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[Konrad Venger]

65th Day of Spring, 516AV - Dry Island

He knew that he wasn't exactly the kind of person the traders and merchants wanted hanging around their stalls and shops. He also didn't give a shyke; his gold shone as bright as anyone else's, and he had a mind to spend it today.

His eyes scanned each place he passed, heedless of the flinches, gasps and whispering as people saw his ravaged face. The man had been getting those looks since he was ten Summers walking the world. A few dozen more would hardly trouble him, and his mind was focused on the task at hand.

Small enough to be gripped. Heavy. Not costing a fortune, and...

Distracting. That was the last proviso that Konrad was having trouble with, because it required a little more insight into others than he was used to having. What scared them, what could break them, how best to kill them... these were things he had a breeding in. But what they liked? Less so.

"Sir! Looking for something in particular?"

One brave or avaricious soul ventured forth into the sun and squinted up at the tall man in the white shirt under a black hat. Konrad blinked down at her and peered past the grinning woman at her wares. Beads and necklaces, trinkets and clothes, ribbons and womanly accessories that he couldn't imagine bringing much enjoyment to a hard-living carter who moonlighted as a mage-for-hire.

But as he looked, he saw one of carved green stones, smooth as stones under a waterfall, and Coryn's face flashed across his vision-

Venger blinked it away, and his distaste must have shown. The grin on the woman faltered and she took a step back. Konrad focused on her again and shook his head, side to side, then walked on again.

Not the time to let your thoughts wander, for petch's sake.

Kenash roils and boils and hawks and scurries around him; he strides through it all like a man wading through the swamp surrounding the gaudy metropolis. Scents and sights from Sylira, Kalea, Cyphrus and beyond all mingle together. Konrad hasn't seen a map big enough to tell him, but he's been told before that Kenash is the crossroads for half the world.

Judging by the accents he can hear jabbered just down this street, he believes it.

Slaves, many naked and burned by Syna, shuffle after their strutting masters. The Dynasties. Konrad thinks it easier to think of them like the syndicates back home; gangs big and rich and mean enough to cover their brutality with legitimacy and call themselves "legacies".

Petch it, he thinks as he peruses another stall of glittering carved stones before deciding they're a little... pointless. Long as Radacke keeps filling my purse, he can call his spawn whatever he wants.

"Something for your lady, sir?"

Konrad was a tick away from snapping "does it look like I have a woman?" before he saw the fabric in the girl's hands. Fine stuff. Well-made, regularly cleaned. It would glide across pale skin under blonde or dark hair like oil over water... and again, Konrad forced himself away from those thoughts.

It's her witchery, and you know it. Making you feel this stupid shyke.

"No."

He marched on and decided to step inside a store, out of the heat so clearly petching with his thoughts. The girl's sunny smile melted like a snowball hit with a fireball, and she spat into the mud as he stepped inside the sculptor's shop.

"Ugly foreign bastard..."

[Valerius Nitrozian]

Kenash was a city full of opportunities, Valerius decided as he walked along the street. He had just come from a visit to the Morealis family. He’d taught a young woman who had actually paid attention to what he had said, and afterwards they had drunk tea together. The Ravokian cared little for drinks, cake and small talk, but more about the implications of such things. It meant that people accepted him, that they thought him valuable, more so than the usual stranger that arrived in Kenash.

The thought of what he had had to do after his arrival dampened his mood somewhat. He looked at the brand on his left palm. It rather reminded him of the brands he had sometimes given the slaves in Ravok. He knew better than to cover the ugly thing though. It was a crime to hide the brand in Kenash, but on the other hand the law didn’t say that he had to raise his hands all the time as if he were a criminal that had just been caught.

He lowered his hand again and turned it so that his palm was facing his body. As he had concluded, the city was full of opportunities for him to make a name for himself and become more than just Sitanos Nitrozian’s spoiled, Kelvic torturing grandson, but there was something he always missed: the canals and the ravosalas.

He was looking for a particular item to decorate his room with, just a little something that would remind him of his home. Sometimes he was feeling strangely sentimental in that city in the middle of a swamp with its decadent residents and their lack of appreciation for his patron god. He’d already looked everywhere until he finally found that sculptor’s shop. As always, the Ravokian paid little attention to the people on the street. He was mostly concerned with himself and with those that could aid his social rise.

He stepped into the shop, nodding at the shop owner as he did so and took a look around. There were a lot of different sculptures on display, from sculptures of men and women over animals to globes and even trees, but of course the one thing he was looking for was not among them. He walked up to the counter to talk to the shop owner who had watched him closely all the time while he had looked around.

“I want a sculpture of a boat”, he informed him. That would have to do until he could have a real one built in Kenash. “Small enough that I can put it on a shelf or onto a table. But I do not want just any boat. I want a ravosala, a special kind of boat that is used to navigate the canals of Ravok. Do you think you can make one for me?”

The man looked a little uncertain. “I don’t know what a ravosala looks like, Sir”, he admitted at which Valerius withdrew a shimmering golden miza from his purse and put it on the table in front of him. The look on the man’s immediately changed. “I’ll pay good money of course”, Valerius informed him at which he smiled even more. “And I’ll make a sketch for you if it is necessary, if you give me a pen and a piece of paper. I want it to look ….”

He noticed that the man wasn’t listening to him anymore, but staring at something - or somebody – right outside his shop. He snapped his fingers to get his attention. The shop owner looked at him as if he had just seen a ghost or something even more unpleasant. Valerius ignored the look that the man gave him – he wouldn’ have cared if a whole army of barbarians were preparing to attack the shop - and asked him, somewhat impatiently, “Could you please finish my order now? I don’t have all day. I’m sure that whoever is coming can wait until it is their turn.”

[Konrad Venger]

Wood, stone, and mayhoa marble. These were good things as far as Konrad was concerned. Lot of heft to them. So the sculptor's store seemed like a natural fit, and had the added advantage of providing some respite against the monstrous, ceaseless heat.

Petch're you lookin' at, fat man?

Of course, the owner gave him The Look when he walked in, fanning himself briefly with his hat and leaving none of his scars to anyone's imagination. Otto winced slightly as Miss Meredith shooed her daughter out the side door at the very sight of the man, clucking like a mother hen about her chick. But then-

Snap!

Konrad was besieged at once by sculptures of a hundred different kinds. On the floor, on shelves, hanging from the ceiling, in alcoves... animals and men and women and battles and objects and... ships? He prowled down the rows and wondered if there was-

Gods, where does he come from?

-something that Trevin would appreciate. Something to remind him of his wife, maybe? But he couldn't see anything suitable and scratched his face, every rivulet of sweat seeming to gouge into his skin and draw his nails to them. He paused and reviewed what he-

That tone. Heard that plenty in the past. Born with gold in his hand and silver shoved up his-

-knew about Trevin. A traveler, a wanderer... something to do with... distance? Like that map above the-no! Not a map! Not some flimsy paper or parchment that he couldn't use, but... what were they called...

There!

As the prim customer with the clipped, precise tones of one used to getting what he wanted prated on, Konrad strode over to the row of spheres tottering almost perilously on wide little stands. Globes. That's what they were called. He picked one up with both hands and... that was a problem. Both hands. Too unwieldy, and the weight? He could throw it up and catch it easily. Barely a couple of pounds, and wound. It would splinter into fragments after a few good swings-

Petch a duck, how long are you planning to talk? Just let the man work.

But this was a sculptor's. Examples of his work with rock and stone of all kinds surrounded him, and with proper motivation Konrad knew the man could be made useful. He replaced the globe and walked over to the counter, palms flat on the cool, lacquered wood as Otto looked up again and... tried not to stare too intently.

"Oi, need t'know if y'got something," he said in that Sunberth accent that sounded like someone had bludgeoned Common with a hammer and left it speaking through a mouthful of grammar and bitterness. "See those globes? God'any that're smaller? Stone, marble, whatever. Hand-sized? I got money, if-"

The man's eyes flickered. Away from him, and to the other customer. Konrad turned and took off his hat again, letting the fine man with his fine accent and fine, breakable bones under his soft, pale skin. He looked down... then up... then smiled in a way he'd perfected a long time ago.

Take a good petching look, mate.

"Won't be a tick," he said in a jovial tone that somehow managed to be anything but. "Man's got yer order, I know, but he'll be at that fer a while. I just need 'im to find something for me." Konrad's hand vanished and when it returned, it flipped a disc of shining gold into Otto's palm. "A globe. Stone. Small. If ya got one, get it fer me. Then you can continue with yer..."

Konrad set the hat back on his head, a visage of livid scar tissue, brown and yellow teeth and skin cracked and parched by hardship, age and pain.

"... gentleman."

[Valerius Nitrozian]

The Ravokian turned his head as the door opened and a rather unpleasant looking man entered. He rightfully concluded that the stranger’s appearance was what had disturbed Otto so but a few moments before as he looked far from normal. He was tall, taller than any normal man should be – he towered over both Otto and Valerius - and he looked as if he had come straight from the wilderness where he had killed all kinds of beasts and ate them without bothering to cook them first.

He was scarred, he was ugly, and his skin reminded Valerius of old leather.

In short, he did not look as if he appreciated art. He reminded Valerius more of one of the slaves that fought in the Pit in Ravok every day and smashed the skulls of his opponents with his bare hands rather than an educated, law abiding citizen and somebody that was worth associating with, and yet here he was, inspecting the sculptures that were on display.

The Ravokian arched an eyebrow as he asked about a globe, of all things. What did he want with a globe, in Rhysol’s name? He did not look as if he had any idea of the geography of Mizahar, and he probably couldn’t read.

Valerius contemplated the matter for a few moments, and then he decided that it didn’t really interest him. Whatever Konrad wanted with a globe, it was likely a questionable and at least slightly unlawful activity.

“We weren’t quite finished yet …. Sir”, he spoke. There was a short pause before the word “sir”. Valerius was not sure if the stranger really deserved to be adressed thus. Konrad did not look like a “sir”. He did not have the manners of one either, but Valerius’ good education demanded that he did not insult him outright, even if he looked like he had not seen a bath since before the Valterrian and dental hygiene seemed to be a foreign concept to him.

“It will only be a few moments”, he added, somewhat reluctantly, as the stranger did look unpleasantly impatient.

“We haven’t decided on a price yet.” He turned to Otto again who might have been slightly uncomfortable by now, stuck between two customers that both wanted to be served right now. “I can pay right now if that is what you want, and when my sculpture is finished, you’ll send me a message, and I’ll come and pick it up. Does that sound acceptable to you?”

[Konrad Venger]

“…. Sir.”

This isn't The 'Berth, this isn't The 'Berth, this isn't The 'Berth...

Konrad had lost count of how many times he'd repeated the litany within his own skull, like a balm to a wound some uppity bastard was always rubbing the wrong way. Every time one of these prissy and perfumed types looked down their straight, unbroken noses at him, it began again.

Don't kill him. You never know, he could be some Dynasty wanker. He could be petching Radacke, for all you know, or one of their pets. This is not The 'Berth, and you don't know it well enough.

Yet.

That word was always the true ending. The glimmer of hope that made him standing there was that gruesome smile stuck on his face petching bearable. Once he had the knowledge, he would have the power. Then he'd not have to suffer fools like this again.

“It will only be a few moments.”

That widened the glimmer a little bit. Konrad could feel the reluctance on the words, the way the man seemed to vomit them up against his will. Politeness, perhaps? His kind always did put so much emphasis on empty niceties... or was it fear? Konrad couldn't quite taste that, and gods, he ought to know the flavor.

Still. It was a pleasant thought-

And you've got other things to worry about.

Yes. Right. The objective.

The man kept talking and Konrad listened with half an ear, not distracting Fat Man any further with his stare. He waited until Otto had given his answer, busying himself with studying his nails until the sculptor was done and then-

-his hand reached out and gripped the smaller, slighter man's shoulder. Gripped it in such a way that Konrad was silently reminding him that he was those two things. If he looked over, he'd see that same genial smile on Konrad's face.

"All that sounds quite reasonable," he said, flicking a glance at Otto. "Now go get what I asked for, since you've got the gentleman's information. I'mma stay and talk with my new friend..."

If Otto didn't move right away, Konrad would rest his hand on the table, palm up, and breathe...

It was getting easier. His lessons were helping him. Trevin was a good teacher, even if he'd never had any students. After the initiation, though, Konrad knew he was capable. It was just speed and efficiency, those were what he lacked. But that depended on what he was attempting and this?

This is small, and simple... but useful.

Otto's eyes widened as the scarred stranger's hand began to glow... then the green res marred with streaks of black rose from it like mist, curling like fingers... and then Konrad inhaled, willing the gas to return to his skin, soaking in like a sponge... and his hand became a fist... then a pointing finger.

"Now."

Off he scuttled to find the man's request, and Konrad turned his attention back to Valerius. This was... an indulgence. But he'd had a boring day, and besides, he wasn't going to hurt the man. Oh, goodness, no. Him? An associate of Magistrate Mica Radacke? Perish the thought...

"Wossat, then?" He said, nodding at the scribbled sketches Otto had been touching up at Valerius' instruction. "Yer boat? Ain't seen one on the canals. Youse from Kenash?" His eyes narrowed. Gods, why hadn't he seen it before? "Y'don't sound like it..."

Freeborn. Ah. Well. Freeborn was different. Freeborn wasn't blood. They were more than slaves, more than just chattel, human labor to be used and then discarded. But ultimately, they were expendable.

Konrad's grin twitched a touch. The glimmer got ever-wider...

[Valerius Nitrozian]

As Konrad gripped his shoulder, the Ravokian tensed, but not out of fear. He did not appreciate being touched, by anybody, not by some criminal that had probably come straight from the swamp and not even by the Magistrate himself. “Kindly remove your hand, Sir”, he said. The words sounded a little strained. He wanted to say more when he noticed that the man’s hand began to glow. His eyes instantly widened, almost against his will. By Rhysol, he was a mage! There were few people that Valerius mistrusted more than those that could manipulate djed. He found himself unpleasantly reminded of that animator. What had been her name? Tock or something equally ridiculous. No, he would not think of that cursed woman. She was not worth a single one of this thoughts!

Another man – one of those knights maybe – might still have objected to Konrad’s treatment of poor Otto, ordering him around like a slave, but Valerius did not care. Better Otto than him. Now could the savage just get his globe, leave and smash it into a wall or do whatever people like him did with globes?

Apparently not. It seemed as if he wanted to talk to him while Otto took care of his request and dared to call him friend! As if he’d ever befriend his kind. It also seemed as if he, Valerius had not perfect the local accent like he had thought, otherwise Konrad would not have asked if he was from Kenash. The doubtful tone of his voice had been more than obvious.

For a moment he was nevertheless tempted to tell him that he was wrong, that he was a Morealis or maybe a Lorak, even a ridiculously decadent Askara, a man that should not be messed with, but then he looked at where Otto had gone and decided that, no, that would not be a good idea. Otto would most likely run to the nearest dynasty member the moment Valerius was out of the door, and that would be the end of his stay in Kenash. At least Valerius would have done that had he been in Otto’s place. He would have done anything to improve his position in the city.

Besides, House Nitrozian was so much more powerful than the decadent dynasties of Kenash could ever hope to be. None of the people he had met in Kenash so far had been marked by Rhysol, but both his aunt and his cousin were Chaon, just like he would be one day, and his grandfather, Lord Sitanos Nitrozian was one of the most respected man in the city. There was no reason for Valerius to keep his heritage a secret or be ashamed of it.

“You are very observant”, he remarked. It sounded like a compliment … almost. “I am not from Kenash. I come from Ravok where my family controls the slave trade, among other things. You could say that I’m here on some kind of …” He paused for a moment and looked up at the much taller man. “… business exchange. As for the boat … I had a boat just like that at home. What’s it to you though? You don’t look like you have any interest in boating – or art. What is a man like you doing in Kenash?”

[Konrad Venger]

Konrad was not a man completely without respect. There were things he thought highly of; things that sometimes stayed his hand for a few moments and drew the closest thing he had to admiration. But the key word there is things.

People were in that category, too, because they were as disposable and replaceable to him as the counter he was leaning on or the undergarments he was wearing. So while this preening, precise little man may have impressed him a little, it was a shallow thing. A momentary enjoyment.

What he said next, though, piqued the mercenary's interest.

Konrad cocked his head to one side as the man spilled out his sodding life story, apart from a few important details like, say, his family name or his own name. But Konrad caught that his family was apparently from money, and not just any money: slave money. No wonder he was in Kenash. Probably there to secure a new supply or fresh stock for this city.

Ravok... Ravok... oh, yeah. Cutter Louis came from there. Place is all about slaves, money and Rhysol.

Konrad didn't have much time for the gods; any of them. They were all inscrutable bastards who treated mortals like mortals did ants, or roaches. More than three decades in the slime of Sunberth had told him just how much love and compassion the gods had for the world. But he knew a potential profit when the scent hit his nose, and this perfumed little peacock had a right stench on him.

"Me?" He said as Otto waddled over with a couple of suggestions. "Just a wanderer. Seems t'me yer the kind that sells yer wits. Well, I sell this." He patted the long, curved kopis at his belt. Of course he had a couple of other "tools" on him, but why give a stranger all his tells during the first game? "F'now, that brings me to Kenash. An' as fer why I'm here..."

He picked up one of the smaller globes... and smiled. Ah, there was a proper weight. Marble, apparently. Not the best quality but smooth to the touch. He turned the globe over and around, noticing the careful work done with hammer and chisel, carving painstaking lines for every coastline, island, continent, country. Deeper pitting where cities were marked and labelled.

Otto felt a swell of satisfaction that a customer was pleased with his wares, though he did wonder about Konrad's... treatment, of the item. The way he gripped it, hefted it, like he was inspecting a weapon for swinging, not a precious object of art.

"... it's a gift," Konrad said, and he was not lying. It was to be a gift. Just not for very long. "How much?"

"W-Well, sir, it's a rare item, so-"

"How. Much?"

Otto was torn between a man clearly in no mood to haggle and his lifelong instinct to ferret out the best sale he could for his business. He scratched under one of his chins and made as nonchalant a shrug as he could.

"I'd say... forty-five mizas."

"Cheva's Cunt, man-"

"Sir, this is a rare item," Otto managed to blurt out, one instinct winning out over the other. "The only one of its like I have seen for quite some time. I could not part with it for less than-"

"Thirty-seven an'..." Konrad opened his purse and poked a finger around in it. "... six silvers, on top of it."

"Done."

Some corner of Otto that sound too much like his father scolded him for such a loose haggle, but he could tell the man wasn't the kind to take attitude for too long. As he turned away to wrap the globe, he could tell the Ravokian visitor had his attention for now. Like a cat playing with something shiny... or something that squeaked delightfully when he poked it.

Otto went back to his wrapping. He knew how those games ended with his daughter's cats. He'd rather not have to clean up that kind of mess in his own store.

"Name's Venger," Konrad said, turning back to Valerius like they'd never been interrupted. "An' I think your business, jus' might be my business. Are yeh a busy man? I'd like t'hear of yer plans."

He'd leave that titbit hanging, hooked bait in unknown waters, and see if the straight-backed man of property had an inclination to a parlay.

Receipt-37gm, 6sm

[Valerius Nitrozian]

The stranger did not have any manners, and his appearance left a lot to be desired, but he did at least seem to possess some manner of intelligence, Valerius decided as he heard Konrad say that he seemed like the kind that sold his wits. „Indeed“, he replied. „I am not only here to forge business connections with the dynasties, but I also act as an advisor to them.“

In truth Valerius taught the children of the dynasties, but Konrad didn’t look like the kind of man that understood the importance of good education and concepts such as etiquette, and Valerius had no interest in explaining them to him. It seemed like a futile endeavour, and thus he opted for a word that he would hopefully be familiar with.

A mercenary maybe, he concluded as Konrad patted the weapon at his belt. Which dynasty was he working for though? The Nuit? What was their name? Zulaca? Or maybe Radacke? From his visits to the Caged Sun he had the impression that they would appreciate a man of his talents. Some of the people he was working for, he knew, would have had a heart attack when they heard him talk about Cheva’s cunt, but the Radacke were power hungry and violent and not particularly interested in the finer points of human interaction, unless that interaction was done with the help of a whip and a few sharp blades.

He wondered whether he should just walk out of the door – it didn’t seem as if he had anything in common with the man – when Konrad suddenly mentioned „business“. It seemed like they shared an interest in certain trade goods after all. Valerius did not like men like Konrad, but he definitely liked power, and this seemed like a good opportunity for him to increase his power. He’d associate with anybody and try to be halfway friendly if they could help him become more than just another Freeborn, just another one of the more than twenty children and grandchildren of Sitanos Nitrozian.

„My name is Valerius Nitrozian“, he replied. He was making more of an effort to be friendly to Konrad now rather than being arrogant and overly polite. He had no idea whether „Venger“ was the other man’s first or last name, but decided that the latter was probably the case. At least he had never heard of anybody that was unfortunate enough to have something as strange as „Venger“ for a first name.

„There are things I have to do, but I can make time if it’s necessary. Before we talk about plans though, I would like to hear more about your business, Mister Venger. In turn I will tell you how things are done in Ravok and what I hope to accomplish here. Does that sound acceptable to you?“

He cast a glance at Otto. By Rhysol, how long did it take to wrap a globe? If this was turning into a business conversation rather than a random encounter in a shop, he decided, it might be better to continue outside where they weren’t interrupted by customers coming and going and a sculptor who might or might not pay more attention then he should. Although the fact that Konrad was a mage made him slightly uncomfortable.

[Konrad Venger]

„My name is Valerius Nitrozian“

In the arcane corridors of most cultures, knowing a man's true name gave one power over him. It bracketed and caged his essence for those who wished to find a target for their ire, their cruelty. A name was a beacon in an ocean of dark, featureless humanity, and thus a man protected his from those of ill-intent.

Konrad didn't know this, of course, but he likely would have smirked at the superstition, and seen some wisdom in it. For him, a name was all he needed. A name, and a short list of known haunts. Once he had that and a face to go with it, in one way or another, you were his.

But now the man was giving his name as a... politeness? Was that even the word? Perhaps, because it wasn't a kindness. This Valerius character had about as much warmth in him as the gutted fish lining the stall across the street. His eyes were carved opals, like the globe Otto was putting the finishing touches on.

Konrad could see little in them but his own reflection. As if there was nothing to see, nothing to observe. And yet, the sellsword smiled. A challenge. Good. He was always in need of those.

„There are things I have to do, but I can make time if it’s necessary. Before we talk about plans though, I would like to hear more about your business, Mister Venger. In turn I will tell you how things are done in Ravok and what I hope to accomplish here. Does that sound acceptable to you?“

"Um, sir...?"

Konrad reached out and laid out his hand for Otto to place the small box on. He had to strain a little to do so with one hand, but he liked the look of it: not even looking at the man and still gaining his purchases, eyes never wavering from Valerius' face. Then he tucked the box under his arm and let his gaze sweep across the room, the shelves, the windows and the street beyond.

"My business is..."

Konrad chose his words. Gods, how it galled him that he had to do that, and yet some part of him took perverse pleasure in the twisting of language. It seemed to fit his new home, and his new occupation. The Radacke's always wanted the message to be sent, but not to be known at the senders. They had their legitimacy to protect, their reputation. It was quite a reversal: in Sunberth, a gang's reputation public and plain and without pretense.

Well, you ain't in Sunberth anymore.

"... stability, y'might say." He grinned as he remembered the Magistrate's words when they first met, waiting for Valerius to join him as they walked leisurely out of the store and back into the drenching fug of day. "Making sure that the city keeps turnin' an' runnin' like it should. That means problems need t'be handled... taken care of. Discipline needs t'be maintained, y'know? There's a livin' in that, lemme tell ya."

Konrad's eyes glittered with amusement as he stepped outside and persued a stall nearby. Apples, clementines, mangoes... ah, a nice, fat peace, like a round kidney freshly ripped from a body. He picked it up and sniffed it. Felt the sweat from its skin dapple his nose and tossed the woman a coin as he waited for Valerius to answer.

Take care around this one, his mind whispered as he took his first juicy, dripping bite. All he asked you was whether or not what he was saying was fine by you, and what did you do? Gave him all of that. Keep it simple, and keep your cards close, man.

[Valerius Nitrozian]

„Stability“, Valerius repeated and nodded. With the few words he had said Konrad had revealed a lot more about himself than he had likely wanted. He paid attention to what others said, but not enough, otherwise he would just have nodded in agreement or done something similar and waited for Valerius to speak again. And as Valerius had concluded before, he was not a complete fool, despite his appearance. He had spoken about taking care of problems and mainintaing discipline, but he had not revealed his employer, and he had not given him any details yet.

Valerius could guess what a man like him did though. He probably took care of troublesome citizens and punished those that betrayed their masters. Maybe he did the dirty work for those dynasties that didn’t want to do it themselves, for whatever reason. With his statement that Valerius‘ business was his business, he had also revealed an interest in slavery, although Valerius did not know whether he was responsible for punshing slaves or whether he actually captured them and sold them at the local slave market.

My grandfather had similar men in his service“, he remarked. „Let us go outside though, Mister Venger. We should not disturb this man here any longer.“ He gestured towards Otto. While Konrad ignored the sculptor the moment he had gotten what he wanted and deemed it unncessary to bid him farewell, the Ravokian did at least incline his head a fraction before he focused on his newest acquaintance again. He did not allow his gaze to stray from Konrad any longer than a second or two. The man might be useful, but he did not trust him.

He followed Konrad outside. While Konrad perused a fruit stall, the Ravokian stayed behind him and simply watched him. How much should he reveal? When he had been younger, Valerius had tended to brag about his family and their wealth and told everybody how great they were, but that time was past. These days he often preferred to be a little more subtle rather than demanding everybody’s attention and did not exaggerate as much.

„Have you heard of the Kelvic Research Institute, Mister Venger?“ he asked, a rhetorical question of course. He doubted that the man had ever occupied himself with Ravok. „Imagine Kelvic of all races, from birds over small rodents to predators such as wolves and lions, all gathered in a single place so that they can be studied, bred and sold. I have experience with a certain type of trade goods, not Kelvic, but also others, and I want to see how that experience can be applied to Kenash. Even more than that I deal in information though.“

„You are the man that maintains discipline, but I’m the one people turn to when they want to find out who needs to be disciplined and who is keeping things from them.“