Royce remained in his room until after midday.

  Hadrian and Gwen had spent the early morning hours cleaning up the Turtle. The biggest hurdle, by far, was re-stuffing the mattresses. Just collecting all the feathers had been a big job. Gwen, being the expert on restoring order to desecrated bedrooms, barked orders at Hadrian, who responded like a dutiful foot soldier. Working together, Hadrian’s, Gwen’s, and Albert’s beds had been pretty much restored. Then their attention had been turned to the common area. In a surprisingly short time, the Turtle was set as close to right as possible.

  They were just finishing up when Albert returned, appearing surprisingly chipper. Gwen had insisted on going to the market, and the two had gone out shopping?—?she for something to cook, he for a new hat. As far as Hadrian could tell, Arcadius?—?like Royce?—?was sleeping late.

  When Hadrian’s partner finally came down, the thief looked about as happy as a cat dragged through a storm drain. Royce spoke no more than a dozen words?—?most of them variations of no. The thief skipped breakfast, which at the time could only have meant fruit from the courtyard because Gwen hadn’t yet returned.

  Donning his cloak and growling something about getting the lousy job over with, Royce led the way out and Hadrian followed.

  The first step in satisfying their contract would be finding Gravis Berling. According to Albert, Lord Byron had no idea where Gravis lived. Tur Del Fur wasn’t like Rochelle, where all the dwarfs were forced to cluster in a designated portion of the city. Still, Hadrian found it odd, and more than sad, that a person could work at a place for nearly a hundred years without his employer having a clue where he lived or might be found. Apparently, all the other dwarfs had also been let go?—?a nice way of saying kicked out?—?and with them went all knowledge of Gravis Berling. This forced Royce and Hadrian to begin their assignment by wandering the streets, looking for short people.

  Hadrian discovered that Tur Del Fur wasn’t as complicated as it had first appeared. It had one main road, which ran from the heights down to the harbor. All the other streets branched off it, creating loops at various levels?—?or tiers. The lower the number, the closer to the water, and of course, the more desirable the neighborhood. The Turquoise Turtle was on Tier Four, while The Blue Parrot was on Tier Two. Hadrian and Royce spent several hours searching the city from the harbor to the heights, finding absolutely nothing useful regarding Gravis Berling. For a city founded by dwarfs, precious few of them walked its streets.

  By late afternoon, they stood in the shade of the green-and-white-striped canopy of a food vender named Angelius. The balding, middle-aged man sat cross-legged just off the road in a wrap of white cotton. Beside him, a stone-ringed cook fire heated a blackened iron pot. Hadrian had purchased a stuffed flatbread from him and lingered in the awning’s shade to eat. Royce continued his silence, watching him and grimacing with each bite.

  “You really should have something, too.” Hadrian told Royce between mouthfuls.

  “I should cut my own throat is what I should do,” Royce replied. He had his hood up, his head drawn deep into shadow.

  “Hangover that bad? Have you been drinking water? Trust me, that helps?—?especially after wine.”

  Royce shook the hood, which was sort of an answer, just not a very clear one.

  With no place to sit, they stood a step off the main street just outside the cloud of smoke that wafted from Angelius’s cook fire. A wagon filled with carpets and hauled by a team of goats rolled past, followed by another filled with urns of oil. One of the containers was cracked and, in the wagon’s wake, a dripping dark line was created in the dust-covered pavement. No dwarfs in sight.

  Hadrian took another bite of his meal. Like everything else he’d eaten in Tur Del Fur, it was a bit too spicy, but flavorful. He swallowed, then voiced the conclusion to an idea he’d been pondering all morning. “I don’t think it was a robbery,” he said, shifting his grip on the flatbread, which was starting to come apart. “Nothing was taken. Not that we had much to steal, but my swords would have been worth the trip, and I’m sure Albert’s clothes are valuable. So, I think someone was looking for something.”

  Royce nodded.

  “Do you think it might have something to do with your new nightmare client, the Gingerdead Man?”

  Royce lifted his head enough that Hadrian spotted a smile.

  “Ah-hah! I knew you were in there somewhere.”

  Angelius looked over, “Sounds like you were the victim of someone looking for the courier’s package. You would not be the first.”

  “What courier package?” Royce asked, peering at Angelius as if the man had just appeared before them.

  Hadrian wiped his mouth clean with the sleeve of his shirt. “A courier was murdered along the road that leads here. His pouch taken.”

  “How do you know about this?”

  “How do I . . . Oh, that’s right, you weren’t there. When we first arrived, a bunch of Yellow Jackets?—?that’s what they call Port Authority soldiers?—?they talked to Shelby about it.”

  “It is not merely the DPAA,” Angelius said. “Everyone is looking for that package.”

  “Why?” Royce asked. He was back to staring at Angelius.

  “A reward has been offered . . . by Cornelius DeLur himself.”

  Royce took a step toward him, a slow careful one that made Hadrian stop chewing. “And why would you think someone would search us?”

  Angelius shrugged. “Because you were robbed, but you don’t know what they were looking for. The city has gone all crazy searching for this package.”

  The thief continued to stare. Hadrian imagined Royce’s hungover brain was struggling to determine the odds that he and Hadrian had randomly stopped to eat at the stand of someone connected to those who ransacked the Turtle. It took longer than usual, but Royce sighed in resignation. “Hadrian, just swallow the rest of your boiled rat so we can move on.”

  “It’s fried, and it’s fish.” Angelius corrected with a bright smile.

  “Sure it is.”

  “Really tasty, too.” Hadrian unfolded the brown-spotted bread to reveal the contents. “There’s peppers and onions, goat cheese, and a spread that I think is made from chickpeas, garlic, and?—”

  “Shut up,” Royce said through gritted teeth.

  Hadrian knew exactly how Royce felt, and he sympathized. But he also remembered the dozens of mornings their roles had been reversed. At those times, Royce had been demeaning, self-righteous, and failed to express even a grain of sympathy. A frequently used phrase was, “You did it to yourself, remember?” As a result, Hadrian found it difficult not to acknowledge when Providence decided to return the favor by spreading the love.

  Hadrian felt a drip running down his wrist. He closed up his meal and licked his arm.

  Witnessing this, Royce shook his head. “You really are quite disgusting sometimes.”

  Hadrian grinned as if this were a compliment and took a big bite, moaning with ecstasy.

  “It is good, yes?” Angelius grinned up at Hadrian from where he sat beside the fire, his back rested against the stone wall of a lamp shop.

  Hadrian nodded and struggled to speak around the food in his mouth. “Under-ful.”

  “It is fresh hakune,” Angelius explained, “A fierce whitefish with a great fin on its back that my brother caught just this morning out in the deep sea. I cooked it using an ancient recipe my grandmother taught me that does not include any rat.”

  “Oh, don’t mind him.” Hadrian waved a dismissive hand. “He’s suffering from drinking too much wine last night.”

  “Ah!” Angelius brightened. “I have just the thing!” He dug into one of the many sacks beside him and pulled out a jar. “This is a perfect remedy.” Removing the lid, he revealed a viscous goo. He scooped some out with his finger and held it up. “I will stuff this up your nose as far as it will go, then swirl it around. I will do this for both nostrils and be generous with my scoops.”

  Royce recoiled. “Hard to do after I cut off your hands.”

  Angelius clearly didn’t take the comment seriously and said, “Oh no, it is fine, trust me. I have a brother who drinks too much all the time, and he swears by this remedy.”

  “The one who caught the fish?” Hadrian asked.

  “Different one,” Angelius said. “I have several.”

  “What’s it called, this hangover cure?” Hadrian picked up the jar with his free hand to study it.

  “Doesn’t have a name, but trust me, it works.”

  “I don’t trust you,” Royce said. “And as for your anonymous goop in a jar, I suspect it contains what’s left of at least one brother.” He looked at Hadrian. “You can walk and eat at the same time, can’t you?”

  “To be completely honest,” Hadrian told Angelius as he handed back the jar, “I don’t think his foul mood is entirely due to drinking. I mean, first of all, he’s usually like this anyway, to one degree or another. But the real reason I think he’s so grumpy is because he kissed a woman last night.”

  Royce huffed. “Just stuff what’s left into your big mouth and let’s go.”

  Angelius looked confused. “Is this woman horribly grotesque? Or maybe she’s suffering from a contagious sickness.”

  “Neither. She’s actually incredibly beautiful, and he’s in love with her.”

  Angelius narrowed his eyes as he put away the jar. “Then I’m not understanding.”

  “That’s just it, no one does. No one can. Anyone else would be dancing their way through the streets and singing sappy songs since morning.”

  “Why are you still talking to him?” Royce asked. “He’s busy. Now that he’s sold you his rat, he’ll need to hunt another.”

  “Because I want a second opinion,” Hadrian replied. “Actually, that’s not true. I want you to hear reason and realize how dumb you’re being.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “And I don’t want to discuss my personal life in the middle of a busy street with a destitute vagrant who sells boiled rats to na?ve strangers and gets happy sniffing the remains of his dead brothers from a jar. So, while we still have some light left, let’s try finding Gravis Berling.”

  “What do you want with Gravis?” Angelius asked, wiping his finger off on a towel.

  Hadrian and Royce faced him with sudden interest.

  “You know him?” Hadrian asked.

  “That is like asking if I know the name of this street, which if you aren’t aware, is Berling’s Way?—?it’s named after Gravis’s family.”

  “Do you know where we can find him?” Royce asked.

  Angelius pulled the top from his kettle, releasing a steam cloud. He stirred the contents of the pot with a large wooden spoon. “I suppose that depends on what business you have with him.”

  “We owe him money and are looking to repay the debt, but we’re only here for a short time.”

  Angelius laughed, then looked at Hadrian. “Your friend is not a good liar.”

  “Actually, he is, but as we’ve established, he’s off his game today.”

  “Ah yes, he drunkenly kissed the beautiful woman he loves. I can see how that would ruin anyone’s week.” Angelius stopped stirring and looked up sharply, pointing at Royce with the dripping wooden spoon. “Did she?—?did this love of your life?—?did she refuse you? Push you away? Slap you?”

  “Why does everyone ask that?” Royce muttered.

  “Because a rejection can be understood,” Angelius clapped the spoon on the rim of the pot, then replaced the lid. “Humiliation such as that would certainly make a man miserable. I remember when I first fell in love with my sweet Velencia. She was?—”

  “Can we get back to Gravis?”

  “She didn’t slap him,” Hadrian said, gathering up the last of his flatbread wrap into a final bite-size bundle. “From what I can tell, she was quite pleased with the kiss.”

  “Do you or do you not know where he can be found?” Royce pressed.

  “The one you owe money?” Angelius grinned at Royce. “Since you are in a hurry, leave the coin with me, and I will get it to him.”

  Royce clapped slowly. “How nice. The destitute rat seller can afford a sense of humor.”

  “Honestly, Royce, why are you depressed?” Hadrian asked. “Would you have been happier if she had slapped you?” He stuffed the last of his meal into his mouth. It was bigger than he’d expected, and Hadrian struggled to chew it into submission.

  Royce stared at him for a moment with an expression of astonished disgust. “I would have preferred not to have made a fool of myself.”

  “Oh, I see,” Angelius nodded gravely. “Are you that bad at kissing?”

  “’Ertainly ’asn’t ’ad much ’actice,” Hadrian managed to say.

  Angelius nodded. “But then how does anyone really know? Women tend to be kind about such things. They never tell the truth because they know how

  much it would hurt. My Velencia, she?—”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Royce said.

  “What do you mean?” Hadrian asked, having swallowed the last of his food.

  Royce’s face tightened, then he glared down at Angelius. “How about this. Tell me where I can find Gravis Berling, or I’ll kill you and all your surviving brothers and provide the world with true justice by letting the rats feast on your remains out of an unmarked jar. And trust me I’m serious this time.”

  Angelius shook his head. “Threatening me will not help. I have no idea where to find the last Berling. I doubt anyone does now.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Have you not heard the rumors? Gravis was stripped of his position at the Great Towers. He vowed to take revenge at nearly every alehouse in the city, saying that if he couldn’t have Drumindor, then no one would. Most thought it was bluster?—?bitter ravings against a cruel world, but then . . .?” Angelius lowered his tone and in an ominous voice said, “Then his wife died, and now he has nothing to live for. Many say there’s nothing to stop him; he’s got nothing to lose.”

  “What can a single dwarf do against a fortress?” Hadrian asked.

  “He’s no ordinary Dromeian. Gravis is a Berling. His family created Drumindor. All of them are geniuses, and he knows more about those towers than anyone alive. If he wants to, I believe Gravis could destroy this whole city. And I heard from Hiseron the Baker, who heard it from Danis the Butcher up on the sixth terrace, that Gravis has disappeared, gone underground as he prepares his abominable plans.”

  “If that’s so,” Royce asked. “Why aren’t you leaving town?”

  “I don’t know if it is true. You hear all sorts of things on this street. Most of it is the talk of people trying to be noticed. And I can’t just walk away. I have an excellent spot. And the fish is good, yes?”

  “Absolutely,” Hadrian said.

  Angelius smiled. “See?” ?Then the smile faded.

  “What?” Royce asked.

  The Calian shook his head and shrugged as he looked up and down the street. “I haven’t seen a Dromeian in days.”

  “Dwarfs, you mean?”

  “Yes, but actually they’re Belgriclungreians.”

  “They’re what now?”

  “The Bels, Grics, Lungs, Doritheians, Nye, Derins, and the Brundenlins?—?the seven clans of the Dromeians. But whatever you call them, I haven’t seen many. Some are good customers, but for the last week or so, I’ve not seen them. It makes a person wonder.”

  “Wonder what?”

  “What they know that we do not.”

  When they got back, Royce and Hadrian discovered at least one dwarf that hadn’t vanished. Gwen was in the courtyard speaking to Auberon.

  The dwarf was once again in his billowy white cotton shirt, matching baggy trousers, and worn-out sandals. He wore the same straw hat with the blue feather, but this time he’d pushed the front brim up in a friendly manner as he faced Gwen.

  “We are so terribly sorry,” Gwen said, as if she were personally responsible for a death in Auberon’s family. “She’s such a beautiful jungo plant, but I’m worried. Some of her roots were torn. I wetted them and set her back in the pot as best, and as soon, as I could, but?—?I don’t know.”

  “There’s no need to apologize,” Auberon said. He spoke with a well-worn accent only noticeable in some words and phrases, his tone gentle, almost tired, like the voice of an ancient tree. “This isn’t your fault. I’m just pleased no one was hurt.”

  Gwen would not be so easily consoled. “Last night one of us should have stayed behind?—?no, I should have watched over the house. I had no business going out like that. I was being selfish.”

  Auberon shook his head. “Not at all. This is my place, not yours. You’re my guests and not responsible for protecting my property. It’s my duty to safeguard you while you’re under my roof. And usually that’s not a problem. Tur has very little crime. This is . . .?” He spotted Royce and Hadrian entering the courtyard.

  Gwen saw them, too, and her dour expression transformed into an excited smile. Hadrian read her body. She took a step and was about to run to Royce, then caught herself and stopped. “How are you feeling, Royce?”

  “Better,” he said, his eyes on the dwarf.

  “Auberon, this is my partner, Royce,” Hadrian said. “Royce, meet our host.”

  “Welcome to Tur,” the dwarf said and tipped the brim of his hat. Then he moved to the front door to study the frame. “Sorry for the incident last night. Such a thing is . . . well, it’s very strange.”

  “Why strange?” Royce asked. “In my experience, people are robbed all the time. Especially when they don’t put locks on their doors or windows.”

  Auberon continued to study the door. “We’re a small community. Most know the Turtle and me, so they leave us both alone. Besides, as I was just telling the lassie here, we don’t normally see this sort of thing in Tur. Folks in these parts come in two flavors: the content and the lazy.” He turned and looked around the courtyard that, as far as Hadrian could tell, had been returned to perfect order. “By the look of things, a lot of discontented ambition visited my house last night, and that is a very curious thing.”

  “Have you eaten?” Gwen asked Royce, then looked at Hadrian. “Has he?”

  Hadrian shook his head. “I tried. He refused.”

  “Albert and I found a wonderful market just down the road. I got some grapes and crackers.” Gwen faced Royce with a smile as bright as the sun. “We can wake up your stomach with that before trying anything more adventurous.” She grinned wider, then darted inside before Royce could protest.

  Royce watched her leave, then once she was safely inside, he approached Auberon to speak more quietly. “You’re a dwarf?”

  Auberon looked up and winked. “You noticed that, did you? Was it the way I buckled my sandals that gave me away?”

  “Ever heard of Gravis Berling?”

  Auberon smiled, then chuckled. “Normally, at this point, I’d make a smart comment, like ‘No, but have you heard of Herbert Cantrell?’?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “He’s a farmer in Rhenydd.”

  “What makes you think I’ve heard of him?”

  “Exactly. It’s stupid to assume that everyone who lives in a certain place, or happens to be of the same race, knows each other.”

  “But?”

  “As it turns out, I do know him, but that’s not a fair example given that he’s sort of famous, or infamous, depending on which side of the fence you sit on.” Auberon ran his hand along the door frame, studying it, assessing damage.

  “Do you know where he can be found?”

  “These days?—?usually in a bottle.”

  “Can you tell us where he lives?” Hadrian asked.

  “Nope. He used to sleep in a shack on the North Arm beach?—?him and his wife Ena. When the Port Authority took his job, his rent was no longer covered by the DPAA. No job. No money for rent. No home.”

  “We heard she died,” Hadrian said.

  Auberon gave up on the door frame and sighed. “Aye, she did that.”

  “What about family? Brothers and sisters? Kids? Anything like that?”

  Hadrian asked.

  “Gravis and Ena never had any children. And he was an only child. Gravis was the last?—?the last of the Berlings.”

  Hadrian frowned at Royce. “Fellow works his whole life, but only makes enough to live in a shack; they fire him for what seems like no good reason, and he’s kicked out and his wife dies. I’m starting to not like Lord Byron.”

  “Oh, don’t blame him, Hadrian,” Auberon said, now moving toward the once-toppled furniture that Gwen had set right during their absence. “Berling could have had a nicer place, but he chose to live in that hovel. Couldn’t get him to move. And Ena’s death had nothing to do with Byron firing Gravis. Let’s see, she died the night of the full moon, and he was driven from that shack about a week after Ena’s death. And yes, things grew bad for him then, but Berling never so much as looked for another job.”

  “I get the impression you don’t like Gravis,” Royce said.

  “Never cared for any of the Berlings. They’re all too full of themselves, always have been. Andvari and Alberich may have been geniuses, but that well went dry thousands of years ago. And it was the hubris of Andvari and Mideon that ruined us. Their combined arrogance destroyed our ancient capital of Neith and set the rest of us on a doomed course. We Dromeians?—?we weren’t defeated by anyone but ourselves. And now, its gonna happen again.”

  “What do you mean?” Royce asked.

  “Since the Republic of Delgos was established, there’s been a huge wave of dwarven immigration returning home. Most come back looking for a better life, but a few?—?the loud ones?—?chatter on about the Belgric Kingdom, and the good ole days of dwarven rule. That sort of talk doesn’t fly so well in a republic. Gravis is one of those with a big mouth and a small brain. He’s always spouting off about fighting to reestablish a long-dead and, quite frankly, pretty awful sovereignty. Gravis lost his livelihood, and poor Ena could have died in the street because Gravis was too proud to take a conventional job. He’s a Berling, you see, and Berlings can’t stoop to doing laundry, watering plants, or sweeping a floor. I have no patience for that kind of thinking. You do what you must to take care of you and yours.”

  Hadrian saw the way Auberon looked around the courtyard as he spoke, and an idea clicked. “You were one of those who offered him a job, weren’t you?”

  “I did. Not so much for his sake, but for hers. Even so, Ena wasn’t innocent. The lass shoulda known better than to marry a Berling. Nothing good could have come from that.”

  “So, you don’t know where to find him?”

  Auberon shrugged. “I’d look for any place willing to give away strong drink. But barring that, I suspect any vacant patch of gutter would be a good bet.” Auberon lifted his straw hat, revealing a balding head. He wiped the sweat from his brow then set the hat back, adjusting it level this time. “Why do you ask?”

  “We’re supposed to have a talk with him,” Royce said.

  “There’s a rumor he might be planning something that could destroy the whole city,” Hadrian added.

  The dwarf took a hard look at Hadrian then Royce, then slowly nodded. “Uh-huh, I see. So, you’re the muscle Byron hired?”

  They didn’t answer.

  Auberon pointed at Hadrian. “You’re a swordsman, a good one, maybe a bit more than good. And you”—?he gestured at Royce?—?“you’d be the cutthroat. The one who says talk when he means kill.” He moved to the table and adjusted the placement of one of the chairs. “Listen, I’m old. I’ve seen a lot?—?too much, really. On the other hand, the both of you are still young. So let me give a bit of advice that I wish I’d had when I was your age: find a new line of work. Doesn’t have to be fancy. You don’t need to make a lot of money?—?just enough to live a simple life. Do something you like, more than one thing even, so you don’t get bored, but be sure whatever you do is something you can be happy to tell your children and grandchildren about.” He looked at the open doorway to the Turtle. “And as my people are fond of saying, yer aff yer heid if you don’t take good care of that fine lassie you’ve got in there. She’s a keeper, she is, and it would be worth making a change for her.”

  Auberon moved to where they had stacked up the remains of the broken pottery and sighed.

  “I’m sure Lord Byron will be willing to pay for any damages,” Hadrian said.

  “Not his fault.” Auberon bent down and lifted two shattered pieces of clay. “But someone certainly made a mistake. I’ll find out who that was, then he and I . . . well . . .?” Auberon winked at Royce. “Maybe we’ll have a wee talk.”