Detective Y’Answith Alanoor lifted her ale out of the way as the large man’s head was slammed against the bar.
“Jackal, I’m trying to have a conversation here, would you mind moving this business further away, please?”
Jackal, looking as innocent as a man could look pressing someone’s face into a brass plated bar table shrugged, let the poor bastard fall to the floor, grabbed Y’Answith’s undrunken ale and quickly downed the entire glass before smashing it across the face of a second man who was charging right at him.
Y’Answith sighed and suppressed a chuckle. This was typical of her friend and partner. She knew that despite being outnumbered six to one he was in full control of the fight. She also knew that the bartender she was pumping for information was unaware of this fact and was becoming more nervous.

He must be accustomed to dealing with bar fights himself. The young detective mused.

Jackal shoved poor bastard number two, who was moaning loudly in pain and clutching the right side of his face, and smiled at his remaining four victims and he ran straight through them towards the other side of the large bar room.

It wasn’t surprising the innkeeper/barkeep was nervous, the Broken Skull Inn, despite it’s crass name, was a fine establishment. The inn was three stories of masonry, brass, and steel; all of which were common architecture in Siristeen. The top two floors contained the rooms for guests and each room was fully furnished with a double bed, chest, end table, desk, a mirror, and wardrobe. Each room was also connected to a complicated series of pipes that ran underground and were somehow connected to a water supply. Through this each room was furnished with running water and a small basin for the patrons to clean themselves with.  The ground level contained a large bar complete with a barding stage housing a piano, tables built of treated wood and reinforced with brass, and a large mirror that covered the entire wall facing the entrance on the other side of the bar table. Y’Answith spared an instant to glance in the mirror that spanned the entire wall in front of her.

Clever … and expensive.

The mirror told her many things, more than it would even tell an ordinary person despite the mirror’s purpose being to relay information. It was large and polished, with shiny brass frame that helped keep the bar looking bright and illuminated. Any patron sitting with his or her back to the door would have direct vision of the mirror, and therefore the entire bar. Even the most paranoid of catpaws, blackmarket dealers, assassins, and thugs would gain a sense of security from any seat.

In the reflection she watched Jackal, a laughing mass of muscles with dark skin, brown eyes, a perfectly shaved head, a jawline carved from stone, and another poor bastard’s neck suffering under the grip of his left hand. She knew Jackal was showing off, probably for his own amusement more so than anyone else’s. Although it was rare that he got to demonstrate his combative prowess in such a fine establishment.

Poor bastard number three finally collapsed from asphyxiation in time for poor bastard number four to catch a left hook across the jaw. Jackal called it “the button”, because of how reliably you could knock a man out with a solid punch there. Four down; two to go, and the remaining three decided that some improvised weapons would help even the odds. Chairs and bottles snapped and Y’Answith worried that Jackal was going to finish them off too quickly for her to get the information she needed.
“The guild will pay for the damages, of course,” she assured the sweating barkeep. His hand was unconsciously caressing some sort of lever Y’Answith had previously assumed was meant for pouring some beverage.

Why does that comfort you? What does that lever do, good sir? If only I had the time to find out ...

“It will? Wait. You two are guildings?” Great. She had the unlucky fool’s full attention now and it just because he knew about the guild. He wasn’t even fingering the lever anymore.

Well, looks like we’ll be buying the inn.

Y’Answith smiled warmly and attempted to reassure the man.

“Of course, good sir. I understand your business is important to you and you have quite a reputation to maintain. That isn’t cheap or easy. I promise you, when my partner and I leave, you will be better off than you were before. Despite the current damages. May I have your name, sir? So I can tell the Masters of the Guild what a valuable asset you have been?” She reached into her coat and pulled out her real coin purse from her sleeve. While shifting her fake coin purse into a hidden pocket. She emptied enough gold to keep the inn in business for a week and slipped her coin purse back under her jacket, pushing it back into her sleeve and pulling the purse full of iron coins back out. This gave the illusion that her coin purse was placed in the common area next to her breast in the interior lining of her brown trench coat. A bold pickpocket would notice this, “accidentally” bump into her, and run off with the loot never to be seen again. That is, until he ran back angry and feeling cheated out of his hard earned money when he realized that what he stole was basically a bag of rocks. Jackal, of course, was excellent at deterring such unsatisfied workers.
“Durnick, ma’am. How else may I help you and the guild?” the barkeeper noticeably relaxed and his smile even seemed genuine, if strained.

Just like that. All your knowledge is mine.

In truth, Y’Answith was irritated by how easy her job became once she mentioned the guild. Sometimes money isn't enough to make men talk. It took the backing of the authority of the Guild Masters to get some people to take her seriously. The Guild Masters weren’t anything special, just a bunch of rich old dudes. The real power came from the Initiates of the Guild, or “guildlings” as some refer to them. Initiates like Y’Answith Alanoor and Jackal Faine. But Y’Answith was a woman and Jackal was a brute. Well, he looked like a brute, acted like a brute, and spoke like a brute; for most people that’s enough to identify him as a brute. In truth, Jackal was brilliant and some days it seemed that only Y’Answith knew it. Jackal was easily bored, however, and exercise of brilliance was boring to him. Okay, so he was a brilliant brute. But more importantly she found him to be reliable, competent, and a good companion.

Y’Answith nodded at Durnick with a slight tight lipped smile and said “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Goodman Durnick. As I mentioned before, I am Detective Y’Answith Alanoor, and my partner and I would like to know about some business dealings that you may have borne witness to here.”

This would be the third time Y’Answith asserted this question, and her authority. What was it about her that made men not take her seriously? She chanced another glance at the mirror, breaking eye contact from her targets always risked the chance of missing some important subtlety, but she was certain that he was still distracted by notions of importance. If not, the sound of a man’s wrist snapping and his colorful verbal expression regarding his feelings on the matter would be distracting enough. What was she going to see in Durnick? Surprise? Ooh. Big shock. Yes, of course the man is cursing. The living embodiment of intimidation and destruction just broke his wrist and was laughing about it. Who wouldn’t be cursing?

Y’Answith looked at her reflection.

Well, I look serious enough. Why didn’t he get that?

Y’Answith was an attractive young woman, tall and slim, hiding her girlish figure underneath a conforming pinstripe vest and leather trench coat. She kept her shoulder length light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and her nails cut short. She didn’t paint her face like some women and wasn’t interested in accentuating sexual appeal. She dressed to understate her femininity and accentuate that she meant business as much as she could. Large bright blue eyes stared back at her. She studied her narrow nose, and soft but angular features. She wore a perpetual expression of severity that gave the immediate impression of “No sir, I do not want it and really asking me would just result in hurt feelings so perhaps you should go speak to some other woman instead,” surprisingly that’s what most men did. But, it occurred to her Jackal’s presence helped to that end more so than her own expression.

Y’Answith was certainly attractive but did not dress to invoke sex. She shook her head.

So what then? Is that all there is for me? Either be an object of sexual attraction or work to serve as a medium for men of power? But “I’m” the one with power. They just have money. But it’s “me” who spends it. So what could they possibly be to you? Why is it them you respect and respond to when it’s me who is staring you down and giving you coin? Is it not “my” partner who is knocking out those men? At “my” request?

Y’Answith took a deep breath and sighed. This train of thought was an old familiar one. And it got her nowhere.

She quickly ducked, narrowly avoiding a brass bar that once supported a table.

“Jackal! Control your friends!”
“Sorry, boss,”
The detective turned back to the bar keep.
“Again, the Guild will pay for all damages, repairs, and will take full responsibility for any loss in business this may cause. But  speaking of business …” she let the sentence hang in the air.
The barkeep looked distracted and nervous again as he reached for the lever. That table leg almost struck the mirror. Durnick was a  clean cut man with a shiny greased mustache and slick back hair. Y’Answith wondered if everything in this damned place had to be polished..

“Yeah, okay okay. It probably won’t hurt to tell you. After all, your boyfriend is already picking a fight with some of the muscle-”
“Whoa. Stop,” Y’Answith held up a hand. The barkeep looked startled and opened his mouth to say something else.
“Not my boyfriend. My employee. Hired muscle. I’m a professional from the guild, sir. You should start framing your observations as such,”
The barkeep arched an eyebrow and tilted his head as though saying he knew better.

Y’Answith glared and started to rise. She wasn’t going to put up with this. He wasn’t being helpful and now he was just being annoying. She could hit the streets and get more respect and answers from common thugs. Perhaps even find a pickpocket nearby.
“Okay, okay, right. Gotcha, sorry,” Durnick raised his hands in apology and closed his eyes. Not exactly a mark of sincerity.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. Anyways, those guys that your muscle is beating up - sorry, beat up. Past tense. The last guy isn’t moving. They’re a part of the Black Coin Arbiters gang.”
Y’Answith groaned. Jackal slammed up against the bar and slumped into a seat next to the detective.
“Jackal, I’m not done yet.”
“Sorry boss, got thirsty,” Jackal smiled warmly at Durnick as though he did not just beat six grown men into submission. The detective sighed and looked down at the last slumped man.
“If he’s not up within the minute he’ll likely be dead, Jackal.”
“Bah! He’ll be fine. I just didn’t want to deal with them anymore, you know? It’s still early.”

A moment passed as Jackal looked pleadingly at the barkeep, who had seemed to forget how to close his mouth. Jackal thought he had forgotten his job.

“And thirsty, you know?”

“Oh. Right! Of course, sir,” Durnick managed to shake himself out of his stupor and turned around to grab a glass and pour ale.
Jackal caught a club aimed for his head and twisted the wrist holding it. He spun around taking full control of the poor fool’s arm and grabbed him by the neck of his collar.

“Hey, guy,” Jackal said with an expression of annoyance.
“You just watched me beat the ever living shit out of six men. Each of them could eat you for a midnight snack”
The assailant cried out as Jackal twisted his arm. He wasn’t diminutive, but Jackal was right, he wasn’t nearly as imposing as the others.
“You see, I picked a fight with them because they needed a good thrashing. And now I’m just trying to get a drink and you get it in your head to attack me? That ain’t smart man.”
“I’m sorry I’m sorry! I thought I had an opening I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me! I’m just a counter!”
A counter … finances?

“Jackal, let him go. He’s harmless.”
“Sure thing, boss. But only if he promises to be a good little nerd from now on”
Jackal glowered at the man. Y’Answith was impressed that he didn’t pee himself. She’s seen plenty of other men do just that when Jackal gave them that look.

“By the gods I promise! I’ll be a good little nerd!” he started weeping.

This has gotten pathetic.

“I’ll be a good little nerd! I promise please by the gods please!”
Jackal shook his head and pushed the man away. By the time he turned around a pitcher of ale was on the bar in front of him.

Jackal grinned.

“See, now that’s what I’m talking about. Also, what are we talking about?”

Durnick’s face bore a grave expression of concern as he watched the weeping man run out of the bar.

“If your boyf-erm- excuse me. If your employee doesn’t kill those men you can bet they’ll be after you two until you are,”

“Employee? I don’t have an employee. Wait … Boss, did you tell him you’re my employee? Does this mean I get a raise?”
Y’Answith ignored the deliberately idiotic remark. “Oh, I’m not worried. Jackal is as bad killing people as he is at losing fights,”
“How often does he lose fights?”

“I’ve lost fights?”
“I haven’t seen it happen yet. But then again we’ve only been traveling together for about three years now. He only gets into these brawls a few times a week so it’s truly too soon to say,”

 

Y’Answith grinned and winked at Jackal as the barkeep’s eyes widened. He shook his head in wonder.
It wasn’t terribly surprising that Jackal didn’t lose often. He had the youthful energy and apathy for consequences that can only be found in young men of nineteen or so. He towered over most people being more than six feet tall sculpted entirely out of muscle. Jackal had his mother’s dark skin and his father’s bald head, though he swears he shaves it, saying that you can’t pull what’s not there. He wasn’t wrong.

Jackal enjoyed playing the role of a fool, but he was clever by his own right. He would never bother with a philosophical debate or give two rat’s asses about the political history of this monarch or that. But he had a knack for tactics. He could appraise a situation in an instant and know how a fight was going to go. Unfortunately if he didn’t know he would immediately set to find out. Y’Answith couldn’t blame him, though. She was much the same way, if about different things.
“So, Black Coin Arbiters?” Y’Answith said raising an eyebrow at the barkeep who had started nervously cleaning a glass.
“That’s what they call themselves,”
“That’s ridiculous and pretentious,”
“You’re a brave woman for saying so,”
“I’d be a foolish woman for not thinking it. But I’m not here about them … unless I am?”
The nervous stereotype of a barkeep nodded and glanced around the room. Jackal finished his ale and shook the empty glass at Durnick.
“Haven’t you had enough, sir?”

Jackal laughed. Y’Answith chuckled. Durnick shrugged and poured the large man another as he offered a drink to Y’Answith, who declined. Durnick then went back to the original subject.
“A few days ago some of those men were here with another guy. A short fellow who wasn’t a part of the gang. It’s not unusual, they come here a lot.”

Y’Answith held up a hand, “Wait. How did you know they were members of the gang and the one guy wasn’t?”

Durnick shrugged, “You can always tell they’re members of the Black Coin from the stitching on their sleeves. Or the tattoo of the same black coin on their arm.”

Y’Answith nodded. “Do you remember exactly how many there were?”

Durnick looked up and scratched his chin.

Good. He’s telling the truth and honestly trying to remember details. I have him.

“There were three this time, with the fourth not being a Black Coin”

“Tell me about him,”

“The fourth guy was smaller, cleaner. Looked like the sort of guy who you would happily do business with. Big smile, white teeth, clean shaven. Spoke clearly with the local accent. Had the charisma of a man who could talk you into giving him your gold and thank him for it. He wore a purple silk sash. You know the type.”
Y’Answith nodded. She did know the type. The silk sash meant a brothel. Purple meant it was a high end establishment. She knew brothels, though only because of Jackal, really. She gestured with her right hand for the man to go on.
Jackal kicked at poor bastard number six. The man groaned.

“Hey boss! This one isn’t dead!”

“That’s nice, Jackal. What about the rest?”
Two had already gotten up and were stumbling around. The man whose arm was broken had left some time ago.”
“Two are still lying around, boss. Lazy bastards.”

“Keep an eye on them. I’m sure their friends will help them out, though.”
Jackal felt they needed encouragement and yelled across the bar.
“Hey, Black Coin Assholes!” That got their attention.

Well, shit. Now they know we know. Oh well, I guess they do advertise their allegiance on their sleeve. So maybe it won’t be a problem.

“Get your bed buddies off the floor and out of this bar before I rearrange the floor with your faces!”
Y’Answith wasn’t sure the threat worked on it’s own merit, but she was sure he could have offered them puppies and gold in that tone of voice and yielded the same effect. The three poor bastards who were awake and moving were struck with sudden empathy for their fallen bastard brethren and helped them to their feet and out of the bar.

The bar was now empty.

Were there no patrons upstairs? Or could they just not hear the noise? Surely someone would have come down to complain by now …

Y’Answith addressed Durnick, “Alright, tell us more about them. Everything about that night.”

Durnick shook his head, “Ordinarily they would just sit down somewhere and start playing cards. Much like they were doing before you walked in today. They order a few drinks and after a while leave. This time they sat in that corner table over there,”
Y’Answith glanced where the barkeep gestured and assumed he meant the pile of splinters and brass. She was certain it used to be a table.

I’m spending the Guild’s money well this time, aren’t I?

“They didn’t order drinks or pull out any cards. Instead they just sat there waiting for about half an hour or so until some other guy walked in. Looked pretty average. Medium height, medium build, brown hair. Could have been anyone. Wore a plain shirt and carried a briefcase. They sat down and spoke quietly enough. Couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I wasn’t listening. These sort of things are common here. It’s what keeps me in business.”
Y’Answith raised an eyebrow.

That sort of thing keeps you in business?

She looked around the bar with a new perspective. The mirror that gave vision of everything. The water system that allowed discreet cleaning. The tables reinforced with brass. The lever that obviously triggered something that gave Durnick a sense of security.

Wait … security? Even I have Jackal as muscle. How does this man run such an establishment without a bouncer or doorman?

Gears in Y’Answith’s mind started turning and clicking. Pieces fell together. Doors opened and a picture started to emerge.

Jackal, however, was feeling impatient, “Okay, so you see two guys losing money over business instead of losing it over cards, so what? Why was this important? Why do you think this deal was about the hallucinogens and not something else? Get to the point.”

Sure Jackal, just bust through everything and get to the point. Why bother letting this man reveal everything when you can just rip what you want out of him?

Y’Answith shot Jackal a look she’s shot him a million times. Jackal replied with a shrug he’s returned a million more. This was common for them.
“Alright alright. Sorry. I don’t normally talk about this stuff. Bad for business. I have a reputation you know … you sure the Guild will pay for all this?” Durnick gestured to his ruined bar room.
Y’Answith rolled her eyes and pulled out a coin purse from the inner lining of her coat. She had other coin purses in the more conventional loop of her belt, but that was filled with iron. Pickpockets were a problem. They will always expect to see a coin purse on a belt loop. If one wasn’t seen there, they would know that the coin purse is hidden somewhere else, and a talented pickpocket could bump into you and take it. So, she fulfills expectations by having a coin purse where they expect one. They steal it sometimes, and are sorely disappointed to find iron coins instead of copper or gold. Only the most foolish attempt to steal from her twice.

The detective dropped the coin purse full of gold on the table.
“Consider this a down payment,” it was enough gold to build this inn from the ground up and keep it running for two months. “If what you tell me is useful I’ll pay you another bonus,”
This is the real reason Y’Answith came here. Morally ambiguous business owners are easy to pay off. He wasn’t a bad guy, just willing to let people do what they will as long as his own finances are guaranteed. Y’Answith could build her own reputation with this man’s circles by dropping this much money. She knew he would be pretty tight lipped about her for a while, but once he saw the gold and his business stayed in check, he would happily support her in all her endeavors. After all, it’s just business.

The barkeep glanced inside the coin purse, cleverly masking his expression. The nervousness was finally completely gone and he moved with the control and precision of a man acting in his trade. He grabbed the coin purse and knelt below the counter to the safe. When he rose, he handed the detective her coin purse back, filled with copper. It wasn't actually change, it was the illusion thereof. It’s bad for business to be seen being paid off, so it had to look like just another purchase, albeit obviously an expensive one. The man turned around, grabbed a bottle from the top shelf and a small whiskey glass. He set it front of Y’Answith and poured. The bar may be empty now, but you don’t develop a reputation for having the most secure black market trading center in Siristeen by letting assumptions and details get in the way of performing a secure trade ritual.

“This is the finest scotch we have. Purchased it just yesterday if you can believe it. Aged 40 years,”
Y’Answith lifted the glass in toast, and set it back down without drinking. Jackal eyed it thirstily. He was ignored.

“The deal, Durnick,”  Y’Answith said flatly, using the barkeep’s name.

“Of course. I’ll be brief now. That night the dapper man was found drooling in the alley out back. His right arm was purple, eyes bloodshot, and a ridiculous grin on his face,”
“He sampled his own product, huh?”
“That was my conclusion,”
“Is he around?”
“No. He died in the apothecary’s care.”
“I see. Black Coin Arbiters, eh?”
“That’s their name. And they’re very dangerous. Detective, they run this part of town and most of others. Be careful.”
“Thank you, Durnick. I’ll return after the case the settled,”
“Please don’t.”
Y’Answith grinned and lifted the scotch. She sipped it. By the gods it was good.
“Jackal, here’s that pay raise you mentioned.”
Jackal grabbed the scotch and threw the whole thing back like it was cheap medicine.

“Woo! That’s good! Good booze, good fight, and now all I need is a good woman to make the day complete.”
“The information was good too, thanks for asking.”
“You’re welcome,” Jackal grinned. “What did we learn?”
“We learned that you’re going to mix business with pleasure,”
“Oh yeah? Is today my birthday? This day is getting better and better,”
Y’Answith smiled at her friend. “Jackal, how familiar are you with the brothels in Siristeen?”
Jackal thought for a moment. “Well, boss, we haven’t been here long. I know they’re pretty common and most of them fall under Guild regulations. The ones that don’t are pretty high end though.”
“How many owners wear a purple sash?”
“Here? One I’ve heard one. It’s one of those private places. Not exactly where the shakers and movers pick up a dinner party guest but definitely the sort of place where the girls get to say no. I was actually wanting to check it out myself.”
Y’answith raised an eyebrow, “You think they won’t say no?”
“Psh!” Jackal waved her off, “When has a woman ever said no to me?”
“I did,” Y’Answith grinned at the memory. Jackal wasn’t one to embarrass easily. The man did not have the shame for it.

Jackal groaned. “Come on don’t be like that. I didn’t know you back then, okay? Stop you’re making it weird.”
Y’Answith put on a feigned expression of hurt, “What are you saying Jackal? Am I not good enough for you now? You’ll sleep with prostitutes from a dozen cities but you can’t bare the thought of being with me for a night?” It was difficult to suppress laughter.

“No I mean. Yeah but … I don’t want to sleep with you boss it’s not that you’re ugly you’re not. But I mean, I don’t think of you that way. I mean, I did then of course, but I didn’t know you. But I mean not that I could blame a guy now. You’re attractive but-”
It was too much. Y’Answith started laughing.
“Jackal, please, stop. I’m only teasing you and you know it,”
“Fuck you, boss,”
Y’Answith stopped walked and gave Jackal a cold glare that would freeze fire. Jackal did freeze, and looked very apologetic.

“Jackal,” Y’Answith said with a flat tone of voice.
“Yeah, boss?”
“Isn’t that exactly what you just said you didn’t want to do?” Y’Answith couldn’t handle it anymore and burst out laughing. The tension went out of Jackal’s face and he stomped off ahead of her.
“You suck, Y’Answith. Making me feel bad and shit.”
Still laughing, Y’Answith said, “Don’t. I don’t want you thinking of me that way. I much prefer that we maintain our working relationship as it is. If you did want to sleep with me I would never feel like I could totally trust you, and I can’t afford to work with someone I can’t totally trust.”
Jackal looked at Y’Answith in silence for a few moments.
“You got a weird way of looking at things, boss. So, we heading to that brothel?”

 

Y’Answith explained everything she learned from Durnick as they walked towards the center of town.