Madlands

15. Torin

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Clearly, silversmithing had been just a side-hobby for Torin. Whatever this was, this was his real passion.

Mando was standing in the centre of the main room of Torin's small home—a small apartment on the second floor of a rustic, stone and clay, two-unit building only a couple of streets from the lake. He was surrounded by what looked like intense and involved research, covering almost every inch of every wall and flat surface, but on which subject he wasn't sure.

Not for the first time since he'd left the lodge, he wished that Grey was with him. She would be in her element. In fact, he suspected that her apartment may well look like this, if she kept a regular apartment, and not just a series of scattered and sparse crash-pads. It suddenly felt dissatisfying that he didn't know if she had a place that she considered home. He hadn't asked, but she would have been unlikely to answer him even if he had.

The maps, charts, tables, lists, and sketches that lined the walls appeared to cover a variety of topics. Some of them looked as if Torin might have drafted them himself. The books—real books, these really were reclusive, tech-weary worlds—stacked on tables and chairs had titles ranging across a dozen fields of study. Mando did notice some recurring subjects: Cereda, the Icaria system, geology, political science, history of the Madlands, and there were even a few read-outs about Ministry activity strewn about.

He didn't know where to start, but at least there might be something to find here.

Torin's smithy, Mando's first stop, had yielded nothing. It was a no-nonsense place of work—just the tools, supplies, and simple machinery required for his work, some recently completed projects, and a ledger to keep track of customer orders. Mando had scanned the entries around the time of the other Mandalorian's visit, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

The common-house hadn't been any more helpful. He'd figured it wouldn't be, but still stopped by as it was on the way between the man's shop and his home—as the best watering holes often were. The bar-keep had directed him to Torin's guild-mates, but without Grey to navigate the local intricacies and customs, they'd shown no keen interest in revealing any of their late friend's personal business.

Standing in the midst of what looked more like a research lab than a living room, Mando seriously considered leaving and coming back with Grey in the morning, assuming that she'd be feeling better by then. He was taking one last scan of what was probably Torin's desk, buried somewhere under all the documentation, when he noticed the corner of a very well worn book peeking out from under an unfolded star chart. With the chart pulled aside, the cover of the book revealed Torin's full name inlayed across the centre in a small, fine calligraphy.

Mando flipped it open to a page about mid-way through. It was his journal. He quickly turned to the approximate time-frame of Torin's visit from the Mandalorian, and started reading. Eight entries in, he found it. "Morning went fine once Bec finally delivered the coal—she keeps getting later and I keep getting colder. Unexpected visit in the afternoon, very unexpected. My old friend Paz. Still as huge as ever. Said I've grown smaller. Bah. Obviously, closed the shop to catch up, though he wouldn't stay long. But at least I know where he's headed, as he was lookin' for guidance on that. Sent him to the Deep Fountain. Maybe l can visit."

Paz.

It was the solid proof that his remaining Tribe was, or at least had been, here. Everything up until this moment had been hopeful and likely but unsubstantiated. And he had something else now, too.

The Deep Fountain.

It sounded like, whatever and wherever that was, it might not be too distant, if Torin spoke of a possible future visit.