Chapter 30
The streets of Thudin weren’t busy enough to offer Hadlaug much cover. Wide enough to accommodate all the bloody horses the locals loved, they were a bit too open. But cities always had places to watch without being seen, if you knew where to look. He found a nice shadowy spot from which to observe the building.
The rain offered some cover, but also meant the Alliance guards did as much as they could inside, out of sight. He recognised the guard supervising it from the ambush in Aemyr. So he’d escaped, albeit not unscathed from the way he moved. Not that Hadlaug could expect gratitude.
That they’d arrived at the same place as the last of his leads implied his guess they were after the same person was correct. That they’d arrived before him meant he wouldn’t be able to access whatever information may be available.
The trail he’d had an acquaintance follow – for a substantial fee – led to this shipping company. It had hired the wagons used for the regular visits to the mine. He’d arrived to investigate their offices only to find the Alliance already in residence.
While he couldn’t tell much of what was going on, they didn’t seem to have found anything of interest. They loaded papers into the back of a covered wagon, doing their best to keep them dry. A few other bundles of interest went with them, and they seemed content to shut the place up. The guard stationed on the door said they probably hadn’t finished. That he was outside said they didn’t think the owners would return.
They went soon enough, leaving the sentry standing miserably in the rain. Hadlaug could empathise, as a steady trickle from the roof above tapped on his hood. It didn’t do much for his mood, but he’d been on edge since arriving. The city brought back memories of the last time he’d seen his brother.
It hadn’t been friendly, certainly not on his part. Gudrolf’s ineptitude as a mercenary had been wearing at his nerves for a while by that point, and Hadlaug had reached the point where he wouldn’t carry him any longer. Words had been spoken, and that had been that.
Gudrolf had considered becoming a guard for the Alliance. He’d liked the uniform. He hadn’t joined, or they hadn’t accepted him. And Hadlaug heard only second-hand accounts of his activities after that.
He’d had no intention of apologizing for anything he said, so had no reason to find Gudrolf. And now it was too late. Not that he’d apologise for any of it. He’d said what he felt. If Gudrolf had been a better fighter he wouldn’t have been in that dead end life, and he’d still have a life.
But he hadn’t been, so he wasn’t. This was just the way things had turned out.
He watched the guard a while, wondering on his best course. Or his least complicated course.
They’d probably have stationed someone at the building’s other entrances, so sneaking in wouldn’t be likely. He’d check it out while thinking, as he thought better on the move.
Doubling back down the alley he’d used, he moved back down the road before crossing.
Getting inside the place would be unlikely to offer anything useful, if it’d already been searched. Maybe not thoroughly, since they’d left it guarded. Not that he could do a thorough job with a guard there, and he wasn’t going to draw unnecessary attention by doing anything to him.
He’d more or less given up on going in when he spotted the guard out back. He was under cover, trying to stay out of the rain rather than out of sight.
Passing by without paying the guard any heed, Hadlaug continued a short way on before cutting back to the main road. He stopped just short of the alley’s entrance, out of sight of the guard out front. Studying the buildings opposite, he looked for which would be most useful.
The nearest couple were houses, so not much use. The shops further along would be more likely to see any activity. The cobbler should have a decent view of the place, but he found them short-sighted in one way or another, focussed on what was close to them. The butcher would be out back preparing stuff unless there were customers, so he probably wouldn’t know anything.
There was, of course, the glyphmason. There was a Society badge out front, so he might not be enamoured of Alliance guards parading in front of his place. Like cobblers, they could be too focussed to see what happened around them, but the shop was almost directly across from the building, with a decent-sized window.
Would it be worth trying? It might mean his trip here hadn’t been a waste. As things were he’d learned little about the mercenaries.
His irritation growing at loitering in the rain, he strode towards the glyphmason’s. An infuriatingly delicate bell rang above the door as he entered. Unnecessary, given the proprietor sat at a worktable nearby, probably paying as much attention to activities across the street as the work before him – planning glyphs for a shield, by the look of the notes.
The glyphmason offered a guarded smile as he took in Hadlaug’s roughness. His gaze relaxed a touch as he spotted the glyphs obvious about Hadlaug’s person. This was someone who could obviously afford glyphs, despite appearances.
'What may I do for you?' the man asked in a genial tone.
'I’m after information,' said Hadlaug.
The smile wavered. 'You’re probably at the wrong place.'
Hadlaug stepped towards him, and the man tried to lean back in his seat. A pouch dropped on the table halted his retreat. Not that his gaze left Hadlaug for long.
'What information?' he asked.
'The office across the street,' said Hadlaug.
The man’s gaze flicked towards the guard out front. 'Are you with the Alliance?'
'No.' Did he look like he was?
The glyphmason took a moment before responding. 'Don’t know much about the place. Ships stuff around, from what I’ve heard. Word is the man running it was found dead a few days ago, but he hadn’t been around for a moon or so.'
'How’d he die?'
'Drowning.'
'Accidental?'
'Unlikely in the river they found him,' said the glyphmason. 'It’s not treacherous.'
'Anyone else been around the place?'
'He’d get the occasional visitor, usually business types, but no regulars I know of.'
'You know what he was shipping?'
The glyphmason shrugged. 'It never came through the office, so I never saw. He never seemed to make much out of it. Nothing he’d put towards upkeep of the place, anyway.'
He was probably the front man for the operation, handling the local day-to-day stuff.
'Was he there every day?' asked Hadlaug.
'No,' said the glyphmason. 'No pattern in how often or when he’d be there. Some weeks he may be there only an hour, next week he could be there all day.'
He may’ve had other things on the go, so he’d only spend as much time as he needed to on this one.
'How long ago did he stop coming here?' asked Hadlaug.
'Not sure. I didn’t pay much attention. I think it was around a moon. At least a couple of weeks, certainly. That’s when I noted his absence.'
Possibly around the time the operation was being closed down, or not long after. Killing him made sense. And made Hadlaug’s task that much harder. He doubted there’d be much left in the papers still there, since they – and the building – hadn’t been burnt. Still, they were the last lead he had. And they led to the other investigation.
Had the Alliance’s investigation caused the operation to shut down? If so they were a bit slow. He hadn’t been looking into it as long, had fewer resources, and yet he was keeping up with them. Or had something else spooked the owners into closing the mine, and the investigation was more recent? The cause wasn’t as important as finding the owners, so it probably didn’t matter.
How close could he risk getting to the Alliance investigation?
That held the danger of bringing trouble down on his head. They took their privacy seriously, and had serious people in their employ.
But he was a serious person too. And that reputation could be tarnished if he didn’t take care of his
brother’s killer. Was it worth the risk?
He’d made inquiries in Idstil, where he’d learned the Alliance investigation was based. A friend could get him onto the Alliance guards, and maybe pull strings to get him assigned where he needed to be.
It’d cost, of course. Everything did. The money was secondary. It could also cost him dignity, as he’d have to dress in that ridiculous uniform, and leave him feeling soiled at having to take a respectable job.
It brought to mind images of what Gudrolf would have looked like in the uniform. The face he saw was that of his brother when they left home, his eyes still full of hope rather than the disillusionment they’d held when last he’d seen them. That look he hadn’t been able to bear any longer.
It wasn’t much of a choice. He couldn’t let the threat to his reputation go unanswered.