Daud sat at the table opposite the man in the blue cloak, who didn’t acknowledge his presence. He just lifted his pipe and used it to gesture at the portrait.
“Morgengaard the Elder,” he said. “A fine ruler, by all accounts.”
“The just and noble lord who came to an early end.”
“Sad to say.”
“Sad to say,” repeated Daud. It had worked. He’d found the agent.
The man turned to Daud. “Speaking of early.”
“Thought I’d get a drink before getting down to business,” said Daud, the corner of his mouth curling up in amusement. “Although the people in this place seem to prefer their tobacco.”
The man nodded and put the pipe back between his teeth. “When a town smells as bad as this, you’d take up smoking too,” he said. “Have you been to Porterfell before?”
“No,” said Daud. “It’s one of the few places I haven’t.”
The man raised his monocle. He looked Daud up and down with it—lingering, Daud thought, on his gloved hands, which were placed on the table. Daud slipped them off into his lap and the monocle disappeared back into the cloak. “One day I think I would like to hear about your travels,” said the agent. “You have a story somewhere. I can… sense it.”
Daud lifted an eyebrow. Then he leaned in, his voice low. “I’m not here to tell you stories. I’m not here for you at all.”
The man frowned, apparently annoyed. Whoever this agent was, he seemed to want to play games. “I need to talk to Maximilian Norcross,” said Daud.
The man turned his attention to his pipe, tilting it up so he could look in the bowl. Then the man wrinkled his nose. Still looking into his pipe, he spoke. “Mr. Norcross is a busy man.” He glanced up at Daud. “A very busy man.”
Daud met the other man’s glare. “I’m looking forsomething,” he said. “Something specific. I believe Mr. Norcross can help me.”
The man hummed and returned his attention to his pipe.
Daud waited. He would wait all day if he had to. He had come this far. His mission was reaching a critical moment and he could feel it.
“Unusual,” said the man, not looking up.
“How so?”
“Mr. Norcross doesn’t sell to just anybody. He trades in certain artifacts, the existence of which need to be, shall we say, kept away from certain official noses. As such, his business needs to be discreet. He only sells to invited tenders.” The man turned to Daud and looked him up and down again. “And you are not invited.”
Daud wanted to grab the man by the shoulders and shake him. But he resisted the urge.
“I understood that Norcross and I have a mutual acquaintance in Dunwall. I’m here with their introduction. That should be plenty for him.”
The other man smiled. “Ah yes, the lovely young Jack. A little out of her depth. Bad business, all that.” He waved with the pipe. “News travels fast. Some news travels faster than others.”
“Do I get to meet Norcross or not?”
The agent opened his mouth to speak, but then there was movement by their table as the mass of bodies in the pub rearranged themselves to accommodate a trio of newcomers.
“Coin for heads, sirs? Coin for fish heads and blood, sirs?”
Daud turned in his chair as the group reached their table. They were an older man with a long greasy gray beard, a younger man, clean-shaven, and a woman ofabout the same age, her face smeared with greenish muck. He recognized them at once—the vagrants who had watched him enter the Empire’s End. If their position outside the pub was a regular one, then they knew Daud was a newcomer—perhaps one worth trying their luck on.
Daud frowned and glanced back at the agent, who waved his pipe.
“Fish heads and blood are considered a delicacy by these… types, I believe,” he said. “The bosses around here know it. So, unlike the waste they toss into the street, they have the gall to actually charge these poor unfortunates for it.”
The agent’s free hand dived back into his cloak, and he appeared to be struggling to extract a purse when the barman pushed his way through the crowd.
“Hey, clear off, the lot of you! I’ll have no begging in here!”
The trio ducked as the barman appeared ready to strike them, and the crowd parted to let them escape to the door. The barman looked at Daud and the agent, sniffed loudly, then turned away with a scowl.
Norcross’s agent hadn’t seemed to notice; by the time he stopped fussing with his purse and looked up, the beggars and barman alike had gone. He gripped the end of his pipe between his teeth.
“Oh, well, nevermi—”
Daud grabbed the man’s pipe by the bowl and yanked it out of his mouth.
The agent spluttered, his hand moving to his mouth. “Well, there’s really no need for that—”
“Listen to me,” said Daud, leaning into the man’s face. The agent coughed and cleared his throat, his eyes wide. “I don’t care who you are, and I don’t care what you do, but I’m tired of playing games and I’ve spent a lot of time andeffort getting here. I need to speak to Norcross. I was led to believe you could arrange this, but if you can’t, I need you to tell me, right now.”
The agent held his hands up. “All right, all right!” The man glanced around the pub, smiling to the other patrons in case anyone had noticed the altercation. Daud was past caring now. “Your… insistence… is noted.”
Daud ground his teeth. “I can do more than just insist,” he growled.
“Yes, I’m quite sure of it.” The man paused. “Very well. You want to see Norcross?”
“Yes. Now.”
“Now?”
Daud nodded, baring his teeth.
The pipe-smoker cleared his throat, and reached over to the wall, where he had leaned a silver-topped walking cane. “Very well.”
“Better,” said Daud.
