As Geoffrey returned from looking at the flying ship, Manfred noticed his pace was quick, and his brow furrowed. "Let me guess, you saw something interesting and are trying to figure out how to make money off it?"

Geoffrey looked up; that had indeed been a close guess. "Manfred, my old friend, you have a good sense of what an item is worth owing to your high level of Identification. Would you do me the favor of telling me something about that building?" He pointed to a large building with several chimneys. Manfred obliged him, walking toward it until he saw the signs. He stopped, stared at it, and slowly backed away, treating it like a dangerous animal you couldn't turn your back on. Regaining the group's safety and with two guards between him and the building, he let out the breath he was holding.

He screamed at Geoffrey, "You could have warned me!"

Geoffrey tried to look innocent. "But I wanted your honest opinion without my input."

Manfred stifled several retorts and then answered the original question. "It's a Hellpit! A literal Hellpit. The work of a Charnel Demon and capable of holding a man for torture and using his soul as fuel. And it...ah...well, it also appears to be curing hams." He took another glance at it. "And frighteningly, it's a Tier 4 Hellpit. How does a Town barely into the second Tier acquire such a thing? Is it inhabited? And what sort of demon could the town be harboring? I'm not sure how to even tax it!"

Theordis was astonished to hear such a statement from Manfred. "How could it not be listed in the tax code?"

Manfred had regained most of his composure. "Because you find them in dungeons, towns burned to ashes and some of the stranger arcane colleges. We already tax dungeons, ruined towns have no one left to tax, and the colleges turn tax collectors into squirrels."

"Well, this little trip is looking more and more profitable. Old Cogsworthy owed me a favor this year, and I used it to take my pick of assignments. I'm happy the two of you were available to come with me." In a place as large as the empire, with thousands of tax agents going about their work using an antiquated system purposefully made to be obtuse and complicated, it was up to each agent or team to do their best to increase the imperial coffers. An increase in taxes from an area was rewarded by no one noticing how the agents lined their own pockets. Corruption started with the nobility and worked its way down society's pyramid. At the bottom were the serfs, peasants, and workers who didn't have any money or power. This was a typical trip by a group of agents. Each had a specialty, but it was safer to travel together and work over a local noble or mayor as a team.

Most trips were boring and barely profitable. This one was more of a fishing trip. Out-of-the-way villages often have ways to make money that aren't tied up yet, if you knew where to look.

Theordis had been encouraged by several people he had never met before (and a small bag of gold coins) to bring a team to Sedgewick and cause as much trouble as he could for the local Baron. The man had some enemies or rivals. As long as nothing he did broke the law, he and his team could claim "we were just doing our jobs." He had neglected to tell the others about his new friends, although he was sure Manfred suspected. He certainly hadn't mentioned the gold.

As they talked, a door opened, and smoke billowed out. A large man in a dark red leather apron emerged, holding a massive ham over each shoulder. The meat had been soaked in honey and salt, cured for a month in the smoke, and the hams were now wrapped in burlap. They could smell them, though, and their mouth's watered. The Butcher walked towards them, smiled, and nodded his head to them to show his respect. "Howdy folks, nice day. You'll have to excuse me. I have to take these hams over to the tavern and the inn. People have been asking for ham with their breakfasts, and I hate to keep hungry people waiting."

Geoffrey was trying to guess the weight of the hams. "A moment, my good man. Do you know the weight of those hams? They seem quite large."

The Butcher put one ham in each outstretched hand and thought hard as if he was weighing them. "I'd guess this one on the left is a smidgeon bigger and about 53 pounds. The other one is only 52 and a half pounds. About the average weight of a cured pork leg these days. They grow big in Gadobhra." He smiled at them, showing even white teeth and a mischievous grin. "Don't worry. You don't have to eat it all in one sitting. They'll happily carve a good slice off for you for dinner." He winked and walked off down the road, whistling.

Manfred waited for him to move out of earshot. "And that, my friends, is the local butcher. He's in the third tier and likes to make sausage. He has a little shop in the village where he employs a poor, disabled orphan. He delivers meat daily all over town, secretly loves the local barmaid, and doesn't have a mean bone in his body."

Theordis was impressed. "My, you are getting good at that. I could only tell he was the friendly local butcher and well-liked in the village."

Manfred smiled, proud of his ability. "It gets easier as your level increases. Most of the information just jumped out at me. But that's what things are like in small villages. Not many secrets." He turned and looked once more at the smoking building. "But I can tell one more thing about him: That building is under his control. He's probably the only reason it isn't a rampaging horror."

Geoffrey looked at the Butcher as he walked down the road. "He does seem rather strong. Third Tier, you say?"

Manfred smiled happily. "Aye, at Level 12. Surprising that he is so strong, as he wasted some points on charisma and that smile. Probably to impress the girl who ignores him. I think the smiling man walking ahead of us is why the meat packers guild is upset with the Baron. He seems competent, but how much will the Baron pay to keep him around? He will cost Baron William the sum of 400 gold coins in taxes. It would be a shame if the Baron can't afford to keep him."

They made their way further into Sedgewick. It was a small town but in good repair. The buildings were in the classic Gothic Imperial style, seen in some of the oldest neighborhoods in the capital. The streets were of large paving stones with mortar in the tight cracks, and water drained into sewer grates at regular intervals. The buildings were tall, all at least three stories, and predominantly of stone with timbered upper levels and steeply pitched slate roofs. A small stream ran along the western edge of the town. A sawmill and flour mill sat on opposite sides of the stream with turning wheels. The smoking horror was one of the first buildings you could encounter past the small, arched bridge if you followed the stream and then went to the back corner of the town.

The center of the town was a stone-paved town square with a small fountain at one end. Trees decorated with tiny, delicate lights surrounded the town square, and the road split and went around it both ways and around the outside of the town. Small, narrow shops made for a fine shopping district. A larger mercantile store and a butcher shop were at the far end, and sandwiched between the two was a large tent from where the smell of grilled food was coming. So small as to barely be noticed was a narrow three-story building with a clock tower. The tent drew the group's attention. The smell of grilled meat and onions drew them in. The tent proved to be an eating area with tables. Behind it was a small building, the front of which was open, and a kobold chef was grilling up lunch. After agreeing that there was undoubtedly a way to charge lunch to the Office of Acquisitions, they sat down for a large meal. After a tiny bite, the men-at-arms ran to the tavern and purchased large tankards of ale for themselves and a pitcher of milk for the accountants and scribes. They returned to see the others drinking from the fountain to cool off their abused tongues. The soft sound of a kobold laughing came from the grill. She had warned them her food was spicy.

As the clock struck noon, a gnome exited the small building, locked the door with a copper key, and came to the tent for lunch. Placing a silver coin on his table, the kobold soon appeared with a large plate of food. The fumes from the food stung Manfred's eyes as the kobold went by with the platter, but the gnome seemed unbothered by the spicy food. Curious, Manfred stepped to where he could see the small sign on the building next door. 'Royal Gnomish Bank of Sedgewick' read the sign, and Manfred began coughing hard. He staggered back to their tables, snatched a flagon of ale, and drank it down.

Geoffrey snorted and laughed at him. "You really can't handle a little pepper in your food, can you?"

Manfred glared at him. "They have a bank! That little building is a gnomish bank!"

"How the hell do they have a bank?" The other two accountants were equally confused.

Hearing talk of his business, the gnome addressed them. "It's really no mystery. The town required a bank, and I required a town. Things are working out nicely. Now if you excuse me, I must get back to work." He put a copper down for a tip next to his empty platter and walked back to his bank. The copper key opened the door, and he flipped a small sign over to let people know he was open.

Manfred's antics amused Geoffrey. "I admit that this is one of the last places I expected to find a Bank, but I fail to see the reason for theatrics. They make doing business much easier. When I set up an Imperial Storehouse here, it will make things much easier and more secure, doubly so if they ever grow their horde to enable transactions at Rowan Keep."

Theordis saw it differently. Geoffrey wasn't privy to some of the information he had. Easier banking and selling of goods was the last thing certain people wanted the Baron of Gadobhra to have. "There is a difference between a bank and a bank run by a gnome and claiming a connection with the gnomish banking system. Many gnomes work in imperial banks. Their race is known for their bankers and lawyers, among other professions. Having an actual Royal Bank here means more money is passing through the town than anyone in the accounting office suspected. One has to wonder what the Baron has done to earn something like this. Many other nobles have asked for such banks and have been turned down. It's suspicious."

Manfred agreed. "Baron Oakhurst has beseeched the Gnome King three times for a bank and never been approved. But an important detail: This isn't the Bank of Gadobhra. It's clearly stated as ' The Royal Gnomish Bank of Sedgewick.' That puts it under the control of the town's mayor, not the Baron. He's made an error in placing it here, gentlemen, rather than in his ruined city. It will be more useful here, for now, but he doesn't have direct control. We should visit the mayor before speaking to the Baron about the new tax on Contract Workers. I've yet to meet a mayor that didn't mind a little extra gold coming their way."

As the group went to find the Mayor of Sedgewick, the proprietor of the eatery closed the window of her business and closed for the afternoon. She wasn't sure about some of the things the men had been talking about, but it sounded like business, and her friend Kallvek was always interested in what she overheard about business.

Most of the crew of the Splinter was finding the Conjunction a bit on the chilly side. The men wore long seamen's coats and hats over their work clothes. The one place all of them felt very comfortable was the big building where Ozzy smoked his meat. A smoky environment with chains and fire felt like home. The Charnel pit didn't bother with them. They were walking meat that was already smoked, as far as it was concerned.

Joe was amused at the whole thing, but Makken was annoyed. The party had mainly moved indoors, and he had to sit carefully by the doorway. He was also a little sad about the effect his last batch of strawberry surprise had on the crew. Each had taken a shot of the fermented chili juice and liked it. He wasn't used to people describing his drink as "smooth," "fruity," and "tasty." Still, they offered to pay good gold for every bottle he could make. But he was wracking his brains for how he could make things hotter for days. The answer turned out to be four tablespoons of gunpowder in each bottle. It didn't taste hotter to him, but when Captain Woodrat drank a shot, his eyes widened, his face turned red, and he belched smoke like an old cannon. He beat on his chest and then leaned back, fanning himself. The rest of the crew immediately lined up for shots.

A day later, one of the blacksmiths came to talk to him. Ozzy had mentioned the problem of keeping the ship's hull heated in the Conjunction. Rufus had some ideas.

"For starters, if your ship runs on smoke and heat, we should park it above this belching monstrosity. It's constantly putting out heated air and smoke. We can fix the problem of loading and unloading cargo with a timber framework on the side of the building and a cargo platform with a block and tackle. There will always be enough strong people around to raise and lower it. I'll put anchor points on each corner of the building for you to run chains to, and you'll have a secure mooring for your ship every time you come into port."

Woodrat liked the idea. "Maybe put a hatch up top. Be fun to jump down into the building and swing down by the chains." Rufus added a hatch to his drawings but added 'crazy' to his notes about the captain from the Smoke.

"My other idea is a small stove that can transfer heat directly to your ship's hull. I'll insulate around it so the ship's wood won't catch fire, and then you can burn wood or coal to generate heat while you're here."

The crew smiled and laughed at the notion. Woodrat shook his head. "Sorry to tell you, mate, but that's not how things work. I'm not sure what coal is, but wood doesn't burn. That's just silly. Wood floats."

Rufus said nothing but walked to a tree, pulled off a branch, and lit it on fire with a cantrip. He used the burning branch to start a larger fire with sticks of wood. Woodrat looked on, amazed. Then he took a piece of burning wood and held it. The wood quit burning and turned black and shiny. "Try burning this." Rufus tried, but nothing he could do would get the wood to catch fire again. Understanding came to him. "All the wood in the Smoke is infused with smoke. It doesn't catch fire." Woodrat was looking at the piles of oak that would be loaded in the Splinter. "Virgin wood, untouched. I wonder what the Nobles on the islands would pay for that? Chairs from the Conjunction may be the next rage. Now tell me more about your idea, Rufus, and show me what coal is?"