Tunio arrived at the inn and took a seat in the back of the inn’s common room. He opened the book gingerly and set it on the table in front of him.

“Pity there is only one copy for us to examine,” Tunio said, as Aquillia pulled a chair up next to him.

“I wonder if there is anything different in the official released copy,” said Aquillia. “I do know of a bookstore that might have a copy, now we know the name.”

Aquillia rose from her chair and walked across the tavern. Tunio turned back to the book and began to pore over it. The book contained the memories of a courtly page recording the events of his betters, with some page notes, either of his betters or his own thoughts on events. It recorded the events that unfolded as the gnomes discovered this island and went about securing it from the pirates. The writer referred to the engagements as “battles of daring that were close and full of twists of fates”. Surprisingly, no body counts were listed, and peace was eventually settled, and the pirates gave up claim on the island. At the beginning of the third chapter, the events recorded went into a mundane list of organising the gnomes into a sort of loose society and building a city over the island. In the margins of a page in the fourth and final chapter there was a penned mark saying simply: “A statue I didn’t seek”. What could he have meant by that?

The noise in the tavern had grown to a steady bustle. Tunio looked up from his reading and saw that the tavern had a small gathering of people arrayed around the room, many drinking and talking in small groups. Several had books in front of them and were, like Tunio, trying to read.

Aquillia slipped into the tavern’s common room, with a slight flush in her face and her hair slightly out of place. She spied Tunio and came and sat beside him. She placed a leather-bound book on the table in front of her.

A waitress in a green dress, holding a flat serving tray in her hand, came up to the table.

“What can I get you?” the waitress asked.

“Two mugs of ale, please,” Tunio said, smiling at her.

Aquillia looked up at the waitress and smiled.

The waitress looked back at Aquillia and waited.

“You can go now,” Aquillia said, shooing her with a wave of her hand.

“You’re not going to order anything?” the waitress asked, placing her free hand on her narrow hip.

“Didn’t you hear him?” Aquillia said, “he ordered for both of us.”

The waitress turned and flounced away, the hem of her dress bouncing with each stride she took.

Tunio chuckled. “Poor girl.”

“What?” Aquillia asked.

“You could have been nicer to her.”

“Maybe,” Aquillia admitted. “I found a copy of the Battle for Peace Landing.”

Metilia and Gazali burst through the front door. They scanned the room and spotted Aquillia and Tunio sitting in the corner and waved at them. They strode across the room and joined them.

As they reached the table, the waitress arrived with two mugs of ale and placed them in front of Tunio with a smile and a dirty look at Aquillia.

“Can I get you anything?” the waitress asked Metilia and Gazali.

“We will have two mugs also,” Gazali said, smiling up at the waitress.

“Thank you,” smiled Metilia, and elbowed Gazali in the stomach.

“How was your day?” asked Aquillia.

“We took in the city,” said Metilia, looking around the room, “it’s pretty quiet tonight.”

“Did you see any statues?” asked Tunio.

“Not really,” replied Gazali, his brow furrowing. “Why do you ask?”

“Something I read.” Tunio closed his book and took a sip of his ale.

“Was your trip to the library productive?” Metilia asked.

“To some extent,” Aquillia said. “We did get to see the restricted section.”

“I bet that was exciting,” murmured Gazali, before gasping from an elbow to the stomach again.

“It seems there are a lot of people researching the king’s challenge,” said Tunio.

“Why do you say that?” Aquillia asked.

“Look.” Tunio pointed to two men sitting at different tables with no mugs or goblets next to them, but heads bent over a book on the table.

“They could be reading anything,” postulated Aquillia.

“How many book readers did you see yesterday?” Tunio asked, “and now there are at least two more. I would wager they are both reading the same book.”

“You’re on,” Gazali said, standing. “I reckon they are reading different books.”

“A round for the house if you’re wrong,” suggested Tunio, “I buy if you’re right.”

“Men,” Metilia groaned, draining her mug.

Tunio and Gazali strode over to one of the men sitting at a table reading his book. He was a young man with a shadow of a beard on his face. He was dressed in leather armour and had several knives arrayed in plain sight.

“Excuse me, sir,” Tunio started. “My friend and I were curious as to what you were reading.”

The man looked up from his book and smiled at them. “What’s in it for me?”

“A drink,” answered Gazali.

“Well in that case...” The man closed the book and displayed it to them. The Battle for Peace Landing read in neatly printed letters across the front of its leather-bound cover.

“Thank you,” Tunio smiled, “we will get your drink shortly.”

He waved them off and went back to reading his book.

Tunio and Gazali strode to the other man reading a book in the tavern—a man wearing leather trousers with a large greatsword strapped to his bare back.

“Excuse me, sir,” Gazali asked, “my friend and I were wondering what you were reading.”

The man looked up at them and smiled a big toothy grin. “I will tell you if you buy me a drink.”

“Done,” agreed Tunio.

The man closed the book and showed them the cover. It read The Battle for Peace Landing in neat printed letters across the front of its leather-bound cover.

“Thank you,” Tunio said, a large smile erupting across his face.

“I will go get you that drink, now,” said Gazali.

They walked to the bar and Gazali pulled a coin from his pocket.

“A round for the house,” he called in a loud voice.

The whole tavern cheered, and the barman took the coin and started pouring drinks.

They returned to their table.

“I take it that by you buying the drinks,” she sniggered at Gazali, “that they are both reading the same book.”

“They are,” smiled Tunio, sitting in his seat.

“How much money did the king offer for this belt?” Metilia asked.

“Ten thousand folia,” Aquillia answered.

“How much is a folia?” Tunio asked.

Gazali pulled a handful of coins and placing them on the table. “This is a folia,” he said, pointing at a gold coin in the rough shape of a leaf. “It is valued at about two gold coins from other nations. It is worth twenty leaves.” He pointed to a silver leaf-shaped coin. “A leaf is about the same value as a silver coin from other nations. A single leaf can buy a round of drinks for the tavern or keep you in your cups for a day. A silver leaf is worth twenty branches,” he continued, pointing to a bronze rod. “Two rods are worth a bronze coin from most other nations. There are a few exceptions, but most coin brokers accept that exchange rate.”

“Why?” Tunio asked.

“It comes down to the quantity of gold in the leaf.” Gazali picked up a leaf and gently bent it. It bent without any effort. He bent it back and then picked up a gold coin and tried to bend it. It didn’t bend at all.

“There is no easy way to check the contents of the silver leaves, so they are about the same; that simple test has meant that the folia are even more sought-after for trade,” explained Aquillia.

Gazali gathered his currency and put it back into his pouch.

The serving waitress came over and placed four new mugs on the table and took away the empty ones. She smiled at Tunio, gave Aquillia another dirty look, then walked away.

“I don’t think she likes you, Mother,” Metilia giggled, drinking from her mug.

“I don’t like her either,” replied Aquillia, sipping from her mug.

“Did you find an official account of the Battle for Peace Landing?” Tunio asked.

“I did.”

Aquillia pushed the book across the table towards Tunio. He placed them alongside each other. The official account had its title printed in neat letters on the front of the book, while the copy they had acquired from the library was hand-written, and had a longer title in a second line, “Official account of King Cordifolia penned by Gallia. Year two thirty, fourth era.”

“I wonder if I can meet the writer,” mused Tunio.

“I doubt it,” said Metilia, “he is most certainly dead.”

She pointed to the date at the bottom of the title. “The book was written over four thousand years ago.”

“Even if the account was written well after the events mentioned,” said Aquillia, “he most certainly is dead.”

“Aren’t the elves long-lived?” Tunio asked.

“True,” said Aquillia, “even elves don’t live that long. I have no idea how long you half-elves are going to live for. Even if you live for half the average life span of elves, that will still be several generations compared to the humans we share this world with.”

The waitress came over to their table again and leaned over the table in front of Tunio, gathering the empty mugs.

“What else can I get you?” the waitress asked, turning to face Tunio.

“Could you get us all some dinner?” Tunio said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a silver leaf and pressed it into her hand.

The waitress smiled a huge grin and sashayed away.

“I don’t think it was a fact that she didn’t like your mother,” Metilia laughed, “I think she saw you as competition.”

“Well done, Tunio,” Gazali congratulated, slapping him on the back.

“Gazali, how long will your mother be in dock for?” Tunio asked.

“She has a few friends she visits before she starts to stock up for her next trip,” explained Gazali. “That normally gives us about a week, sometimes two, to rest.”

“How do you know if it’s going to be one or two weeks?” Gazali asked.

“Well after a week, I head back to the ship,” Tunio continued, “then she tells us.”

“So, you have six more days before you need to check in with her?” Tunio asked.

“Yeah,” said Aquillia, “if she needs us before that she normally sends a messenger.”

“How does she know where to send the messenger?” Metilia asked.

“You know, I haven’t figured that bit out,” Gazali admitted.

The waitress returned and brought four plates piled high with meat and vegetables and placed them around the table in front of everyone. She smiled and pressed a small piece of paper with six copper coins into his hand. Tunio smiled back, pocketed the coins into his coin purse, and opened the piece of paper under the edge of the table.

The note read: “I finish at midnight, order another round for the table if you want me to join you after I get off.”

Tunio closed the note and slipped it into his coin pouch and began to eat the piled high food.

***

As the sun began to set, Anatoli strode back into the brothel district and was confronted by two large men with wooden clubs in their hands.

“You look rich,” one stated.

“I am not,” Anatoli replied. “I stole these clothes from a rich man.”

“You calling us liars?” asked the second man.

“No,” Anatoli replied, “just misinformed.”

“You calling us stupid?” asked the first man.

Anatoli sighed, “I didn’t say stupid.”

“You said I don’t know a rich man when I see one,” insisted the second man.

“The clothes make the man, I guess,” Anatoli muttered. “Tell you what, instead of robbing me, how about I get you some girls?”

“Girls,” the first one agreed.

“Okay,” said the second. “Lead us to the girls.”

“Follow me,” Anatoli said and stepped between the two large men. “What was the play here? Hit me over the head and take my money?”

“Um yeah,” replied the large man.

Anatoli turned and faced them both.

“I don’t carry much money with me,” Anatoli said. “Why are you doing this?”

“We don’t have work,” the shorter man said.

“Two big strong guys and you couldn’t find any work?”

“That’s right,” the other admitted.

“Come follow me.” Anatol turned on his heel and marched down the road.

Anatoli led the two big guys down the road and turned into the small alleyway that opened into a small enclosed plaza. He strode forward and pushed on the plain green door and stepped into the perfumed room.

A woman stepped from behind a thin curtain. She wore a thin thong and a half shirt made from purple covering her upper chest. Over her face she wore a veil that covered her mouth and nose. Her eyes were heavily painted with black makeup. On each arm and ankle, she wore a bracelet with a couple of soft bells that tinkled with each movement.

She came and pressed up against Anatoli and ran her hand over his chest hair. Then saw the men behind him and whistled.

At a whistle two other women stepped through from behind the curtain, each wearing identical costumes with different colours.

“Please tell Ingirid I am back,” he muttered into the woman’s ear.

She stepped back and took his hand and walked past the curtain.

“Enjoy them,” he called as he stepped through the curtain door, “don’t hurt them.”

A couple of giggles erupted from the woman as the curtain fell back into place.

The woman continued to lead him through to the back rooms and to the bottom of the stairs.

“I think you know the way from here,” the woman said, dropping his hand and turning back to the reception room.

He ascended the stairs and walked to the room at the far end of the corridor. He pushed the door open to the room he had shared with Ingirid last night.

Ingirid sat at a small desk with a stack of coins, a large ledger, and a heavy bag sitting next to it. He looked up as he entered, and she put down the quill on the ledger. She was dressed in the same silk dressing gown she had donned that morning. The dressing gown opened as she stood and extended her arms to him.

“You’re back,” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his neck. She pressed her firm body against his.

“I have found some guards,” he said between laying kisses on her lips. “Please ensure they have enough of what they want tonight. Tomorrow I will put them to work.”

“Sure, I will pay the girls,” she replied, slipping her hands down his chest and opening the buttons on his shirt.

He pulled back and pulled the shirt off, tossing it onto the floor. He then pushed the dressing gown off her shoulders and watched it fall to the floor. He lifted her up and threw her onto the large feather bed in the corner.

She giggled as he pulled off his shoes and pants and then joined her in the bed, his manhood ready for action.