The Reapers Headquarters was empty. Not a single member was in the vicinity of the open area by the entrance.
Unlike Rune's last visit, no men played cards, nor did the smell of smoked Rye heavily remain in the air. The tables were neatly arranged, with chairs tucked at their sides.
Silas proceeded along a long corridor that had gas lamps installed every couple of steps on the walls. A spiral staircase led to the second floor, embellished with intricate carvings of lion heads on the wooden railings.
Seeing the outside of the Reaper's dwellings, Rune often forgot just how much money they managed and how much of it they kept.
They walked past the grand stairwell and turned right into another corridor. The wooden floor transitioned into a luxuriant carpet, muting the sound of their boots. Painting after painting lined the walls, each displaying only shades and hues of various natural colors spread across the canvas. No images or objects were discernible within them. They were surely an oddity, and Rune wondered who had chosen them.
Silas stopped midway down the hall in front of the double-entry doors. His hand rested on the handle, uncertainty etched on his face before the look vanished, and Silas's stoic expression reappeared.
"Follow my lead."
Rune stepped closer to the informant. "Understood."
The first thing he noticed was the shelves lining the room. Maps decorated the walls, with many pins marking various locations, some of which had notes. A long table monopolized the center of the room. Reapers occupied one side, leaving the other empty.
Tor, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but there, sat at the head of the table. Silus didn't join the others. Instead, he stood behind his leader at the head of the table.
Tor gave Silus a slight nod, which he returned, turning back to the table as he cleared his throat.
The murmurs throughout the table ceased as the room's attention centered on the leader of the Reapers.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Tor signaled to Silus towards the door.
As Rune moved to follow, without looking at him, Silus put his hand out, indicating he stayed put. Rune obliged, watching as the informant walked to the door.
The newcomers entered. A short, round man, wearing emeralds and rubies on his velvet coat, led the group and approached the table. His bald head shone as light from the windows reflected off it. A black cat with matching gems along its neck was in his left hand, its hackles raised as it eyed the Reapers.
That's friendly.
As his eyes scanned them, Rune first noticed how they all had an arrogance in the way they held themselves. They peered at them as if they were beneath them, not of their equal.
Among the entourage, Rune recognized the stark blue eyes and blond hair of one of the members. His hair now reached his shoulders, its color seemingly faded over the years. The excitement and curiosity that once expressed on his face were no longer. In its place, an empty look gazed out. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, his face having sunken at the cheeks.
It was Hector, the merchant Rune met on the way to Frendil's funeral in the Madam's presence. The man stood just beyond the latest arrival, his face withdrawn.
What happened to him?
The merchant's eyes glanced at Rune. No sign of recognition crossed his face from their brief encounter as they moved on to Silus, followed by Tor.
The round man walked to the other end of the table, sitting in the vacant seat facing Tor. Those who entered with the man took the remaining seats across the other Reapers.
"Powel, I was starting to think you'd never make it."
The round man looked at Tor, studying the leader as his eyes squinted in irritation.
"Yes, do excuse my tardiness. We encountered a few complications at Alathan's border."
"All went well, I presume."
"Ah, yes, it was nothing worth of concern." Powel waved his hand in dismissal.
Powel gave the black cat to the man standing at his back, then leaned in his chair towards Tor, anticipation written across his face.
"It cost me quite the coin and time to travel here to Nythos. I do hope it is a sign of your agreement with the deal my messenger spoke to you about."
Tor's fingers drummed on the table. "Yes, I do suppose we have such things to discuss." He waved his hand, and in walked servants who served hot tea to those at the table.
"You mentioned offering five sacks of Rye every month in return for coin and a place to set up a stall." The drumming stopped.
"I understand coin, but setting up a stall in Driftwood is something you can achieve on your own."
"I'm not requesting what other merchants seek. If it were only a stall I sought, I wouldn't put such a term in our agreement."
Powel smiled in full, exposing silver fillings at the top row of his teeth.
"No, what I'm asking is to use the Reapers as a means to establish my business."
Is this guy serious?
Tor sipped his tea, his eyes gazing at the dark liquid in front of him.
"And why do you assume I would willingly give you the right to toss our name around in your business dealings?" Tor's soft voice had Rune shiver as displeasure rolled off of the Reaper's leader in waves.
The man seated across the room shrugged, his eyes gleeful as he took in the unease in Tor. "Because, sooner or later, people will discover you've been selling fake Rye crystals, which will bring a riot to your doorstep."
Tor froze. The leader wasn't the only one unsettled by the other merchant's underlying threat. Rune stiffened. No one other than Tor, Silus, Bane, and he knew of the counterfeit Rye, but how could a dealer from Alathan know of something only four people had come to realize?