THE INFORMATION BROKER .
Five silver pieces clatter onto the countertop.
“What can you tell me about your information broker?”
The eye of the unfortunately familiar bar-man flits between me and the locs; a second worth of consideration. He leans against the counter smoothly, a calloused hand coming down to slide the bribe across the wooden surface and into his apron pocket. He fixes his gaze back onto me with an expression that reveals that this might not be the first time he’s been asked this today. The clench of his jaw confirms we share an aversion for each other as well.
“Skipping the pleasantries, eh?” He asks dryly.
I stuff my coin pouch back into my pocket, “There are no pleasantries to exchange, Zuric.”
He leans back with a sigh. The run-ins I have with Zuric are actually the most unpleasant. I only come into this filthy tavern when it concerns the kingdom. With the given circumstances, rumors spreading about an information broker who’ll sell people secrets of the palace is a pressing issue. We’ve already had three “rebel” groups invade the castlegrounds some way or another – no ways a commoner should know about.
“Yeah,” Zuric taps against his leather eye-patch, while his surviving crimson eye is casted coldly onto me, “maybe you’re right about that.”
Zuric pulls up a glass from under the bar. He takes the stained rag from his apron and begins wiping it down. A cautious look is thrown around the sullied room – the air so stale you can taste the lingering smoke of botched wooden pipes and see debris float in from outside – before Zuric’s voice lowers.
“He doesn’t talk about himself at all. People think he’s an outlander – a Vallandian,” he glances at me intriguingly.
Valland, the kingdom we’ve been at odds with since our late King took the throne. This kind of rumor was something I was expecting, but doesn’t make much sense. The desire to cause inner strife would be a good motive, however no Vallandian could possibly know the ins and outs of our castle.
“Not possible.”
A gravelly hum rasps from his throat.
“Of course you’d think that, Captain. But what if Averos isn’t the solid fortress you think it is?”
That damned half-orc always knows how to get under my skin. I click my tongue and tear my eyes away from his haughty half smirk. It wouldn’t be as insulting coming from someone without such barbaric tusks. I won’t entertain such ideas. Not from him. He’d be in a holding cell right now if not for his past cooperation with the Vex-Guards.
“Enough,” I snapped, a tense pause taking the place of venom I wished to spew, “What else can you tell me about him?”
Zuric put the wiped glass down in front of me before grabbing another. The one within his hand bears a crack that spans its length. He closes his eye briefly while rubbing circles on the worn surface. Always a game of patience with this oaf.
Conversations rouse throughout the tavern, a cacophony of indiscernible words and gritting voices. I hear the dwarf next to me babbling jovially about something or other while slamming his mug of mead against the counter. The frothy liquid splashes onto my trousers.
“He refuses to talk to anyone not part of the resistance. You might be shit out of luck, Bayard.” Bemusement sits on my face. He continues, “He tells people not to believe what the fuckers in the castle have to say about the King’s death – that not everything is what it seems.”
The gleam of his scarlet eye taunts me. What could he possibly know – or assume to know – about what goes on within the palace? He and this damn information broker are pulling shit out of their ass and wiping the walls with it, and the dregs of this tavern are eating it up. They’re turning their kind against us. Makes me absolutely sick.
The disappearance of Prince Leith says it all – he’s guilty as sin. No innocent man runs from something they didn’t do. The Vex Guards saw the aftermath and heard it from Prince Cassemir’s mouth. There’s no reason for doubt.
“He’s a nut. A drunkard.” I spat.
Zuric nods his head, patronizing me.
“I reckon he is. Even so – oh, what is it that people say…” He leans back, scrutinizing the glass he had just cleaned, “a broken clock is right twice a day.”
He places the cup down next to the other one on the counter. His implication is utterly ridiculous. I hate Zuric truly. Despite his reputation, he’s of no help to me ever. He just likes to toy with me, and I’m never in the mood. What more could I expect from a half-orc?
“You constantly waste my time. Nothing short of a con-artist, Zuric.”
The splintered stool scratches against the wood floor as I stand. A couple heads turn in my direction, but all of the others are too busy dribbling down their chins to notice. I hate trips to the Galdwin District. Just disgusting animals everywhere.
Liquid begins filling a glass behind me. I give a glance to the lousy barkeep. He pours what seems to be mead into the other empty cup.
“Don’t believe me, dear Captain? Why not ask him yourself then?” Zuric juts his head in the direction of a dark corner just over my right shoulder.
A lone occupant of the booth sitting beneath a flickering light; the infamous information broker. As I had assumed earlier, he looks to be a drunkard – head hung low, a large brimmed hat and long dark hair shrouding his face, shoulders tossed back against the seat. His silhouette matches that of many here, and yet he sticks out like a sore thumb.
Zuric pushes the full glasses toward me, froth spilling from all sides as it sloshes. I stare at the yellow liquid. He has been setting this up since I walked in.
“You insolent git.”
“It’s easier this way, is it not? You should be thanking me, Bayard. I have gone above and beyond the five locs you’d given me. Make sure you write that in your fuckin’ report.”
I grit my teeth, jaw clenched so hard I’d practically break one. This bastard. His glare pierces me so coldly I would’ve frozen over if it weren’t for my boiling blood. I cannot believe I’m going to be a victim of Zuric’s scheme. Thanking him? Absolutely not.
I have half a mind to walk out, but unfortunately – as much as it pains me to admit this – Zuric has presented me with a lead. I would be doing a disservice to the kingdom if I didn’t follow through with it.
I roughly grab the glasses from the counter.
“What’s this, then? The price?”
“No,” Zuric answers monotonously, “His price is usually silence. The drinks are so you don’t scare him away. Anyone here could guess you’re from the Knolls.”
He motions down to my clothes – strikingly clean, save for the mead stain on my thigh. It’s true, there’s a stark difference between me and these commonfolk. For one, I’m not a criminal.
I feel a snarl in the back of my throat. Zuric turns his back on me before I can spout any remarks, and for the first time ever I have to hold myself back from taking things further. Restraint is a trait the Captain of the noble Vex Guards should have, but it’s so much harder to find when dealing with the likes of him.
One calm breath and I start the small trek towards the kingdom’s most wanted. I can only imagine what kind of man he is – what kind of abilities he bestows to be able to give direction on how to invade a guarded fortress. Most of all, what kind of knowledge he claims to have to sow such distrust among the commoners.
And all too quickly my questions are answered, as I stand face to face with The Information Broker: Prince Leith.
note: this is an original short story that’s part of a bigger universe i have been working on :D i’m hoping to further develop it soon, and if anyone is interested to know more, please let me know!
AN ORIGINAL WORK BY 1004KR. DO NOT REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM AND/OR CLAIM AS YOUR OWN.