[Ren’s POV]
The old counting houses stood on the eastern edge of Haremdale City’s merchant quarter, where the paved streets narrowed and the buildings grew older. Most had been abandoned when the newer warehouses were built closer to the river, but a few still served as storage offices for merchants who preferred to keep certain transactions away from prying eyes.
According to Sera, her courier had been heading towards that district when he disappeared. He was expected back yesterday evening, and now, with the morning already underway, she had reason to believe something had gone wrong.
Finding one missing man in a city like Haremdale shouldn’t have been difficult. Finding one who had apparently vanished while carrying a document important enough for Sera Voss to ask me personally to recover it was another matter. Still, I had agreed to the arrangement, and I intended to hold up my end of it. Sera had promised to help me find Joseph and the Dale sisters. Until I had something useful to offer her, however, I couldn’t expect much in return.
I checked the street as I walked, taking note of the shops, the side alleys, and the handful of guards patrolling the busier intersections. The city was already awake. Merchants shouted prices over their counters, porters hauled crates through narrow passages, and the smell of fresh bread drifted from a bakery on the corner. The farther east I went, the quieter the streets became. Here, neglected buildings stood beside workshops still in use, their wooden signs faded by years of rain and sunlight. Several doors had been boarded up, while others bore new locks on old frames.
I stopped at a food stall near the entrance to the district and bought a piece of bread. The vendor was an older man with thick arms and flour on his apron. He watched me count out the coins before glancing towards the abandoned buildings behind me.
"Looking for someone?" he asked.
"Perhaps. A courier who was supposed to pass through here yesterday. Brown hair, a scar along his jaw. Have you seen him?"
The man rubbed his chin. "Might have. Plenty of couriers come through."
"This one never returned to his employer."
That earned me a longer look. The vendor lowered his voice. "Then you should be careful where you ask questions. There are men who use those old buildings for business they don’t want the city guard knowing about."
"What sort of business?"
"The sort that doesn’t concern me." He turned to serve another customer, making it clear that I wouldn’t get anything else from him.
I finished the bread and continued down the street. The warning wasn’t much, but it gave me a place to start. If the courier had stumbled into an illicit transaction, he might have been detained. If he’d been carrying something valuable, someone might have decided it was easier to take it from him than let him deliver it.
I found my next lead outside a building with a faded sign depicting a set of scales. A young porter was loading sacks onto a handcart while an older man stood nearby, checking the contents against a ledger. I approached the porter first, described the courier, and received a shake of the head. The older man, however, stopped writing.
"The fellow with the scar?" he asked.
"That’s him."
"He was here yesterday. Just before the lamps were lit. Spoke to someone near the old counting house at the end of the lane."
"Did you see who he was speaking to?"
"No. The other man kept his back turned. They seemed to be arguing about something, though. Your courier wasn’t happy."
"Did he leave with the other man?"
The older man considered the question. "I saw them head towards the building. I didn’t see either of them come back out."
I thanked him and headed towards the end of the lane. The building stood between a shuttered warehouse and a residence with boarded windows. Its sign had been removed, leaving a pale rectangle on the brickwork, but the door had a newer lock than the rest of the fittings. Someone had been maintaining the place despite its neglected appearance.
I walked past without stopping, then turned into the narrow alley beside it. A rear entrance was half hidden behind a stack of broken crates. The door had been forced recently. Fresh splinters lay near the threshold, and muddy marks crossed the stone towards the building’s interior.
I rested my hand on my sword and listened. There was no movement outside, only the distant noise of the street. I pushed the door open carefully.
Inside, the counting house smelled of damp wood, old paper, and dust. The main room was empty, with several counters lining the walls and shelves that had once held ledgers. Most of the furniture had been removed, but the floor told a different story. Footprints crossed the dust, and a trail of muddy marks led towards a staircase at the back.
I followed them down.
The cellar was larger than I’d expected, divided into several rooms by thick wooden partitions. A single oil lamp illuminated the nearest one. Three men occupied it. One stood beside a table covered in papers, another leaned against the wall, and the third sat on a wooden chair with his hands tied behind his back.
Brown hair. Narrow face. Scar running from his left ear to his jaw.
I’d found my courier.
He looked up when I entered. Relief flashed across his face, quickly replaced by alarm when he noticed the sword at my side. The man beside the table stepped between us.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"Someone looking for a missing courier."
"Then you’ve come to the wrong place."
I glanced at the man in the chair. His lip was split, and a bruise had begun spreading across his cheek. He was conscious, at least, and didn’t appear to have suffered anything that would prevent him from walking.
"Looks like I’ve found the right place after all."
The third man, broad across the shoulders with a short beard and a knife hanging from his belt, pushed away from the wall. "You think you’re going to walk in here and take him?"
"I’d prefer to leave without making a mess. Let him go, and we’ll all save ourselves some trouble."
The man beside the table gave a short laugh. "You don’t know what you’re interfering with."
"That’s usually how these things begin."
I watched their hands as I spoke. The man by the table was trying to look confident, but his eyes kept moving towards the papers. The bearded man was less subtle. His fingers had already settled around the handle of his knife.
I had no reason to believe these men were particularly skilled, but three opponents in a confined room were still three opponents. My combat stats gave me confidence in a confrontation, not a guarantee that I would walk away uninjured. More importantly, the courier was tied to a chair behind them. If I rushed in carelessly, he could end up caught in the middle.
"Last chance," I said. "Let him go."
The bearded man drew his knife.
So much for talking.
He rushed me with more enthusiasm than skill. I stepped aside, caught his wrist, and drove my elbow into his shoulder. His grip loosened, and the knife clattered against the floor. I shoved him into the table hard enough to send papers sliding off the edge. The second man came at me while I was turning. I caught his forearm, redirected his momentum, and struck him in the stomach. He doubled over, giving me enough room to push him away.
The third reached beneath his coat. I didn’t wait to find out what he intended to pull out. I closed the distance and struck him across the jaw. He stumbled into the wall and slid down to the floor.
The exchange lasted only a few seconds. I stood still, watching them long enough to make sure none of them was about to get up and try again.
"That could have gone better," I said.
The bearded man groaned and rolled onto his side. The second remained bent over, one hand pressed to his stomach, while the third seemed content to stay where he was.
I sheathed my sword and crossed the room to cut the courier’s bindings. He rubbed his wrists, wincing as he stood.
"Can you walk?"
"Yes." He glanced at the men on the floor. "Who sent you?"
"Sera Voss."
His expression changed. "Mistress Voss sent you?"
"She sent me to find you and recover a document. I assume that’s why you’re here, although I’d appreciate an explanation before I start making assumptions."
The courier looked towards the table. A leather case lay beneath a stack of papers. Its clasp had been broken, and several sheets had been scattered around it. He hurried over, searching through the contents with trembling fingers until he found a sealed envelope. He examined the seal, then checked the remaining papers before letting out a breath.
"They wanted this," he said.
"Who are they?"
"I don’t know their names. One approached me yesterday and said he had a message for Mistress Voss concerning a delayed shipment. He told me to meet him here so we could settle the matter privately. When I arrived, they took me inside and demanded the document."
"And you refused."
"It’s not mine to give away."
I looked at the men. The one who had reached beneath his coat was now sitting against the wall, holding his jaw and glaring at me.
"Any of you want to explain what this document is?"
None answered.
I sighed. "I thought not."
The courier returned the papers to the case and fastened the clasp as best he could. His hands were still shaking, but he seemed determined to finish the job he’d been given.
"They knew what I was carrying," he said quietly. "They knew where I was going and when I’d be there. Someone must have told them."
"Someone who knew your route, or someone who knew what you were delivering."
He looked at me. "You think there’s a difference?"
"Sometimes. We shouldn’t assume we know which one it is yet."
I didn’t know whether the men had been hired to steal the document, whether they were acting on their own, or whether someone inside Sera’s operation had given them information. It was tempting to settle on the most obvious explanation, but that would have been careless. I had come here to recover a document, not to invent a conspiracy before I knew what had happened.
I helped the courier towards the stairs. He limped slightly, but he insisted he could manage. We left through the rear entrance and took a different route back towards the merchant quarter. He remained quiet until we reached a busier street, where the noise of passing carts made it difficult for anyone to follow our conversation.
"Did you see anyone else around the counting house?" I asked.
"No. I was watching the man who approached me. I didn’t notice anyone else until they came out of the building."
"Did they ask you anything about Mistress Voss?"
"They asked what I knew about her business. I told them I was a courier, not one of her clerks. They didn’t believe me."
"Perhaps they were looking for more than the document."
"Perhaps." He looked down at the case. "I just want to get this back to her."
We reached a small inn near the centre of the merchant quarter. I paid for a room where he could rest while I returned to Sera’s estate. He protested at first, insisting he should deliver the document himself, but I pointed out that he could barely stand without wincing. Eventually, he handed me the case.
"Tell Mistress Voss I’m sorry," he said. "I should have been more careful."
"Tell her yourself when you’re feeling better. I suspect she’ll have questions for you."
He gave me a worried look. "You don’t know her very well, do you?"
"Not yet."
"Then be careful what you promise her."
It was an interesting warning, though not a particularly surprising one. People who operated behind the scenes tended to develop reputations. I thanked him, made sure he had everything he needed, and left for Sera’s estate. The courier was safe, the document was recovered, and I had fulfilled my side of the bargain. Now it was Sera’s turn to keep hers.