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FALNAS

Dampened Spirits

City of Riften

"Heard Goldenglow Estate got some free nightlights?" Brynjolf said as Falnas met him at the agreed-upon place, the garden in front of the jarl's longhouse. It was a nice place, private in its publicity, and even now, in the cold morning air, there were enough people around to make sure they hid in plain sight. "And that poor Aringoth woke up with a hangover that was distinctly not mead-related?" he added with a grin.

Falnas made a flourishing bow. "Everything you've heard is true."

Brynjolf clapped him on the shouder. "Good job, Falnas. Vex is going to be pissed, but she always is."

"I noticed."

"Come on, let's give Mercer the news and make it official."

"With pleasure. I don't mind hoops, or jumping through them, but there had to be a carrot at the end."

"Oh there will be," Brynjolf said with a grin as he led him to the graveyard. "A golden one at that. And as long as you don't double-cross us, it'll keep getting bigger and bigger. We take care of our own."

For all the vile stories his kin used to tell about those 'stupid oafish Nords', Falnas found himself liking the land and its people more than he'd expected. Their openness and frankness were a nice change from all the politicking and manoeuvring back in Morrowind. There, your least dangerous enemies were armed with swords, and your most dangerous ones with smiles.

"So what's with the animosity between Vex and Delvin?"

Brynjolf laughed. "Oh, trust me, you don't want to know."

"Saying that makes me want to know even more," Falnas said, grinning broadly.

"I'll bet. I'll fill you in someday. Right now, we've got business with Mercer. Believe me, your official membership of the guild is more important that Vex' and Delvin's little drama."

"Yes, I suppose it is. And I assume you've got a job lined up for me right after that?"

Brynjolf grinned again as he clicked the key into the lock of the mausoleum, after a furtive glance to see no one was looking. "You know us too well."

"More Maven work?"

That wiped the grin off his face. "Sadly, yes. We're close to being her private militia. But she pays like there was no tomorrow, so Mercer accepts her contracts without question. Guess it's not his responsibility to make sure our contracts are from diverse sources. Or ours."

That last addition couldn't be more clear. "No, I suppose not. As long as the coin's good."

"You said it. Speaking of coin, yours is ready."

They'd descended the ladder to the Cistern, and were back in the headquarters of the Thieves' Guild, its flickering torches and pressing darkness a sharp contrast with the cold, misty morning air above.

"Mercer," Brynjolf exclaimed in greeting. "Our newest has proven a fine choice. They're probably still making water bucket chains at Goldenglow."

The man behind the counter didn't look pleased. In fact, his frown deepened. "He didn't burn down the estate, did he?"

"Of course not," Brynjolf quickly said with a chuckle. "Just a manner of speaking. Three hives, no more."

"Hrm. And the bill of sale?"

Falnas produced the paper with a wide, winning grin.

"Not bad," the Thieves' Guild leader said, grudgingly though it looked. "You can be the one to tell Vex, Brynjolf."

Falnas' sponsor sighed. "I get all the fun stuff, don't I?"

"It's a leader's job to delegate," Mercer muttered, poring over the paper. "Well. This looks legit. Falnas, was it?"

Falnas nodded. He was pretty sure the man knew his name perfectly well.

"Welcome to the Thieves' Guild. You're officially a member now, so you've got free run of the place without Brynjolf having to baby-sit you. You report to me from here on out, and as long as you bring in the money, I bring in the jobs."

Falnas nodded, overjoyed at the prospect of having to deal with this dour-face all the time.

"Got something lined up for you now. Maven wants to see you. She'll tell you what needs to be done."

"I'm sorry, I was under the impression I got orders from you, and not some outsider?" Falnas asked, realizing it was a stupid thing to say even as he said it. He saw Brynjolf wince from the corner of his eye.

Surprisingly, Mercer didn't fly into a towering rage, kick him out of the Guild, or ram a knife in his throat. He merely said, "It's easier this way. I don't like this whole Maven-thing any more than you do, far less in fact, but for now, she pays and we do what she pays us for. I know a lot of you are concerned that her dealings will get us into trouble, but for now, trust in me when I say I'm keeping a very wary eye on her, and I won't allow her to jeopardize this Guild." As if he realized he was being too understanding for his doing, he added a hard and hostile, "Got it?"

Falnas knew it'd be unwise to press it. "Loud and clear."

"Good. Go see Maven, she's having breakfast at the Bee and Bard. Don't keep her waiting." With that, he returned to his ledger.

"Mercer?" Brynjolf asked, in a friendly, charming tone.

"What?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

Mercer only gave him an impatient glare.

"Falnas still needs to get paid for his job."

Frey's eyes lit up in badly-acted remembrance. "Oh! Of course. Here you go, new guy. Don't spend it all in one place." He scooped up a sack of septims from behind his counter and bonked it on the top.

"Much obliged," Falnas said, thinking better of calling him out on his convenient memory lapse. He'd have to be on his toes, because these people probably reasoned that if you forgot to ask for your reward, it was your responsibility.

"Thanks Brynjolf," he said as they walked back to the tavern section. "Barkeep?"

The man washing glasses didn't respond, just kept looking into his sink.

"Vekel?" Brynjolf called out, a little louder this time. When the bartender did acknowledge the call, Brynjolf explained, "Vekel doesn't like it if everyone just calls him barkeep."

"Ah, right," Falnas said. "Vekel, whatever Brynjolf has today, it's on me." He placed a handful of septims on the table. His way of thanking Brynjolf for ensuring he got paid.

"You got it," the barkeep said, whisking the money off the table. "You can buy anyone drinks here, except Vex. Then you and I are going to have a problem."

"I don't like problems," Falnas said back. He didn't like tough guys either.

"Cheers, Falnas," Brynjolf said. "Now go on, don't keep Maven waiting."

"You got it."

He emerged from the mausoleum again. The woman sitting by one of the graves gave him a quick glance but paid him no heed. After all, he was just some guy returning from his prayer, right?

The morning mist was clearing up, making way to a cold, but pleasant winter sun, livening up the colours as he walked to the Bee and Barb. Keerava probably hadn't recognized him when he'd... 'settled the matter' of her protection money, so there was a good chance he could walk right in.

Indeed, the Argonian's face didn't change when she saw Falnas walk in. He nodded a greeting at her, then looked around the mostly empty tavern to see Maven Black-briar sitting at, of course, the best table in the house, the one overlooking the canal – and not the seedier side, but the sunlit tourist trap, insofar as Riften had one.

Maven nodded at him and he took it as a cue to sit down opposite her. This was a bad move, and she immediately hissed at him, "How dare you sit in the presence of your betters! Stand up!"

His betters? What did this narcissistic harpy presume? He felt like slapping the stuck-up bint across the face. Still, mustn't upset the client, so he rose, clenching his teeth.

Visibly appeased, she shook the bread crumbs off a napkin and placed it back in her lap. "That's better. Now then. I don't wish to be seen with you longer than I have to, so here's what you'll be doing."

Vivec's tiny withered cock, this woman was so arrogant he had to restrain himself not to pick her up and throw her out the window right there. He remained silent, taking great effort to stay composed.

She dabbed the corners of her mouth with a kerchief. "There's a new competitor in the mead business, Honningbrew Meadery. Seems to have sprung up overnight."

Falnas just stood there and listened.

"There'll be a tasting tomorrow, and I want you to shut them down by," she chuckled, "poisoning the well." My, weren't we poetic. "And also, I want to know how its owner, a vile cretin by the name of Sabjorn, managed to fund the garbage dump so quickly. My associate, Mallus Macius, has the details. You can find him in Whiterun. Go there now."

If she was hoping that he'd say, 'Yes, Maven', or any variation thereof, the nauseating hag was sorely mistaken. Falnas simply turned and left, entertaining unfulfilled fantasies of using her underwear drawer as a toilet.

It was evening when he reached Whiterun, and he still had to find Mallus Maccius. Whoever he was. Still, he took a moment to treat himself to a good meal in the Bannered Mare, putting his newly acquired purse of septims to good use. The glazed deer with mushrooms and juniper berries tasted divine, as did the Honningbrew reserve he'd bought to go with it. He wasn't going to pay for a drop of Maven Bitch-briar's swill. He found himself enjoying his childish, petty and useless silent act of rebellion.

There was a man at the counter, leaning on the top and talking conspiratorially to the elderly bartender, occasionally looking back at Falnas. He had shoulder-length long hair, a sunken, long face, and eyes set in dark rings. He looked Imperial, so it might have been his contact, but there were probably more than one Cyrodiilics in Whiterun. Still, his behaviour suggested more than a fleeting interest in Falnas. Either because he was the contact, or because he wanted to cut the purse of some newly-arrived, clueless berk who just ordered the most expensive meal the inn offered.

Falnas hoped for his sake that he was indeed the contact.

He'd know soon enough, he figured, as he left the appropriate amount of septims, plus a little extra for the good service and quality of his dinner, on the table. He wiped his mouth, though not like a prissy old cunt like Maven had done, and walked out, raising a hand in goodbye to the bartender.

He closed the door behind him, and before he'd taken a few steps, he heard it open again. Now he'd know if the sunken-eyed man was his contact or a cutpurse.

"Not a fan of Maven's slop either, are you?"

Yeah, probably not a cutpurse then.

"Not a fan of anything associated with her," Falnas said back, turning around. "Is your name Mallus?"

The man nodded. "Maven sent you, right? We need to talk. We sh – "

He was interrupted by two people running down the road, as fast as they could, bearing torches in one hand and a weapon in the other. They skidded to a halt in front of Falnas and his contact.

"Hey, you!" the male panted, a Nord with shoulder-length gray hair, that made his young face look older than it was. "Have you seen anyone come running past here?"

"Apart from you? No," Falnas replied. "Should we have?"

"Obviously," the other snapped, a woman with brown hair, cut at the same length as the man, and with blue war paint across her face. She wore leather armour was so revealing at the sides it made Falnas wonder as to its practical uses. She took a breath to calm herself, then asked, "You haven't seen anything?"

"No, we haven't," Falnas' contact repeated. "Maybe if you told us what we're supposed to look for?"

"Just... someone! Anyone!" the man shouted. It was now that Falnas noticed he had blood on the chest of his leather breastplate. Wasn't his business. "Or was it you, maybe?" the man asked, his eyes narrowing. He raised his axe.

"Was what me?" Falnas asked, making the stupidest face he could.

"It can't be," the woman said. "They're not even out of breath." She sighed and looked at the city gates, a few hundred metres further. "We've lost him, whoever it was."

"I don't know what's going on, but we've got nothing to do with it. You can ask the innkeeper," Falnas' contact said. "We were in there all the time until now."

The Nord glared at them for a moment, then lifted his torch and threw it to the ground as hard as he could, shouting, "Damn!" in pure frustration. Sparks flew from the torch as it hit the ground.

"Come on," the woman said. "There have to be traces. We'll find him."

Without another word, they turned and went back the way they came from, leaving the torch lying in the middle of the road. The man's back was slumped and the woman didn't look too cheerful either.

Wasn't his business.

"I... have no idea what that was about," the Imperial said.

"Neither do I." Falnas watched the two go, then said, "Nor do I care."

"Let's go back inside, public places are always the best if you want to discuss business."

Yes, thank you for that helpful piece of advice that I didn't know already. "Alright."

They took their seats at the most secluded table possible and ordered drinks. The Imperial took a brandy and Falnas shelled out big septims for a sujamma. How stereotypical they both were.

"So," Falnas said when the serving girl had left them. "Maven said you were the man with the plan?"

"The rough lines of it at least, yes," the Imperial answered. "I assume you're more than capable of breaking into the meadery, but I have a more elegant idea."

"Elegant is good," Falnas agreed.

"Sabjorn's put out a 'help wanted'-bill for an exterminator. He needs someone to poison the rat nest in his meadery." He grinned conspiratorially. "You can already see where I'm going with this, can't you?"

Falnas nodded. "You want me to reveal he's got rats in his meadery?"

Mallus held up a finger. "Close, but no. Even better than that. The poison you're supposed to dump into the rats' nest? You do as you're told, but if you save just a little for the meadery vat..."

"Hold on," Falnas said. "Maven's enlisted the Thieves' Guild, not the Dark Brotherhood. I won't be responsible for people dying of poisoned mead."

Mallus laughed. "It won't be 'people' drinking it, just one guy. And – "

"One or a thousand, it doesn't matter," Falnas said adamantly. "No killing."

Macius shook his head. "Let me finish. It's rat poison. It'll kill the crap out of the rats, but if you mix a small quantity in a large beer vat, it'll simply make the drinker feel positively awful for a day or two, not to mention the foul taste it'll give to the mead."

Falnas shrugged. "Then if it's just one guy, how will it ruin his business."

The Imperial's grin widened. "Because that one guy will be the local Legion Commander, Caius. He has to sample the mead and approve it for production." He chuckled. "Let's just say that is one sample he won't approve of."

"And the poison won't kill him?"

"No. It'll be so watered down it'll just make him wish it did for a day or two."

There was another snag in his plan. "And what about me? They'll know I spiked the beer."

"No they won't. You were some guy hired to clear out the rats, and you did. And since you'll leave no trace, nobody knows you were even outside the basement and anywhere near the vat. You honestly don't think they'll stop to think of the poison, do you?" He drank from his brandy. "Sabjorn will think it was a bad batch, and Caius will think Sabjorn can't brew mead to save his life. No one will suspect foul play."

Falnas thought for a moment. "Tenuous... but it might work."

He shrugged. "Not tenuous. Nobody will suspect you."

"Fine. If that's the way Maven wants it."

"Hey, don't blame me, I'm just the messenger. You're not the only one who thinks Maven's going too far."

"Good to know." He rose and slid his chair back under his table. "I don't assume we'll be seeing each other again?"

"We will," Sabjorn said. "I wouldn't miss the tasting for the world, and I have a feeling neither would you."

Falnas had to admit he was right about that.

He took a room in the Bannered Mare and enjoyed a good night's sleep, then made his way to the Honningbrew meadery. The 'help wanted' sign was still there. Good. He simply opened the door and walked in.

"Yes? Help you?" the man standing behind the counter was a bald Nord with a five o'clock shadow. His clothes were stained with yellow, giving Falnas a pretty good indication that this was the brewer.

Still, he asked, "Morning. Is Sabjorn in?"

"You're talking to him, friend. What can I do for you?"

Falnas pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "I'm here about the notice?"

"Which one," the man asked, wiping his hands on a piece of cloth, "the 'help wanted' or the 'trespassers will be stabbed'?"

Falnas made a weary face. "Not the one about being stabbed."

The Nord chuckled, probably thinking he was funny, and said, "Right. Glad someone responded. Only had one guy come in, some worthless ex-guard who claimed he used to be an adventurer until he took an arrow – "

"Don't say it." Falnas recognized the punch line to the tired old bar joke before he heard it.

The Nord cleared his throat, embarrassed at the denial of his witticism, and said, "Yes, well. There's a rat next in the basement under my meadery. Since I really don't want them getting to my mead, I want them gone. All you have to do is take some rat poison down there and pour it into their nest. Should stop them from coming back. Permanently."

"Sounds good," Falnas said. "You've got the poison?"

With a nod, Sabjorn handed him a small vial of repulsive-looking green liquid. "Just pour this down the rathole."

"That's all there is to do?" Sounded like a simple job.

"Don't underestimate those damn rats," Sabjorn warned. "I tried doing it myself and the damn things damn near bit my fingers off. Carry diseases, too."

Yeah, no need to mention that to Falnas. The cure disease-potion he'd bought back in Riften as a preventative measure after the skeever attack had set him back quite a few septims. "So what's the pay?"

"Fifty septims."

The pay didn't really interest him, since he'd be paid far more for this job by other people, but he had to keep it convincing nonetheless. "Seventy-five and it's done."

Sabjorn's eyes narrowed, but after a moment of consideration, he nodded and said, "Seventy-five. It's highway robbery though. Ever considered a career in the Thieves' Guild?"

Falnas could only laugh uncomfortably as he took the poison.

"You can access the basement through the hatch out back. Not through the brewery, you have to understand I can't let anyone near the vats."

"Of course," Falnas said. As if this brewer would have a say in it. He took the key Sabjorn held out, and stuck the vial of poison in the shock-proof compartment in his jacket.

The hatch was indeed out back, overgrown with weeds and grasses, like the rest of the plot. Falnas turned the key in the lock, and after a few pulls, got the hatch open, tearing the roots of the weeds overgrowing it. He'd been smarter this time, and brought a pocket lantern to light his way.

He shone his lantern into the dark hole below and asked himself why the floor moved. He took a small dried branch and lit it with his lantern, then let it drop into the basement. The shrieks and peeps answered his question. The damn floor was crawling with rats. Good thing his father wasn't here. He hated rats. Was scared to death of 'em.

Falnas knew how to deal with this kind of infestation, however. Since the brewer hadn't told him it was forbidden to damage anything, he'd take care of these pests right quick. He extinguished his pocket lantern and let the oil run out, into the hole and onto the waiting rats. He emptied his two reserve oil canisters the same way, taking a good long time to let the oil run out, so that the rats, in their confusion, would get the oil all over them and their little friends as they ran around amongst each other.

Then it was simply a matter of taking the wick out of his lantern, lighting it and letting it slowly float down the hole.

It took a while until the shrieks stopped, and the stink that came from the hatch was so strong it could knock a mammoth flat, but eventually, the fires and the noises died down. Carefully, Falnas lowered himself down the hatch, kicking the charred remains of rat out of the way with his boots. Sabjorn would have a fun cleaning job to look forward to. Still, the rats on the surface had been broiled, but that didn't mean the nest was destroyed. There was bound to be a boatload of the little critters still underground. Well, that was what the poison was for. Feeling his way around until his eyes adapted to the low light, he tried to locate the mound where the rats had burrowed into the ground. Bones and charred meat crunched under his soles. Nothing brushed past his leg though, so all the rats on the surface were probably dead or spooked into the corners.

His foot bumped into a mound of earth, and even with the limited light he had, he saw that the earth was heaped up around a pipe that went down into the ground. That was the place. He poured the poison down the pipe, taking care to let it run over the entire mouth, and kept a quarter of the vial. A quarter of a vial to a vat, it should make for some highly unpleasant stomach aches but not much else.

Then, to poison the vat. Light came from under a wooden door, set atop two or three steps, and that would most likely be the meadery. Falnas sneaked up the steps and tried to peer through the keyhole, taking his lockpicking kit out of his pocket. Wouldn't be easy in the dark, but he'd make do.

He looked through the keyhole and saw nothing. That meant that either Sabjorn had blocked the keyhole with something to stop people from peeking in (not likely), or that the lock still had the key in it from the other side. Great. No need for all his thieves' picks then. All he needed was his pair of narrow pliers. He slid the pliers in, clamped their arms around the key, and turned until he heard a loud clack. He waited for a moment to see if anyone came to investigate, but there was no response. Gently, he pushed the door open, wincing at the creaking joints, and found himself in the dimly lit boilery, the vat in question right in front of him.

It would be worth sneaking all the way through. No alarms and this framing would be perfect.

A small step was still set against the vat, probably to check the temperature and density, and he gratefully obliged, standing on the step and pouring the poison in. The mead briefly showed a faint green swirl on its foamy surface, and then that too was gone. No trace.

Then it was simply a matter of getting out, closing the door behind him, and tugging the key back into place with his pliers. He was never even there. Then he hoisted himself up through the hatch and was back into the morning sun. Even with the weeds and roots, this was a much better place to be than down in that basement.

"It's done," he told Sabjorn as he came to claim his reward. "They're all off to the great rat catcher in the sky."

"Excellent," Sabjorn said, grinning broadly and plopping a coin purse into Falnas' hand. He sniffed and said, "Judging from the smell, I'd say you made rat roast."

"Mostly, yes."

"Well, as long as it's done. Say, there's an event later today. Our mead gets tasted by the Imperial Commander, Caius," his chest swelled with pride, "to be approved for commerce. You're cordially invited, there's free mead for everyone."

Well, who was he to reject such an invitation. "Oh, sure. I'll be there." And then some.

"It starts in a few hours, we're set to go bottle the first batch of mead right now. We'll only bottle a small batch so the rest can referment. Be on time or it's all gone!"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

After treating himself to a modest lunch in the Bannered Mare, Falnas went to not miss it. There was a sizeable crowd gathered already, and a small podium had been built. On it stood a table with several mead bottles, and Sabjorn himself, flanked by none other than Macius Mallus. A few steps away stood a man dressed in heavy, ceremonial Imperial armour. His head was adorned with laurels. That must be the famous Commander Caius. Falnas did not envy his soon-to-come stomach cramps.

Falnas took his place among the crowd.

"Friends, family mead enthusiasts," Sabjorn addressed the modest crowd. "It is with great pride that I announce an entirely new experience in the mead world. Honningbrew mead is sweeter, stronger and more rounded in taste than any mead on the market now. And it is with great pleasure that I invite the esteemed Commander Caius to take the very first taste of our mead, brewed with love for the craft."

Oh, he'd be tasting the love alright.

The Commander took the very first glass of mead and held it up in a silent toast to the crowd. Then he drank. Falnas could see Sabjorn's heart sink the moment the corners of the Commander's mouth went down.

"It's... certainly got a curious taste," the Commander said, still looking like he'd bitten a lemon.

"Ah, but the Commander is more an appreciator of fine wines," Sabjorn said nervously, wringing his hands. "It takes time for the taste buds to become used to the more bitter taste of mead again."

"Yes, yes," Caius said. "True, true. Still..." he smacked his lips. "Something strange about it." He stood there for a moment longer, then said, "But you're right, I'm more a wine connoisseur, and entirely unused to drinking mead. Sabjorn, you have my leave to distribute your mead to the people, and I wish you fruitful business!"

Sabjorn's relief was so great even Falnas could feel the heat waves coming off him. What by Mephala's rancid vagina-cock was going on? Damn it this was going all wrong. He shot a glance at Mallus, who met it with confident eyes and a nod. He still believed in it.

"Come friends," Sabjorn announced, "mead for everyone. And tell everyone you were here on this day, when the first Honningbrew saw the light of day. It will be a day long remembered."

The crowd began to queue up to taste the mead, but before they could, Commander Caius hunched over, his hand on his belly. Yep, there it went.

"C... Commander?" Sabjorn asked. "Is everything – "

"Arrrh," Caius growled, leaning on the table for support. "What in Oblivion is this? What have you given me, you poisoner?!"

Sabjorn's face became red with panic. "I... I didn't... I don't know what..."

Caius growled in pain again while Mallus feigned consternation. "Cramps..." Caius muttered. "That mead... you traitorous dog!"

"Commander I don't understand what's going on here! It can't have been the mead!"

"It must have been," Caius snarled, still bent over. "What kind of brewer are you?"

"My Lord Caius," Sabjorn kept stammering, "it... it can't have been the m-mead. Even if... if it was badly brewed, it could never have –"

The Commander abruptly spewed a cone of yellow vomit from his mouth and went to one knee. Falnas exchanged a glance with Mallus, and saw the same in his eyes: maybe they'd gone a bit too far on this one. This was a bit more dramatic than they'd hoped. Caius' guards moved to steady him, but he swatted them away. "You damn shit excuse for a brewer!" Caius shouted, vomit dribbling off his chin. The crowd, meanwhile, stood watching with mouths and eyes wide open.

"M-my Lord Commander... the mead... it couldn't have – "

"Quiet!" Caius roared. "Guards! Grab this poisoner and haul him to Dragonsreach dungeon! A few months in there will make him reconsider if maybe it wasn't the damn mead after all!"

"But... but my Lord!" Sabjorn protested as the guards grabbed him. "I don't understand! I – "

"Silence! Take him away! You!" he pointed at Mallus. "Accountant! You're in charge for now." Then, back to his guards, "And get me a damn physician!"

With that, Sabjorn was hauled away by two burly guards while a third ran for a doctor for the ailing Caius, who staggered (on his own two feet, which was quite the achievement) back to his barracks, hunched over and swaying from side to side.

The crowd slowly dispersed, every one of them overcoming their amazement at a different moment. None tried the mead.

"Inside," Mallus told him, nudging his head at the door.

He closed the door behind them and said, "Well, that was a bit over the top."

"Quite," Falnas said. "But it did the job."

"Much to Sabjorn's dismay. Anyway, Maven wanted you to find the source of his income too, I don't know if she told you?"

"She did."

"Well, when I did the books," Mallus explained, "there were a lot of things that didn't add up, especially in terms of incoming capital. So I did some snooping around. Found a bedpan under his bed with a bottle of Black-Briar Reserve in it," he chuckled, Falnas grinning along with him, "and also found this." He fished a note from his pocket, held it up between two fingers, and gave it to Falnas. "I don't know what the symbol means, but maybe the Guild does. Maven will want to see it, but she won't know what it is either, I reckon."

Falnas nodded. "I'll run it by her and then see what the Guild has to say."

He opened the note and read it. There was a symbol at the top of the paper, a sort of twisted, stylized dagger in a black circle. He had no idea what it was either. The note itself was a promissory note accompanying, as it said, a large sum of money to get the Honningbrew brewery off the ground. The author also promised to keep Maven at bay, promising Sabjorn to do 'everything in his power to keep Maven's assets and allies off his back'. Strange. Another enemy Maven had apparently made over the years. Damn woman.

"Seems Sabjorn had a silent partner," Mallus remarked.

"Indeed. I need to bring this to the Guild. Thanks for the help Mallus, see you around."

"Sure thing."

"And enjoy your new brewery."

Falnas wasted no time getting to Riften, and when he came through the gates, he saw into Maven's right-hand man, the Nord with the massive warhammer he'd seen the first time he'd been taken to the Ragged Flagon, guarding a house. "Hey," Falnas greeted. "I need to see Maven, can I see her?"

"Guild business, huh?" the Nord grunted. "Head on in."

"Thanks."

He waited in the antechamber for a moment, as asked by a serving girl, and was then allowed an audience with her royal highness. The house she lived in wasn't really a house, more like a villa, with stained glass windows, polished wooden furniture, expensive-looking paintings on the walls, and heavy velvet drapes. Maven's body-guard came in with him.

"You've presented yourself to me," Maven said, waiting for him in her leather sofa. "Since you're not stupid, that means you've come to report success?"

Falnas nodded. "Indeed. Sabjorn's finished, and Mallus has taken over." Bitch.

"Good. Good," Maven merely said. My servant will reward you accordingly, as will the Guild, no doubt. And the other thing I requested?"

"Sabjorn had a silent partner," Falnas reported. "We found a note promising to keep you off his back, and offering a rather massive sum of starting capital." He handed her the note and she read it with an imperious face.

"Hm," she said. "It would seem someone deliberately set this Honningbrew business up to thwart me."

Not at all narcissistic of you, you wrinkly prune.

"This symbol," she said. "Familiar to you, in any way?"

"No, but maybe my superiors at the Guild – "

"Where is she?" a familiar voice resounded off the walls as the door banged behind Falnas, and in stormed the blonde vigilante, her boots banging on the hardwood floor. The man with the hammer looked at Maven, who made a hand gesture telling him not to intervene for now. Behind her followed the serving girl, staggering and holding her head. "I'm sorry Lady Maven, she wouldn't – "

"Maven!" the blonde threatened. "Another Amberblossom employee dead. Mysteriously kicked in the head by a horse."

"Are you here to collect charity for his family?" Maven asked, still lying on the sofa, her nose in the air.

"I know it was you, Maven," the woman growled, jabbing a finger at her. "You'll hang for this!"

"My dear, I have no idea what you're raving about," Maven simply said back, "but I'd watch your threats in my house. Your Dragonborn friend is gone again, to run after dragons I assume, and it is most unwise to threaten someone of my influence in her own house."

"It's not a threat," Mjoll the Lioness snarled. "It's a promise."

"I've heard enough," Maven said, shooing her away. "You may leave now."

"I'm not done," the other woman refused to move. "I want this to stop before more people get hurt!"

"Maul, if you please?" Maven said dismissively to her bodyguard, "Teach this man-bitch some manners."

"Yes, lady Maven." The hulking Nord took the two-handed hammer off his back and came to stand in front of Mjoll. She wasn't an unimpressive woman, but this man dwarfed her easily. "You heard the lady, Mjoll. You can moo on out of here, unless you need a hand."

Mjoll looked past him at Maven, panting in anger, then said. "The people are fed up with you thinking you're above the law, and all they need is a few more nudges until they string you up in the street."

Maven shooed again. "Out."

Her bodyguard raised his massive arm and pointed at the door, and this time Mjoll did stand down. "Very well. I'm leaving. But this isn't over, Maven."

"Oh no, it isn't," Maven said, flashing a poisonous smile, "but it soon will be."

Mjoll gave her a last hateful glare, then stomped out.

"This one wasn't even mine," Maven said to no one in particular. "I hate it when I get accused of things I haven't done."

"Forgive me, Lady Maven," the serving girl peeped. "I couldn't stop her, she – "

Maven said nothing, but took an apple from the silver bowl on the table before her, and threw it at the girl, the fruit hitting her in the head. "Oww!"

"Stop your bleating and get back to work."

"Y-yes Lady M-Maven."

She pointed at the fallen apple. "And pick that up." Then she addressed Falnas again. "As for you, show this document to the Guild. Mercer will know the symbol, and if he doesn't, then definitely Delvin. He knows everything about symbols."

"Understood."

She nodded. "You may go now."

He turned, glad to be out of this woman's neighbourhood, but before he could leave, she asked him, "Oh, there is one more thing, if you're interested? Entirely optional."

"I'm listening?"

"Mjoll is becoming more than a nuisance. I need someone to deal with her in a way that can't be traced back to me." Her eyes hardened. "Permanently."

Oh no, no way. He wasn't a hired killer. "Not interested. Just because I steal from people doesn't mean I'm fine with becoming a murderer."

"Oh, but who said anything about murdering?" Maven asked, playing innocent. "I just meant, have a good chat with her and convince her to leave me alone. But very well, if you're not interested, like I said, entirely optional."

"No. I'm not interested."

"No hard feelings. Off with you then." She at least didn't shoo him away like he'd done Mjoll, He might have put her through the window there and then if she had.

Falnas left the Black-Briar estate, knowing full well that if things kept going like this, they would be going out of control.