Jin's artistry in mapmaking was rivalled only by Stump's talents in goblin painting. Or maybe Stump was bad at reading maps.
He rotated the crumpled page and found the squiggles made even less sense. If Jin's instructions led where he said they would, Stump should be standing in front of the Cantankerous Tankard. But when he spied the establishment over the page in his outstretched hands, The Half-Full Tavern stood before him. Its mossy signage creaked invitingly.
"This isn't the Cantankerous Tankard?" he asked a nearby figure.
The creature, short like Stump but with grey skin and shrunken ears, was seated beneath the wide cap of a giant mushroom, collecting its dripping sap in a bucket.
She squinted at the hastily sketched map. "The tank's down that way." She pointed farther along the street. "Turn left at the Stumble Inn and follow the Crooked Cranny until it straightens out again. Then take a right at the corner where Harga tends her mist garden. You can't miss the wet nets. Hop the wall, the one with two stones loose, not the one with six, then you'll be back on Crooked Cranny. It'll all make sense once you get there."
"The Wander Inn, not the Stumble Inn," said a rat-looking man three streets down, after Stump had become even more lost. "Not to be confused with the Wandering Inn, which has never wandered, unlike the Wander Inn, which has re-opened in several locations over the years. And you turn right, not left. And Harga died three tides ago."
Several rounds of instructions and many proper nouns later and Stump stood before the heavy wooden doors of the tank. Ruddy light spilled out of the windows and fizzled in the evening air. Like many of the buildings in Grimsgate, the tank was cobbled together around the stony remains of an old world.
A burly guard stood outside, arms folded across his chest and a knife at his belt. He studied the approaching goblin with a frown.
"Good evening," said Stump, nodding.
The figure returned the nod, and pushed the doors open with a quick, practiced motion.
 

 
He slid into a tavern foggy with sweat and smoke.
A game of dice continued at a table. Howling laughter came from another. The crowd in front of the bar was so thick Stump could only see the rounded tops of the casks lining the wall behind it. Great chains held aloft iron chandeliers of golden mushrooms. A staircase along the wall led to a landing above the bar with even more chatter.
His heart raced and his palms began to sweat. He swayed, unbalanced by a dizzy spell. No, not now, he told the bloodlust and steadied himself against the doorframe. There were too many creatures, too many tall men, too many voices. I could turn around and leave. I could make something up to tell Jin, he thought.
Coward.
Instead, Stump swallowed his goblin skittishness, curled his nails into his palms, and started forward.
He squeezed through the bodies and managed to sidle up to the bar and haul himself atop the first free stool he could find. His head barely reached the countertop.
"Whadya want, gobby?" The voice came from a lanky lizard-like man with green and yellow scales. He leaned forward for a better view.
"Maybe…" the oak barrels were much bigger than the ones at the Knight Inn, each with its own brightly coloured signage, more detailed than some of the company logos in Penny Square. "Jailburn ale?" said Stump, once he found the name in yellow and red.
Without a word the man twirled around, deftly swept a tankard into his hand, filled it from the Jailburn spout, and spun back, clanking the drink on the counter. Foam bubbled over the brim.
Stump reached for it. Even cupping it with both hands his fingers couldn't meet around the sides. He ventured for a sip, but a clearing of the throat drew his attention back to the bartender, whose palm was open on the table.
"Sorry," said Stump. "How much?"
"A penny a beer." The lizardfolk cocked a thumb to the sign above the bar, where the slogan was carved into a wooden plank.
Stump reached into his pouch but hesitated when he felt the five coppers. One fifth of my earnings, he thought before plucking one out. The man took it with little acknowledgment and returned a dull coin of the same material but without the orange glow.
"Pretty cheap. So how long—" Stump began, but the bartender had already slid down to his next customer.
Stump gingerly sipped the ale and licked off his foamy moustache. Notes of honey and a peppery heat hit the back of his throat. He grimaced and shoved the mug away.
The bartenders worked without so much as a break in stride. Their expressions were flat, punctuated by rare flashes of feigned interest as they engaged their patrons long enough to snag the coins that came sliding over the hardwood. None of them carried the warmth Reema did.
"Sorry 'bout that," said a portly human man who squeezed up to the bar. He drummed his fingers on the counter and watched for the nearest server to flag down.
"That's alright," Stump piped up. "You can have my seat. I was just leaving."
The man's eyes lit up like he'd been told a relative had died and he was the nearest inheritor. "You sure?"
"Oh, I couldn't stay for another. One penny's too temptin' to limit meself," slurred Stump. He did his best impression of Morg, summoning his voice from deep in his chest. "Lumenna's shadowy tits," he threw in for good measure.
The man chuckled and rapped him on the back. "Lumensa, you mean to say. Y'alright to walk yourself?"
Stump shrugged and swayed. Out of the corner of his eye a broad chested guard, standing halfway up the steps to the landing above, moved aside to allow a cloaked figure passage.
"Maybe to a room upstairs," said Stump. "They got any?"
The man snorted. "Some, as I hear. Not for the likes of you or I, though."
Stump glanced back at the guard. Someone else tried to make their way up, but this time the broad chested figure was obstinate.
"Ehh, glimmer's glimmer, right? A penny a beer, a penny a room?"
The human graduated from a snort to a scoff. "Not bloody likely. The beer's cheap but the rooms are pricier than a midday skiff over the face of Lumensa." He leaned in close and dropped his voice low despite the volume around them. "Besides, up top's where the unsav'ry types lounge."Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Stump perked his ears. "Un-what?"
"Unsav'ry. Redvein dealers. Smugglers, maybe."
Stump gasped. "Smugglers?"
The man nodded with the half-smile of someone with forbidden knowledge and a fairly low price in mind to part with it. "Aye."
"What do they discuss, do you think?"
"I'm not one to run my mouth into trouble," said the human, shrugging. "Not sober, anyway."
Stump clinked his copper on the counter almost as fast as the bartender swept it into his pocket. Moments later a mug of amber was in the man's hands. He tilted it to his lips and drank deep, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sighed happily.
"Brannec's the name," he said.
"Stump."
"Like a tree?"
"Like a goblin."
Brannec's belly jiggled with his laugh. "I'm 'fraid I lost me place," he said.
"Smugglers."
"Ah. Shady fellas, aren't they?"
Stump took another sip of Jailburn, hoping to stoke his drunken facade. It wasn't quite as bitter the second time. "Shady's right," he said.
"I reckon we got them to thank for this here, though, so they can't be all bad." Brannec chuckled and raised his cup.
"They make the beer?"
"I shouldn't think so, but you can thank 'em for why's it so cheap." He tilted his head back and chugged most of what was left.
Stump took up the challenge and forced himself to down his ale, but was thwarted halfway through by a burp of incongruent flavours. "Why's that?" he croaked.
Brannec slammed his empty cup on the bar. "The reason's at the bottom of another round, eh gobby?" His ample belly rumbled with laughter.
Stump shuffled off with his glimmer after that. He had only two pennies and three copper left to his name—eight after Jin's full reward—and didn't want to waste the entirety of it on bribes.
Instead he slipped through the sweaty crowd in front of the bar and made for the staircase. An aproned server trailed down, navigated around the guard and disappeared into a side room.
The figure halfway up watched the goblin approach with minimal interest. "Name?" he said.
Stump paused with only a couple steps between them. "Uh… Stump. I'm a friend of Daggan." He held out a hand.
The guard acknowledged it like a spider on the wall. "Back downstairs."
"I represent the Knight Inn, over back on… back that way. I'm looking to purchase a cask of Jailburn ale. I just need to work out the payment with Daggan."
The guard blinked. "I don't know you." He rested his hands on his waist and pulled his cloak back just enough to reveal the glint of steel. "And you don't want to know me."
"Who's this, now?" came a voice from behind.
Stump turned to see a bald dwarf with a braided black beard ascending the staircase. "Oh, I was just hoping to meet with Daggan, but I'm not allowed upstairs," he said.
The dwarf came to a stop only a step away. His eyebrows lowered. "Well yer talkin' to him, now."
"You're Daggan?"
"The only one. And yer in me 'stablishment." The dwarf's tone edged into hostility.
Stump might've backed away if it didn't mean thumping into the belly of an equally unfriendly fellow. "Right. I… I just… I was wondering about your selection."
"Ye must've missed our sign out front. No creatures such as yerself beyond the doors," drawled Daggan.
"Um…"
"No greenskins, that is. We don't need yer primitive kind scarin' away common folk. The only question is, are ye gonna leave with dignity, or shall I have Jagar here drag ye by the ears?"
Stump looked back to the indicated guard, and found Jagar to have closed the small gap between them. He gulped.
 

 
The air was cool when he waddled back outside. He scratched his ears, trying to rid them of the ringing that followed him out, then plucked the map out of his pouch, unfurled it, and wondered how many incorrect directions he would need to take him back to the Knight Inn.
Smugglers. It wasn't much to bring back to Jin, but then again there wasn't much he had asked for. Go to the tank and have a look around.
Stump had seen not much. Was that ten coppers worth?
It didn't matter, he supposed. Reema and Jin just wanted to give him a little something to do to get him started and to feel better about the whole mercenary company attempt. All he needed was the copper, anyway.
Coward, he thought, after taking his first step. Coward, after another.
He looked back at the tank and hesitated. Warm light and drunken laughter wafted from the open windows, but his gaze moved to the second floor, where all the shutters were closed. Faint light bled through the cracks.
He narrowed his eyes. Shady fellas.
Several feet beneath one of the upper windows was a shingled rooftop.
Maybe…
He lowered his head and made his way down the street. When he was far enough away, he darted into an alley.
 

 
Stump looked up the side wall of the Cantankerous Tankard from the neighbouring rooftop.
He had clambered up a barrel, lifted himself onto an alley wall and pounced up to an angled roof. From there his goblin instincts had taken over. Climbing wasn't so hard for his small body, especially in the Downs, which seemed to have been built with the comings and goings of thieves in mind.
He started up the wall, slipping his fingers into tiny grooves between stones or where rock met the wooden segments of the tank. When he was high enough he found purchase on a ledge jutting beneath a second storey window and pulled himself up.
Yellow mycolight flared along the hallway. To the right came the clamour of the bar and the stairway leading to the front entrance.
He gently closed the shutter behind him and crept along the wall. Doors punctuated the space between sconces. Stump pressed his ear against the first one he came to. There was a thump, but it might have been the wood carrying vibrations from the lower floor.
He sank to his knees and peered beneath the crack, but couldn't spot any light. He tried the handle and…
The door groaned open.
Stump scuttled inside. His eyes adjusted quickly. The darkness retreated, revealing a wide bed, a small hearth, a bookcase, several ornate dressers and a table flanked by chairs. A pot of turquoise glowcaps barely illuminated their little nook.
Voices came pouring down the hall. Stump's ears perked, and then he nudged the door shut and slid beneath the bed.
Footfalls stopped outside. The door swung open and a pair of heavy boots trudged through, light spilling in behind them.
"…Where his livelihood comes from," chided the figure occupying the boots. They stopped next to the bed, their rounded toes pointing at Stump, as though they could see him and were trying desperately to get the wearer to notice.
"Maybe a reminder, then?" said a lighter pair of shoes, from the doorway. That voice, like the footwear, was smoother, more refined.
The bed thumped and sank under the weight of something, squeezing Stump against the floor. He bit his lip to stifle a grunt.
"Something stark," said the boots. They turned and took a few steps to a chair, and the clink of metal and rustle of fabric followed.
"Someone with a light touch, I think," urged the other voice, his lilt like musical notes.
The boots scoffed. "Light? Hit him with the spurs. Remind him who rides this horse."
"We don't want him to buck. He's more likely to take to a carrot in one hand and a knife in the other."
"He's more likely to bend if we cut off his supply, or threaten his customers, or poison his kegs, maybe." The boots turned and thumped back to the doorway.
"Quite the imagination, no doubt. Voice your brutishness to her, if you like…" said the other, before they left and closed the door behind them.
Stump released a breath he'd been holding since they entered. Once the footfalls died he crawled out from under and hoisted himself to his feet.
Draped over the chair was a mail coat beneath folded black and blue fabric. A sword rested against the arm, and dangling next to the blade on a necklace was an insignia, similar in shape to the one Stump had found on Garron's barbecued armour.
He pulled it free and ran a thumb over the criss-crossed blue and black stripes. Cat-like figures were carved into the edges of it, and the words lit up with magical purple light.
 
THE MIDNIGHT OCELOTS
"Silence is golden, contracts are platinum"
Silver
Wherever We Find You
- Germott, 16th level Duskblade -
 
Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled: Virtue +1 (6/5)
Stump received the Words From the Sky and silently recited a thank you to Lumensa, and another to Grumul, just in case. But he wasn't entirely sure what he'd done this time to deserve the boon. He didn't come to any important realization, but he did uncover something he hadn't known before.
Maybe that was another of Lumensa's tenets.
But how am I over my maximum? The points from the tenet hadn't been lost, which was good, but what was the purpose of a maximum number if you could exceed it?
Stump took the insignia and turned to the door. The knob rattled.
His face went hot.
Stump was under the bed again before the door creaked open. The boots thundered in alone this time, and made for the chair.
"Always forgetting…" grumbled the voice of whom Stump assumed to be Germott. There was a series of frantic clinks and rustles, and then silence.
The moment stretched uncomfortably long.
Stump blinked at the boots. Leave!
It was then he realized the insignia was still in his hand.
The air hummed. I know that sound. He'd heard it moments before the wagon exploded, or before he summoned a Lumen.
Magic, he realized.
The humming ceased, and the boots vanished. Their outline rippled faintly in the darkness, like perfectly clear water in the shape of rugged footwear.
Tits.