Diffraction

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Bloodhound

"The Bloodhound's arrival complicated matters. Few outside the Conclave have any inclination of his activities. Your insight into his affairs is probably better than what this report can hope to provide."

Jahrin stepped forward between his allies and Ellers' stern captor. "What do you want, Bloodhound?" Your services wouldn't be wasted on a street thief snatching coins.

To his right, a door creaked as Merror led Ferrin into the kitchen of the Sunlit Refuge.

The silent welcoming hall pricked Jahrin's nerves and he scanned the room. He may have driven out other customers—that doesn't mean he came alone. The Aeramental's pistol crossbows set upon the bench caught Jahrin's attention. Not pointed at us—one left to ensure Ellers' obedience, but the other is casually set aside.

Lyllithe whispered behind Jahrin, "Do you know this man?"

Jahrin turned to her and answered loud enough for everyone to hear. "This is Vaerandir, a servant of sorts to Lord Mayor Tenegar. They call Vaerandir the Bloodhound because he specializes in ferreting out enemies of the City. Or perhaps of the Lord Mayor."

"Usually those are one and the same," Vaerandir replied. He took another bite of roast, then beckoned with the fork for Jahrin and his allies to sit.

Jahrin stood firm, arms crossed, while the others complied.

Lyllithe paused as she passed, and Jahrin noted a flare from her Gracemark. She whispered, "He's morally conflicted, but good at heart."

It's not him I'm worried about. What about the one who sent him?

Vaerandir said nothing, so Jahrin broke the silence. "If you've been dispatched on a hunt by the Order of the Golden Sun accusing us of disrupting peace, we've done nothing wrong. Witnesses will attest that we fought off a full rift-spawn of Fractured."

The pale man scoffed. "I try to avoid the Order unless the Lord Mayor requires it of me."

"I'll not apologize for what we've done to confront raiders beyond the Wall. Certainly the citizens under Aulivar's so-called protection are entitled to self-defense."

"No, no, I'm not here about that." Vaerandir paused before taking another bite. "Not exactly. I really am here because of the coins this one stands accused of stealing." He gestured toward Ellers and the coins on the table.

"Where is his accuser?" Jahrin pointed at the stack of gold. "Master Nimblefoot's coinpurse is filled not by theft but reward for noble deeds in defense of this City."

"Well, there's a man in the Market who believes otherwise."

Jahrin's eyes narrowed. "Are merchants so prosperous as to secure your services, while commoners are slain outside the Walls? Have you taken to patrolling the Market Square for the tradesmen and wealthy?"

Vaerandir shrugged. "I get bored. And this is a special case. Not every cutpurse sneaks one of these into the City." He pulled a dark leather sheath from under his cloak on the bench and dropped Ellers' long knife onto the table.

Jahrin sighed and glared at Ellers, gagged and bound. The Mudborn's eyes seemed panicked and he shook his head to protest, his words muffled.

Focused on dinner, Vaerandir absently waved two fingers toward the small thief. The gag unwound and fell between Ellers' legs onto the floor.