Years later, an older and wiser Vincent stood upon the Gilnean docks, frowning in deep thought as he watched Baron Longshore's galleon, the Heedless, sail away into the hazy horizon. Standing beside him was a disheveled, unshaven man dressed in the ragged wear of an out-of-work dustman.
He, too, watched the ship depart, then turned toward Vincent.
"Ere you be wantin these sent, Mr. Moryarti, sir?" the man drawled through tobacco stained teeth. He motioned toward the three wooden crates at his feet. "Same as b'fore, ya be thinkin?"
Vincent nodded once, but did not turn. He took a deep breath, then let it out in a patient sigh – watching a pair of seagulls chasing one another overhead.
"Please deliver them to the same place as before, Mr. Adcock," Vincent said, a small smile creeping across his face. "It is the same location to which you always deliver, my good man."
"In fact, it is the very, same warehouse that you have delivered to for the past eight years."
Vincent turned, and stared deep into the ragged man's brown, dreary eyes. "Now," he said, "If you would be so kind as to be on your way, Mr. Adcock. My clients are waiting. They, as always, will have your recompense available upon delivery."
Vincent dipped his head in token farewell, then walked past the man without looking back.
"I be tankin ya, Mr. Moryarti," the dustman said as he walked by. "Fer all the work ya be given me. My family be tankin yer too." Vincent waved a hand in acknowledgement, and continued up the ramp, away from the docks.
Moryarti's Mechanical Marvels was a welcome sight to Vincent's eyes. These days, it was one of the few places he could relax and escape the day to day business of his other life. Business contacts knew not to disturb him while he was in his shop. Here, he could enjoy the memories of his youth, as well as the successes of adulthood - all within whirring and buzzing silence.
He patted the Tiger's head as it growled when he walked through the door, then stopped to rewind a golden dragon that normally flew around the room on a wire. It had fallen still. "There you go, my little friend," he said, sending it soaring through the air once more.
"Good as new."
He flipped the sign on the door to OPEN, and made his way to the back room to change into his clerk's attire for the rest of his day. One thing Moryarti had learned the hard way, was to separate his store persona from his other life's work. Doing so demanded he always appear different, so as to not draw suspicious eyes.
He had once thought of leaving Gilneas, sailing away to distant shores aboard the Heedless with the gallant Baron Longshore. But that was never meant to be. His dad had been murdered in the streets: beaten to death by a band of local thugs, (supposedly working for King Genn), thus leaving Vincent in charge of the toy shop.
The King had sent an arrangement of flowers for his dad's funeral, as he had been well considered at court. Yet that had done nothing to dampen Vincent's dislike for the King, who had now walled in his citizens like wild animals in a cage. All because he didn't want the outside world to influence his people.
Still, because of his on-going work with the Baron, he had made himself quite a fortune delivering goods for the pirate (the man's true identity had become quite evident within a few errands). By using the Baron's name, he also made a name for himself - creating a reputation for providing the finest goods to those willing to pay.
Once the wall went up, all travel to the outside world was banned. However, goods still managed to find their way into Gilneas via ship – providing him the perfect opportunity to make contacts in distant ports. These turned into networks that he could count on to supply things not found in Gilneas, thereby earning himself obscene profits.
With this in place, Vincent created a thriving business from the shadows of the kingdom, and now felt no need to extend beyond its borders.
He had Gilneas in his hand. There was no need for Azeroth.
Just as he stepped from the back room, the tiger growled, announcing a new visitor to the store. "Be right there!" he called out, walking toward the front through the maze of displays while still fastening his leather apron.
He stopped short. A tall, heavily cloaked and hooded figure stood just inside the shop - closing the door gently behind himself. The man then flipped the sign to read "CLOSED" and faced Vincent.
"You Moryarti?" a hoarse voice whispered.
Vincent narrowed his eyes and smiled, bringing his hands before him, fingertip to fingertip as if in prayer.
"I believe," he said quietly. "That you have me at a disadvantage, sir. You are in Moryarti's Mechanical Marvels, and since I am the only other person here, you would be correct in your assumption."
Vincent paused, cascading his fingertips together in a ripple. "I am Vincent Moryarti."
The hooded man stood in silence for a moment, then slowly drew his hood back.
"In that case, Mr. Moryarti," the stranger said. "I would like to discuss doing business with you." The man glanced around as if looking for something. "Is there a more private place we can talk?" Vincent snorted, continuing to drum his fingertips together.
"There is, my good man, but not until I have a name." Vincent opened his arms wide and grinned a not-to-friendly smile.
"I am a simple toy maker, my friend," he said. "If you wish to purchase one of my many marvels, or even order something special made for you, then there is no need for secrecy." He brought his hands together with a quiet clap.
"However," he continued. "If you wish to discuss anything other than toys, I will need a name." He smiled. "Do we understand one another, sir?"
The man crossed his arms, causing his thick, heavy bicep muscles to ripple and flex. "Mr. Moryarti," he began, "I represent a very import-"
"A name, my good man."
The stranger blinked, sighed and ran a hand through his wavy red hair.
"Very well," he huffed. "I am Tobias Mistmantle, but that is all I can tell you."
"Now, can we find a more private place? I assure you, Mr. Moryarti, it will be worth your while."
Vincent smiled a winning grin. "Of course, Mr. Mistmantle." He motioned toward the back.
"If you will follow me?"
Seated at a small, ornate wooden table in a secluded back room with no windows, Tobias waited as Vincent poured tea into a pair of white china cups and placed them on the table.
"Milk, Mr. Mistmantle?"
"Not for me, thanks. I like mine black." Vincent wrinkled his nose at the comment.
"That is rather barbaric, don't you think? Tea without milk? Who ever heard of such a thing." Tobias smiled and sipped in quiet, as Vincent seated himself opposite, swirling milk into his own cup.
"Ok, Mr. Mistmantle, what do you want from me?"
Tobias nodded, sat his cup down and leaned forward toward Vincent. "Mr. Moryarti, I represent a very..."
"I know who you represent, Mr. Mistmantle. I know all about your little rebellion; your association with Lord Crowley." Tobias sat back, mouth open.
"I asked you, my good man, what is it that you want from 'me'."
"How did you know?" Tobias stammered, clearly shocked at the news. "That information is tightly guarded. It is treason..." Tobias's face was growing pale.
"If word gets out, it is the gallows for us."
Vincent took another sip of tea, watching Tobias over the rim of his cup. Delight shone on Moryarti's face.
"Mr. Mistmantle," he said as he placed the cup back on the table. "It is my business to know everything that happens in this country, especially those things that happen in dark corners. Do not worry yourself, your rebellion is quite safe with me." Vincent frowned and leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin.
"However," he continued as Tobias watched. "I am concerned that you chose to come to my shop. If you know anything about me, and I assume that you do since you are here, then you know I do 'not' conduct my affairs within these walls."
Vincent held up a hand to stop Tobias's retort. "However," he said. "You are here, and I do respect Lord Crowley for his efforts in overturning our forced imprisonment." Vincent paused.
"I am to assume that Crowley sent you?" Tobias nodded in silence.
"I thought as much," Vincent said. "So, I ask you yet again. What do you want from me." He pointed his teacup at Tobias.
"To the point. Be quick and concise. I am supposed to be open during these hours, and my customers might grow worrisome."
Moryarti sat in silence, sipping tea as he listened to the requests. Most were simple items to gather: weapons, armor, mounts... all things needed to supply a small army of rebels. Numbers were flying through Vincent's head, and with the way they added up, he realized that he was about to turn a very healthy profit.
Then Tobias came to his last request.
"We will also need you to smuggle into the city several canon," Tobias said casually, as if it were an everyday occurrence. "We would prefer twenty or so, but if you can manage at least six, that would suffice."
Vincent's eyes opened wide, and he rested his elbow on the table, holding his chin in the crook of his hand. "You want twenty canon?" Tobias nodded, smiling.
"They will be most effective in securing our victory."
Moryarti scratched his face then leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "Yes," Vincent muttered, "I imagine they would." He chuckled and shook his head.
"You do understand, sir," Vincent said, opening his arms as he spoke. "That what you ask is near impossible?" He shook his head.
"How in Azeroth do you expect me to bring 'one' canon, let alone twenty, into a heavily guarded city? One does not simply walk through the streets towing a canon behind his cart."
Vincent waved his hand, looking away, shaking his head. "Cannot be done. I can get everything else you ask, but this is beyond reason."
Tobias smiled, reached beneath his cloak and placed a thick, leather pouch on the table and slid it to Vincent. It clicked as if filled with stones.
"Lord Crowley anticipated your reaction," Tobias said, watching Vincent stare at the pouch. "He also said that if it could be done, you were the man who could do it."
Vincent snatched the bag, opened it and raised his eyebrows at the sparkling gemstones that greeted him from inside.
"Mr. Mistmantle," Vincent whispered as he looked up at Tobias. "I thank Lord Crowley for his faith, but this request..." He rubbed his chin, blinked and nodded. "I will have to think on it."
Tobias nodded. "Lord Crowley will pay you five thousand gold for every canon you bring into the city," Tobias said. "Think about that. If you can supply us with these canon, not only will you be a VERY wealthy man, you will also be free to leave Gilneas."
Tobias pointed to the pouch that Vincent was staring at. "There is ten thousand gold worth of gemstones in that bag, Mister Moryarti," he said. "Enough to buy an entire estate." Vincent nodded slowly, still staring at the pouch, considering the possibilities.
"Freedom is at your fingertips, sir. If anyone can get this accomplished, it is you. We need canon if we are to take the city and free our people from the King's clutches."
Vincent nodded and breathed a deep, long sigh. "Very well, Mr. Mistmantle. We have an accord. It will take some time, though, quite possibly a very long time." Vincent looked into Tobias's eyes.
"When does Lord Crowley need delivery?"
"We are patient, Mr. Moryarti," Tobias said. "We understand the challenges that you face. The canon are key to our success. Like you said, one cannot simply walk a canon up the street behind a cart, now can one?"
Tobias slid a hand-written note to Moryarti. "Do you know this place?" Tobias asked. "Have you been there before?" Vincent looked at the directions and the small map.
"Yes," he said, "I know it well."
"We will meet you there in two weeks," Tobias said, taking the note back and holding it over a candle that was burning nearby. It quickly became ash. "To discuss your preparations." Tobias stood.
"Until then, Mr. Moryarti?" Vincent stood as well, and nodded.
"Yes," he said. "In two weeks."
Vincent walked Tobias out the door, having given the man a mechanical dog that Tobias had commented about on the way out. "I do hope your son enjoys the dog, Mr. Black," Vincent said to Tobias, who had covered his head once more with his hood.
"It is well made, and will be a loyal servant for years to come."
As Tobias walked away toward the center of town, Vincent's eyes were drawn to a horse-drawn wagon making its way up the street. In the back, was a large cast iron bell featuring a gaping crack crawling up one of its sides.
"Where are taking that, my good man?" Vincent called out to the driver.
"Ello, Mr Moryarti, sir," the driver said, tipping his hat, recognizing the toy maker. "I be takin this broken bell to the foundry fer repairs." He eased the reigns, pulling the draft horses to a halt in front of Vincent's shop.
"Fell from the cathedral, it did. Just the other day. Bout kilt the priest, Light bless his soul."
Vincent nodded and smiled, tipping his hat in return. "Do you mean the smithy near the docks?" Vincent said. "Does he work with items such as this?"
"Oh, indeed he do, Mr. Moryarti," the driver said. "Although, since the King built that wall o' his, ole Jamison's been gone hungry fer work, so to speak." The drover spat on the ground.
"Bad fer bidness all round, Mr. Moryarti. Bad all round, I tell ya!"
"Yes, indeed it has been," Vincent said. "Thank you, Mr. Ashwood. The Light be with you, my good man."
The driver snapped the reigns, clicking his tongue at the horses as he continued up the road past Vincent. Once by, he called out: "And wit you, Mr. Moryarti sir! And wit you!"
Vincent burst into laughter, shaking his head and watching the wagon round a bend. He turned, and walked into his shop, flipping the sign to OPEN, and patting the growling tiger on its head.
"Just pull it up the street in the back of a cart," he mumbled between giggles. "As easy as that."