Gabriel had been staring into the middle distance as he recounted the story of his and Natasha’s departure from the prestigious White Fangs. He had been almost in a trance, putting words to his memories in bland monotone. Somehow, that had had an effect on the others. Gabriel turned to find Figo staring at him empathetically, his eyes slightly weepy, and Natasha looking forlorn, perhaps at the mention of names she distantly recognized. Lydia, on the other hand, looked disappointed.

“That it?” the warrior asked expectantly.

“Well, of course there’s more, but, yeah, I guess that’s a good part of it.”

“Oh. Shame.”

“’Shame’? That’s what you have to say? ‘Shame’?”

“Yeah, shame. I sort of hoped you guys had a better reason,” she was looking beneath her fingernails as she spoke, which could only have been for dramatic effect, considering she was still wearing her gauntlet.

“Weren’t you listening? Diomes wanted us to go to war!” Gabriel had shuffled to the edge of his seat.

“He was your captain; he had that right. All just sounds a bit, I dunno, cowardly to me.”

“Cowardly,” Gabriel said flatly.

“Yeah, which I expect of you, of course, but I’m a bit disappointed in Natasha. You painted her as such a badass,” Lydia was looking distastefully at the redhead, who couldn’t quite fathom why she had suddenly become the topic of conversation.

“She is a badass; that doesn’t mean she has to be a fool. Forget it, you don’t understand,” Gabriel said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, guess not. I tend to fulfill my promises,” Lydia didn’t say it unkindly, but the words cut deep regardless, “And what about you, what’s your excuse?” she asked Vish.

Vish still had his head buried in his arms, “Pff, the bastards were called The White Fangs. Can you believe those guys?”

Lydia just shook her head.

“Well, that’s enough story telling for one day, I think,” Gabriel was saying as he stood, “If we’re going to hang around and chit-chat, we may as well do it in Wheelbarrow Way.”

With something close to agreement, the group rose and left.

Wheelbarrow Way was a fair walk from the guild, and took them across one of Jandrir’s many crisscrossing bridges. They spoke little as they trudged, but took in lots.

They stopped briefly at the river to watch the waters flow beneath them, faster here than further down the Midna. The water here was a constant stream, like the shimmering body of an enormous serpent. The barges flitted beneath them, one in, one out, as if participants in a relay race. The operators and grooms would occasionally hail each other as they crossed paths, dipping briefly in and out of one another’s lives.

Wheelbarrow Way was a little further back from the river than the main trading houses, and a good deal more neglected. Here were a number of ancient warehouses and trade offices, some still in use by lesser houses and guilds. It was a functional place, with a good deal of life and soul, but, like an extra in a play, it was clearly propping up the more desirable face of the Waterfront.

The streets were broad and filthy, deeply rutted by the simple machines which gave the place its name. The dirt seemed to spread up the buildings, crusting them all in a drab brown.

“So, how do we do this?” Lydia asked, setting aside her earlier qualms.

“We walk around, watch, and hope,” Gabriel answered.

“Walk around? Aren’t we more likely to find Tinto’s men in, oh, I don’t know, a wine house?”

“I think we’ve seen the inside of enough taverns for one week, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Rhetorical. Anyway, we don’t have any money, so we can’t afford to sit around drinking and hoping for one of Tinto’s men to just waltz through the door. This is an operation which requires patience, Lydia. We’re going to walk, we’re going to pay attention, and we are going to search day and night for some hint of a clue. Buckle up, missy, because you are in for a long, hard day of drudgery.”

“Umm, Gabriel? What are we supposed to be looking for again?” Figo said eventually, after trying and failing to interrupt his captain’s rant.

Gabriel rolled his eyes, “Any man, woman, creature, or beast, wearing bright fricking purple.”

“Like, wine-coloured purple?”

“That would stand to reason, wouldn’t it Figo?”

“Yes,” Figo said weakly, “It’s just, well, look.”

Figo was pointing down the road where a gentleman dressed head to toe in maroon was skulking ahead of a small pack of miscreants.

Gabriel closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “Just like that? Really? Just like that.”

“Sorry, Gabriel,” Figo apologized, without really knowing why, “Also, you might not like this, but, I think we got extra lucky. Here.”

Figo was holding up what appeared to be a child’s drawing of a bulbous stick figure.

“Where the hell did you get that?”

“Nail-puller. She drew it, I think,” there was an apology there, as well.

“That would explain a few things. What am I looking at, Figo?”

“That guy, the big, oily one. Well, you have to admit, he looks a lot like the man in the picture…” Figo’s eyes were dancing from scrawled caricature, to actual human caricature.

“Heeey, would you look at that!” Vish laughed, peering over Figo’s shoulder, “Ol’ Nail-puller has some talent. That’s actually spot on!”

The drawing showed a man that appeared to be constructed of pond foam, with worms streaking from an almost perfectly round head. With a little creative interpretation, it was easy to imagine that it was meant to be a drawing of an oily, muscular barbarian sort, with weirdly lustrous hair. There were even two specks which might have been nipples… on both subjects.

“Why would Nail-puller draw him topless?”

Vish shrugged, “Maybe that’s his style?”

“Oh! Perhaps it’s the mark of a captive? Look, see, the others are pushing him about,” Figo noted.

A handsome man in a black coat was prodding the barbarian in the back, while a small, rattish man and a slightly frumpy woman laughed at the barbarian’s objections.

“That looks more like flirting to me,” Lydia said.

“And why would they just be walking around with their semi-naked captive?” Gabriel asked.

“Public shaming?” Figo suggested.

“To get him some sun?” Vish posed.

“I think he’s had enough sun,” Lydia pointed out, “Come to think of it, they all have,” she added, noticing how red the man doing the poking was.

Gabriel and company watched as the other group stopped in the streets, staring behind them. They were apparently waiting for someone to catch up.

“You have to admit, it looks a lot like him, Gabriel. And he is with a man in purple,” Figo nudged.

Gabriel squeezed his eye sockets with a thumb and forefinger, “Do I have to be the one to point out the obvious?”

They blinked at him.

“Of course I do,” Gabriel side, “How should I put this, Screamer is a gentleman of a… somewhat dark complexion. His cousin, it stands to reason, is probably of a similarly… Of for gods’ sake, I’m pretty sure the guy we’re looking for is black.”

“Oh, Gabriel,” Figo was aghast.

“Just had to go there, didn’t you?” Lydia added.

“What? What’s wrong with stating the obvious?”

“He’s not black in the picture,” Vish pointed out.

“It’s a fucking stick figure!”

“She still could have shaded it.”

“Gods, Vish,” Figo looked on the edge of despair.

“What? I shade my self-portraits,” the mind-mapper defended.

“You draw self-portraits?” Gabriel asked.

“Well, I would if I did.”

They looked at the greasy man and his unobservant entourage again.

“Maybe he’s a cousin by marriage,” Lydia put forward.

“That makes sense,” Vish agreed.

“You think he’s trying to spring a non-blood relative from captivity?” Gabriel said, clearly doubtful.

“They could be really close.”

“Fine, fine, fine, whatever. If it will shut all of you up, we’ll check it out.”

Gabriel walked forward three paces and then stopped dead in his tracks. Partly he stopped because he had no idea what he was going to do or say when he got to the band of hoodlums, and partly he stopped because-

“What the fuck is that?”

Waddling around the corner was a giant, yellow, thrice-cursed bipedal flipping crocodile.

“Oooh,” Figo squealed, “It’s a Kkyrunnig! Gods, we are lucky! Do you have any idea how rare they are? Most Kkyrunnig are descended from frogs, too. It’s very unusual to see a reptilian one! Can we meet him?”

Gabriel was doing his wide-eyed ostrich impression, “You want to go towards the gigantic razor-toothed death lizard?”

“They’re intelligent beings, Gabriel, just like humans. They’re not animals.”

They looked back to see the croc-man sniffing around in the gutter. A grin appeared on his… Gabriel wanted to say face? He literally dove at the ground and started digging with his fore claws.

“What’s it doing?”

“I’m not sure,” Figo was rapt.

The crocodile emerged, after a decent struggle, with about a barrel’s worth of dirt on his face and body. He was holding a copper coin.

Gabriel reflexively put out his arm to stop Bling charging for the shiny morsel. She pouted.

“It looks like it’s making a decision,” Gabriel observed.

The Kkyrunnig was moving the coin from one side of its face to the other, so its awkwardly positioned eyes could examine its find. After finally working out what it had, the croc-man smiled broadly, and then ate the coin.

The croc-man skipped merrily to the man in purple, clearly the one they had been patiently waiting for. As if nothing had happened, the band of thugs went on joking and chatting, and then wandered into the first pub they found.

“Right,” Gabriel said, “So that just happened.”

“I’m afraid it did,” Figo confirmed, with palpable disappointment.

“Oh look,” Lydia said, her face impassive, “they went inside a tavern.”

“Quiet you,” he looked around the group, “Ideas on how to deal with the dimwitted giant amphibian? I’m all ears.”

Lydia cracked her neck, “I can take him.”

“Lydia, my faith in your murdering capabilities is almost boundless, but that thing is… You know what? There’s actually nothing I can compare it to that is scarier than giant crocodile man,” Gabriel said with some appreciation.

“I’ll make a crocodile skin robe for Vish.”

“Ooooh, nice!” the mind-mapper said, already checking his measurements. The pilfered red robe he had been so excited about was instantly forgotten.

Gabriel’s face lit up, “You know, that’s a good idea.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Not the crocodile skin robe, that’s a terrible idea, from every perspective. Sending Vish, however, is a stroke of genius.”

“Why me?”

“Similar intelligence, maybe? Or maybe it’s because you’re a mind-mapper, and manipulating absent minded creatures is sort of your forte.”

“Oh, right, that,” Vish looked at the door of the pub that had just creaked closed, “Yeah, I don’t really want to.”

“Is there a mind-mapper on the continent that can say they have both occupied the body of a wyvern, and mapped the soul of a Kkyrunnig?” Gabriel said in his most tantalizing voice.

“You know damn well there isn’t, and I see what you’re trying to do,” Vish narrowed his eyes.

“And is it working?”

“Maybe,” Vish scratched at his beard, “Alright, fine, I’ll try. If things get ugly though, new robe,” he instructed Lydia, “Now, then. Bling, money, if you please.”

“Natasha doesn’t have any money.”

Bling scavenged a silver from an inside pocket and placed it in Vish’s waiting palm.

“What have I told you about that?” Gabriel chastised.

Bling hung her head in shame and hid behind Lydia.

“What are you going to do with the coin,” Lydia jutted her chin at the silver, “Hypnotize him?”

“No, I’m going to buy him a drink. Watch and learn, amateurs.”

Vish went inside the pub, with a surprising amount of enthusiasm.

“And the rest of us?” Figo asked.

“The rest of us are going to try and find out if this is actually our mark,” Gabriel said.

The inside of the pub was humble but pleasant, with a nice cheery atmosphere. The layout was atypical, with a main chamber and then two wings left and right of the entrance. Vish and the croc-man were nowhere to be seen, presumably around the corner somewhere. The man in purple and the short, rat-like man were at the bar, the others were settling in at a booth.

Gabriel instructed Lydia, Natasha and Figo to grab the table next to band of miscreants. He decided that he was probably the most capable of striking up a casual conversation out of the four of them, or at least one that didn’t end in either gibberish, an apology, or murder. By that token, the task of approaching Tinto’s lieutenant fell to him.

Gabriel stuck an elbow on the bar, angling his body towards the maroon-tunicked man. He watched as the bartender plonked a large pitcher and several cups in front of them, which the small, shifty-eyed gentleman paid for.

“You guys must be thirsty?”

“That would be why we’re in the pub,” the short man sneered.

“Don’t worry about my friend, he’s just an arsehole,” the other said.

“I can relate,” Gabriel thought about that a moment, “Not to being an arsehole, to having friends who are arseholes,” he cursed himself inwardly.

“Come on, Wiesse. Just another scrounger trying to score a free drink,” the small man said, as if this were the highest form of blasphemy.

“Oh, that’s good. I kind of thought you were hitting on me, to be honest,” Wiesse said dryly.

“What, I, no! I wasn’t fishing for a drink, either!” Gabriel insisted.

The man, Wiesse, had one of those faces where it was very obvious he was thinking, “Wait, you haven’t seen my picture around, have you?”

“Um, not as I recall. Why, are you famous?”

“We’ll just say, no, and leave it at that.”

Gabriel frowned, “If you insist. Actually, I was just wondering where you got such a handsome looking tunic. I think it might really be my colour,” Gabriel noticed for the first time that the tunic was not just dyed wine-coloured, it was wine dyed. He frowned a bit more.

“Oh, this? I’m a wine merchant. What did you think?” Wiesse said with a wink.

Gabriel was so shocked by the man’s candidness that he was left staring into empty space as the pair took their beer back to their table. He couldn’t believe they had just admitted to being Tinto’s men, and so openly, too. Jandrir really was a screwed up place.

“What’ll you have?” the bartender asked, his hairy knuckles on the counter.

“Mm? Oh, nothing, just browsing,” Gabriel smiled, as he shot back to the others.

“Is it him?” Figo asked when the captain returned.

Gabriel still had bewilderment plastered on his face, “I guess it must be. That man told me himself that he is a Wine Merchant.”

“We should tread carefully,” Lydia cautioned, “Clearly Tinto isn’t afraid of anything happening on his own turf, and probably with good reason.”

“So it would seem. Now we just need to figure out a way to get the mark out without causing a scene.”

Gabriel looked around at the seating arrangement and noticed a fortuitous coincidence. By the grace of the gods, he was sat back-to-back with Screamer’s cousin. As if that weren’t lucky enough, the others were intently watching the small rogue perform a coin trick.

He decided to push their luck even further.

Gabriel leant back in his chair until he was almost in line with the greasy topless man.

“Psst, hey, psst.”

In his peripheral vision Gabriel could see the barbarian look from side to side, up at the ceiling, down at the floor, and then finally backwards.

“Hello, friend. What can I do for you?” Screamer’s cousin said jovially.

Gabriel was a little surprised to see the man was holding a tankard of beer, but decided he must be getting special treatment as a high profile prisoner.

“Listen, we know who you are,” Gabriel said, using only half his mouth.

“Splendid!”

“Yes, and we’re going to get you out of here.”

“Where are we going?”

Gabriel’s frown deepened to further, “We’re taking you to people who care about you.”

He took some time to digest this, probably overwhelmed with relief at the prospect of finally being saved. When he did reply, it was with the slightly peculiar response, “I just need to grab my cooking things then.”

“Wait, wait, not yet,” Gabriel said hastily, “We’re going to cause a distraction first and then sneak you out.”

“Oh good, I need to see the end of this trick anyway,” the man grinned, and returned his attention to his own table.

“And?” Lydia asked when Gabriel had been staring at the table for long enough.

“Yeah, he’s a moron.”

“Explains how he got caught.”

“Mm, I suppose so,” he drummed his fingers, “I don’t know, something about this just feels a bit off.”

“Perhaps our luck really is just turning around,” Figo beamed.

“Guys, guys,” Vish said as he approached the table, barely containing his excitement, “You’ve got to see this, it’s awesome.”

“Did you move the Kkyrunnig’s soul?” Gabriel asked.

“Didn’t even need to. That thing is so dumb that I could literally manipulate it while it was talking to me, and it wasn’t even drunk yet. It’s got, like, four emotions, three of which are variations of horny.”

“Where is he then?” Gabriel asked skeptically, “It’s not humping something, is it?”

“Nah, I just tugged at its aggression a little bit and put that at the forefront of its mind. The thing barely knows left from right anymore. There’s not a chance he’s going to have the presence of mind to stop us when we sneak this guy out!”

Gabriel replayed the conversation in his head, “Let me get this straight. You took a nine-foot crocodile man and manipulated its mind so that all it could think, or feel, was all consuming rage?”

“Yeah!” Vish said. Then his face fell, “You know what? When you hear it said out loud, it actually seems like a really obviously bad idea.”

There was a prodigious ‘Thump’ from the next room that shook the entire building, followed by complete silence.

Vish crossed his arms and massaged his elbows, “I mean, that could just be a coincidence.”