Dagnell trudged up the stairs to the second floor of the Bee and Barb, hoping that her nose and face weren’t still blotchy and red, and grateful for the deep shadows in the inn’s corners. It had taken what felt like forever, as well as the rest of her mead and the one Roggi had left behind, to get herself composed, or at least numbed enough to face other people. If she didn’t get to Maven right away she would be in trouble. I’m not in the mood for more trouble, she thought. Not right now.
Maven looked up from her papers, the slight frown that seemed to be her natural expression deepening. “There you are,” she said. “It took you long enough. I trust you have good news?”
Dag handed her the note from Sabjorn’s desk. “Yes, Mallus is safely in charge and eager to do his job. He probably has got the signs changed over to Black-Briar already. This is what I found in Sabjorn’s desk.”
Maven scowled down at the paper. “Well, this doesn’t do me any good. There’s no name, just this odd symbol.”
“Yes. I’ve seen that before. It was on the Goldenglow deed.”
Maven tsked. “Well you should get this information to the Thieves Guild right away. They can take care of it. And there’s the matter of your payment. I believe this should suffice.” She handed Dag a bag of coin nearly the size of the one on its way to Kynesgrove with Roggi, then went back to her papers.
Guess I’ve been dismissed, Dag thought sourly. Well there’s no help for it, I’d best go interrupt Red’s drinking. She clumped down the stairs, catching the attention of the Imperial mage who always seemed to be parked by the door. He was dark haired, young, good-looking, and always right there. “My skill in magic is unmatched,” he told her with an attractive smile that revealed perfect teeth, his tone light and pleasant. “Luckily for you, those skills can be bought.”
Is that so, Dag thought, looking him over. A mercenary. Well he is a handsome thing. Perhaps the next time the Guild sends me out to the hinterlands I’ll look him up. She shook her head. “Maybe another time.”
“If you change your mind, you’ll know where to find me,” he said, smiling.
Dag didn’t smile back. She was in a foul mood, didn’t know when she might feel like smiling ever again, and was suddenly seized by an unexpected impulse. She stomped over to Keerava, bought an ale and slammed it back as fast as she could. Before she had a chance to think about it she repeated the process, then left by the nearest door.
Her head swam as she stepped out into the marketplace. An early evening thick fog had rolled in off the lake, rendering everything sticky and close. At times like this, the smell of Riften’s lower level tended to waft upstairs, and it hit her full on. Her stomach lurched, threatening to empty itself. Well that was clever of you, her other voice told her. Feel better now? She leaned over the railing above the canal for a moment, breathing deeply with her eyes closed, listening to Balimund’s hammer. He always worked late, and the sound of his hammering was oddly comforting.
Ale, on top of mead, with no food and a large side of regret, she thought, willing her head to stop spinning, her mouth sour. Not the best idea I’ve ever had. Someday I’ll remember that I’m not the same size as the boys.
There were cats yeowling at each other from somewhere nearby, down in the lower levels of Riften; they went quiet as footsteps clunked along the boardwalk and then receded around the corner. Wait, Dag thought. I can hear that. Dag opened her eyes. Balimund had stopped hammering and was watching her from across the marketplace. His expression never changed. He turned and went back to his work.
Dag found one of the benches alongside the market stalls and sat for awhile in the cool air, waiting to feel a bit more steady and wishing she could quiet her mind. She kept going back to the morning in Nilheim, how contented she’d been waking up next to Roggi. There should have been more mornings. Many more.
And the skooma. It was still being made. There’d been no justice done for her, or Coyle, or Doran, or any of the others. The dealers were dead, and that was the best that could be said about it.
When her stomach and head settled a bit, Dag took the long way around to the Guild, going in through the Ratway. It’s more of a walk, she told herself, even if it smells bad. I could use a little more of a walk before I go in there. Her little voice, though, sneered at her. You’re fine. You just don’t want to go by the Temple. You’re weak.
Dag walked around the Ragged Flagon, peering into the dim alcoves, searching. Delvin and Vex were arguing about a shipment, and Dirge was looming over some townfolk who had come in for a drink. Brynjolf wasn’t at the bar, but Tonilia was, and Veckel was leaning over it toward her, close, in a way that looked familiar. Interesting. All the beefy muscles in this Guild and Tonilia picked the skinny bartender. She looked around again, and frowned. So many people wearing dark leather armor, and not a single one had the familiar bulk she was searching out.
Finally, she stuck her head into the training room. It was very bright compared to other areas of the Guild, and she squinted to keep from tearing up; but in the corner was the silhouette she’d been looking for, topped with hair that shone red even through the glare of torchlight. He was watching a pair of the younger thieves practice with swords against the tightly woven straw dummies, but he looked up and frowned at her as she passed behind them to meet him.
“It took you long enough, lass,” he grumbled, arms crossed.
“Don’t start with me,” she snapped, then groaned at herself. Remember where you are, fool. This is your superior. He has no reason to put up with your crap.
“Excuse me?” There was an unpleasant edge to his voice.
“Sorry. I’m … not in a good mood.” My head is swimming and it’s a wonder how coherent I am, actually. I hope I’m not slurring. But I’m really, really not in a good mood.
Brynjolf peered at her, examining, then made a small noise that sounded like a not-quite-suppressed snicker. “Shall I buy you a drink?” he asked, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
Her stomach lurched, and she waved him off. “Nooooo, no no no. Thanks for the offer, but no. I’m, um, all set.” Can’t put much past him, can I? Apparently she was either slurring or weaving, but she couldn’t decide which. Maybe both. It was too much of an effort to try to stay focused. She rubbed her right temple; the headache was already forming. “That was cruel, by the way.”
He chuckled. “That good, eh?”
“Yep. That good. I kind of took it out on myself, I guess. Foolish.” She couldn’t help but share a grim smile. “Sorry I’m so slow getting back. When I left, I had to go north to get my buddy for backup, and it added a day.”
Brynjolf snapped to attention, alarm rising into his eyes. “What?”
“Don’t worry,” Dag hurried to cut him off, fuming at herself. That was stupid, damn it. Maybe I’m not as coherent as I think. “He really had no idea what was going on except that I wanted a little protection on the road.” That was true enough; he really didn’t know. He does now, but that’s another story entirely. She sighed. “He and I nearly got taken out a couple of times, and I was lucky to have him with me to patch me up. I did the job and got back here as soon as I could, and in one piece. Which wouldn’t have been the case, if he hadn’t been there.” And that was as true as true could get.
Brynjolf just stared at her, one eyebrow raised. He’s not buying this, she thought. It was stupid of me to mention Roggi. But what business is it of his, anyway?
“A – ‘friend,’ eh?” He crossed his arms again.
She glared at him. What is this, anyway, an inquisition? Someone else had my attention for a few days and you didn’t like that? You couldn’t control me for a few days and that bothers you? Superior be damned.
“Is it so hard to imagine that I have a friend outside of Riften, Red? My life didn’t just suddenly begin when I walked through that gate.”
Brynjolf glowered. “My name’s … not … Red.”
“And my name isn’t Lass. It’s Dagnell, Brynjolf.”
He blinked, and his mouth opened in surprise. He closed it, looking almost contrite, and shook his head. “Sorry, lass.”
They stared at each other for a startled moment, Brynjolf’s eyes wide, his mouth in a small, silent “oh.” Then he tossed back his head and laughed, a big, hearty, rumbling laugh that took her and everyone else in the room by surprise. “Seems I just can’t help myself,” he chuckled. “It must be some sort of affliction.”
To her surprise, Dag found herself giggling. Brynjolf’s amusement went all the way up to his bright green eyes. It was a welcome change from their usual coldness. She liked it.
The two young thieves, who had paused in their practice to look at the two of them, smirked at each other, then shrugged and went back to work. Apparently Brynjolf laughing out loud was not something they heard often. And that was a shame; he had a good laugh.
“Well, you’re back now,” he said, still grinning. “Word on the street is that poor Sabjorn’s found himself in Whiterun’s prison. How — unfortunate for him.” His eyes were still twinkling.
“And yet very fortunate for Maven.” Dag grinned. She could almost grow to enjoy this playful Brynjolf. No wonder the younger folk in the Guild liked to hang around him; he gave every indication of being capable of fun once in awhile, when he wasn’t being somber and gruff. And annoying.
He smirked. “Exactly. Now you’re beginning to see how our little system works.”
“Speaking of which, I found this in Sabjorn’s desk,” Dag said, fishing the note out of her pocket and handing it to him. Maven said I should bring it to you. It’s got the same mark on it that we found on the Goldenglow deed. I don’t know who it is, but…”
Brynjolf read the note, a frown taking his face as he went and deepening when he reached the paragraphs about the Guild. “Well this is beyond coincidence. First Aringoth and now Sabjorn. Someone’s trying to take us down from inside by driving a wedge between Maven and the Guild.” He looked up at Dag and waved the note. “Mercer thinks he knows a way to identify this new thorn in our side. He wants to meet with you right away. I’d hurry if I were you; I’ve never seen him so angry before.” He handed the note back to her.
Well by the Eight, why didn’t you tell me this sooner, you idiot? We’ve been standing here having a pissing contest and Mercer’s angry. She didn’t like Mercer, but she didn’t feel like getting on his bad side. She glared at Brynjolf in exasperation and headed into the Cistern, where Mercer leaned over his desk, studying documents.
“Ah, there you are,” he said, looking up at her, frowning. “I’ve consulted my contacts regarding the information you recovered from Goldenglow Estate, but nobody can identify the symbol.”
Nice to see you, too, Mercer, Dag thought. How’s the weather been holding up? I hope you’ve been well? I haven’t, thanks for your concern; but by all means, don’t be worried about me. She sighed, and handed him the note. “Yes. Whoever bought Goldenglow is also behind Honningbrew. The same symbol is on this.” He skimmed it, frowning more. Then he looked up at Dag, everything about him gray and cold.
I wonder if he ever looks like something other than a skeever, she pondered. Does he ever smile, or even just relax? She couldn’t picture the others just hanging around with him for the heck of it, the way they did with Brynjolf. Not a warm man at all.
He shook his head. “It would appear that our adversary is trying to take us apart indirectly by angering Maven Black-Briar. Very clever.”
Dag continued to be struck by Mercer’s speech patterns. He was formal, almost awkward, but the words he chose gave him away as a well-educated man. It also made him seem like a real stiff.
Pay attention, said her other voice. What did he just say? Oh, Dag thought. He said that the person behind Honningbrew was… Clever? I wasn’t expecting that. She tried to focus on Mercer.
“You admire this person?”
He nodded. “Whoever is doing this is smart, well-funded, and has eluded detection for years now. I’m surprised that it’s reached this point.” He stood back from the desk and crossed his arms. “But don’t mistake my admiration for complacency. Our nemesis is going to pay dearly. In spite of all their posturing and planning, they’ve made a mistake. The parchment you recovered contains the name Gajul-lei.”
“Oh yes, I remember seeing that. He was the agent, right?”
Mercer nodded. “According to my information, that’s an old alias for a Guild contact named Gulum-Ei.” His voice dropped so that she barely caught him saying “Slimy bastard.” She was surprised to hear Mercer use such a common insult. He had such an odd habit of speech. Gulum-Ei must really be something to get under his skin.
Gulum-Ei was the Guild’s inside man in the capital city of Solitude, he told her, working with the East Empire Company, and had long been an important asset for the Guild.
“I’m betting he acted as a go-between and can finger the buyer. I want you to go to Solitude. Shake him down for information. Talk to Brynjolf for details. Now get going.” He frowned and went back to his papers.
Guess I’ve been dismissed again, Dag thought. Oh Mercer. Your sweet talking will get you everywhere. She waited until turning away from him before rolling her eyes. No wonder it was Brynjolf’s job to be the public relations man, and not his. Well, if nothing else he was well and truly focused on business. That had to be worth something.
Dag looked around for Brynjolf, wondering yet again how she had gotten herself involved with these people. How did it make any sense whatsoever that this group of professional thieves would send a neophyte to do these important jobs? Did they not have any Guild members stationed in Solitude? She’d never even been there before, only seen it from a distance when J’Hall had waved in its general direction as they trundled down the road in his cart. Or maybe that was the idea; sending someone who wasn’t already known in the city might be an advantage.
Well, she would go to Solitude for them, all right. She was in so deep with them that there was probably no getting out, maybe not ever, unless she ran very fast and very far, and maybe only if she visited the strange woman who was always sitting in the corner of the Flagon, the one who claimed to be able to change your looks, because otherwise they’d track her down. Right now she was in no shape to do any of that, for all sorts of reasons, not the least of which was sheer exhaustion. Maybe she wouldn’t make it. Maybe she’d run into Dardeh again and get eaten by one of his dragons, there was a thought. It really didn’t matter much anymore. Maybe she would take up with him; he seemed like a nice guy. Maybe she would just give up. Maybe she should. Maybe this was the time when she wouldn’t survive.
Brynjolf was in the Flagon, in his usual spot, once she finally located him. She slid in beside him, called Vekel over and bought a flagon of mead.
Brynjolf arched an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Dag stared at the flagon and sneered. “I’m pretty sure it’s not. But I don’t really care.” I just want not to think right now, if it’s ok with you, Red. I just want to relax, if that is even possible. She took a long drink and glared at him.
Brynjolf was studying her. For once he didn’t look angry, or sarcastic, just thoughtful.
“It was a rough trip, eh?” he asked, quietly enough that Veckel couldn’t hear.
Gods knew Dag wasn’t making much of an effort to hide that fact, but damned if he wasn’t seeing more than she was showing. Or at least more than she hoped she was showing. Dag just nodded. She didn’t quite trust herself to speak. She took another drink and cleared her throat.
“Yeah, it was. Unexpectedly so. Thanks for asking.”
He nodded. “It’s hard when things go sideways, in my experience.”
“Anyway, I’m supposed to ask you about a guy named Gulum-Ei.”
He looked astonished for just a moment, then made a disgusted noise. “I can’t believe that Gulum-Ei is mixed up in this. That Argonian couldn’t find his tail with both hands. Don’t get me wrong. He could scam a beggar out of his last coin, but he’s no mastermind.”
Brynjolf had a lot of information about Gulum-Ei, and was eager, in his quite obvious anger, to share it. It seemed that Gulum-Ei had access to the East Empire Company’s Solitude shipping operation – the largest source of goods and money in the Empire. He used to send the Guild substantial amounts of coin by skimming off the top, but that cut had gotten increasingly slim of late. Gulum-Ei said that the flow of goods had dried up, but Brynjolf was convinced that he was lying.
Dag looked at her flagon and took another drink. She listened to him speaking, but her eyes were threatening to close. The last few days had tapped her nearly dry, and it was taking its toll. Brynjolf’s deep, appealing voice seemed to be coming from farther and farther away. She shook her head, trying to clear it, and looked at him.
Brynjolf looked older when he was angry. He probably looked his age, whatever that was. There were deep furrows in his brow, and the narrowing of his eyes emphasized the lines around them. I wonder how old he actually is, Dag thought idly, then forced herself to focus again. A job. I have to focus on the job. Gulum-Ei.
“So do you think he’ll give me any trouble?”
He sneered. “He’s a real piece of work, that one. There are thieves, and then there is Gulum-Ei. He has no honor, no code at all. He’d shake your hand and stab you in the back at the same time.”
And you have honor, Brynjolf? We have honor? Do we have a code?
She thought about it some more, as Brynjolf talked more, his voice washing over and past her like waves on the beach. Dag looked up and saw Veckel, whose attention was riveted on Tonilia. Suddenly she remembered Tonilia saying “welcome to the cozy little family.” She didn’t have family. She’d heard Thrynn talk about being a former bandit, how they were his family until their ringleader ordered him to kill women and children. Rune had no blood family; he’d been adopted as an infant when a fisherman found him washed up on the shore. Niruin had told her that his family had rejected him when he became a thief out of boredom.
She looked at Brynjolf. “Welcome to the family, lass,” he’d said. And “we take care of our own.” She had thought he was just being pompous. Maybe it wasn’t that.
Maybe that’s what it was.
Her head was full of cotton, though. I can’t figure it out right now, she thought.
Brynjolf hadn’t even noticed that she was drifting. He kept on talking.
“You’re going to have to buy him off; it’s the only way to get to him. If that fails, follow him to find out what he’s up to. His position in the East Empire Company makes him a real asset to the Guild. In case that isn’t clear, it means that we don’t want him killed. Just keep on his tail. He’s bound to step in something that he can’t scrape off his boot.”
Dag nodded. Right. Bribe Gulum-Ei. That made perfect sense, but her eyes were closing and the fog was rolling in.
“Brynjolf?”
“Yes, lass?”
“I’m really, really tired.”
The next thing she was aware of, even through eyes that refused to open, was being carefully laid down on a bed by a pair of very warm, solid arms that felt very good, her hair being gently brushed back from her face, a thin blanket being laid over her.
“Roggi?”
There was a pause.
“No, lass. It’s Brynjolf.”
“Oh.”
The musty smell of the bed told her that yes, she was still in the Guild. She sighed, and felt a tear find its way out from under her eyelid and work a path down her face to the pillow.
As if from a million miles away, she heard voices.
“She’s supposed to be on her way to Solitude.”
“Leave the lass be, Mercer. She’s been on the road for days, and she’s tired.”
“She looks more than tired to me.”
“She looks like someone who got wounded but still finished her job and got back here with the information. Leave the lass be. I’ll send her off in the morning.”
“See that you do. It is vital that we find out what Gulum-Ei knows.”
“She knows that. Now let her sleep it off.”
Later – how much later she had no idea – Dag heard more voices.
“So, Thrynn.” It was Cynric Endell, one of the junior members.
“Yeah?” Thrynn had a low, rough voice with a friendly tone to it.
“You were a bandit, right?”
“Yeah, why?”
Dag could almost feel Cynric leering. “Is it true that bandits get real friendly with the — wildlife?”
There was a pause.
“You’re an idiot.”
Dag smiled and went back to sleep.