Dagnell walked into the Winking Skeever in Solitude and tried to slide her way in past the elbows of drinking locals crowding the doorway. The innkeeper called a welcome, or at least she hoped it was a welcome, through the noise of the revelers. Dag had no idea how she would find her target in the midst of this crowd. Every race in Tamriel was here, as far as she could tell: multiples of all of them, half of them drunk, all of them loud.
It was a pleasant inn, downright opulent compared to some of the others she’d seen in Skyrim. The place was made of stone and was clean and attractive, with glazed Nordic place settings and bright hangings. There were potted plants here and there – deathbell, she noted in amusement. Poisonous plants as décor was an odd choice for an inn but they were beautiful plants, after all, with large, showy flowers in a deep, saturated purple. One of the barmaids held a drink tray above the shoulders of her customers as she wound her way into an alcove just out of eyeshot to the left; the voice thanking her was distinctly Argonian. Dag smiled. She would start with him.
She had made good time coming across the province, stopping in the afternoon sun at a farmhouse outside Whiterun long enough to do Vex’s job. The stablemaster and his son, just across the road from that farmhouse, had been arguing. He’d been nagging loudly about all the possible chores to be done in a stable, coming up with a new one each time it seemed he was finished. The son, who had already done them all, was getting more than a bit annoyed about not being allowed a moment’s respite. Dag took advantage of the attention they were drawing to let herself into the empty house, plant the stolen ruby in a chest, slip out of the house and continue running across the plains just as though nothing had happened.
It was the easiest money she’d ever made. It felt almost too good. What was it Brynjolf had said? Larceny in her blood? If she stopped to really consider the years between losing her parents and now, and be truthful about it, she had to recognize it: more often than not the bulk of her money really hadn’t been the result of honest work. Roggi had been right to leave her, given his feelings about thieves. It was galling to admit that to herself but she’d be damned if she would ever give Brynjolf the satisfaction of hearing it, arrogant so-and-so that he was.
Once, approaching a range of hills, she’d heard the cry of a dragon in the distance; but no amount of squinting at the sky had revealed a hint of where it might be coming from. She’d listened carefully for that odd, percussive sound that Dardeh had made knocking Kematu off his feet – the Shout, Roggi had called it – but she didn’t hear it. Aside from that and a few frostbite spiders lurking in the marshes, nothing had happened once she’d left the tundra. No assassins, no bandit attacks. Not a thing. It was a relief. Dag really didn’t like being flat out afraid, and that dragon had shaken her right to her core. It had looked like death on the wing.
The Argonian in the alcove was decked out in merchant clothing. He looked up as she approached and scanned her from top to bottom, his eyes glinting in recognition. Yep, it’s him, she thought. He knows the uniform.
“So, what do we have here? Let me guess.” He sniffed. “From your scent I’d say you were from the Guild, but that can’t be true because I told Mercer I wouldn’t deal with them anymore.”
Oh really? Dag thought. Mercer didn’t mention that to me, and Brynjolf said you were claiming a shortfall of goods, not that you were cutting ties. Someone was lying. Interesting. Not surprising, but interesting nonetheless.
“I’m here about Goldenglow Estate,” she told him.
“I don’t deal in land or property. Now if it’s goods you’re looking for you’ve come to the right person.”
I don’t have the time for this, she thought, or the patience. “Drop the act, Gajul-lei.”
Gulum-Ei looked startled, and swallowed hard, then tried valiantly to cover for himself, his voice oily. “Oh wait, did you say Goldenglow? My apologies. I’m sorry to say I know very little about that… bee farm, was it?”
“Yes, I said Goldenglow. You heard me the first time. It’s a bee farm. You acted as the broker for its sale, and I need to know who bought the gods-damned thing.”
To the extent Dag could decipher an Argonian face, she thought his eyes narrowed warily. So now he begins to understand that the threat is real, she thought, and coming from higher places that have good intelligence.
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. You can’t expect me to just hand over that kind of information. If word of it got around, my reputation would be ruined.”
Dag sighed. He was right, of course; below-board dealings required the trust that came from one’s ability to keep one’s mouth shut. Bribe Gullum-Ei. At least she remembered that much from her drunken conversation with Brynjolf. “Ok, what will it take to loosen your tongue?”
His face elongated into what she supposed was a smile. Or maybe a sneer.
“Well since you ask, I have a buyer who is interested in procuring some Firebrand wine. It’s very expensive and quite hard to come by. It just so happens that there’s a single case of it up at the Blue Palace. If you bring that to me, I will tell you what I know.” Dag nodded in reluctant agreement. He could easily get that wine himself, she felt certain of it; but how much better for him if she was the one with her neck on the block. The very prominent executioner’s block just inside Solitude’s main gates, to be exact.
Dag had happened to arrive in Solitude just as a very ugly public execution was taking place. She hadn’t wanted to get close enough to it for people to notice her, but she thought she had heard Ulfric Stormcloak mentioned, and had felt a sharp twinge of sadness thinking of Roggi yet again. Whatever the circumstances had been, it had ended with a Nord’s head rolling around separately from his body.
She definitely would like to avoid being in that position herself. She would be very, very careful in the Blue Palace.
The Blue Palace was a considerable stroll across the natural stone arch that held the city of Solitude. The capital city was old, not run-down as Windhelm was, but visibly ancient. The stone buildings were massive and beautiful, surrounded by flowers and moss and small trees, and draped with banners; there were homes and businesses and temples and what had to be the Bard’s College, judging from the sweet music wafting out from its entrance. The streets were full of people, including children who stopped to ask whether she wanted to play tag, not caring who she was or what she looked like. She smiled at them and sent them on their way. There was money being flaunted here in Solitude, and lots of it, in spite of the few beggars and less-opulent merchant areas near the main city gates. This was good to know.
It was also good to see the heavy foliage lining the approach to the Blue Palace. There were a dozen places a thief could hide, if necessary, when trying to leave with stolen goods.
The Palace itself was open, though well-guarded. Her eyes flitted from one expensive silver jug to another, service settings piled high with sweet rolls and cheese and other snacks scattered about near seating in the entry hall. These things would be altogether too tempting for a thief, she thought, smirking, if a thief were to come here thinking of robbing the place. A thief would be clever to keep them in mind.
An elegant, curved double staircase led up to what must be the court, from the sounds of voices drifting down. That would not be where the wine was kept, certainly. To the left, Dag thought she heard the sounds of cooking: the clank of a spoon against a pot, the repeated thumping of a knife chopping ingredients. Service area; that was where she needed to go. She nodded at the nearest guard and walked down the hall just as though she was supposed to be there.
Sure enough, the kitchens were directly to the left of the grand entry way, but they were bustling with servants. Dag frowned. How to find the wine? The audience hall was out; she wasn’t about to show her face to anyone official. The kitchen was out as well, at least until people went to bed. Instead, she turned into a hallway to her right and wandered down it, past side tables and chairs, toward a landing at the far end with narrow stairways leading both up and down. There wasn’t even anything worth lifting in this hallway, and she was getting frustrated. Dag stopped before a closed door on the left, wondering whether to chance letting herself in, and was just about to do that when a table near the stairway caught her eye. On the far side of a large urn, out of sight to a person standing where she had been in the entry hall, was a wooden crate filled with bottles. She lifted one out to verify that yes, this was indeed the Firebrand wine Gulum-Ei wanted. It was an odd place to have left such a thing, she thought, but there it was and she would take it.
Getting back out was interesting. It wasn’t hard to simply walk back down the hallway as if she was supposed to be moving the crate to the kitchen, a totally natural thing to do. But the guards? They’d just seen her come in empty-handed and she wasn’t sure they’d buy it if she left holding a large container. She dropped into a crouch and edged forward, keeping behind one of the decorative pillars and just out of range of the nearer guard, wracking her brain for an idea, any excuse that might hold water.
One of the servants, a well-endowed, pretty maid, came out from the opposite hallway. “Mind your feet. I just washed there,” she scolded the guard, while giving him the most obvious come-hither smile Dag had ever seen. He, of course, went thither, and why not; she would have as well, she supposed. The other guard turned to ogle them both as the first guard’s hands started roaming. Dag simply stood and walked quietly out the door, snickering, and thanking human nature for her good luck.
Gulum-Ei took the wine and gave her several gems in return. No, it wasn’t a bribe, he said, it was a business transaction to ensure his continued survival. He was more than happy to tell Dag that he’d been approached by a woman with a bag of gold who asked nothing more than he give Aringoth the money and walk away with the deed.
“What was her name?” Dag asked, exasperated. After all, that was what she’d run all the way to Solitude to find out.
“We don’t ask questions about names in this line of work, just about what kind of coin one holds. What I do know is that she was very angry, and that anger seemed to be directed toward Mercer Frey.”
“Really.” Dag wished that she knew more Argonians so that she could read his reptilian face better. “Well I think you’re lying to me.”
Of course he was lying. A buyer with no connection to the Guild would not have even known the name Mercer Frey, even if Gulum-Ei did. Not only that, the mystery buyer would have had no reason at all to mention Mercer or her anger with him to someone who didn’t know them both already. No wonder both Mercer and Brynjolf like you so much, Gulum-Ei, she thought. You really are a slimy bastard. But you’re a little sloppy.
He sighed. “Look, that’s all I know. Now since our transaction is at an end, I’ll be leaving.” He pushed past her and walked out of the Winking Skeever as briskly as though there’d been an angry saber cat on his tail.
Dag sighed. She had really hoped to convince him to talk without too much fanfare. Apparently she wasn’t awfully persuasive, and not very threatening, either. There was something else to work on, along with her pickpocketing skill.
She headed out to see what Gulum-Ei might step in.