Chapter 9: Contracts

Three weeks Merlin spent gathering information, compiling it into concise reports, training by himself in the dead of the night – the only time he ever had the time – and growing thoroughly tired of being Arthur's errand boy.

At the end of that time, he was surprised by a summons from Morgana, but went to the receiving room without comment or question.

Mordred was coming toward him down the hall as he rounded the corner, and quickened his step on seeing him. Merlin paused with his hand the latch and waited; at that, Mordred stopped, his hand going to the ostentatiously-fringed sheath at his hip. But when Merlin made no other move, Mordred back two steps, then retreated down the hallway, watching almost constantly over his shoulder.

When Merlin entered the receiving room, he found Morgana seated in a comfortable chair by the front window, writing table at her elbow with a ledger and inkwell. She was occupied writing and didn't look up. Gwaine was seated opposite to her, his back to the wall and one ankle crossed over the other knee; he lifted his chin to acknowledge Merlin's glance, but didn't speak or smile.

There was a third in the room, a jowly man with ice-blue eyes and a long queue the color of sand. He paced the width of the room several steps beyond Morgana's seat, then stopped and stared as though Merlin had burst into the room to shout an obscene challenge. He was dressed richly but not expensively, his clothes well-cut, but subdued rather than showy. Merlin could guess very little as to his station or occupation.

"Master Jordan, this is Merlin, the associate I spoke of," Morgana said, still without looking up. Merlin thought it significant that she had not said, agent. "You may trust to his discretion as fully as you trust myself or Gwaine. Merlin," she looked up then, green eyes cool and professional, "Master Jordan has offered rather an extensive contract. We require your – advice."

Did he imagine the slight pause, the hint of hesitation? Why was he to be privy to this conversation, clearly a meeting with a prospective client? He'd never been brought in before – nor had any, to the best of his knowledge – had never had any desire or interest in the business details of revenging. And now, he wasn't even an apprentice. He wasn't a revenger. He was an agent, though temporarily, which might conceivably put him at odds with the inner workings of the organization and business. He was literally in a position now to require Morgana to shut it all down – of course enforcing that would be another matter, but still. Something was in the air; he remained at the door, still and straight, hands clasped behind him.

"An associate?" the jowly man protested. "This boy?"

Morgana, who had fixed her gaze on the client, looked back at Merlin in swift alarm; Gwaine even set both feet flat on the floor as if he expected to have to tackle Merlin to prevent an attack on a client.

Merlin let the words hang in the air, let the old anger rise at the insult, then stepped forward, walking deliberately toward the man, hands still behind his back. He didn't intend to intimidate or offend unduly, just to correct the misconception decisively. As he neared the man he tapered the anger off to hardness alone, but the man still flinched when Merlin abruptly extended his open right hand.

"Master Jordan," he said neutrally. "We've not met." His tone more than implied a rebuke of the man's lack of manners in insulting a stranger when he was the guest.

Jordan swallowed, glanced behind Merlin at Morgana to one side, then Gwaine to the other. He nervously shook Merlin's hand once. "Pleased to meet you."

Merlin backed up, again taking slow steps, emphasizing his treatment of the situation as a duel, never turning his back to his opponent. He ended beside Gwaine's chair, and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.

There might have been a small smile on Morgana's lips as she turned her attention back to the open book in front of her. "Master Jordan," she said. "Please begin to state your proposition again."

"Twenty-five years ago," Jordan began, "when the Third Bridge was finished, Turad Council voted for a series of tolls. The money was to be used for a number of purposes, but all to the benefit of the people of the city – bridge and road upkeep, gate guards, watchmen, street lamps.

"Last year the council voted on a measure that in essence divided the city into eight counties governed mainly by one member of the council. This was intended to ease the burden on the council as a whole, by allowing the members to act with more autonomy – however, it resulted in several members imposing additional tolls within the counties, to increase their income and thereby their power, within their counties and within the council."

To this point the jowly client had been mostly composed, but seemed to lose his temper as he described what devastation the extra tolls had brought, most of which Merlin already knew for fact or had heard as rumor during his three weeks of investigation. Several of the small shires surrounding Turad had also put up toll booths at bridges and gates, some sanctioned by leaders like a reeve, some no more than a powerful and greedy citizen or highwayman able to enforce the toll. There were even a couple of barricades in the rougher sections of Turad itself, held by gangs of thieves and rowdies.

This of course had several economic results, none of which had been beneficial. Those within the city who traveled – like watermen or street-sweepers, various vendors and clothiers and delivery-men – weren't able to move freely anymore, at least on a daily basis. Deliveries weren't being made, or were being delayed several days so multiple deliveries could be made at once within a particular county. Folks from outside the city who brought produce on a daily basis were now taking it elsewhere or keeping it themselves, which resulted in spoiling surplus outside and shortages inside Turad. Which in turn drove up prices in the city, to three and four times the normal rates.

Normally such conditions might balance out with the general exodus of the people from the city to the countryside, bringing the need to the supply, but not everyone could afford to do that. Some were even starving in the poorer sections of the city, but it was beginning to affect everyone's business. There had been riots; someone had even attempted to set fire to the First Bridge.

All crime, according to Jordan, and which Merlin could tentatively corroborate, was increasing. The biggest problem was theft, especially of grocer-stalls, or bakeries and butcher-shops, but several robberies had ended in murder. The city prison was full, as well as the debtor's pen. And now there were reports of worse conditions in the countryside, where farms and ranches and orchards were more isolated.

So what's the proposition? Merlin wondered. None of what Jordan had said was really news to any of them; he himself had written twenty pages of report confirming these things from various sources. Petitions should be presented to the council, to the reeve, to the judge. He knew from Arthur's own reports that it was increasingly difficult to gain such a hearing, but why turn to a revenger, unless…

"What do you propose a revenger do to right these myriad wrongs?" Morgana inserted smoothly into a pause in the man's rantings.

He took a deep, gulping breath, made a visible effort to calm himself. "I have accepted a retainer's fee from – a number of citizens, to represent them. I am prepared to offer, on behalf of this assembly, contracts on Judge Alined, Reeve Agravaine, and all eight council members."

"You want them dead?" Gwaine asked incredulously.

Morgana held up a hand, finished making a note in her book, and looked up. "Before you commit yourself too specifically, Master Jordan, we are accustomed to deliberating in private whether we will accept your contract, and what course of action would be acceptable revenge."

Jordan bowed his head in acquiescence and stepped to the door, but before he departed, he turned to remind them, "These men are responsible for the excess of tolls, which have drained our region of profit and caused crime and starvation. They are responsible for maintaining peace and stability, and instead they squabble for larger pieces of the pie, chopping our fine city–" the butler/bodyguard waiting at the door drew Jordan out firmly but politely, and shut the door behind them.

Morgana exchanged a significant look with Gwaine.

"Sounds to me like coup by assassination," Gwaine remarked. "I wonder who his backers are, and the amount of his retainer."

"The contracts he offers are more political than any we've ever taken," Morgana mused, reviewing her notes. "And very public."

"How much is he offering per?" Gwaine asked.

"Not enough to risk crossing the line. What do you think, Merlin?" She glanced up from the book; Gwaine looked at him also.

"As a revenger, I would ask if these ten men are personally responsible for any crimes," he answered. "As an agent, I would say they're definitely responsible for the situation, that they've failed in their civic duties and ought to be made to answer for it."

"I don't suppose you could make the argument that these men intended any deaths, any thefts, any real harm," Gwaine said. "Of course, no one is accusing them individually of murdering anyone. And if they've committed robbery, instituting more tolls, it was within their authority to do so."

Merlin opened his mouth to argue that it was authority abused – as Padlow had robbed his tax region for years in the name of collecting government taxes.

Before he could speak, Morgana said, right over Gwaine's last words, "How would you make them answer for their failures, Agent Merlin?"

"We're not authorized to use weapons, only words," Merlin said. Except of course in self defense, as always.

"Meetings," Morgana said, almost mockingly. "Gather and compile facts and figures." Merlin felt his back stiffen as if at an insult, but her assessment was accurate enough. "And if you fail to persuade, fail to convince them to change their ways? You can threaten to bring Uther's troops in, but that's not ultimately up to you to command."

It took an effort, but Merlin didn't respond. He didn't like it, but neither could he change it. He would do what was in his power to do, as well as he could do it, and he wasn't responsible for more.

"Do you suppose," Morgana said, with a glint in her green eyes that warned Merlin she was deliberately baiting him, "if we took this contract and killed a few councilmen, or re-appropriated funds from them, you would consider it your duty to arrest us?"

Merlin said only, "My writ doesn't cover unauthorized arrests."

Arthur's did, though.

"He's right about one thing, Morgana," Gwaine interjected. "We don't take an eye for an eye if a person is guilty of merely greed or carelessness. You simply cannot claim these ten men are personally responsible for deaths or outright theft. And if we executed more than a few, that would only increase the instability and lawlessness."

Morgana smiled suddenly, a smile full of teeth and mischief. "Merlin, would you send Jordan back in for a moment? And thank you for your input."

Merlin could tell when he was being dismissed, but he simply nodded and moved to obey. Morgana had always enjoyed toying with folks, testing how far she could push. Which was why Merlin had always let her push him farther than he would have allowed anyone else.

An odd thought occurred to him as he left the room – Freya never pushed.

He found Jordan pacing the hallway, muttering to himself, checking and adjusting the tie of his queue absently. "Your presence is again requested, Master Jordan," he said, pausing as he passed, and the man nodded impatiently, moved again to the receiving room.

Merlin was fairly sure Morgana wouldn't take the contracts. The most she would do, he expected, would be to accept a fee to investigate if any of the men were more culpable in more specific circumstances.

What was interesting to Merlin was the fact that someone would come offering such a contract to Morgana. Revengers were marginally legal under normal conditions, and Morgana took care that her organization should stay so – that was what her reputation and the extent of her organization was based on. How long could she stay in business if she had juniors and apprentices arrested, even if only occasionally?

No, this felt like work for assassins, who made no pretense of staying on the right side of the law.

There was every possibility that a segment of the population would hold a growing belief that taking the heads of those who'd precipitated the crisis would resolve it. Though common sense and Sage Springs had taught Merlin that the opposite was true – and maybe this conglomerate only wanted revenge for more personal losses, not necessarily a restoration of governmental balance… The idea of a middle-man was unsurprising. Of course any citizen who might admit to wanting the members of his city council dead would want to remain anonymous. Jordan would be paid whether Morgana accepted or not, probably, though there might be a bit extra if she accepted…

But… his speech to the three of them just now was a good deal more impassioned than someone simply delivering a message. More so than a minute increase in percentage of pay should prompt. He wondered if there was something more to it, that Jordan wasn't telling them.

He wondered if maybe these ten men didn't deserve to be made aware – if perchance they were not aware – that there were those willing to pay to see them dead.

"Why are you still hanging about here?" a rude voice demanded.

Merlin focused on the young man he'd already noticed lingering at the end of the corridor, without breaking stride. It was Mordred, again; he had no business on this wing, either, and certainly had no right questioning Merlin's comings and goings. But true to Gwaine's warning, Mordred had already made several attempts to rile Merlin, none of which had taken him by surprise, so he'd ignored or side-stepped them. He honestly cared nothing for Mordred's childish assaults one way or the other, and so hadn't responded.

But as Merlin continued toward him, Mordred blocked the corridor, hands on hips. "You've been eavesdropping on the client meeting," he challenged. "They don't ever have anyone else sit in with them, if they did they'd have me, the lead apprentice. They'd have me, not some homeless stray like–"

Merlin drew even with him at that moment, and without hesitation or warning, threw all his strength into a blow to the apprentice's face that felled him flat on the carpeted floor.

He didn't look back, knowing he'd knocked Mordred out cold, as he'd intended. Maybe the next time he would keep quiet til he knew the measure of an opponent, and not allow his mouth to run away with his assumptions.

Later than night at dinner, Merlin noticed two things that interested him, also. First, that he had been moved from Morgana's left hand to Gwaine's right. He didn't mind that, didn't feel he deserved the second-highest place to begin with, but it meant one of two things – either Morgana was considering more than an outright refusal and Jordan was staying for her decision, or he had traveled too far to journey back before nightfall, though it made no sense for citizens of Turad to seek out someone who was not a local, to present the contracts to a revenger. However, Jordan's expression was sullen and despondent, so clearly Morgana had not offered much hope for the results of an investigation. His hazel eyes constantly flickered down the row of apprentice revengers, though what he was searching for, Merlin would not venture to guess.

The second thing that Merlin watched closely as they ate, was the attitude of the self-proclaimed lead apprentice. Mordred was sporting a swollen nose and a split lip, and snarled twice at friendly inquiries from his fellows. But instead of glaring at Merlin, as he'd expected, or even attempting to challenge him again more openly, Mordred instead ignored him completely, giving his attention to the small talk of the three at the head of the table – Morgana, Gwaine, and Jordan.

As the meal ended, Gwaine stood. Instantly, every eye was on him, every tongue still; it was a well-trained group.

"Tonight I have a treat for you," he announced, humor in his tone. "Instead of dessert, we shall have a single-elimination wrestling tourney." He allowed a smile at the collective groan, yet the apprentices stood obediently, laying aside tableware and hastily-used napkins.

Merlin and Mordred were only a breath slower, but as Gwaine passed Merlin, he laid two fingers atop the back of Merlin's hand on the back of his chair, and Merlin obeyed that signal to hold his position for further instructions. Whether Mordred observed the gesture, he couldn't tell, but the young man's eyes were quick. Merlin didn't look in his direction, to avoid drawing his attention, but he saw Jordan's gaze rest on the lead apprentice long enough for a look of speculation to cross his jowly features, as Mordred followed Gwaine and the others.

Jordan remained seated in the dining room; he was Morgana's guest, not Merlin's, so he gave no thought to the man's comfort or entertainment. Morgana rose as the furthest apprentices began to file out of the room, and paused behind Merlin much as Gwaine had done, brushing the back of his elbow with her fist. He followed her unspoken command, keeping pace respectfully as Morgana strolled down the corridor outside the kitchen toward the stairway to the apprentices' cells on the second and third floors at the far end.

"You don't wear a belt knife anymore," she remarked. "May I assume you are armed with at least one blade, somewhere?"

"I am."

She smiled without looking at him. "You were gone almost a year and a half – you've changed. Though, if I may observe without offense, we've noticed you're a little the worse for wear. Anytime you feel like telling the story of how you came by those–" she pointed to his left wrist, then indicated his forehead – "or that, you'll find an interested listener."

He shrugged, clasping his hands behind his back. "Kid with a lamp," he said, offering no other explanation.

"Uh-huh." Her tone was wry. "Well, whatever happened to you, I'm pleased you didn't get yourself killed gaining your revenge. However, I was speaking also of your – appearance. When you arrived, you looked like somebody's poor country relation, and three weeks of long days poking about the city has not improved you." She chuckled, a low, throaty sound. "I suspect that had much to do with Jordan's reaction to you." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "I'm so glad you didn't make it necessary for the servants to clean blood from my carpet."

He snorted. "Control and direction, you taught me."

She nodded. They reached the foot of the stair, where she stopped and faced him. "You'll find a gift in your room," she said, reaching to straighten his collar and not meeting his eyes.

"I don't want–"

"Quiet," she said, a faint hint of impatient sharpness below the amusement. "Think of this gift as a tool, to help you play your new part. So you can decide where your path truly lies. I'm hoping it's here. Go on up, now." He turned to the stairs, took two two-at-a-time steps before he heard her add, in a more teasing way, "I bet your lady-friend will appreciate this gift, too."

That night was uncomfortably warm.

Merlin had his shirt unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled over his elbows, and his feet were bare. The occasional breath of air stirred, cooling him in the darkness as he waited, perched on the railing of the second-floor balcony, just above the main entrance to the chalet.

The glow over the western horizon to his left had faded to a deep blue, and most of the stars were visible overhead. The city was spread out below and in front of him, streetlights and candlelit windows sparkling and shining. It was odd to think of all the busy-ness in the city, with how quiet it was here on the hill.

It was odd to turn his face toward the southwest and think of Freya somewhere in the city, settling in with her new family. He had been to Number Five Sycamore a handful of times since their arrival, but never at times when it would be appropriate to see her, talk to her.

The open balcony door to his immediate left banged softly against the stone of the chalet wall as another breeze wafted past. He wasn't worried about company, though, since no one was in the habit of coming out on the balcony. Open windows in the cells kept them cool enough. He was not in the habit of coming out here, either, but was simply following up on a suspicion. He didn't care one way or the other if he was right or wrong, but he did need to know, since the suspicion touched so closely on his agent's task.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he'd gain only a sleepless night, or three.

Merlin wondered if her family was treating her well. She was very strong, to have suffered Padlow so long and yet remain so sweet and unspoiled, but there was a vulnerability to her, too. He hoped for her sake that her cousins were kind folk.

He shifted, easing his back into a different position against the rough stone. Morgana's idea of a gift had turned out to be a new suit of clothes, complete with boots, belt, and wide-brimmed hat. Freya wasn't his lady, of course, but he wondered for a moment if she'd recognize him in them. He'd been ragged and filthy in her presence, more often than not. Three weeks it had been since he'd seen her.

Three weeks and two fights – neither of which he'd started, and neither of which he'd lost. Arthur had sent him to the countryside to track down the rumors Jordan had mentioned in his diatribe, of tolls illegally instituted by villages around Turad. Both of those fights represented toll-barricades taken down, two villages first properly subdued, then reassured that the situation in Turad, which had caused their people to seek additional income, was being rectified.

He'd seen those farms burned by roaming brigands. Seen decent farmers and ranchers turn suspicious and surly, seen individual toll collectors take advantage of those not able to stand for themselves. His lists and reports back in his room were filled, front and back, with proven numbers of damage and loss. What clung to him – so he even had a handful of nightmares – were the deaths.

Merlin heard footsteps behind him in the hallway; he tensed and waited, but the quick knock and cheerful greeting told him of one apprentice visiting another. Not the one he was waiting for, but it brought his thoughts back to the task at hand.

The balcony wasn't wide, barely three paces, but it ran the length of the front wing. Each of the guest-rooms had doors that opened onto it, rooms whose occupants would open the doors in nice weather to gain the benefit of the night breezes Merlin enjoyed while he waited. The only current guest was Jordan, in the second room down – the light from his lamps glowed behind curtained windows, spilled out the open balcony door. He had strolled to the doorway twice since Merlin had been on the balcony, but didn't – and wouldn't – see him.

The door from the corridor to the balcony was open behind him, but the lack of corridor-lamps meant he remained in darkness. The faint flickering that reached out warned him a split second before he heard footsteps again, soft and stealthy, approaching and passing.

Merlin straightened slowly, stepping down from the railing, and leaning his head back into the corridor enough to positively identify Mordred. Fully dressed and carrying a single thick candle, he stopped at Jordan's door and rapped quietly. Hidden once more, Merlin heard the door open, and close again a moment later – no greeting, no question. The candle-glow had disappeared again – Mordred had entered Jordan's room.

He elected to stay where he was. There were risks if he attempted to listen at the bedroom's corridor entrance, or if he moved closer to the open balcony door. If caught, he could not explain away his presence – here in the corner of the balcony he was only visible to someone within arms' reach, which wasn't likely to happen, and even so, his presence would be unremarkable, an explanation easy and natural.

Merlin could hear their voices now, though not what they were saying. It was unlikely they had connections to discuss other than Jordan's proposed contracts, but Mordred had no business approaching a client on his own. Morgana could easily throw him out on his ear if she knew of it.

Jordan's voice rose full and uninterrupted, and Merlin recognized the cadence of the speech he'd given in the downstairs receiving-room. Then Mordred's voice entered in, raising a question, and both voices fell to a lower murmur.

Negotiations.

Merlin's lip curled in contempt. A revenger who would take an unjustifiable contract was no better than the guilty they pursued.

It wasn't quite an hour later when Mordred left the room, came down the hallway and rounded the corner to return to his own cell, at the far end of the row. Merlin didn't have to see him to know; he recognized the difference between the young apprentice's tread and the older client. He only shifted slightly to ease his position and to command a better view of the corridor, still remaining unseen in the shadow to anyone casually glancing his way.

The light went out in Jordan's room, and the balcony fell into greater blackness.

Still Merlin waited. He'd wait all night, if necessary, and watch Mordred all the next day. He could be wrong, after all. Potentially, if Mordred were to succeed in killing one or more of Jordan's contracts, the next of kin could come after him, or even hire Morgana to see it done.

If he really had taken the contract himself, it would be smarter for Mordred to wait til morning, manufacture some legitimate excuse for leaving, even stage an argument or fight. Mordred wasn't that smart, however, and proved it when he re-emerged from his room not half of an hour later. He disappeared down the stairs with a large shoulder-bag, and came out only moments later from the visitor's door beneath the balcony. Merlin listened to the former lead apprentice crunch gravel beneath his boots down the road into the city.

He waited til midnight on the balcony. He needed to know that Jordan had indeed retired for the evening, that Mordred would not return – and found himself satisfied on both counts.

Then Merlin retired to his own third-floor cell to sleep a few hours on the narrow bed – and woke, as he planned, just before dawn.

It was a weekend day, the one the apprentices were given as a free day, and none of them were stirring. Morgana wouldn't thank him for rousing her with his news, but if she wanted anything done about Mordred, better she knew sooner than later.

After a moment's consideration, he donned his new suit of clothes, then checked to be sure Mordred's room was abandoned, which it was. No surprise there.

He'd never been up to Morgana and Gwaine's rooms on the third floor, and didn't linger to indulge curiosity. He rapped softly on the door of the bedchamber, waited, rapped a second time. He heard Gwaine curse, faintly and groggily, and moments later the door opened.

Gwaine wore only trousers, buttoned but not belted, held up with one hand as he rubbed an eye with the heel of the other hand. "What do you want?" he snarled, before softening his tone with a surprised, "Merlin."

"What is it?" Morgana's voice behind Gwaine was throaty from sleep. Gwaine glanced over his shoulder, moved to block more of Merlin's view of the room.

"Jordan's contracts," Merlin said only.

"Important?" Gwaine checked behind him again.

"Could be."

"Let him in," Morgana said, and Gwaine moved to allow him to enter. She had her back partially turned, tying the sash of her bed robe, then stretched back out on the rumpled bed as Gwaine closed the door behind him. Merlin stayed by the door, and Gwaine rounded him to drop into a sitting position on a low chest at the foot of the bed.

"Mordred met with Jordan last night," Merlin stated dispassionately. "He stayed almost an hour. Jordan went to bed, Mordred packed and left the chalet."

Gwaine shifted to look at Morgana. She met his eyes calmly for a moment, then turned her gaze back on Merlin. She looked him over, but didn't comment on the new clothes. "You think he's taken Jordan's contracts," she said only.

"It doesn't matter what I think. I'm telling you what I know."

Gwaine shook his head. "Good luck to him, and good riddance. He's been nothing but trouble, here. Saved me having to throw him out, at least." Morgana shrugged, leaning backward to stretch her spine. "Thanks, Merlin," Gwaine added.

It seemed a clear dismissal, but he didn't move. He wasn't an apprentice revenger, leaving decisions to the two of them; like it or not, he was an agent, and this pertained to his case. "What will you do?"

"Doesn't matter what we do," Gwaine answered, as matter-of-fact in his answer as Merlin had been a moment earlier. "If a revenger decides to take an unjustified contract without permission, that's his business. If he wants to operate illegally, he's on his own."

"Jordan is your guest," Merlin said. "If Mordred does something stupid and gets caught, it could come back to you."

"You want us to throw a client out before we've performed the investigation we've been paid for?" Gwaine said incredulously.

"You still think it's a genuine offer?" Merlin returned. "He was probably looking for someone like Mordred to–"

"Thank you for your concern, Agent Merlin," Morgana said. Her posture was an indolent lounge, but her voice was coolly formal. It was clear she thought he had overstepped his bounds.

Merlin turned and left, the room and the chalet.

He hadn't yet been introduced to the judge or the reeve or any members of the council, but Arthur had met with these men on various occasions, the judge at least once. If nothing else, Arthur should be made aware of the circumstances. Probably these ten men should be warned, also. No matter what Merlin thought of them or what they'd allowed to occur in their city, punishment should never precede the establishment of guilt.

The housemaid at Number Five Sycamore Avenue didn't hesitate to admit him. Perhaps due to Morgana's gift? Merlin wondered ruefully.

Very well, sir, and Agent Arthur is in the sitting room, with a nod and a bob of courtesy.

Arthur was seated at the writing desk to the left of the arched doorway, and had only to lift his head to see Merlin enter. "Hm," he said only, with a shrewd glance for his new garb. "Little early for business isn't it - and dressed like that? Or maybe this is a social call? Vivian went for a walk half an hour ago with Freya."

"Reporting new developments," Merlin said tersely, refusing to respond to the agent's jibe, "as ordered."

Arthur's blue eyes narrowed; he set his quill pen in its stand and corked the ink bottle. "Have you eaten?" he said, and rose to lead Merlin to the kitchen.

The cook, whom Merlin had never seen before, was half again as large as the housemaid and the curls under her cap were white, but she was still remarkably agile. She was clearly almost finished cleaning up after the family's morning meal, but Arthur teased and smiled, and she finally allowed Merlin a plate of what was left over.

"So?" Arthur said, sitting down next to Merlin at the round kitchen table.

Merlin related the facts to him between mouthfuls, without expression and with as few words as possible. From the intensity of Arthur's concentration, he found the information interesting.

"An agent's job is not only to investigate, or make judgments and arrests," Arthur mused. "We also do what we can to repair the situation before troops are necessary. But having a renegade revenger loose in the city, who may or may not be trying to kill the group of men at once responsible for the crisis, and the only ones with power and position to reverse it, makes things more complicated. I wonder who this man Jordan really is – this couldn't have come at a worse time. I'll have to leave the toll situation in the council's hands and focus on this assassin, now."

"Not many would, or could, spend the kind of money ten kill-contracts cost simply to return a society or economy to a fair balance," Merlin stated. "I'd expect most citizens wouldn't risk what little they have left, to maybe make the conditions worse."

"I think we can assume he has some hidden motive, something else to gain by this than his retainer's fee – or at least someone backing him with the same," Arthur agreed. "Keep an eye on Jordan as much as you can, and keep a lookout for Mordred. The council is in recess today, but I'll go to Reeve Agravaine at least. Tomorrow you and I are scheduled to meet formally with the council, that'll have to be soon enough to warn them, otherwise. If the reeve thinks it's necessary he can appoint watchmen or deputies to warn or guard the council members today."

Merlin nodded understanding and agreement.

"About Morgana, though –" Arthur paused, his eyes keen on Merlin. "She'll do her own investigation to see if these ten personally deserve any revenge?" Merlin nodded again, warily. "You'll keep me apprised of anything you learn," Arthur added, and if it wasn't an order, it was close.

"I'll make it clear that anything told to me is told to an agent," Merlin clarified firmly.

Arthur didn't smile. "It's likely your loyalty to the revengers will at some point clash with your duties as an agent."

Merlin pushed his chair back from the table. "You knew of those loyalties when you got me that writ," he said levelly.

Arthur nodded. "Fair enough," he said. "But don't forget that your writ and this assignment are in place of prison."

Merlin clenched his teeth, crossed his arms over his chest. "Have me flogged," he said.

Arthur shook his head, showing his teeth through the amusement that didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe later," he returned. "I'll go to the reeve's residence right away. You return to the revenger's – no, wait a minute." Arthur glanced at the cook, grunting as she rolled out dough on a flour-covered counter. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Stay a bit and see if you can get Freya to talk to you."

"About the tolls?" Merlin said, frowning.

"No, not about the tolls." Arthur was exasperated. "Something's bothering her, has been ever since we got here. I think she's unhappy for some reason, but her cousins don't seem to notice, and she won't talk to me."

"Why would she talk to me?" Merlin said.

"Just – try, will you?" Exasperation turned into irritation. "She's a nice girl, and Gwen's friend, and she deserves some happiness."

"You want me to keep you apprised of anything I learn?" Merlin said sharply.

Arthur's lips twitched. "I'll see you at the Council Palais first thing tomorrow," he said only, gesturing for Merlin to precede him out of the kitchen. He crossed the white stone floor of the entryway, and with a careless wave of farewell he closed the front door behind himself.

Merlin, alone as far as he could hear, wandered through the arched doorway into the sitting room. It was mid-morning, how long would Freya and her cousin be gone on their walk? And how was he going to manage to separate them to talk to Freya privately? If there was something bothering her, it was something Freya evidently couldn't take to her cousins, mother or daughter.

What was he supposed to do?