Finding drug dealers was not as simple as he’d expected it to be. He’d considered stopping by a guard tower, but asking authorities where he could find someone peddling illegal goods felt like a bad idea. In his experience, there were two kinds of drug dealers. The ones that dealt to high society, and those that prayed on the poor and vulnerable. Greg wasn’t very familiar with drugs in his own world, let alone Etheon, but frost didn’t seem like a high society drug.

  He’d been walking the streets on the outer ring of the city for hours, coming up empty. Even the abandoned building where the frost kissed horde had chased him from left him with nothing. Something was missing from his thought process, but he couldn’t place what it was.

  Brannoc said the nests and alchemy labs were coming back faster than the authorities could break them down. So it couldn’t take much to make the stuff. Ingredients you could buy at a local alchemy shop? Just walking in and asking a stranger about that felt like a bad idea too. More than anything, what Greg needed was contacts. Somebody who knew him enough to know he wasn’t looking to make the stuff, but had enough information to be useful.

  “Fuck me, I’m an idiot.” He spoke into the open air.

  “You said it, not me.”

  Greg rolled his eyes and brought his hands down his face as he turned and headed back into the city. He’d spent weeks making the contacts he was looking for, and he hadn’t even considered asking them. Clearing the alleys of jester rats had left him on very good terms with the local vendors. He’d wished he’d gotten closer to the bartenders at the Salt Lick, but the Fish & Chip shop was the next best thing, right?

  The only problem he had with being deeper in the city was the likelihood of running across Horatio and his cronies. The last thing he needed was a rematch. Getting them separated the first time was a stroke of luck; he didn’t like his chances of that happening again.

  Camesiro Fish & Chips wasn’t a large store, but he and Antony Camesiro had become acquaintances during the many nights Greg had spent in the alley behind his shop. Perhaps not close enough to consider him a friend, he was confident enough that the man wouldn’t have him reported if he asked a couple of questions. He stepped into the checker tiled shop and closed his eyes a moment as the smells caused a thick wave of nostalgia.

  Fish and chips wasn’t what he’d consider a popular dish in LA, but Autumn had always loved it. Anytime they could get fresh fish, she’d always batter them and fry them up with some fresh French fries. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes rose on his cheeks at the thought of her, but he quickly pushed that aside as he was noticed.

  “Is that Greg!?” Ellania, Antony’s wife, was a heavyset human woman who spoiled him almost every night he’d walked down their alley. She threw her hands up and scurried from behind the counter, weaving in and out of tables until she met him halfway and wrapped him in a hug. “Oh my boy, have we missed you!?” She brought him down to speak in hushed tones. “The rats have been back with a vengeance. My broom won’t kill them anymore.”

  Greg chuckled, squeezing squat woman tight to his chest. “I’ll head back and take a look here in a bit.” He pulled back, holding her by the shoulders and smiling down at her. “I actually had a sensitive question for you and your husband. You guys have a minute?”

  Ellania glanced around the half full shop and shrugged. “I’m sure we could spare a minute or two.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the back. “Come on.” She led him into the kitchen, where Antony looked up at them from his spot on the fryers.

  “Greg! My boy! How you been? Somebody told me you got into a scuffle with another Gifted?!” Antony came over and wrapped him in a tight hug as well. He wasn’t much taller than his wife, but was incredibly thin and was desperately holding onto the last gasp of his hairline.

  “Yeah.” Greg slapped his back a couple of times before they let each other go. “Long story, but it’s mostly been settled. I actually had a couple questions for you guys that might be a little sensitive.”

  “Of course, whats on your mind?” Antony stepped back over to the fryers but kept his attention on Greg.

  “I’m not even sure how to open this conversation, so I’m just gonna come out with it. I’m looking into the increase in frost kissed in Rhobair, and, adjacent to that, the uptick in the drug that makes them. You guys get a lot of people in and out of here…have you heard anything?”

  Ellania’s eyes went wide. “Why would we know anything about that?”

  Antony’s reaction was not as animated. He frowned and looked down into his fryer for a moment before looking back up at Greg. “What information are you looking for?” He asked, ignoring the aghast expression his wife gave him.

  “Don’t tell me anything that might put you two in danger.” Greg clarified. “If it’s something like that, I’d rather find out on my own. The task I’m on right now is to find anyone who is dealing the stuff.”

  “Ella, honey, how about you go back out front?” Antony glanced over at his wife with a pleading look. “Please?”

  She glowered at him. For a moment it looked like she might even hit him, but she finally let out a slow sigh and smiled at Greg, reaching out to tough his hand. “You be careful, alright dear?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Greg gave her a nod as she slipped between them to leave the kitchen.

  “I try to keep most of the stress out of the Missus’s hair.” Antony shifted on his feet, staring down into the fryer again. “Hasn’t happened to us yet, thank Nareis, but one of the fish mongers I mentioned he was having to raise prices because of a gang putting pressure on him to move their frost with his fish.”

  “What gang?” In truth, Greg didn’t even realize there were gangs in Rhobair, but it made sense when he thought about it. It was a beautiful place, but far from a utopia. Smash enough people together in a condensed area, add a sprinkle of wealth inequality, viola.

  “Didn’t say, but I can give you his name? Maybe if you can promise him adventurer protection he’ll tell you?”

  “Worth a shot.” Greg shrugged. “What’s his name?”

  “Zilrin Leon.” He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Big helior, red mane but dark fur. Can’t miss him. Mornings he’s usually bartering with fisherman on the docks, then he’s out making sales to local vendors. Best bet to find him is in the evenings at the Salt Lick. He’s there almost every day.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  ###

  Greg had only been inside Jinty McGinty’s Salt Lick a single time since arriving in Rhobair. Not only was the name disconcerting, but it brought up memories he’d been avoiding for months. He stared at the sign for a long time, just thinking. The Jinty McGinty’s in his world was obviously different, but it was the last place he’d seen his brother. It was the last place he’d had a drink with his father before he passed.

  Plastering a smile on his face, he rolled his head along his shoulders before stepping inside. The evening crowd was far rowdier than it had been in the middle of the day. The same man was up on stage playing a bouncy song on his lute as people danced around him, though the music was barely audible above the roar of conversation and laughter.

  “Keep an eye out for the Rillon’s. Last thing we need is to run into them again.”

  Greg gave a slight nod and headed for the bar. Seating was completely full, so he squeezed between two men on stool like many others had and waited for the bartender to come to him. After a few minutes, a thin lizardfolk wearing a ruby red apron and an eyepatch approached him.

  “What’ll it be?” He called out over the noise.

  “Just an ale.” Greg called back. “I’m actually looking for someone. Zilrin Leon. Do you know where I can find him?”

  “3 copper.” The lizardfolk turned and grabbed a wooden tankard, filling it from a barrel under the bar. “Leon’s usually upstairs.” He gestured with a clawed finger at the spiral staircase leading up to the second level at the other end of the bar.

  Greg paid the man and took his drink. He’d not been upstairs on his last visit, though even if he hadn’t ran into Horatio it was unlikely he would have stayed long. It took some time to maneuver through the crowd, but eventually he got to the stairs and eyed them suspiciously. The staircase looked like it was made from rotted out driftwood, that one false step could leave him flat on his ass.

  He bit his lip, considering whether he should just wait for Zilrin to come down, then finally took the stairs. Halfway up the steps, he realized the appeal of the upper floor. He didn’t know what magic it was, but there was definitely some kind of sound dampening enchantment. The raucous noise from the first floor was barely a murmur as he took the last step up onto the balcony.

  Glancing over the rail, he could see the revelry occurring but there was only a whisper of the noise seeping through whatever barrier had been created. Instead, a strange but soft fusion of classical and synth pop was playing just loud enough to be heard. Antony, to his credit, had been correct in at least one thing. There was no mistaking Zilrin Leon.

  Humans were the predominant race in Rhobair, followed by elves, and then the lizardkin like the bartender. Greg still wasn’t sure what the exact differences in the feline races were, but he knew that the helior were the largest. Zilrin sat alone at a table against the banister, his resplendent red mane was more a crown than hair against his otherwise black fur. Even sitting he was at least as tall as Greg and twice as wide. He idly wondered how the enormous man had fit through the spiral staircase, but pushed the thought aside as he approached.

  “Zilrin Leon?” Greg asked.

  “I am.” His voice wasn’t as deep as he’d expected from someone of his size, but stood out as being refined. Combined with the fine slacks that ended as his massive paws and a perfectly tailored vest with what he suspected to be a pocket watch tucked into the breast pocket, Greg was having a hard time not fan casting him into the next Pride and Prejudice remake. “Who might you be, young man?”

  “Greg. Greg Norwood. A mutual acquaintance sent me your way for some possible information,” he said, offering his hand to the man, who took it in his furry, four fingered one.

  “A mutual acquaintance? Who might that be?” Zilrin let go of his hand and waved to the seat across from him.

  “Antony Camesiro.”

  Zilrin smiled, exposing long canines, before taking a sip of his drink. “I do like Antony. Good, fair, and understanding businessman. What information are you in search of Mr. Norwood?”

  “Antony told me you might be having a problem with a local gang. Pressuring you into moving illicit materials?” Greg lowered his voice, though no one was within earshot when magic was a thing there was no being too careful.

  Zilrin stared at him, golden irises reflecting the light hanging above the table. He stroked his mane under his chin before nodding. “That is information I have. If this is a business transaction, what would you be bringing to the table?”

  “A solution to your problem. I’m already working on trying to get to the bottom of the frost problem, if you can point me in the direction of the gang, I’ll be taking care of your problem as well.” Greg took a sip from his tankard. “Simple exchange.”

  The claw on Zilrin’s forefinger jutted out, and he used it to adjust a single golden hoop that hung off one of his ears from getting tangled in his mane. “I don’t want to be rude, Mr. Norwood, but it’s important that we have the most complete information we can with a transaction of this magnitude. You’re obviously a Gifted, but I’ve never heard of you. Do you have a team?”

  Greg blanched at that. He rubbed the back of his neck and started, “Well, not exactly...” before he got cut off.

  “He’s not a permanent member yet.” A large, dark-skinned hand landed on his shoulder. “He’s a little green, but we’re working on him. How you been, Zilrin?”

  Greg stiffened before glancing up to see Doran Hightide give him a little wink. The thick curls of his afro had been tied back, leaving them to poof out behind his head in every direction. He’d forgone the gi pants for his night on the town, choosing something more in line with local fashion in a flowing orange shirt with tan slacks.

  “Doran Hightide.” Zilrin shook Doran’s hand and grinned between the two of them. “Well, had I known you walk in such fine company, Mr. Norwood, I would not have been so cagey. You have my deepest apologies.”

  “No worries, Mr. Leon.” Greg smiled over at Doran, who grabbed a chair and slid it over to the table to sit between them. “Doran, I was just requesting that information about the gang trying to get our friend here to move their frost for them.”

  Doran gave him a quick, scrupulous look before grinning and looking over to Zilrin. “Of course. Gotta clean up the streets. Not to mention we can’t have my favorite fishmonger getting taken advantage of.”

  Zilrin placed a hand over his heart. “Favorite fishmonger. You are far too kind, Mr. Hightide.” Zilrin cleared his throat and sat up straight. “Alright, they are calling themselves The Coldwater Syndicate. From what I understand, it’s a lot outcasts of the local crime families that the justicars recently took down coming together.”

  “Have they already started using you to move product?” Greg asked quickly, drawing a glance from Doran.

  “Thrice, so far.” He answered.

  “How do they get the frost to you?” Doran asked, nudging Greg’s leg under the table. He assumed that meant to let him take over, so for now he would unless he had another question that needed answering.

  “My warehouse at the docks. They pose as my employees and load the bottom halves of barrels with frost, install a false bottom, and then place the fish over top.”

  “When is the next time you’re supposed to deliver for them?” Doran asked.

  “They don’t give me any notice.” Zilrin looked down into his drink, a frown crossing his face.

  “Do you know where they’re based? Or any pattern you’ve noticed regarding their shipments?”

  Greg was impressed with how easily Doran had embedded himself into the situation with what he assumed to be zero previous knowledge. Probably had an intelligence much higher than four. He grimaced slightly, but quickly averted his attention back to Zilrin as he answered.

  “I haven’t noticed any pattern. I did recognize one of them. I’m sure you’re familiar with Ynes Jan?”

  “The crime boss? Sure.” Doran answered.

  “His son seems to be the leader. Keo Jan. He runs a nightclub downtown, Lux Noctis. My money would be on them running business out of it.” Zilrin said with a shrug. “That’s all I have.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Zilrin.” Doran nodded and offered his hand again, which Zilrin shook before shaking Greg’s.

  “Thank you, Mr. Leon.” Greg bowed his head to him before Doran lead him off toward the back of the balcony.

  “What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Baby Greg?”