Dagnell found Brynjolf standing in the center of the Cistern, apparently deep in thought. He looked up at her and smiled as she approached; it was just a small smile, but he was obviously pleased.
“It seems that Goldenglow’s been hit,” he said with satisfaction. “Well done. Was there anything in the safe?”
“Yeah, there was,” she said, handing him the large bag of coin and the bill of sale she’d found there. He didn’t need to know about the rest of the money; she had no intention of sharing that, especially as close as she had come to being among the corpses in the house.
He nodded, taking the paper. His eyes flickered over her and stopped at her neck, widening and snapping back up to search her face in what almost seemed like alarm. The wound must still have looked raw and angry. “Are you alright, lass? That looks…”
She interrupted him. “Yes, I’m fine. Aringoth isn’t, though. I gave the bastard a chance and he wasn’t having it.” Really, had Red been concerned for her? That would really be something. She was betting that he was just worried she had almost failed, and he’d almost lost two people to that one job.
He frowned, as though he really didn’t believe her, but nodded. “Good. Now let me see.” Opening the document, he scanned it for just a moment before genuine shock registered, his brows arching over open eyes. “Aringoth’s sold Goldenglow? What was that crazy bastard thinking? He has no idea of the extent of Maven’s fury when she’s been cut out of a deal.”
“Not that it matters to him any more,” Dag muttered.
Brynjolf shot her a sharp glance, then frowned again at the paper. “Right. Hmm. This symbol. Any idea what it means?”
“Not a clue,” Dag said. Why on earth would she know what it meant? She’d been in Riften for only a few days. He knew that. Grasping at straws?
“Blast.” He tucked the paper into his jacket. “I’ll have to do some digging on that. Right now, though, you should head over to meet Maven Black-Briar. She wants to meet you; asked for you specifically.”
Dag was surprised, and a little nervous. “What? Did I not handle the job properly? Will I come out alive?” She didn’t know much about Maven Black-Briar, but it was clear that people were afraid of her.
Brynjolf chuckled and smiled again. Huh, Dag thought idly. If I didn’t know better, I could almost believe that was a genuine smile. It looks good on him.
“No, it’s nothing like that, don’t worry about it. Trust me. If she had wanted you out of the way, she would have spoken to the Dark Brotherhood, not me.”
Dag hoped he didn’t see her gulp. Maven could just – speak to the assassins’ guild? Even more reason to be a bit nervous.
“I don’t know why she wants to see you, lass, and I don’t want to know. Best you keep your business between the two of you. But business for Maven usually involves a good amount of coin. Now get right over there. She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Dag nodded and started back toward the exit. She felt eyes on her back, and looked back at Brynjolf. He’d clearly been watching her; as soon as she turned he pretended to be checking out Niruin’s archery, but the deflection was pretty obvious. She snorted. What is it, Brynjolf? Did you really think I couldn’t handle a knife wound? She rolled her eyes and found her way through the Cistern to the cemetery.
Climbing out into the sun, Dagnell paused for a moment, looking toward the city wall. There was a shrine to Talos nestled into an inconspicuous nook, out of sight of the street. What could it hurt, she thought. I’m sore and tired and hey, if a little blessing will help, I’ll take it. She walked to the shrine, stood silently for a moment and then touched the statue. A wave of warmth washed over her, taking her anxiety with it. I’ll be damned, she thought, shaking her head. Dag wasn’t remotely a religious sort, and didn’t know whether it had been real or she’d just imagined it; but right then it didn’t matter. She felt better.
Maven Black-Briar was seated at a table on the second floor of the Bee and Barb. She was a small woman, middle-aged, with piercing eyes and a sour expression. Everything from her perfectly coiffed, raven black hair to the rich material of her nearly pristine clothing shouted money, influence, and intimidation.
“So you’re the one,” she said smoothly, looking Dag over. “Hmm. You don’t look so impressive to me.”
Dag frowned. Maven was clearly used to having the upper hand, but Dag was tired, and getting even more tired of people underestimating her. “Shall we skip the conversation and get to the point?”
Maven raised one eyebrow. “Oh, a little firebrand I see. Well that’s good. It’s about time Brynjolf sent me someone with some business sense. I was beginning to think he was running some sort of beggar’s guild over there.”
Really? Dag was surprised. I thought you and the Guild were a well-oiled machine. “You have no faith in the Guild?”
Maven chuckled. “Faith? I have no faith in anyone. All I care about is cause and effect; did the job get done and was it done correctly. No gray areas.” Well, Dag thought. I can respect that. Maven is also a survivor, it seems.
Maven stood and looked Dag squarely in the eye. “I need you to go to Whiterun. A rival meadery, Honningbrew, has suddenly become very successful and is cutting into my profits, and I want to know why and how. It’s run by a layabout named Sabjorn, who has been a thorn in my side for years. Find Mallus Maccius at the Bannered Mare; he’ll fill you in on all the details.”
She paused, looking annoyed. “It’s going to take Goldenglow and my supply of honey some time to get back on its feet, so time is of the essence. I don’t want Sabjorn taking any more of my profits. Let me make this clear,” she continued, her tone becoming sharper but not a bit louder, “you butcher this job and you’ll be sorry.”
Maven handed Dag a sack of coin. “Here. I think you’ll find this adequate compensation for your efforts thus far.”
There were a great many unpleasant thoughts running through Dag’s mind at that moment. If she had one more person assume she was going to foul up a job, she might actually explode. That sack of coin had an impressive heft to it, though; so she simply nodded and returned to the Ragged Flagon.
Tonilia bought several of the bits and pieces she had scooped up from Aringoth’s bedroom. When Dag pulled out the bee statue, though, she looked up in surprise.
“Take this over to Delvin,” she said. “He’s going to be happy to see it.”
Delvin, as it turned out, was delighted, turning it over and over in his hands and practically salivating. “Well well. I’ve been looking for this little beauty!”
“So could I sell it to you? Tonilia said you might be interested.”
“Definitely. Here. I think you’ll find this a fair price.” He handed her a pouch that rattled nicely in her hands; she was beginning to feel downright solvent again. “If you should happen across any other interesting trinkets like this in your travels, be sure to bring them to me. I promise you it’ll be worth your time.”
“Sure, I’ll do that,” she said, smiling. Delvin was a mystery, but an amusing one. The other mystery was that there was a great deal more coin floating about in the Guild than all the tales of bad luck would suggest. She wondered why they allowed themselves to live in such squalor. Maybe they were saving it all for a rainy day. Maybe they were keeping it out of Maven’s direct line of sight. Who knew? Delvin, probably.
“Delvin, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, pet. Fire away.”
“What is all this about doing extra jobs to help the Guild?”
Delvin grimaced. “Back a couple of decades ago this place was like a city under the city. Our own shops, a smithy, you name it. We had influence in all the major cities in Skyrim, contacts everywhere. People respected us, and feared us, and we were all bloody rich. Look at it now. There’s just barely enough coin to keep things going. So every chance we get to re-establish some connections, we need to take it. That’s where you come in.”
Dag nodded.
“Well, I hope it will all work out,” she said. She wasn’t exactly convinced about the “we” business. But she did like Delvin, in spite of his genuine oddness.
Dag trudged back to the Cistern. She needed to rest. There was a bed available for her here in Guild headquarters, but nothing about sleeping here appealed to her. She’d have sooner found a corner of the horse stalls out at the stable; their bedding was sure to be fresher than this. She needed to count out her coin. She needed to get another blade. And she was going to need a travelling companion if she was going to make it through unfamiliar territory to Whiterun and back in one piece. But first she was going to need to sleep like the dead for a long time.
Just before she reached the ladder, Dag paused, uneasy, and looked behind her.
Brynjolf was leaning against the wall, watching her again. He wasn’t frowning, this time, but he was making no attempt to hide the fact that he was watching her. All eyes were on her, all right, and half of them were his. Insufferable man. For a moment she pondered walking over to call him on it; but her tiredness won out and she turned to the ladder again.
She sighed and headed out for the Bee and Barb. She wasn’t going to be popular there, but Keerava wasn’t likely to pass up her new-found coin.