The Charlatan

01. Shooting the Messenger

The bar hummed with nervous morning banter. The barkeeper poured round after round of cheap spirits while the morning crowd continued to chatter. On any other day, the crowd may have talked of recent family dramas, the new shop opening in the Vendor District, or their swiftly growing bank tabs. But the Citadel gossip today was on one single thing: the King's Deal.

"How much gold do you reckon we managed to lift from them this time?"

"Do you think the King will build another hydro plant with it?"

Clara slipped past the excited bar crowd to use the latrine. She was relieved, in more ways than one, to finally sit down in a familiar place. As a courier, her work saw her travel to many beautiful and exciting places, but there was something regular about the capital that she missed when she was away. The excited chatter, new businesses frantically advertising their wares, decade-old businesses ringing up customer after customer, and the buzz of couriers weaving in and out of it all were soothing constants. They were sounds of home.

She had barely been back in the city a minute when whispers of the "King's Deal" reached Clara's ears. The monarch of the country of Velt spoiled his citizens with wealth beyond that of any ruling generation before him. At the center of the continent, a wealthy and rapidly growing country like Velt held power over anyone who wanted to do anything profitable. Velt was massive. Rich. Every move the King made to build wider or taller was an instant success. It went without saying that Velt would continue to prosper.

And yet, it was being said.

As she tidied herself and washed her face in the water basin, Clara's thoughts returned to work. Her curiosity might soon be relieved, because she was on her way directly to the King. After that, home. Clara ached all over, and the cool air of the early morning was starting to seep through to her bones.

As she made her way past the chattering crowd again, a familiar voice pierced the babble.

"Clara! In early from your latest assignment? I've a bone to pick with you over our last round of Whistler's Trail, what say you to a morning bout?" The barkeeper's assistant, a young lady with sparkling eyes whistled over to Clara enthusiastically. She chuckled at Clara's crude retort in response. "Then yeh better come by for moonrise. On me!" She waved after Clara theatrically before tending to a rather sour-looking gentleman who had just walked in. Charlie was a former classmate of Clara's who had dropped out of courier training to become a barkeeper. You are stronger than I, Clara. I have not the heart to curse out those that would take advantage of me out in the wilds. The warmth and safety of the Citadel are where I'll lay my strengths. Clara was fond of Charlie's warm smile (and tolerance for her foul mouth), but was also a little bitter that Charlie had the privilege of watching the Citadel day by day. Clara decided that she would gladly come by at moonrise for updates on the latest capital gossip, and to contribute complaints about her own adventures.

But at this moment, Clara carried a message of critical importance for the country's imperial monarch. What the message contained exactly, Clara didn't know. She never did. Opening or tampering with a message was a violation of the courier creed, and equivalent to high treason. Especially if said message was for the highest authority of the richest country on the earth. Clara's thoughts swam with scenes of her plunging into mountainous piles of gold after she completed such a significant delivery. All her years of scurrying across the continent on courier duties were going to pay off. In shining gold. She would be free to do what she'd like. She could spend hours upon hours defeating Charlie in unlimited rounds of Whistler's Trail. She could tip generously. She could probably even retire young. Ideas bounced around her head as she made her way to the center of the Citadel.