“How could you just hand the messages to anyone?” Remy snapped as he jogged through the streets. 

“He looked like the driver,” Kidu explained. “He sat on a buggy, waiting where I was told the driver would be waiting.”

“And you were told the driver would be contacting you first, were you not?”

“Yes, you’re right,” Kidu said. “What’s done is done. We just need to find this imposter.”

“Where were the messages bound?” Remy asked. 

“Where are you leading us?” Timlan asked, trying to keep up and avoid bumping into people. 

“The messages, where were they intended to be delivered?”

“The Gildemanse,” Kidu said. “And Banningtown. Some place called the Fatted Poult. There was a red seal on the letter to the Gildemanse, and a black seal on the other.”

They had run through the crowded street, often narrowed by the clustered stone buildings side by side towering over them. They arrived at the southern gates of the city. The circular stone watchtowers were overgrown with climbing ivy. “The Fatted Poult, of course,” Remy said. “So the Steward’s seal for one and the Herald’s seal for the other. What’s done may yet to be undone. Wait here.”

Kidu and Timlan stood facing the wide open city gates. A wagon of people were spilling into the city, likely laborers. Among them was a priest in a green and gold robe, holding a gemstone encrusted stave. A musician in a sideways cap with several feathers attached, while he held a lute in each hand. There were children as well, in differing outfits befitting their house’s wealth (or lack of) . Spring was coming, and temperature in the south was much more mild than the Scales.

“We lost something important,” Timlan said. “What if they were secret deals between countries? Or a warning?”

“The city is big, I’m sure someone saw that man.”

Remy returned from the gate. “I spoke with the gate keeper. He hasn’t seen someone of that description go through. This is the nearest gate, and would be the first way out of the city. Unless he hasn’t left.”

“You see?” Kidu nudged Timlan with his elbow. The messages are probably still in the city.”

“The man may be, but there are ways to get the information out,” Remy said. “We have to hurry.”

They followed Remy as he whistled for a carriage. A peeling white cab being pulled by two horses stopped beside them. Remy climbed in and the others followed. 

“To the Gosling & Goblet,” Remy directed. 

The carriage creaked and lumbered through the street. 

“I need you to tell me something that happened at the council that others may not know about,” Remy said. 

“That’s not for me to say,” Kidu replied.

“It is for you to say. I need to know something about the council if I’m to help you.”

Kidu and Timlan shared a glance. “The prince…Andrew…he doesn’t want to help Aredun.”

“Everyone knows that. Give me something else.”

Kidu scratched his cheek. “There was this warrior from Neredun. He just became a prince.”

“And what’s his name?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Then that’s not good enough,” Remy said. “Do better than that. What else? Think.”

“Well, Lord Edmon is being sent to Aredun, and I’m accompanying him,” Kidu said. “Does that detail matter?”

“We’ll see if that’s enough,” Remy said. 

“My turn,” Kidu said. “What’s this place we’re going to?”

“The least safest places are the ones you don’t know about,” Remy said. “The Gosling & Goblet is tavern that has mediocre ale and a fare you might say is second to everyone else. But what they make their most business from is through the brokering of information. It’s a big world and information needs to pass over large expanses of land, faster than couriers would allow. The fastest way to get information out of the city is through the Knowledge Broker.”

“Why didn’t Edmon use this Knowledge Broker?”

Remy didn’t answer. He had a book in his hand and had buried himself in the reading. 

Timlan reached into his satchel and pulled out a book as well. 

“What’s that?” Kidu asked. 

“It’s from the Great Library,” Timlan said. “It’s called the Battle of the Green Cliffs, about the friendship between Edmyg of Aredun and Otes of the Soot, and how two boy kings’ relationship would lead to the 100 Year Peace Accord. There is an entire wall on Aredunian history.”

“Though Edmyg died in battle at the Green Cliffs before that peace accord could be signed,” Kidu said. “It was years later when Otes signed it with Edmyg’s son.”

“Did you just spoil it for me?”

“Sorry.”

Timlan closed his book and tried to get a glimpse of the cover of Remy’s book. “What are you reading? Is it from the Library?”

Remy turned to the next page, ignoring the question. They rode without talking, the carriage creaking through the old streets of Lanfrydhall. Kidu looked out the window watching the people in their bright clothing walking past each other, some carrying wicket baskets with lids flopping, others pulling carts with layers of untanned furs. A woman in a loose yellow dress was following and berating what looked to be an aloof husband as he dragged his feet away from her. 

A trumpet player was playing some carnival tune, and a curly red haired boy with a complexion as pale as the city was dancing along to the music. The smell of fried fish hit his nose and he looked around to the street vendors but only saw a cart selling dried strips of rabbit. 

He hadn’t seen so many people in his life. There were some people who we’re always in a hurry to be somewhere else, and others with nowhere to be. In the Scales everyone had a role and a routine. He put his fingers on the black prayer beads hanging from his neck. Master Rengu had given them to him during his last night in the Scales. He thought of his words that night. 

“Know that while you do not have the title, you truly are one of them.”

It didn’t seem fair. He hadn’t achieved the rank of a Peer, there were the others that Lord Edmon should have entrusted for this task. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing and soon he was in a trance. Once he was in the deep meditative state, the carriage disappeared and he saw himself in the dark, surrounded by stars. 

A hand shaking his forearm took him out of the trance. 

“Kidu, we’re here.”

He opened his eyes to an open carriage door. Remy had stepped out and Timlan’s hand was still on his forearm. 

“The Gosling & the Goblet, I presume,” Kidu said, climbing out of the carriage. He followed Remy into tavern with a carved sign bearing its name, with a frieze of a goose drinking wine. There were four empty tables in this very small tavern with tiny windows. Remy took a seat at one of the tables. 

“What’ll it be, wine, ale, or spirits?” the keeper asked, fetching a cup. 

“Information,” Remy answered. 

“Information, eh,” the keeper repeated, setting the cup down. 

“We’re looking for two messages that might have come through here,” Remy said. “Would have been sealed by the King’s Steward and Herald.”

“And what would you offer the broker for this information?”

“The Steward is headed to Aredun. And this monk from the Scales is accompanying them.”

“Wait here,” the keeper said as he disappeared to the back of the tavern through a hallway. 

“For a place that buys and sells knowledge, it hides its business through deceit,” Kidu said. 

“You really haven’t been to too many places,” Remy said. He got up and walked to the counter where the keeper had the cups. He picked one up and walked over to several wooden barrels with spigots. He read the signs above each spigot and chose one to fill his cup with a blonde ale with a frothy head.

“Knowledge should be shared in the light, through teachings and the libraries,” Timlan added. “Not shared through whispers in the shadows.”

Remy sat back down and started drinking. 

The keeper returned. He set a broken black wax seal and a red wax seal on the table. “With the value of information you provided, the Knowledge Broker has decided this is what it buys you. A man came in with two envelopes. The seals were broken and the letters read. Then the letters were shared through pigeon. And you owe a copper for that ale.”

Remy reached into his pocket and set a copper star on the table. He finished the ale and thanked the man. He rose and started walking out. Kidu and Timlan sprung up to join him. 

Outside the tavern, Remy stood with his hands on his hips, watching the sparse crowd in the street. The carriage had left. 

“Now what?” Kidu asked. 

“Now it’s over,” Remy said. “Whatever was on those letters is now out in the world.”

“We need to tell Menquist,” Timlan said. 

“They were sent by pigeon,” Kidu remembered. “How reliable are they in delivering letters?”

“The Knowledge Brokers’ pigeons are highly trained,” Remy said. “But it does depend on how far the message must go. Pigeons encounter brigands just as we do on the road. Hawks can prey on them. Bad weather might waylay them. And there are those who poach on the pigeons for the messages they carry. Have a good day, you two. Our business is done.”

They watched Remy stroll down the street with his hands in his pockets. 

“We need to tell Menquist,” Timlan said. “The letters have fallen in the wrong hands.”

“You heard him,” Kidu said. “There’s a chance the pigeons would be lost.”

“But we were the ones who lost the letters!”

“They entrusted us to do this task,” Kidu said, looking at the direction of the castle. The castle itself was out of view, blocked by all the buildings near the tavern. “And we are about to start our journeys. They need to know they can rely on us.”

Kidu started walking toward the general direction of his quarters. He wasn’t sure of the exact way home. He took some turns into an alley. He stopped and looked around. 

“Kidu, this is insane. We’re going to tell Menquist, right?  You’re going to tell Menquist. Right?”

“Right, of course,” Kidu said, hoping he hadn’t lost his direction.