The cramped little room just under the peak of Mara's Tavern was the closest thing Arthur had to a permanent residence. It was roughly square, but none of the sides quite matched the other three, and each of them was easily covered in three long strides, which was actually quite tough to do since the ceiling was only high enough stand under for about half it's length in any direction from the center. The wooden planks that made up the walls were the same ones that made up the outside walls, and were totally unadorned by any form of paint, plaster or white wash. They were weather-beaten, sun-darkened, and warped from years of saturation with sea water.
The furnishings of the room were just as bleak. In one corner was a jumble of blankets, pillows and cushions a few spans wide, that constituted his bed. It seemed newly jumbled tonight; Simonet must be around somewhere.The only other objects in this room were a small wardrobe nestled under the eaves along one wall, and a desk and chair that sat under the only window, which currently spilled moonlight in a square along the opposite wall.
The door creaked loudly, as he closed it with his foot, and tossed his bag on the floor next to the wardrobe; which he scavenged through and pulled out a new shirt and breeches. He removed his old clothing quickly, and put the new pants on. He left the folded shirt on the desk as he made his back down the hall to the washroom. He poured water from the bucket into the basin and began to wash his face and hair. The cold water made him shiver. He let it run down his face, and neck. It ran in rivulets down his chest and stomach before wetting his clean pants, and dripped from his hair and beard into small puddles on the ground.
He put his hands on either side of the basin, and looked at himself in the mirror. The face that looked back at him was almost unrecognizable. Dark, shaggy hair that hung down well past his ears, and a matching beard, short but unruly, framed a face of lines and hard edges that had not been there years ago. His muscled chest was still much the same, even if it had a few more scars than he cared to acknowledge. He looked older than he was, and felt even older still. The strange face that stared at him used to be so unfamiliar that it had scared him. Now he was more scared that it had begun to seem familiar, and almost too comfortable.
He turned from the mirror with a grunt and wiped his face and hair dry. Back in his room, he put on a shirt and boots, and walked back downstairs. The second door on the left led to one of the nicest rooms in Mara's. It had a fireplace, a giant rug of walrus skin, and a massive feather bed with a canopy. Arthur had met people here many times before. Despite the late hour, flickering light shone from under the door, which wasn't surprising: most of the people that Arthur did business with didn't keep strictly normal hours.
After he knocked loudly twice, a voice called from the other side. "Come in."
The door opened without a sound. The inside was lit by whale oil lamps on the side walls on stands along the side walls, and a candle at the large desk opposite from Arthur. The room's fine architecture, sense of design and overall homeliness was at odds with pretty much everything else in the building. It could be a room out of any inn around the city - maybe not the nicest, or even one of the nicest - but it wouldn't be out of place.
The man he had presumably come to see did not fit the room at all. He was short, well over a span shorter than Arthur, slightly heavyset, and almost totally nondescript. Short sandy hair, and dark brown eyes accented a face that could have fit in almost anywhere in the Circle. Most people that rented this room were merchants or traders, and showed it by their dress. This man was dressed in the woolens of a traveler. The only other thing in the room that appeared to be his was a large satchel - already packed - that sat on the bed. "Welcome, Arthur. Glad you could stop by." He spoke without a trace of accent.
"Couldn't really stay away." He entered the room and shut the door behind him. "Say what you will about me, but I don't miss an appointment."
"I was worried you might not get my letter." His tone was flat, and seemed to imply that he hadn't actually worried about it at all.
"Your man found me fine." It was not unheard of for him to get letters from clients while out, but it took resources - time, money, contacts - for someone he had never worked with to find him, which meant that whoever this was, he was a person of means.
"Good. Please sit." He motioned to one of two chairs in the middle of the room. "I'm going to be brief. I have other appointments to keep, so must be off soon, and I am sure that you too are a busy man." When they were both seated, the man continued. "My name is Yorrick, and I am an emissary - a go-between, if you will - for my clients."
"Men who would rather not be seen associating with people like me." Arthur clarified for him, with a knowing smile.
"Precisely." Yorrick smiled back. "My clients are men of means and power, but have recently found their hands tied in a certain matter because of..." He paused as if searching for words.
"Questionable legality?" It really wasn't a question. Arthur had sailed on this ship a million times.
"To put it bluntly. Yes. The matter is of utmost importance to them, and must be handled only by the best."
"If the matter is of such importance, perhaps you clients should look into hiring a mercenary company. Their legality is at the least arguably ambiguous, and they would have the man power to protect or retrieve whatever you needed. My one shortcoming is that I, alas, am just one person."
"The idea has not escaped them. I assure you. But they did their research, and learned much about you. They talked to those who have had dealings with you in the past: friends, acquaintances, enemies. Did you know you can tell a lot about a man from his enemies? Why he is loved tells you what he does, but why he is hated tells you who he is. And you, sir, have no shortage of revealing enemies."
"It's one of my proudest accomplishments." He interjected.
Yorrick smiled again, almost looking genuinely amused this time. "But in all their research, they learned two very important things. One: you a very good at what you do. Maybe even the best." He leaned forward. "And two: a smart man hires you for your sword, Arthur. A wise man hires you for your mind."
"Obviously then, you clients deem themselves wise?"
"The are both wise and intelligent. They wish to hire your complete and exclusive services for the entire duration of a contract with them. You would not be able to carry out services or duties for another employer, and they would require every skill and talent that you posses."
Arthur leaned back in his chair, and began to rub the bridge of his nose, thinking. "And the duration of this contract?"
"That cannot be ascertained accurately at the moment. Just know that you will be rewarded handsomely for every hour spent in our employment." Yorrick reached into a pocket hidden under his cloak, and pulled at a small bag that rattled with the unmistakable sound of coin. He looked into it briefly and then passed it to Arthur. "This would be your down payment. To help make the necessary preparations."
When Arthur opened the bag, he saw a small collection of gold talents. The calculations began spinning in his mind. This was more than he was payed for some complete jobs. There was something big here. Maybe too big for him to get involved with at the moment, but before he had a chance to speak, Yorrick continued. "In addition, we will be offering you this as a compensation for your discretion an preferential silence on the matter as a whole."
The man produced a small glass vial from another pocket. It was no bigger around than his little finger, and about as long. It was stoppered at one end with a cork covered in a wax seal. It was just over half full with a white substance that gleamed a characteristic blue-green when the lamp light hit it.
Eiden powder.
A lot of it. Not the most he had ever seen in one place, but still a lot. On a good day he probably could have bought a quarter of that with all of the money in the bag. His mouth felt a little dry as Yorrick held the tube up and subtly shook it. "My clients thought that you would be particularly interested in this."
Arthur tried to remain calm. "What makes you think that..." Yorrick interrupted immediately.
"Let's not play games, Arthur. I know that you want this. Like I said, my clients did their research on you." He let the words sink in. "Just say the word and it's yours."
Arthur calmed himself visibly. "You mentioned preparations. Exactly what would I have to do?"
"My clients need you to assemble a team. The final decisions on their name and number fall to you. There is a ship, you see, and they need someone to ensure that this ship can fulfill its mission without any problems. I need you to assemble a group capable of travelling aboard this ship; leading it through some of the more treacherous parts of the Nine Waters; ensuring the safety of it's crew and various contents; making sure all of its stops in port run smoothly, by any means necessary; helping out with whatever various tasks arise that will ensure the overall success of this mission." He stopped for a brief second. "And doing all of this without regard for the relative legality, in whatever jurisdiction they may find themselves in, of any of the aforementioned parts."
He leaned in close to Arthur. "Can we count on you for this?"
There was a short silence before Arthur replied. "Two things." Arthur held up one finger. "Just to clarify: I am the best. You obviously know that or you wouldn't be here. And two," Arthur smiled his most dashing roguish smile and held up second finger. "I know just the people."
