Lux went from talkative to quiet to gloomy throughout the day, and by the time they reached the capital, she was sulking. The prospect of meeting the King, however, was enough of a distraction that Quinn never thought to ask what was wrong.

At the city gates, the security was much stricter than usual, and once through, they immediately set about hearing recent news of the nation. The rebellion had lost three leaders in the past weeks, but all of them decoys. The real person, the puppeteer behind the scenes, wasn't so easy to find.

People could no longer enter the capital without a valid reason. The strain between lower class and higher class was reaching a breaking point, and the prisons were overflowing with criminals – rebels, rioters, and the just plain rowdy.

Overflowing? Quinn had said. What were they doing with the new criminals, then?

Disappeared, the information broker told them. They were disappeared, just like the last time rebellion threatened the nation. It was the cleanest solution at hand, for the Lightshield family.


The King's Court was the only place in the world where the King had to use his brains. His other public appearances were memorized speeches that were crafted and vetted by specialists. There were people for economic decisions, military decisions, political decisions – that was to say, hide within the nation's borders – and every other possible aspect of ruling a nation. Of course, the King could ignore these people and do whatever he liked and they would still follow the royal family.

The court was primarily used for escalated issues that couldn't be resolved by the King's minions. Rarely, this meant crime. It was usually land usage and importing and exporting controversial products.

Once at the door, Lux was told to wait, while Quinn and Valor were shown in.

Long ago, Valor had been ordered not to fly within the King's presence. He hadn't been too happy about the restriction, which had struck Quinn as odd since she'd thought a Demacian eagle, of all creatures, would respect the King. That may have been another source of the ire Quinn felt towards the monarchy. If Valor didn't have much respect for the King, then neither should she.

"Sergeant Attridge," the King said from his aureate throne.

She knelt and bowed her head. "Your Majesty."

The first time they had met, she hadn't been versed in the proper conduct, and it had been quite embarrassing. This time, she knew the words and motions, and waited until the King said "rise" before she raised her head and stood.

Standing to the King's left was a familiar face. Xin Zhao was a champion of the League of Legends, but he spent more time at the King's side than in Senta. Some people whispered that he was even more trusted than the King's son. His eyes appraised Quinn silently. She was a threat, nothing more, nothing less. It was always an impassive expression on his face, no matter how familiar the person was in front of him. Though maybe with people out there like LeBlanc, it was a necessity. Still, Quinn had never seen him smile and was quite sure he had no friends.

On the King's right, an assembly of unfamiliar men. Advisors and politicians, most likely.

The King spoke, his words crisp and echoing in the large chamber. "I have had some time to come to terms with your disappearance, reappearance, and entry into the League of Legends. But before those matters, I must ask if you been briefed on the current situation in Demacia, involving the revolts?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"And what is your opinion on this matter?"

Quinn hesitated. "Your Majesty?"

"Are their concerns valid? How would you solve the present issues?"

Do away with the monarchy and the royal family, and create a council to govern Demacia, like practically every other nation in Runeterra has been doing for decades. And screw the noble family thing, too. They deserve no more privileges than the rest of us.

But that was an excellent way to go missing. Instead of thinking about an answer, Quinn spent some time thinking about how to arrange her non-answer.

"I am not familiar with the politics involved," she said slowly. "So I feel I cannot give a proper response, your Majesty."

The King stroked his armrest for a moment. "I understand. These matters are complicated. Let us discuss something more relevant to you. The night of June sixteenth, an attempt was made on your life, and you made egregious accusations of Garen Crownguard. Fortunately, few were present at the time, and Garen has chosen not to pursue the matter any further. However, the fact remains that you have insulted a noble family, and deserted your post that same night. What have you to say in your defense?"

Amazingly, in the past month Quinn hadn't given a single thought to how she would answer such a question. It blindsided her; she had expected to be given a punishment, to serve it quietly, and then to carry on with her life.

Normally when caught off guard, she would have stuttered and ended with a nonsense answer, but since entering the presence of the King, she'd kept her mouth closed tightly until she knew exactly what to say. The King didn't seem to mind her long pauses before answering, so she took her time, and came to a conclusion. She would test the waters.

"Nothing has changed since that night," Quinn said. "I still believe Garen Crownguard is responsible for the attempt on my life, and I left the capital for my own safety, your Majesty."

"This is not a defense," the King said. "This is an attack. I will not condemn your decision, but it brings along more difficulties, which are ill-timed, considering the current state of the nation. There is a Crownguard just outside this door. Shall I bring her in, to continue this conversation?"

"My issue is with Garen Crownguard, not Luxanna, your Majesty."

"Indeed," he said, nodding after a moment. "I have heard you two have recently become close friends."

Quinn didn't speak into the silence. He hadn't asked a question, and the less she said, the better she felt.

"Even so," he carried on. "You suspect her brother of trying to kill you?"

"Yes, your Majesty," she said. It had to have been a Demacian, and though she had Kaiser's name, she didn't know if he'd been responsible for both attempts on her life. Until she knew otherwise, it was Garen's failure in the capital, and Kaiser's in Senta.

"I should hope this friendship is genuine, and not developed for other reasons."

"Yes, your Majesty."

The King tapped the armrest of his throne. "Bring her in."

Quinn shouldn't have, but she panicked a little. There was always the possibility she'd been misled, and Lux would enter, denounce her, and challenge her to some sort of duel to the death to settle matters once and for all. This time, against all her efforts, she sputtered and half rose her hands in protest, but the King stared down at her from his throne, uninterested in her objection.

But it wasn't the main doors that were opened. A smaller door on the side of the room opened, and behind it, there was no Crownguard.

There was a cat.

A cat.

A Shuriman cat. With a light brown coat, and black tipped paws and tail. And the cat took a step into the room, looking around lazily. It sat down, licked its paw a couple times, and then stood again to slowly walk towards the King. Once in front of the throne, it didn't hesitate. The cat leapt up onto the armrest, turned around to face the rest of the room, and lied down.

It yawned, and the King petted it.

Valor was watching the new prey with great interest, and Quinn was watching with great confusion, but to her it seemed like the cat really did belong there, and after accepting that the cat was actually there, she half-turned to Valor, because she was beginning to question her senses.

No, it didn't really occur to her that she was dreaming, but Valor still graciously hopped over and pecked her leg.

Most everyone else in the room took this development in stride, though she caught a few people staring at her entertained. The King had a cat, apparently. Somehow this detail had eluded Quinn until now.

And then she wondered if the timing on the King's part had been intentional, but came to the conclusion that he had zero sense of humour and couldn't have known she didn't know about the cat. It was just one of those moments where something completely unexpected happened and she needed to take it in stride.

"I will reiterate, this is not the time to choose a fight with the Crownguards," the King said. "You will put this matter aside until the revolts have been quelled."

She waited for him to continue, and he did after a moment of petting his cat.

"There remains the fact that you had many alternatives to disappearing. Your choice to disappear has upset a great many people. However, by my previous reasoning, I believe now is not the time to pass punishment. I have come to a conclusion that I believe is fair. The mission I am about to assign you is of great importance. Pending a successful and timely return from this mission, I will absolve you of your crimes. Additionally, your parents will stay here, in the capital, until your return. Worry not, they'll be safe from any dangers, under the guard of my men."

She spared a look to Valor. He looked quite serious, as opposed to when the cat had entered. The veiled threat wasn't something only she had heard.

"Sirs," the King said, addressing his men. "I must ask you to step outside. Please admit Luxanna Crownguard on your way out."

After the reshuffling of people – the cat remaining, obviously – Lux ended up standing next to her, eyes focused on His Majesty and a notable lack of a smile on her face.

"Bilgewater," the King continued, speaking to a much smaller room. He gave a moment for the word to sink in. "We have had strong trade with this nation for many years, and through these ties, we find certain pieces of information making their way across the waters. Recently, we have heard of a man's presence on this island nation, and we wish to clarify these rumours. He is ex-Noxian General Marcus Du Couteau, and they say he is alive. Luxanna Crownguard, you are to go to Bilgewater, verify these rumours, and should they prove true, hunt down and assassinate Marcus Du Couteau.

"Yes, your Majesty," Lux said, a little stiff but otherwise calm and collected.

Quinn was marginally less collected, and Xin Zhao's eyes locked onto her when her eyes widened. Surprise was a reasonable reaction when faced with such a preposterous rumour, she hoped.

The more she heard Marcus Du Couteau's name, the less human he seemed. When they had met, he was a charismatic and fair man, but whenever anyone spoke his name, it was always with disgust, like it were a string of profanity. But Quinn was able to look past this disgust, and begin adding questions of her own to the pile surrounding the man.

He was alive, so this rumour had a stronger basis to her than most others. What was he doing in Bilgewater? Barring the unexpected encounter in the forests near Freljord, Quinn imagined he was a man who was only found when he wanted. To what ends did he allow himself to be spotted in Bilgewater?

"There is another man of interest," the King said. "But whom we know for certain is located in Bilgewater. We believe he holds valuable information pertaining to the safety of Demacia, and his life is in danger. He is another man everyone here knows: Rayburn Cardwell. Quinn Attridge, you are to go to Bilgewater, find and secure Cardwell, and bring him back to Demacia."

No, Quinn was not familiar with the name, thanks for asking.

Still, she felt as though this information was highly confidential, and was the reason everyone but Xin Zhao and the cat had left. She could only hope Cardwell was willing to be extracted, and this wasn't some kind of kidnapping she was being assigned. She had never done a kidnapping before.

"Yes, your Majesty," she said nonetheless. It might have been her imagination, but Lux seemed to relax a little upon hearing her response.

"I hope any issues between the two of you will not prove problematic, because we have arranged transport for tomorrow morning, aboard a merchant cargo ship destined for Bilgewater. I would like you to draw as little attention as possible to your missions. Additionally, you will assist each other if necessary, and should either of you fail prematurely, the other will take responsibility for completing both tasks."


Outside the court, Prince Jarvan was speaking with a man. When he noticed them approach, he quickly ended the conversation and greeted them.

"Excellent. We were expecting you today," he said.

Valor responded with an immediate caw, and Quinn cracked a smile. The bird had his priorities in line.

"What's the cat's name?" Quinn asked on his behalf.

"Please, Quinn," the Prince admonished. "We have more important matters to discuss."

"Sorry, sir," Quinn said, just barely managing to wipe the smile off her face. "Valor wants to know something else, too. Probably more important. Who is Rayburn Cardwell?"

Assumably, Valor did want to know, but that didn't stop him from snapping at her ankles.

Prince Jarvan sighed. "Rayburn Cardwell is one of the original High Summoners. Some would say that, in his day, he was the most powerful mage in the world."

"And he's not going to have a problem with being whisked away to Demacia?"

"You bring up a good point, but do not worry," Jarvan said, handing her an envelope. "Deliver this to him. He and the King are friends. He'll understand."

She pocketed the envelope, and the three of them walked down the hall. Jarvan began briefing them on the details.

When he offered them their twenty-five gold coin allocation for the mission, it was with unspoken agreement that Lux took the money.

"It's not much," Jarvan said, "but we've already arranged transport to Bilgewater via the merchant ship Barrow, which leaves at sunrise tomorrow. All you need is to buy passage on a boat to Piltover once you're done in Bilgewater."

"Piltover?" Lux said. "Why Piltover?"

The Prince offered her the leather bag he'd been holding. She took it, peeked inside, and then showed Quinn.

Four bluish crystals. She immediately didn't like them.

"Teleportation crystals," he said, reinforcing her initial feelings. "You will bring them to Piltover's Demacian ambassador, Mason. He will return you here.

"Why not just teleport there and back?" Quinn said. "It would save lots of time."

"The crystals themselves can't be teleported. If you teleport there, you would have to travel back. The King believes that would put Rayburn at too much of a risk. Sorry Lux – even if these Du Couteau rumours turn out to be worth our time, the trail might be cold by the time you get there."

"It's fine," Lux said. "Fine."

"Quinn," Jarvan said. "Have you been to visit your parents, yet?"

"No. What happened to Everridge? It was attacked?"

The Prince nodded. "A Shadow Isles monster, recently dubbed Guillotine, attacked. It was a random attack, as far as we can tell, but it left some dark magic behind. The village isn't livable until we dispatch enchanters to clean it up."

"When will that be?"

"Not any time soon," the Prince admitted. "We have our hands full, and can't afford to put our enchanters at risk by leaving the capital."

What was that? Were they so scared they couldn't even leave the safety of their walls? If not for Caleb's grave being in Everridge, she might have felt a small hint of delight at their fear. In a roundabout way, they were coming to respect the working class.

"And Guillotine?"

"He's disappeared. But like a slug, he's oozing dark magic, and there's a trail to follow."

"I'll do it," Quinn said.

"We already have a job," Lux reminded her. "Besides, he's too dangerous for you. If the info is right, though, he's something my magic could handle."


"Milky," Lux said once they were alone.

"Huh?"

"The King's cat is Milky. We should go to the port tonight and meet the captain of Barrow. Or at least, I would like to speak with him before we leave."

"Sure," Quinn said. "I have some stuff to do first. Meet at the port in two hours?"

"That sounds good. Two hours then." She took a few steps away before turning around. "And, Quinn, good luck."

Quinn was not going to see her parents. That decision had been relatively easy to make. Even years later, she was still causing them trouble, and she probably wouldn't even recognize them. Instead, she stepped outside of the castle and took a moment to herself.

Demacia, again. Even if it wasn't home, it was familiar.

She closed her eyes. The air tasted sweet and Valor flew close, and she exhaled deeply, letting the city seep into her, revealing to her its subtle inner workings. Behind her, a cart of apples was passing through the castle gates and she listened for a moment as the guards gave the merchant a hard time. Then she heard the whoosh of Valor swooping into a back alley – in pursuit of mice or rats, or perhaps bigger prey, she couldn't tell – and then there was the sound of laughing children, a staple ingredient to a typical city center.

Unfortunately, Quinn's understanding of the city dynamics had to change, since becoming a champion of the League of Legends. People were watching her. Many more than usual. Which were threats, and which were curious? She set a quick pace away from the castle, hoping to reduce the eyes on her.

At her house, Valor flew up to the chimney and did a sharp circle around it, returning with the key which he dropped two stories down into Quinn's waiting hand. With a muttered "thanks", she opened the door. The key still worked, and she couldn't quite say why she was so surprised.

It was half a step inside when Quinn saw the oddity. On the hardwood floor, there was a dark patch. She'd seen enough of it in her lifetime to immediately know it was blood, and she stepped back outside, crouched down, and listened. Was returning home too reckless? If the bomber wanted a second chance at her, did he assume she was stupid enough to not learn from last time? It was dead quiet inside, and no hints of any powerful magic.

The rational thing would have been to walk away. She'd done that so many times, at so little cost. There wasn't even any pressing reason to enter; she'd wanted a few pieces of clothing she kept in the dresser, but even those could be replaced with the money the Institute of War had given her. No reason to take this chance.

But damn them all to hell. Kaiser, Garen, everyone.

She took the first step inside with her sword at the ready. There was no bomb. The door opening would have otherwise set it off. Giving herself over to instincts – which had done well to keep her alive so far – she moved forward.

The blood was a trail. Someone injured had entered. They led directly to the steps, so that's where Quinn went. She left the creaky door open, and the lights off, even though her presence was already announced from the moment she'd first opened the door.

The steps wanted to creak, and she did her best to keep them quiet by putting her weight as close to the walls as possible, but unless a drunk homeless person had made themselves cozy in her house, she would be at a disadvantage, come any fight.

But would a bleeding, homeless man really be stupid enough to break into a house on this street?

She hoped so.

If her eyes weren't betraying her, the blood stains were growing in size. They were dried too – it wasn't a recent occurrence, but prepared well in advance. The trail led directly to her room – the largest of the house – and she stood up straight, deciding that if these were her last moments, she wanted to at least be standing level with her enemy. A failed assassin and a failed bomb – what was next for the Garen-Kaiser squad? If he was the incompetent he'd proven himself to be so far, it certainly would be interesting.

With her sword at the ready, she swung the door to her room open.

It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing. Sunlight filtered in through a wide open window. Valor was on her bed, perched there patiently, and on the floor next to the bed, a large stain. For a moment, she felt oddly disconnected from her body as she remembered the night seven weeks ago, and then she was on her hands and knees, breathing hard and quick, as though she'd ran up a hundred flights of stairs.

Her stomach twisted, and she regretted coming back to Demacia. Her parents be damned. They could fend for themselves. She'd paid what she owned them ten times over. Now, all she was left with was a decaying sanity and festering paranoia.

She wiped at her forehead with the back of her hand and looked up. A few minutes passed before she began to feel a return of control to her body.

Valor was staring at her with a look she decided to interpret as concern, rather than pity.

"Val," she said, now walking through the room and taking her time. "I'm fine. Just forgot. Wasn't a night worth remembering, really."

It wasn't one of her finest moments – self-preservation was a powerful instinct.

She passed around the dried fluids staining her floor and kicked her desk, groaning first in frustration and then in pain.

"I'm fine," she said again, and it was more truthful than the first time. Pain always helped, as contradicting as it sounded.

Collapsing onto her chair, she noticed a long forgotten item on her desk. She picked it up.

For your outstanding service to Demacia, the military bestows upon you the Demacia Cross.

Returning from Ionia, after the nation had finally caved and joined the League of Legends, it had been a small controversy of its own. She had received glares from almost every noble present as Prince Jarvan had given it to her.

There had been a watch, too, accompanying the cross. Noxian decorations often came with ornamental daggers, but Demacia had decided that was too crude.

She dug around in her desk until she found it. The watch was still ticking, and probably would be for many years to come. After a quick check to make sure it fit comfortably, she pocketed it. According to cartographers, south of the Great Barrier was considered the southern hemisphere, and the sun moved differently across the sky. That meant telling time based on the shadows would be something she had to relearn, and a watch was the perfect tool to make up for this complication.


Coboro Street was on the outskirts of the city, and as Quinn walked the roads – the differences between the outer and inner city not quite as dramatic as in Senta, but nonetheless noticeable – the pressure didn't relent. People were watching her every movement, as she paused at the alleys and intersections. Eventually, the staring grew into apples offered by farmers, and teas by grandmothers, and then a subtle group of men formed and began following her, keeping the others at bay.

These men always put themselves between her and the city guards, and she realized it for what it was. They were protecting their voice, or so they thought. The confrontations were non-violent, but the tension was unmistakable. It seemed, despite her quick departure from the city before, news of the assassination attempt – and perhaps the one in Senta, too – had reached the ears of the common people. They were showing her support, and protecting her, and she knew she didn't have to act any different from before but she still felt apprehensive. It already made her long for the forest paths untravelled by man.

The recipient of Akali's letter, Shadrick, was a heavyset man working in a swordsmith's, which she quickly ducked into before starting a riot simply by existing. He recognized her immediately, and when he saw the letter in her hand, his expression grew into excitement, and his mouth opened like he was going to shout aloud. He tossed his hammer aside and waddled over.

"Oh ho ho," he laughed, like he was meeting a long lost friend and couldn't quite believe his eyes. "Quinn – Quinn Attridge – this – this-" He stopped and cleared his throat. It may have been an attempt to recollect himself, but his fat still quivered with excitement.

"A letter from the Kinkou Order," Quinn said, unsettled by his reaction. "You were expecting one, I take it?"

"Yes. Heh. This is good. Hehehe."

He began muttering under his breath, and she set the letter on the table quietly, like he was a wild animal she didn't want to disturb. Next, she began taking slow steps backwards.

"Do you have a minute?" he said before she made it back out.

"Why?"

"Here," the man motioned towards a door.

No matter how creepy he was, he wasn't the least bit dangerous, so it was only with a little bit of trepidation that Quinn followed him. In the back room, the man waddled over to a table and began moving around items.

The place was an armoury, with weapons hanging from the walls, and armour stands – some empty, others with polished iron armour hanging on them – and then there was the table the man was working at. He finally pulled a sword free with a grunt.

"Tell me what you think of it," he said, handing it over.

"Not good," she said immediately. The man's expression fell, and it took her a second to recognize her harsh and unconstructive critique. "Too light," she elaborated. "I don't know what it's made of, but it doesn't inspire trust. Length?"

"Forty-eight point five."

"And what were you trying to make, exactly?"

"I was experimenting-"

"I can see that, but this is unusable." Her first impression of the man had been swordsmith – because of the sign above the door – but now it was of a man who'd never lifted a hammer in his life. "Even the handle guard is dangerous. You can't take characteristics from three, four different swords, put it together, and expect it to work."

On her way out of the building, she passed by another room which further made her wonder what exactly Shadrick's occupation was. Inside, there was a wide assortment of magical trinkets. Though she wasn't familiar with any of them, she could feel the magic emanating from the room.


There were much cheaper ways of accomplishing her goal, but none were as subtle and quick as a backstreet information broker. With only a name and picture to go on, Quinn expected it to take a few tries, but the haggard man covered in a patchwork blanket in the nearby back alley hardly blinked as he told her everything she needed to know.

Kaiser was very well known in the capital. A man with a knack for medicine, he could save those who were so far gone, dismembered and disfigured until they no longer seemed human, and it was always with modern science – no dark magic, like the doctors of Zaun and Noxus would resort to. A miracle worker, some called him. He was mixing magic and medicine in ways never seen before, and people from all around the world wanted to learn from him.

Ziggs and LeBlanc probably already knew who he was. That was why LeBlanc hadn't seen the need to elaborate, and Ziggs hadn't wanted to tell anyone but Quinn his name. She wouldn't have expected subtlety from Ziggs, but it seemed the Yordle wasn't as obvious of a read.

Kaiser's celebrity status meant his address was easy to find – a disturbingly short walk from Quinn's house – and thirty minutes later, Quinn was knocking at the door.

She heard quick footsteps and then the door opened to a little girl.

Quinn was speechless. She'd been ready for him, or maybe his wife, but a little girl?

"Hello," she said, kneeling down. "Is your father home?"

The girl's eyes widened. "You – you're Quinn!"

"I am."

"I see you on TV a bunch. Is Ashe your friend? Are you friends with a princess? I want to meet a princess."

"She's an acquaintance," Quinn said, wondering why she was having so much trouble with a little girl. "Is your father Kaiser?"

The girl nodded, her long brown braids bouncing up and down. "He's mentioned you before. You should come in. Let's play! I have a big doll house."

"Maybe another time," Quinn said. "I need to speak with your father. Where is he?"

"At work," the girl said. "He's a doctor at the hospital! He saves people."

Quinn thanked the girl and excused herself as quickly as possible. Her intention was now to confront him at his workplace, where he would be at a disadvantage. Killing him, as earlier planned, might not have been necessary. This was Lux's influence at work. She would interrogate him, maybe casually mention she had dropped by his house, and maybe make some suggestions which would help them get along better. If he was as incompetent as he seemed, then that would be enough.

The plan, though mostly left open to improvisation, was shattered a little earlier than she'd been prepared for. Kaiser was more than a doctor. At the hospital, Quinn learned he was chief surgeon and was currently performing a difficult surgery on a baby girl born with complications – he wouldn't be out for another five hours, at the earliest. Everybody at the hospital spoke like he was a hero, and she wondered – not for the first time – if maybe LeBlanc was playing her. Her and Ziggs could have been in it together – the Yordle's sense of humour was twisted enough for it.

Without the time to sit around and wait, she dropped by his house again and left a message with the girl, promising she would be back. For now, let Kaiser live in fear. The mission from the King took priority.


Dogs on long leashes were being walked down the harbour. Their master gave them the liberty to go wherever they pleased and sniff whatever they wanted, so that's what they did. Eventually, satisfied nothing shady was going on in the world's largest port, they were returned to their kennels and their walker retired to a nearby commercial building. Quinn watched this, and the last minute rush to unload bulk shipments from the boats, to keep her mind from straying too far.

"You're late," she said when Lux arrived.

But Lux barely acknowledged her. She was concentrating on the ground, as though afraid she would misstep and fall. Before Quinn could properly get Lux's attention, a man approached them.

"Miss Crownguard," he said, and Lux turned to look at him, but she hardly seemed to see him. "My deepest apologies," he went on, "but the Barrow will not be leaving port tonight. Nor tomorrow, or any time in the foreseeable future. The Captain has been seriously injured and he won't let his ship leave port with anyone else in its command."

He waited a moment, perhaps waiting for Lux to forgive him and say it wasn't a big deal, but that never happened, and he looked desperately to Quinn.

"Okay," Quinn said, though she found her attention was more on Lux than the immediate wall they'd hit in their mission.

He continued talking, maybe about alternatives, but when he realized they weren't listening, he quietly made his exit.

"We'll need passage on another boat," Quinn said, following a minute of silence. "We should ask Prince Jarvan."

"No." Lux looked up, finally showing signs of life.

"No?"

"I mean... I mean, no." She shook her head. "We shouldn't bother him."

"Then, what do you want to do?"

Lux was saved from answering by the arrival of an older man.

"Excuse me," he said, easily breaking into the silence of the conversation. "I happened to overhear you were to be passengers on Barrow, but the captain has been injured? My name is Captain Gossimer, and I own the Lindini, a merchant ship that is heading out to Bilgewater tonight – well, was. The harbour's usual allocated guardsmen have come down with sickness. It would be mutually beneficial if you were to join us. In return for protecting us against any unsavory visitors at sea, we would give you free food, board, and transportation to Bilgewater."