A week and a half after the raid on the bandits’ village, Zenrom and the mercenaries returned to Maliri’s manor, the stolen wagons rumbling behind them. The journey back was uneventful and faster than expected, especially with the number of prisoners they had.

  After meeting with his wife and her father, Zenrom found a local artist and commissioned a portrait of Lahdor. He was frustrated that they hadn’t been able to catch the man, but he was at least satisfied with how well the picture had turned out.

  Let’s see how long you can stay hidden once I spread your face to every town and city, he thought as he studied the portrait and made his way to the study he shared with his wife.

  Reaching the room, he opened the door.

  “How did it go?” Ashley asked as he stepped inside. Her face was buried in a mound of papers.

  Ashley looked tired; the bright sunlight from the windows made the dark circles under her eyes appear even worse. From what Zenrom had learned, she had been meticulously going through every report and rumor about Hagan’s caravan since he had left the manor over two weeks ago.

  “The artist did a good job. Here, take a look at him.” Zenrom passed her the portrait and moved a pile of paper from a chair before dropping onto it with a heavy sigh.

  “He looks much older than I expected,” Ashley murmured, studying the picture. “With how strong he is, it's surprising someone this old and this strong isn’t known.” She set the portrait aside and returned to her reading. “Are you going to the Information Guild tomorrow?” she asked, peeping at him over the report in her hand.

  “Yes, I’ll bring that portrait with me when I go,” Zenrom said, sitting up and pouring himself a glass of wine. “Hopefully, they can find him.”

  “I hope so,” Ashley replied, her attention already going back into the report. Picking up a quill, she started to write down some numbers. The frown line on her forehead deepened.

  Seeing his exhausted wife, Zenrom wondered if he should suggest taking a quick break. Taking a sip of the wine, he cleared his throat, “I was thinking…”

  “Wait—wait!” Ashley cut him off before he could continue, her eyes widening as she reread the document in her hand and double checked the numbers she had written. “Come look at this!” She lifted the paper with her numbers and waved him over.

  “What is it?” Zenrom asked, standing and stepping closer, the glass of wine was still in his hand.

  “With losing our caravan, I was calculating how much gold we lost…” she began.

  “But we made money?” Zenrom finished for her, staring at the numbers on the page. “How is that possible?”

  “Insurance,” Ashley explained, shuffling through several sheets and showing him another. “It looks like Father acquired an extremely lucrative insurance plan for the entire caravan. Since we lost everything, we actually made money.”

  “Is this normal?” Zenrom asked, brows furrowed in thought, his brain trying to make sense of what his wife had told him.

  “Getting insurance is normal,” Ashley said, folding her hands in front of her. “But with the skill of our guards and the arrangements with the local warlords and bandit leaders, we rarely insure the whole caravan. Usually, only the most valuable items are. This is the only time we lost everything… and also the only time everything was insured.”

  “Isn't that a good thing?” Zenrom asked, sitting back in the chair and taking another sip of his wine.

  “It is a good thing. But I’m not done.” Ashley exhaled. “Not only was everything insured, but the contract states that if we recover any lost items using our own resources, we don’t have to return the insurance payout. When you add everything together… we actually made more than double what we would have.”

  An uneasy silence fell in the room as Ashley’s expression darkened.

  Studying his wife’s face, Zenrom gulped, his stomach tightening. “So… what does this all mean?” he finally asked, wine forgotten.

  “So far, nothing, but something doesn't feel right,” Ashley said steadily, her eyes locked on Zenrom’s. “I want you to find the bandit leader. Make it a priority. In the meantime, I’ll look into this situation. In the worst-case scenario… my father might have known our caravan would be attacked.”

  Cold sweat formed along Zenrom’s back, but he forced his expression to remain calm. If anyone else had said this, he would have dismissed it outright; his loyalty to Maliri was firm. But the flicker of rage in his wife’s eyes told him she was serious.

  Boss, I hope you didn’t do anything wrong," he thought to himself.

  “I’ll try to capture Lahdor alive,” he finally said. “We can interrogate him for information.”

  Nodding at his words, Ashley opened her mouth. “I’ve heard it’s harder to capture someone than kill them. Can you take him without getting hurt? He fought you, Reges, and San, at the same time.”

  “Now that we know his strength, we’ll be ready,” Zenrom promised.

  “Good.”

  The next day, Zenrom brought the portrait he’d commissioned to a cheap bar on the outskirts of the market. Pausing at the doorway, he surveyed the exterior, checking the nearby alleyways and windows before ducking inside.

  The bar was empty. A few wooden chairs and tables were set up, but none of them were occupied. Feeling a prickle of nervousness, Zenrom approached the counter.

  “Give me a cup of Burning Heart. One produced in Calra,” he said, quietly.

  Without looking at him, the bartender replied, “I don't have that kind of liquor at my store.”

  “No. There is a liquor called that here. Go ask your wife,” Zenrom said, his voice calm, but inside he was nervous.

  “…Alright. Wait just a moment.”

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  As the man disappeared into the back, Zenrom curiously studied the room, taking note of every exit and blind spot.

  The main room of the bar was a single wide area with tables and chairs arranged so that anyone entering would have to weave around them to reach the bar—no clear path from the door to the counter.

  Swiveling his head from side to side, Zenrom frowned. From what he could see, there was only one visible exit, and no obvious blind spots—aside from the bar itself and the door behind it. If you wanted to hide, you would have to overturn a table. Tilting his head at the ceiling, he squinted slightly, noticing that the ceiling was lower than it should have been.

  Is there a hidden floor? he wondered. If there are small holes drilled up there, you keep watch of everyone at the bar. I bet there are a couple of men there now.

  “Come with me,” the bartender barked, returning before Zenrom could continue with his line of thought. He motioned for Zenrom to follow.

  Zenrom rose and took one last look around the room before following the man.

  Following the bartender into the kitchen, Zenrom kept pace silently until the man stopped at a cramped storage closet, its interior cluttered with random odds and ends.

  “Turn around.”

  The bartender motioned with his hands for Zenrom to face the wall. Pursing his lips together, Zenrom obeyed, listening to the man rustling around until a soft click sounded behind him.

  A secret door!

  “You can turn around. The Boss will meet you inside,” the bartender said, stepping around Zenrom and making his way out of the closet.

  On the other side of the hidden wall was a large room, brightly lit, with a long table cluttered with papers at the far end. The smell of incense and tobacco lingered in the air.

  “It's been a few years, Zenrom—or should I call you Lord Zenrom now?” an old man said. His hunched back was so prominent that his head hung lower than his shoulders.

  “You can just call me whatever you want, Dylan. It has been a few years.”

  Zenrom stepped into the room and handed the portrait of Lahdor to the old man. “I need you to do everything you can to find this man.”

  Dylan oversaw a branch for the Information Guild, specializing in the capital city of Vanura and its surroundings. Zenrom had first met him when he was still a First Pillar of the Salizian army—he had arrested Dylan on suspicion of spying near one of the city’s main gates. Zenrom had released him after learning the man was investigating the Black-Market King, making the man promise to share any information he uncovered. Since then, their relationship had been useful, but uneasy—one that occasionally made Zenrom question whether working with Dylan was truly the right thing.

  He looks older than the last time, Zenrom thought, studying the man. It’s been less than five years, but he looks like he aged over ten.

  Taking the portrait, Dylan brought his face inches from the page, squinting as he examined the drawing.

  “This face… I feel as if I’ve seen this before. Who is he?” he finally asked, pulling the portrait slowly back until the drawing came into focus.

  “He attacked our caravan. I need you to find out everything you can about him.”

  “As you know, we can do that… but it’ll cost you a large sum of money,” Dylan cackled, tilting his head at an angle so he could see Zenrom more clearly. He looked almost like an owl, his head tilted sideways, his eyes bulging out.

  “How much?”

  “Fifteen gold coins. We’ll get you the information you want in one week.”

  “Fifteen gold coins? That's over a year's worth of my pay!” Zenrom blurted out. Dylan was always greedy, but this was too much.

  “That was over a year's worth of your pay,” Dylan grinned, the few teeth in his mouth visible. “We all know that you’re married to Lady Ashley now. Fifteen gold should be nothing to the son-in-law of Maliri.”

  “Seven,” Zenrom argued, shaking his head. “I may be the son-in-law, but I didn’t take any of his money. Besides, this commission is personal; it has nothing to do with Maliri.”

  “Seven will only get you the name and the last time this man was seen in a large town,” Dylan said, tapping the portrait.

  “Eight, and you tell me where he is,” Zenrom countered.

  “Ten, and I’ll tell you everything you ever wanted to know about him and his exact location.”

  Gritting his teeth in frustration, Zenrom reluctantly pulled out a pouch of gold. “Fine. Ten gold, but I expect the information to be worth the price,” he said, carefully counting out the gold and handing it over.

  Snatching the gold, Dylan chuckled. “Have I ever given you bad information?”

  “A couple times,” Zenrom grumbled, knowing that the few times he had been given bad information were not Dylan’s fault. “I expect the information in a week.”

  “You have my word. Come back in a week, and I’ll have a file for you. Now, is there anything else you need? If not, I have an important meeting I have to get to.”

  “No. That’s all.”

  Frowning at the sudden conclusion to their meeting, Zenrom slipped back through the hidden door. As he passed the door, he took a moment to study the hidden latch—small payback for the cost he had just paid. The mechanism looked complicated, but the latch was simple enough to see, a small metal latch hidden behind a wooden tub.

  If I ever need to get back in, I know what to do, he thought.

  Returning to the bar, Zenrom waved at the bartender. “Don’t work too hard. And make sure to give the two in the ceiling a break, they deserve it.”

  The bartender’s eyes widened in shock, giving Zenrom a brief flicker of satisfaction before he stepped outside. He was right, there was a hidden floor.

  A week later, Zenrom hurried back to the bar, excitement and anxiety running through him like a pair of unruly children. Reaching the entrance, he took a deep, steadying breath before stepping inside.

  The bar was dark and empty, not a single sign of life. Heart pounding in alarm, Zenrom drew his sword and made his way toward the kitchen.

  “Is anyone here?” he called.

  After a moment spent surveying the silent room, he moved to the closet with the false wall. Opening it, he fumbled with the secret latch, taking a couple of seconds to release it. When the mechanism finally clicked, he stealthily made his way through the doorway and stepped cautiously into the darkness, each footfall sounding loud to his sharpened ears.

  The inner room was empty, stripped clean, almost as if a group of people had cleared it. His heart sank. Zenrom searched every inch of the room, then the kitchen, then the bar again, but every room was deserted. He even took an hour to find the secret floor, only to come up empty.

  Feeling humiliated, he sank heavily into a chair at the bar, staring up at the dark ceiling.

  “Was I cheated?” he wondered out loud, his expression hollow. He sighed, his shoulders slumping.

  Now what?

  Standing up, he slowly headed home. When he reached the Manor, he paused outside the door leading to the study he shared with his wife, before entering.

  “How did it go?” Ashley asked without looking up, still surrounded by stacks of files.

  “The whole bar was empty. I think they took my money and ran,” Zenrom admitted, feeling sick with embarrassment.

  “What!” Ashley exclaimed, standing up and walking over to him, pulling him into a hug. “Don't worry, we’ll find them and make them pay!”

  “No, don’t. I don't want people to know I was scammed,” Zenrom whispered, shame making his voice small.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes”

  Feeling his wife’s hug tighten, Zenrom felt worse.

  “I'm sorry that I failed you and Hagan both,” he murmured.

  “No, you didn't. Maybe it didn’t work out, but you tried. And that's what matters.”

  “Thank you. I think I’m going to go for a walk to clear my head.”

  Ashley watched as Zenrom stepped out of the study, his shoulders drooping. Nothing about the situation made sense to her.

  Why would the Information Guild vanish over ten gold? she wondered as she slowly walked to her chair. Picking up a report from the desk, she stared down at it, her mind racing.

  Ten gold pieces might sound like a lot to most people, but it was nothing compared to the value of securing a connection with the son-in-law of Maliri. There was no reason they would take the money and disappear. At the very least, they would have returned the coins with an apology gift.

  Something is wrong.

  As she tapped her finger on her desk, two possibilities formed in her mind.

  The first: the Information Guild had found Lahdor, but his background was too dangerous to get involved with. In that case, the guild might have packed up and fled in fear for their lives.

  The second scenario was the one she dreaded. Someone—or some organization—had discovered the guild’s investigation and eliminated them. This scenario was especially terrifying because even the Information Guild, with all their expertise, had been caught blindsided.

  Either way, this situation was far more dangerous than it first appeared.