between them.

  The drow threw her head back with a triumphant laugh. “I knew it!”

  The halfling’s eyebrows arched, her gaze stony. “Promise me, swear to Gond you won’t tell him!”

  “Okay, Okay, I promise!” Iskvold surrendered. Trying desperately to match her friend’s seriousness, she pressed her lips tight together, stifling a smile before simulating a locking motion with an invisible key and tossing it over her shoulder.

  “I just keep hoping he’ll figure it out,” Whydah muttered as the two resumed their leisurely pace. “I mean, he can’t really believe that I enjoy travelling around hunting treasure and robbing people, can he?” She looked to her friend for validation. “He’s got to realize I’m doing it for him at some point, right?”

  Iskvold grimaced, cocking her head to the side. “I’m not the most experienced as far as relationships go, but I’ve found men to be a little clueless about these things sometimes. More than once, I’ve had to be extremely blunt about how I felt, or I’d still be waiting.”

  Whydah’s mouth dropped open as she turned. “You had relationships…at the abbey?”

  Iskvold shrugged. “Why not? Just because it’s a place of worship? Please! People are still people.” She spread her hands, and her tone became exaggerated. “We all have needs, Whydah!”

  The halfling rolled her eyes during a head shake. “We’re not talking about this!”

  Iskvold wouldn’t let it go. “Speaking of needs, are you two even physically, you know, compatible?”

  The halfling stopped again, the color rising on her cheeks for the second time in as many minutes. “Stop!” she slapped her friend’s arm before pausing. Her gaze momentarily distant, she continued in a hesitant tone. “I assume so. Why wouldn’t we be?”

  “I don’t know…he’s a Tabby?” Iskvold shrugged, leaving the question hanging.

  Whydah shook it off. “We’re a long way from there. I’m not even going to think about it.”

  Iskvold sized her friend up. “You think he might be your person, don’t you?”

  The halfling tipped her head to one side, a coy grin rising to her lips. “Maybe…”

  It was the drow’s turn to grab her friend’s forearm. “Then you have to tell him at some point. You owe it to yourself, Whydah! Whether he feels the same or not, you have to take your shot!”

  “Maybe, when the time is right,” she conceded. “But not now. There’s too much serious shit going on.” She took the drow’s hands in hers. “Just promise me you won’t say anything. I don’t want the situation to get weird!”

  “You have my word,” Iskvold said solemnly, holding the bard’s gaze.

  Whydah nodded once. “Good.” She fixed her friend with a stern visage. “Now, I suggest we focus on finding Ferrier. We’ve walked half the distance of the entire garrison wall without making a single inquiry!”

  The pair decided to continue to the northwest corner of the garrison wall and work their way back toward the meeting point at the Smashed Skull. Before entering the first establishment, Whydah felt a tingle at the base of her skull, followed by Tsuta’s message, physically describing their quarry. Relaying the details to her partner, the two stepped into a cheese shop on the corner.

  Forty-five minutes and twelve rejections later, they regrouped on a bench facing the common.

  Iskvold let out a sigh. “This is a waste of time. There must be a better way.”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t think of one,” Whydah commiserated. “If I’d met him before, I could use magic, like I did with the Sklir on the mountainside, but I don’t think Tsuta’s description is enough.” She turned the problem over in her mind. “If we had something he’d touched, or he had an object we knew well, we could use those, potentially…” The halfling shook her head. “But, we have neither of those.”

  Bells began to peal inside the fort, though the locals paid the alarm little notice. Iskvold smiled at a child strolling past with her mother. When she raised her eyes to the parent, the return gaze was frosty, even suspicious. Without speaking, the woman placed her hand on the child’s shoulder, directing her quickly down the promenade.

  “The town is pretty, but I’ve been getting nasty looks all afternoon. What’s that about? Do they have something against monks?”

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  Whydah sighed. She looked at the ground, her lips pursed. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Not monks specifically. Look around at the people in this neighborhood, what do you notice?”

  Iskvold watched the passersby for a long moment before replying. “They’re well dressed, obviously have money…mostly human, with the odd elf mixed in.”

  “Do you see any halflings…or drow?”

  “There were definitely some halflings in the southern quarter, and dwarves,” she pointed out.

  “In the commercial district, sure, but this is residential,” Whydah responded in the same hushed tone, before directing a subtle up nod toward a nearby sentry. “The guards, too, they’ve kept a close eye on us since we got here.”

  “Are you saying we don’t belong in this part of town?” Iskvold’s voice was incredulous, her volume rising.

  Whydah placed one hand on her friend’s leg, lowering her open palm towards the ground with the other. “Not at all, I’m saying they may not think we belong here. Bird and I run into it a lot, especially in smaller human towns. They can be, shall we say, close-minded about people who look different.” Whydah’s look was sympathetic as she took Iskvold’s hand in hers. “Don’t forget, you’re likely the only drow these people have ever seen. Dark elves don’t mix much with the other races, and some of the history doesn’t exactly paint them with a friendly brush either.”

  Iskvold pulled her hand back in shock, her pink eyes flashing. “You’re saying they’re judging me on sight, purely based on my heritage? That’s horrible, I’m no more one of them,” her voice dripping with disdain, “than you are! Sifu would pummel anyone at the abbey who behaved like that!”

  The halfling’s lips were tightly pressed together as she offered a half-shrug. “Not all of them, obviously, and not just you. The same thing happens to me, too. Just be aware of it.”

  Iskvold looked around, seeing the locals in a different light when her gaze landed on a café patio to her left. “Wait, what was Tsuta’s description of Ferrier again?”

  Whydah thought for a moment before recounting the monk’s words. “About fifty, human, medium height, shifty gaze with a pinched face, looking like he’s always slightly disgusted.”

  The drow turned to her, lips curled in a smirk, before tipping her head over her left shoulder. “Like that guy, over there? Check out his wardrobe, he looks more like us than them.” The drow broke eye contact as she finished her sentence, circling the common with her eyes.

  Whydah leaned forward to glance past her friend. A lone human sat at a table overlooking the promenade, poring over papers spread out in front of him, a pot of tea at his elbow. His clothing, though once fine, was now frayed and faded. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the man for a moment. “No way. That could totally be him!”

  The pair could barely contain their excitement as they plotted their approach from the bench.

  “Remember, he’s a Dominion operative, so we have to be careful about what we say. Don’t give away too much,” Whydah coached the drow.

  “Right. We need to learn as much as we can about how they operate.” Iskvold looked around, noting three sentries spread out along the promenade. “And as much as I’d like to, I don’t think we can get away with beating it out of him…at least not here.”

  Whydah chuckled. “Definitely not. I can hear the town crier already—'Evil drow rampages through western quarter, injuring several.’ The Town Guard would have us in chains for that, no question.”

  “Should we let the others know?” Iskvold asked.

  Whydah shook her head. “Not yet. First, we need to confirm it’s actually him.” She studied the café, drawing on everything Bird had taught her before clucking her tongue in disbelief. He isn’t even trying to hide! They’re so confident in their secret that he’s sitting right out in the open, writing contracts to help undermine the kingdom! Her hands clenched into fists. We’ll see how bold you are once the Hub circulates the news about your leader! Conscious of her prolonged silence, she shook herself back into the moment.

  “Why don’t I go in separately and sit at a table nearby so I can watch him, and cast subtly, if needed. Then you come in and engage him. Once we’re sure it’s Ferrier, I’ll let the others know. What do you think?”

  “I like it!” Iskvold confirmed. “How about I give you a few minutes' head start, so it doesn’t look too well-timed?

  “Perfect.” The bard stood up and casually strode toward the café. Several vacant tables on the patio allowed Whydah to pick one that offered a clear view of the man they believed was Ferrier, calling for a pot of tea from the attendant as she passed. Now, afforded a closer look, she subtly studied his appearance and activity.

  Multiple official-looking papers lay spread out on the table, his index finger sliding down the rows of text as he read, occasionally shifting to a different document, presumably making comparisons. His face was weary, with dark circles under his eyes, and his complexion pale, even sallow. When he raised his head, she casually turned to observe the commons as the waitress plopped a pot of tea, a cup, and a saucer in front of her.

  “Any biscuits?” the elven woman asked.

  “Why not! Just a small plate, please?” Whydah confirmed.

  The woman nodded, returning promptly with a saucer of four shortbreads crisscrossed with chocolate drizzle.

  “Thank you.” Whydah dropped two coppers into the woman’s hand before returning to her reconnaissance.

  He cradled his forehead between his ink-stained thumb and forefinger, shaking his head in apparent disbelief. His face curdled in anguish before he straightened up with a sigh, draining the remains of his teapot into his cup and taking a long sip. Whoever this man was, he clearly wasn’t happy with his work.

  Whydah filled her teacup and idly nibbled a biscuit before her gaze was drawn to Iskvold striding into view along the promenade. Locking eyes, she gave the drow woman a faint nod before the latter turned briskly into the café, stepping directly to their quarry with purpose.

  Iskvold stood at his elbow for a moment before tapping the butt of her staff against the cobblestones. The man looked up.

  “Garrett Ferrier?” she asked, her tone firm and confident.

  He sized up the drow monk standing armed before him before letting out a sigh. “I hate my life,” he muttered under his breath, checking both shoulders to confirm the sentries' positions before addressing her directly. “Let me guess, you need help getting some of our friends out of jail?”

  Whydah, already pulling the copper wire from her sleeve, felt the back of her neck tingle before it coursed down her spine. He thinks she’s part of the Dominion, too! Come on, Pinky, roll with it! The seconds stretched interminably as both she and Ferrier watched the drow consider her response. Finally, Iskvold responded.

  “What do you think?” was all she said.

  Whydah smiled to herself. Well done!

  Ferrier looked around once more. “I think you lot have to be more careful. If you keep getting tossed in the cells, sooner or later, one of those numpty guards will notice your tattoos and common representation,” he brought his open palm up under his chin, “and put two and two together!”

  Iskvold stayed silent, letting him rant.

  “You know what? Ultimately, I don’t care if you fail. Frankly, Venn would be better off if you did.” He covered his face with his hands, elbows on the table. “You know I was walking through the garrison market yesterday, and nearly took a header off the high wall. I was ready to step off and end this torment.” He swept his hand across the vista of the promenade. “I don’t know how you Reapers do it, constantly kidnapping innocent people to feed-”

  With a sparkle of red energy, the sound coming from his mouth suddenly cut off before his jaw clamped shut. Ferrier’s head snapped up, eyes wide, realizing his misstep. Sweat instantly dampening his forehead, he rounded on Iskvold. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  Catching her sidelong glance toward Whydah, his eyes narrowed, gaze alternating between the two of them as he assessed the threat. A tense silence stretched the seconds before he pushed back his chair. “I don’t know what you two are playing at, but I’m leaving-”

  Whydah rose first, her heart hammering as her mind raced to process what she’d just heard and seen. His reaction was surprising, but the arcane effect, instantly compelling his silence, came out of nowhere. The copper wire slid back into her pocket as she frantically looked around for the spell’s caster, messaging the others entirely forgotten. Finding no one suspicious, she reassessed Ferrier. They were expecting a cynical operative, resolutely behind the Dominion’s cause—a tough nut to crack. This man was no more than a miserable bureaucrat tethered by some magical leash. She tried to still the butterflies in her stomach. We can turn him!

  Thinking quickly, she picked up her teacup and the plate of biscuits and set them down across the table from Ferrier before pulling out the chair.

  “You could do that,” she acknowledged, her expression flat, voice dripping with insinuation. “And struggle through each day until you finally work up enough courage to throw yourself from the top of the wall…” She locked eyes with him as she sat, her brows arching. “Or, you could sit and listen to an alternative that might return both your sanity and your free will.”

  From the corner of her eye, Whydah watched Iskvold’s legs tense, her knuckles white on the staff, ready to act if their prey tried to bolt. Ferrier’s expression was flat, his face unreadable. With his hands clutching the arms of the chair, his muscles constantly flexed and relaxed. He’s not going to go for it!

  From out of nowhere, a familiar, black-furred paw fell heavily on Ferrier’s shoulder, causing the man to flinch violently. The halfing looked up to see Bird, his muscular frame leaning across the patio railing. He gave her a quick wink before bringing his face right to Ferrier’s ear, whiskers brushing the man’s cheek as he let out a soft, predatory purr. “I suggest you have a biscuit and hear them out. The wall will still be there tomorrow.”

  The Glimmerstone Enigma and The Siremirian Conundrum?

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