Monty runs his business out of his kitchen at a table that leans precariously toward the floor on one side. On one side of the room, stacks of goods rest in haphazard piles, evidence of a successful week in the information-for-hire trade. On the other, Monty leans back in a chair, a wicked-looking dagger lying across his lap, sipping a mug of ale and watching me with narrow dark eyes.
“Monty.” I nod and settle into an open chair beside him.
He sets his mug on the table and lets his chair legs slam back onto the scuffed, dirty floor beneath him. “Logan McEntire. Haven’t seen the likes of you in these parts for several years. Thought maybe you’d outgrown good old South Edge.”
I don’t take him up on his clever invitation to tell him what I’ve been doing and with whom. For one, he already knows I earned the apprenticeship with Jared. Everyone does. For another, in a room where information is part of the currency, I’m not about to part with mine for free.
Instead, I rest my elbows on the table, steeple my fingers, and look at him steadily over the top of my hands. “How many times in the past three years have you been forced to relocate before the guards arrested you or one of your clients? Five? Six? Help me out here, because I’ve lost track.”
Monty’s eyes harden, but his expression remains calm. “What is it you want, Logan?”
“It’s what you want, Monty. What I can do for you.”
He’s silent for a moment, assessing me while he wipes beads of condensation from his mug of ale. Then he says, “What can you do for me?”
Reaching into my cloak, I pull out a copper circle about the size of a flat orange. It glows beneath the faint sunlight leaking in past the layer of filth on Monty’s kitchen window.
“Shiny.” Monty says, his tone noncommittal. “But I already have plenty of shiny.”
I place the disc on the table. “Still have that stolen Identidisc around here somewhere?”
He lifts his eye to mine, and his expression reminds me of a snake. Cold. Calculating. And dangerous if cornered. Finally, he nods. “Let’s say I do have one of those. What does that have to do with this?”
“The last thing you need is a guard wandering through with an Identidisc and seeing a list of anyone you happen to be doing business with at the moment. It compromises your reputation, inhibits your ability to do business, and could easily land you in the dungeon. This”—I rub my thumb across the glowing copper surface—“blocks every wristmark within a thirty-yard radius. Basically, if you turn this on whenever you do business, everyone in your house will be dark to the guards.”
He blinks once more and when his eyes meet mine, greed peeks out behind the cold calculation.
I have him.
“I want proof it works,” he says, and gets up to rummage through his cupboards, his dagger still grasped in his hand. In seconds, he returns to the table carrying a black Identidisc. It’s an older model, but a glance at it shows the battery still has enough juice left to take a reading. I remain still while he powers it up and sends out a sonic pulse.
Both of our names show up on the screen.
So does the name Anthony Ruiz.
I frown at Monty. “Who’s Anthony Ruiz?”
Monty shrugs. “A boy who delivers messages through South Edge. Never mind him, turn on your device.”
I comply and wait while the Identidisc sends out another pulse. This time the screen shows no list of citizens in the immediate area.
Monty sets down the Identidisc and looks at me. “How much?”
“I’m thinking it’s fairly priceless.”
“I can put a price on anything. What do you want?”
“Money would be nice,” I say, and Monty’s lips thin. “But I’ll settle for useful information instead.”
“What kind of information is worth a device like this?”
“I’d like to know what the Commander’s been up to lately.”
“That’s a pretty vague request.”
I nod. “Then I guess you’d better tell me everything you know about him, his activities, and anything unusual happening in the compound, and let me decide what’s useful for my purposes and what isn’t.”
Monty shakes his head. “Too steep a price, Logan.”
I shrug, scoop the copper disc off the table, and stand. “I’ll be on my way, then.” I’m halfway through the door when he calls me back.
“Fine. Sit down. Leave the disc. I’ll tell you what I’ve heard.”
I return to the table, set the disc in front of me, and listen while Monty tells me the few things he knows for sure about Commander Chase.
Fact 1: The Commander has a small object attached to a chain and wears it underneath his uniform. Most sources agree he never takes this pendant off.
I don’t see how this is relevant or useful to me, but I file it away just in case. If nothing else, I can use the chain to choke him during hand-to-hand combat if it ever comes to that.
Fact 2: After Jared’s disappearance, the Commander sent two couriers on missions, but neither of them were heading toward Rowansmark. They haven’t returned yet, though the first is due any day.
This might be nothing more than the usual messages, negotiations, and trade between our city-state and another. But the fact that the Commander neglected to send any official message to Rowansmark in the wake of the accusations against his top courier is suspicious. Why not reach out to make peace? Offer to help bring Jared in? The only answer I can come up with is that the Commander needs to find Jared first.
“Monty.” I nod and settle into an open chair beside him.
He sets his mug on the table and lets his chair legs slam back onto the scuffed, dirty floor beneath him. “Logan McEntire. Haven’t seen the likes of you in these parts for several years. Thought maybe you’d outgrown good old South Edge.”
I don’t take him up on his clever invitation to tell him what I’ve been doing and with whom. For one, he already knows I earned the apprenticeship with Jared. Everyone does. For another, in a room where information is part of the currency, I’m not about to part with mine for free.
Instead, I rest my elbows on the table, steeple my fingers, and look at him steadily over the top of my hands. “How many times in the past three years have you been forced to relocate before the guards arrested you or one of your clients? Five? Six? Help me out here, because I’ve lost track.”
Monty’s eyes harden, but his expression remains calm. “What is it you want, Logan?”
“It’s what you want, Monty. What I can do for you.”
He’s silent for a moment, assessing me while he wipes beads of condensation from his mug of ale. Then he says, “What can you do for me?”
Reaching into my cloak, I pull out a copper circle about the size of a flat orange. It glows beneath the faint sunlight leaking in past the layer of filth on Monty’s kitchen window.
“Shiny.” Monty says, his tone noncommittal. “But I already have plenty of shiny.”
I place the disc on the table. “Still have that stolen Identidisc around here somewhere?”
He lifts his eye to mine, and his expression reminds me of a snake. Cold. Calculating. And dangerous if cornered. Finally, he nods. “Let’s say I do have one of those. What does that have to do with this?”
“The last thing you need is a guard wandering through with an Identidisc and seeing a list of anyone you happen to be doing business with at the moment. It compromises your reputation, inhibits your ability to do business, and could easily land you in the dungeon. This”—I rub my thumb across the glowing copper surface—“blocks every wristmark within a thirty-yard radius. Basically, if you turn this on whenever you do business, everyone in your house will be dark to the guards.”
He blinks once more and when his eyes meet mine, greed peeks out behind the cold calculation.
I have him.
“I want proof it works,” he says, and gets up to rummage through his cupboards, his dagger still grasped in his hand. In seconds, he returns to the table carrying a black Identidisc. It’s an older model, but a glance at it shows the battery still has enough juice left to take a reading. I remain still while he powers it up and sends out a sonic pulse.
Both of our names show up on the screen.
So does the name Anthony Ruiz.
I frown at Monty. “Who’s Anthony Ruiz?”
Monty shrugs. “A boy who delivers messages through South Edge. Never mind him, turn on your device.”
I comply and wait while the Identidisc sends out another pulse. This time the screen shows no list of citizens in the immediate area.
Monty sets down the Identidisc and looks at me. “How much?”
“I’m thinking it’s fairly priceless.”
“I can put a price on anything. What do you want?”
“Money would be nice,” I say, and Monty’s lips thin. “But I’ll settle for useful information instead.”
“What kind of information is worth a device like this?”
“I’d like to know what the Commander’s been up to lately.”
“That’s a pretty vague request.”
I nod. “Then I guess you’d better tell me everything you know about him, his activities, and anything unusual happening in the compound, and let me decide what’s useful for my purposes and what isn’t.”
Monty shakes his head. “Too steep a price, Logan.”
I shrug, scoop the copper disc off the table, and stand. “I’ll be on my way, then.” I’m halfway through the door when he calls me back.
“Fine. Sit down. Leave the disc. I’ll tell you what I’ve heard.”
I return to the table, set the disc in front of me, and listen while Monty tells me the few things he knows for sure about Commander Chase.
Fact 1: The Commander has a small object attached to a chain and wears it underneath his uniform. Most sources agree he never takes this pendant off.
I don’t see how this is relevant or useful to me, but I file it away just in case. If nothing else, I can use the chain to choke him during hand-to-hand combat if it ever comes to that.
Fact 2: After Jared’s disappearance, the Commander sent two couriers on missions, but neither of them were heading toward Rowansmark. They haven’t returned yet, though the first is due any day.
This might be nothing more than the usual messages, negotiations, and trade between our city-state and another. But the fact that the Commander neglected to send any official message to Rowansmark in the wake of the accusations against his top courier is suspicious. Why not reach out to make peace? Offer to help bring Jared in? The only answer I can come up with is that the Commander needs to find Jared first.
