The King's Messenger

Chapter 12

Messenger released the pendant, feeling some sort of mixture of troubled and lightened. Eden's headaches were never good, and the timing of it was nearly ruinous. It was excellent, however, that the captain was on Eden's side- even better if he were on Eden's side and not his father's. Yes, having the king's army on his side would be notably useful for what they planned to do.

For now, though, Messenger would focus on his role- getting the common folk on Eden's side.

The trafficking ring likely hadn't been just the refinery's business; no, flash production and slaving were too major for that. The refinery was likely just part of a larger network entrapping Amar's lower levels and underbelly. The best way to go about finding information, Messenger had found, was to seat himself in a seedy, off-putting tavern or a gambling den with frightening enforcers and wait for alcohol-loosened lips to tell him the story of the city.

In Messenger's white attire, he might have attracted a bit too much attention to be welcome, but his uniform had been so fortuitously run through and stained red. Lias's ensemble would be perfect for his role tonight.

In this part of Amar, where streets and people stayed dirty, each tavern seemed just about as seedy as the next. It didn't take Messenger long to find an appropriate target, with unrefined cacophony sounding within, and enter.

The inside of the tavern was several noticeable degrees warmer than the already-warm outside. Messenger was surrounded by rough voices and correspondingly rough people, and the air smelled of cheap alcohol. He made his way through the crowd and sat at the bar, where the barkeep awaited customers, wiping glasses with a stained rag.

"What'll it be?" the bearded barkeep asked gruffly.

"Beer," Messenger said, tossing a couple coins on the counter. Good thing he always kept some money in his boots. Else, they may have been weighing a certain dead trafficker's pockets down.

The barkeep filled a glass with beer and slid it over to Messenger, who took a hesitant sip. Watery. Oh, well. Messenger wasn't here for the beer.

Messenger settled in for a long wait, sipping his drink very occasionally. It was still early, the sun barely having passed the horizon, so none of the patrons were usefully drunk yet.

As the hours dripped by, the bar only grew louder and rowdier. A group of men at a table nearby graced the tavern with a noisy, uncoordinated song- what they lacked in intonation, they made up for with enthusiasm. Another man, to Messenger's right, lamented to the barkeep about how his lover had left him and how he'd only been unfaithful "the one time... er, two. I mean two women." To his credit, the barkeep looked impressively unimpressed by the man's assurances that she had made the mistake.

Behind Messenger, a reedy-voiced man boasted his newfound employment. Messenger almost passed by it when something caught his ear.

"...had trouble wit' the last shipment," he was saying. "The... passengers, we'll say, didn't go quietly. So now they're hiring more fightin' men. There's good money in it, too."

Messenger surreptitiously scooted over on the bar, as much as he could without pissing off the patrons next to him, to get a better earful.

"Er at least, that's what they said. But I heard..." Messenger risked a look behind him; the man had leaned in to speak to his compatriots. Damn. He couldn't hear over the general din. Looking around, he stood and walked past the group sitting at a table as casually as he could, standing at the edge of another group, not so close so that they would wonder why he was intruding, but close enough that a shallow glance wouldn't find him standing oddly alone.