I shouldered my way into the Three Chimneys, which was thick with patrons. People were chatting and laughing good-naturedly, the hog meat was almost gone, and the ale was flowing like water. There was a card game underway in one corner, a drinking game in another, and a line three men deep hovering around the bar, waiting for Maggie to pull ’em a pint. I ended up behind the young man who’d been chatting with Commander Arendu not half an hour earlier. I tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He turned, leapt a foot into the air, then fled as if I’d jabbed him in the junk with an electric cow prod.

The line parted in front of me like the Red Sea and the bar fell silent—all the joy sucked out of the room in an instant. I felt like a company XO crashing a lance corporal barracks party.

“Spreading good cheer wherever you go, I see.” Maggie winked at me and offered me a pint of her much-loved vinegar beer, which I accepted with a wide grin. The beer may have tasted like old dishwater, but liquor was liquor, and I needed a drink after the day I’d had. I chugged the swill, then slammed the mug down to half-hearted cheers from the onlookers. I fished out a pouch of coins Sigge had given to me for my bounty of magical organ meat and tossed it onto the counter with a heavy clink.

“Drinks are on me,” I said before stifling an eyewatering burp with my fist.

You’d think no one had ever bought a round before. The place went nuts. A deafening chorus of cheers, a lot of back-slapping and whooping, a couple of guys even linked elbows and danced in circles like a redneck hoedown. Not one of them laid a finger on me. Maggie leaned into the doorway that led out the back of the bar and hollered for help. Three kitchen maids raced to her sides and started pulling pints, including another for me.

Maggie banged on the bar with a soup ladle, clang-clang-clang. “Everyone to their tables. We’ll bring you your drinks. Come on now, boys, let’s not crowd the Vigil. Off you go.”

Like most barmaids she was two parts charm one part bully, all wrapped in a cloak of smiles and late-night magic. Keeping an orderly bar was an art form more than it was a job, and she was a master of her craft. The men cleared the bar on her command. Everyone except for me, of course.

I leaned in to be heard over the ruckus. “Any sign of Arturo?”

“He’s already down for the night,” she said, tilting her head toward a table tucked away in the corner. The priest was precariously perched on a stool, an empty flagon on the table. He was lying facedown, head resting on beef-slab arms while he snored softly.

“It appears you put him through the paces today,” she remarked, hiding a laugh. “Now, is there anything else you would like with your ale, Oh Stinky One?” If anyone else had said it I might have wondered at their motives, but it was quite clear she was flirting, even when she held her nose and reared her head back as though I smelled like a porta john after a hot day roasting in the sun.

“It’s what I can do for you, beautiful,” I said, offering her a lopsided smile. I removed a single filet of Grass Hound meat, carefully wrapped in a strip of fabric, and gingerly laid it on the table.

Her eyes flared and her breath caught.

“The guard captain seemed wild for this Essence-infused meat,” I said, “so I thought I’d bring you a chunk as a little thank you for your earlier hospitality. And as a way of saying sorry for being such a loud jackass last night.”

“It’s a grand gift,” she said. “Too grand. Are you sure?” she asked, her flirty tone suddenly serious. She reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “This is worth far more than a room for a night.”

“Eh, what can I say, you’ve done right by me. I wanted to return the favor. Though maybe you could tell me why this stuff is so valuable?”

“I don’t understand the question,” she said, squinting at me as though I were stupid. “It’s meat infused with Essence. There are those who would murder for a cut of meat like that. When you Vigils make a kill, you absorb most of the Essence as your bounty, but some of that power lingers behind in the flesh and bone. Normal folk like me, we can’t absorb Essence directly the way those with the True Gift do, but we can absorb a portion through consumption. Essence-infused meat cures sickness, strengthens the body, even mends old wounds that refuse to heal. I know an old woman who was rid of thirty years’ worth of arthritis after she feasted on a butchered Razorback Kebo.” She hesitated. “Knowing that, are you sure you want to part with this prize?”

“Never been surer of anything in my life,” I replied.

She nodded and quickly swept the cloth-wrapped parcel beneath the bar. “Well, my deepest thanks. And since you’ve done me a grand kindness, let me do one in return.” She leaned in, breasts pressed against the wooden bar top. “In case you didn’t catch my earlier hint, you smell like the inside of a latrine.”

I snorted. “Thanks, I hadn’t noticed. Don’t suppose you all have baths here?” I asked, thinking back to the pitiful washbasin in my room. That sure as shit wasn’t going to cut it—not with how nasty I was—and I needed to get clean. Hated going to bed gross. Even when bedding in a ditch at some dusty forward operating base, I always made sure to take a baby wipe bath before turning down for the night. No one wanted ass and foot stank filling a two-man tent.

She laughed and frowned at my question at the same time. “Well of course we do. You think we’re like those greasy toe-rags from Halgem?”

One of the kitchen maids snickered. “They’re not that bad,” she whispered. “It’s just that they bathe in tallow is all.”

Her laughter set the next kitchen maid off and pretty soon they were all tittering and blushing and bumping each other with their hips. They never stopped filling pitchers, though. They were on top of that. Maggie broke up the snickerfest and sent the maids to the four corners of the room, each with five flagons of ale in each hand. Before long the room had settled into the gentle hum of contented drinkers, washing away a hard day’s work.

“So?” She leaned over the bar and whispered. “You’re wanting someone to scrub your nooks and crannies, are you?”

I smiled. It was all talk. She wasn’t a scrubber of any kind and we both knew it. “If you’re offering...”

“Sadly, I can’t leave, but I can point you in the right direction.” She fished around in my coin purse and counted out a handful of silver coins, letting me know that this one was for my shirt, this for my room, and these four for my bath.

“You’re telling me a bath costs more than a drink for every man in this room?” I asked in genuine shock.

She raised an eyebrow at me like I’d dragged the village idiot in and let him do the talking for me. “You’re a strange one, Vigil. You give out Essence-infused meat without a thought, but then marvel at the cost of the bathhouse? Just where do you come from?”

“Around and about,” I said, waving a hand through the air.

“Well, wherever you’re from, they must not have a proper bathhouse the way we do here, but I can assure you, it is worth the price of admission. Most of this lot are lucky to bathe once a month, and most of them do it in the streams and icy riverways. Only those with real coin to spend get to indulge in a proper bath. I’ll send one of the girls running to let them know you’ll be coming along shortly. Just head past the jakes, down the stairs, then across the stable yard. You’ll see the bathhouse directly ahead of you.” She paused, tapping on her bottom lip. “I left some clean linens for you on the bed, but make sure to take any dirty laundry along—the attendant can clean them while you soak.”

I drank the rest of my sour beer then politely excused myself, heading up to my room to drop off a few things and grab the garments Maggie had set out for me. My current gear was clean, but bulky, heavy, and ten kinds of uncomfortable—the armor pinched in my armpits and rubbed at my hips after walking around in it all day. I was also carrying enough coin to tempt even the most content thief, and I really didn’t want to murder anything other than monsters if I could help it. Stashing my coins and swapping into something with a little breathability didn’t sound half bad.

The bronze key slid into the lock and the door swung open on squeaky hinges.

The clothes Maggie had promised were folded on the bed, just waiting for me, but lounging on top of them was an unwelcome guest. Renholm had returned and he hadn’t come alone. He was rolling around on my new garments with what looked like a barbie doll made out of blue light.

“Yes, just like that, my little minx,” he groaned in the most disgusting way possible.

“What the hell is going on in here!” I barked, slamming the door behind me. The pixie blinked bleary eyes at me and offered me a half-hearted wave while the blue sprite writhed on top of him.

“Since you’re not from this world,” he said, “you probably don’t know this, but in these lands it’s customary to knock before entering.”

“I don’t have to knock,” I growled. “It’s my room, you psycho.”

“Wrong,” he said, not even bothering to stop… whatever unspeakable thing it was he was doing. “As your king, I am entitled to the use of any lands you own.”

“That was not in the contract, you dickhead, and even if it’s true do you really have to do that”—I waved a hand at the blue sprite—“on top of my fresh clothes?”

He sprawled out, star fishing across the garments. “Obviously, I do. It’s the most comfortable spot in the room. Besides, it’s not like you were using them.”

“Fine. Doesn’t matter,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. There was no point arguing with the pixie. “Though, for the record, we are going to have a long conversation about boundaries at some point. The important part is I’m back and I want her, or him, or whatever the hell it is, gone. Now.”

“Very well.” He sat up and casually pushed the blue sprite off to the side. “Your king is done with you, be gone.” Then he leaned over and whispered into her ear. “Just wait outside for him to leave, then we can go for round three.”

“I can hear you scheming,” I said as the sprite took to the air on a pair of electric blue butterfly wings and darted out through the open window. I tromped over and pulled the window shut tight, rattling the glass in its wooden frame, then latched it closed with an iron bolt. The latch wouldn’t stop most people, but Renholm was a fairy—trying to open it would burn the ever-living shit out of his delicate Fae hands. I was sure he’d find a way around it eventually, but maybe it would buy me a little extra time.

I sincerely didn’t want to think about all of the terrible things I’d glimpsed him doing with the sprite when I’d first entered.

“Rude,” the fairy said, sitting up and swinging his bare legs over the edge of my clothes. “But prudent, I suppose.” His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed, fixating on the coin pouch I stowed all my Scales in.

“Is that Essence I smell?” He breathed in deeply, savoring the air. “Reeks of blood and guts and Fae magic.” He canted his head to one side and his pointed ears quivered in excitement. “Glamor Scales?” He licked his lips.

“Yep,” I said, pulling one from the leather pouch and holding it up for him to see. “But you’re not due for any more for a couple of days, and right now I’m thinking of breaking our agreement outright. Sure, I got a toothbrush out of the deal, but I definitely feel like you’re getting the better end of this bargain.”

“You wouldn’t dare risk breaking a pact with the King of a Fae Court,” he replied with a haughty sniff.

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Yeah, that ain’t gonna work twice on me, bub. So far it seems like you’ve been lounging around all day, defiling my stuff with weird pixie sex while I’ve been busting my ass to earn Affinity Scales. So now would be a real good time to tell me why I should keep you on the payroll.” I dropped the Scale back into the pouch, folded my arms, and gave him the same I’m unimpressed look Drill Instructor Screw Y’all had given me a thousand times. “’Cause if you don’t, you’re never getting another sliver outta me.”

“I am grievously offended,” Renholm said, leaping to his feet. “Yes, it’s true that I defiled your clothes, and your bed, and your nightstand, and your porcelain washbowl—”

“Stop. That’s enough,” I cut him off, raising a hand. “I get the point.”

“—but not before scouting out this entire city on your behalf,” he finished. “Digging for clues and information that may be of some use to you.” He flitted from the bed and landed on the dresser. “Behold the fruit of my tireless labors.” He flicked a hand and the top drawer slid out, revealing… the weirdest assortment of shit I’d seen since I cleaned out my footlocker before going on deployment.

A silver coin. Golden teeth. A wooden hairbrush. A dirt-stained doll with rag hair that reminded me too much of the doll I’d seen abandoned in the alleyway moments before taking that house back in Fallujah. There were also papers and bracelets and silverware, a tangle of hair, a bit of weathered rope, and a dozen other miscellaneous things.

“What the hell is all of this stuff?” I asked, sifting through the assembled junk.

“Clues,” Renholm replied proudly, puffing out his tiny chest.

“Clues to what?” I asked.

“How should I know?” he asked, sounding baffled. “I’m not the high and mighty Vigil—isn’t it your job to get to the bottom of whatever mystery you’re trying to solve? For that matter, what mystery are you trying to solve?”

“There’s a murderous creature killing people,” I said, trying to resist the growing urge to Kinetic Blast him through a wall. “And yeah, it’s my job to stop it, but how is any of this stuff gonna help with that, huh?”

“That is for you to determine,” Renholm said. “These items are important, perhaps not to this bounty of yours, but each item triggered my Fae Sense. Some items, they glimmer, you see. They are imbued with significance beyond simple appearances. Take you, for example. You are a dirty, smelly, hairless ape who doesn’t even know basic etiquette like how to knock—looking at you, one could only assume the worst, yet you glimmer as well. So it is with this bounty of treasure, which I have graciously acquired for you. Each burned with Purpose and Need. With Fate. All of life is a great tapestry of interweaving threads, and sometimes the most innocuous item may be the key you are looking for.”

I thought to the Arcanum Token Arturo had given me this morning—the coin, imbued and blessed by the faith of a farmer. He’d said any object could be such a token. Maybe that’s what Renholm had found for me.

I picked up the comb and pulled up an item description.

>>

Shoddy Wooden Comb

Type: Wood

Class: Novice

A shoddy wooden comb with several broken teeth. Sometimes there is more to things than meets the eye… Sometimes there is not.

>>

I grunted and moved on to the fabric dolly. Same deal. A Novice Class item with no secondary purpose. It was just a little kid’s toy.

All the stuff was like that—no tokens of faith or hidden magic. It was just the crap someone might store in the kitchen junk drawer. At least until I got to a creased letter on thick parchment. An invitation written in flowing calligraphy. The ink looked like molten gold and the paper itself was obviously expensive. The letter was addressed to none other than Sigge Wikstrum—douchebag alchemist and my current number one suspect—inviting him to attend a party the following evening at the manor house of Gustav Hultgren, High Magistrate of Ironmoor.

I wasn’t sure how Renholm’s Fae Sense worked—what the hell did he mean by they glimmer? I wondered idly—but I had to admit, the letter could’ve been a clue.

“Alright, maybe you’re not totally useless after all,” I said, tapping the letter against one palm. “But I have more work for you to do tonight. First, I want you to take this”—I grabbed the dolly—“and give it back to whatever poor kid you stole it from. Taking toys from little kids is A-Class asshole behavior and we’re the good guys here. Once you’re done with that, I want you to find the guy you took this from.” I held up the letter. “Sigge Wikstrum. He’s an alchemist and a grease ball and probably a murderer. At the very least he’s a dick to service people, so he’s a villain no matter what. Track him down and don’t let him out of your sight, but be careful. He saw my buddy Cal, which means he can see Etheric beings like you.”

“Of course,” Renholm said, “although I am feeling rather… famished.” His eyes darted toward my coin pouch.

“Don’t push your luck,” I said, glowering at him. “Pull your weight, don’t have sex on my stuff every again—feel like I shouldn’t need to say that—and you might have a bonus coming your way.”