Walk by the Shadows

XV. Dampened Spirits

The two-day journey to Whiterun was more pleasant than what she left Riften in. The skies cleared up after the storm and remained sunny; there was barely a cloud ever in the sky. Her carriage driver wasn't as talkative as the one she and Brynjolf had, but he would fill in the quiet air with singing.

Whiterun was the trading heart of Skyrim because of its central location in the province. The city sat upon a hill, separated into three sections: The Plains District, consisting of the business establishments, the Wind District, primarily residential, and the Clouds District, entirely dominated by Dragonsreach, the Jarl's palace. The wooden Dragonsreach perched at the top, looking out over the open plains of its Hold.

The carriage pulled to a stop at Whiterun's stables and Macayla headed up to the gate, following the road winding up the hill, watched by guards positioned atop the separate gates. She had been to the city many times before to rob it, so she blended in with the merchants and farmers travelling to the trading epicenter to sell their goods to prevent recognition.

The thief got in fine but stayed with the others as they headed for the marketplace. She had seen The Bannered Mare's sign before near the marketplace but had never visited that certain inn; she had always stayed at The Drunken Huntsman—fewer customers and less noise.

As soon as the group arrived at the noisy marketplace and the large inn came into sight, Macayla broke off and headed for it. She entered and made a quick sweep, looking for a man by himself and intentionally set away from everyone else. No one fit the criteria, but an open doorway sat to her left; she walked over to check it out. It was a room with another fireplace with a cooking spit over it. At the end, near a staircase leading to the second floor, chairs and a table sat in the corner, with a man in one of the chairs.

Macayla walked toward him, not noticing her approaching. He was a sly-looking man with stringy black hair.

"Maven said you're expecting me."

Mallus Maccius looked up at her. "You're a lot prettier than what I was expecting; maybe it'll still work." His voice was a lot deeper than what she expected.

She wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted. "Being pretty might jeopardize me?"

"You might not seem adequate for the job we're to do. We have to hope your arm is firm. Honningbrew's owner, Sabjorn, is about to hold a tasting for the captain of the Whiterun guard and we're going to poison the mead."

"Do you have the poison?"

He smiled deviously. "No, no. That's the beauty of the whole plan: we're going to get Sabjorn to give it to us. The meadery has quite a pest problem and the entire city knows about it. Pest poison and mead don't mix well. Know what I mean?"

She did. "How do I fit in?"

"You're going to happen by and lend poor old Sabjorn a helping hand. He's going to give you the poison to use it on the pests, but you're also going to dump it into the brewing vat."

"Clever."

Mallus nodded. "Maven and I spent weeks planning this. All we need is someone like you to get in there and get it done. Now get going before Sabjorn grows a brain and hires someone else to do the dirty work."

She left Whiterun in the same manner as she entered and headed to the southeast. After a few minutes of passing farms and their rotating windmills, she arrived at Honningbrew Meadery, a fairly large and sophisticated structure. A Brewhouse sat next to it, separate from the main building.

Macayla walked in and immediately saw proof of the pest problem: two skeevers lay dead. The room she entered was elegant, with a long bar opposite her with multiple bookshelves lining the walls with shiny dinnerware, goblets, and wine and mead bottles; except for the dead and bloody rodents. Sabjorn was a tall, slightly overweight man; he jumped at the door opening and turned toward it with wide eyes. His fear dissipated, and he scowled at her.