The city looked the same as before. Open sky, clean walls, proud people pretending that makes them different from Riften. I know better now. Whiterun has rot too. It just has better manners.
I spoke with Sha’khar again about his “opportunity.”
The East Empire camp outside the city is modest. Quaint, almost. A few people, a few supplies, a banner trying to make the whole thing look official enough that no one asks too many questions. Still, there is promise in it.
Sha’khar says they are scouting the area. Gathering goods, minerals, salvage, anything worth moving. Selling what can be sold. Returning what might be useful. A clean trade operation on the surface, but there is power in any group that can move goods quietly from one place to another.
They need permission from local Jarls, of course.
Always permission. Always papers. Always some lord or lady needing to be soothed before coin can flow.
The Khajiit are not welcome everywhere, even beneath an East Empire banner. Pity. Useful people are often hated by fools who still rely on them.
Sha’khar also asked me to check on a partner of his if I make my way to Solitude. Korrin, an Altmer at the docks. Later, perhaps. Solitude can wait. Right now, my business is Whiterun, then back home.
Strange that I think of Riften that way already.
Still, this East Empire arrangement may be worth testing in the Rift. If Sha’khar needs Jarl permissions, perhaps Laila can be made useful. She already thinks I helped clean poison out of her city. Maybe that goodwill can be turned into something with a signature on it.
After that, I met with Olfrid Battle-Born.
For all his importance, his problem was almost laughable. He dressed it up like grave family business, the sort of thing that required discretion, nerve, and loyalty. In truth, it was simple enough. Change a name. Steal a document. Leave no trail worth following.
Balgruuf’s court is not what I would call aware. Proud, yes. Busy, certainly. But not aware. A few careful words, a quiet hand, and the right paper moved from one place to another can do more damage than a dagger in a crowded room.
Olfrid got what he wanted.
That should have been the end of Whiterun business, but Ysolda proved again why I was right not to waste her favor.
Charming, ambitious Ysolda. Sweet smile, hungry eyes, and a merchant’s soul wrapped in a market girl’s dress. I gave her the chance to make herself useful, and she took it quickly enough.
She can help move some of the skooma and moon sugar.
Not loudly. Not foolishly. Carefully. Through contacts. Through people who already know how to buy what respectable folk claim not to want. She has the reach I need, or at least the start of it. Better still, she understands the value of silence because she has needed it herself.
Maybe not one to trust. Not fully. But useful, and usefulness is its own kind of loyalty when handled correctly.
She offered to help again in the future.
Tomorrow, back to the Rift. Back to Mjoll screaming at Aerin’s name. Back to Ingun digging through her own mistake. Back to Sapphire, Maven, Wujeeta, the docks, the warehouse, the stash, the Jarl, and whatever web waits under the boards.
Whiterun has given me coin, contacts, and a few new roads for profit.
Riften still has the answers.
