At dawn Singis sat on the bed in the Fatted Poult's loft waiting for the day to begin.  She ran multiple scenarios in her head of how this day would unfold, what conflicts could arise and how she would resolve them, changing the outcomes of each scenario. When she had resolved all the conflicts in her head and saw all the possible endings for the scenarios, she went through them again, ranking them in order of the likeliest. When she understood the worst possible outcome and what she could or couldn’t do about it, she was ready for the day. She rose from the spare cot that Batisse had kept for her whenever she needed a place to stay when she was in the city. She folded and tucked the sheets, tightened the yellow scarf around her neck, and climbed down the ladder to descend from the loft. 

The ladder led her to the back offices of the Fatted Poult, and though it was not yet open, Batisse and his workers were already in the kitchen preparing for the day.  She didn't want to interrupt so she simply knocked at the frame of the door to the kitchen and waited.  Batisse was tasting some sort of yellow sauce from a pot when he saw her. Without turning to face her he reached for a piece of paper from his coat pocket hanging from a hook on the wall.  He handed her the paper while talking to his staff and continued with his work.

She left the tavern through a back door and read the writing on the paper. Written in the clear, uniform handwriting that she had come to appreciate from Batisse and all those under his employ, it provided the name and location of a smithy that specialized in horse armor and shoes.  She had guessed right.  Someone as big as the Jester would not risk sleeping in an inn.  What better place than to share a stable with the horses that were being shoed?

Singis followed the street toward the Irons District, where swords, shields, and armor were often made and shipped with the next caravan. Blacksmiths, swordsmiths, armorers, fletchers, and more came to Banningtown to find work in the Iron District when no lord sought to hire them. When forges were snuffed out in other parts of the world, there was always a forge with a roaring fire in Banningtown.

As she passed one of the main gates, she heard some familiar orders being shouted by soldiers. She pulled her yellow scarf to cover half her face. The Black Guard of Gamesh had arrived.

She looked from beneath a doorframe of a trade shop. About a dozen uniformed soldiers were following instructions from a lone commander, red tassels hanging from a spike on top of his half helm. 

She had sent instructions for the Red Guard of Isimil to search west, away from Banningtown. She wanted the chance to find the Jester before anyone else did. She did not expect the Guards from Gamesh to arrive here. Their presence would be problematic, especially if they saw her here. 

A pair of Banningtown constables stopped the commander before they could continue further into the city.

“What’s the meaning of marching into the city?” one of the constables asked. “This is Constable Jariah and I am Constable Prasad. All armies are to stay outside the gates, as per ordinance. We are an Aredunian city, and even our own armies respect the unique arrangements of Banningtown.”

“We’re searching for escaped prisoners,” the commander said, handing a letter to the constable. “Murderers. This is the closest city to our borders. We aim to leave no stone unturned.”

Constable Prasad read the letter. “This letter means nothing to me. This is Yghr business. If you need the city searched, you petition the city watch, and we will display notices in search of these fugitives.”

The commander snorted. “You want to know what that letter means? That letter means that if you don’t let me search this city, the Yghrs will no longer honor our patrol of the border on our side of the Smote, and will allow criminals to flood your city. Is that what you want? Go ahead may make your notices. Meanwhile, the Black Guard will do its duty.”

“You will hear about this!” Prasad warned as he marched away with Jariah, holding the letter. The guards jeered as they left.

Singis kept her scarf snug on her face. She pictured the different scenarios, actions, and consequences until she found one that satisfied her. She let out one long sigh and knew what she had to do. 

She reversed course she turned back the way she came. She went past the Fatted Poult and toward the square building with red columns and a broad iron wrought door. Above the door was a sign that said: Post House. 

The Post House was where messages came in and out of Banningtown. They came from as far west as the Queensgate at the forest edge of Aredun, as far south as the flood plains of Nathamaket in Neredun, from the heavily populated eastern shores of Airrilden in Kienne, and even as far north as the snowy peaks of the Scales, home of the SanKai. With Banningtown being the center of all routes, all trade, whether in goods or knowledge, ran through this city. 

There were only three people at the Post House when Singis arrived. It was quiet, as they were all buried in their work. There was someone she was looking for in particular, a small surly man with a hard and impatient face beneath a messy mass of jet black hair. She found him in the corber, thumbing through a parcel of letters. 

When she entered the room, the man glanced up from the letters and set them down. 

“Inspectors Singis,” the man said, breaking the silence. “It’s been a while.”

“Good morning, Remy,” Singis greeted him. “Perhaps it’s been too long. What are you up to these days?”

“Save the banter,” he said. “We both don’t have time for it. I’m a driver. So I’ve been driving. I need to load the wagons for my weekly delivery to Menathinion. Why are you here?”

“Batisse told me to find you if I need help.”

“Help? He offered me as your help? And what’s your business in Banningtown this time?”

“I need to find some people,” she said. 

“That’s not what I do,” Remy said, not looking at her. 

“I know that. But there are others here looking for the same people. It’s important that I find them first.”

“Who’s here?”

“The Black Guard of Gamesh. They’ve only arrived.”

Remy thumbed through the letters. “The Black Guard of Gamesh. I believe you are the one who can tell them what to do, are you not?”

“True, but I need to be hidden. None know I am here. So I need the Black Guard to be searching elsewhere. Anywhere but here.”

“You want a redirect.”

“May I sit?”

Remy gestured for her to do so. 

“I want their eyeballs pointed in a completely different direction,” Singis said, settling into the chair opposite of Remy. “Somewhere far from the city. So yes, I would like a redirect.”

“Then I want one too. A redirect. That is my price.”

“I can’t pay those terms if I don’t know what you mean.”

Remy set the letters down in a neat little stack. “I had a purpose here. We all did. And you took it all away.”

“Not this again, Remy.”

“No, no,” Remy protested, jabbing his finger on top of the stack of letters. “You will hear me. The Boss had influence and a reach across every realm. We all served him well. Like it or not, he served the realm, in his own way. We all did. There is great evil in this world, I do not doubt. But the Boss kept that at bay. And you did the two worst things anyone could do to him. You made him love you. Then you arrested him.”

“One had nothing to do with the other,” Singis said. “Batisse knew who I was, and he knew the risks of betraying his word to me. I am the Chief Inspector of the Smote. He knew what he needed to give up to be with me. He knew of my duty.”

Remy smirked and shook his head. “You’re not even a Yghr, why do you care about the Smote? So what of your duty?”

“So what do you want, that I never return to Banningtown?”

“The Boss has gone through enough,” Remy said. “Since his release from prison, he’s tried to start over, run his tavern. But working in the Fatted Poult day and night…it’s not who he is. And every time you return, it breaks my heart to see him the way he is.”

“And you wish to return to the old ways? I cannot allow that.”

Remy sighed. “No, the days of the Silent Guard are over. We are cooks, drivers, and traders now. Nikol works at the hospital and Bronis is a teacher now, by the Fargod! We have left that life behind us, since you gave us no choice. You ended our way of life, But now you’re here…asking me for help. So yes, maybe you never coming back to Banningtown is what I want.”

“If that’s the price you name…it’s a payment I may be able to make. And what can I buy with this payment you ask of me?” Singis asked. 

“Let’s imagine I have the means to forge a message from Gamesh. Or that I have the seal of their Magister. Would that interest you? But to have such a means would be illegal, wouldn’t it Inspector?”

“I’m not going to ask how you came upon Magister Mitul’s seal,” Singis said. “Make it so and forge the letter. I cannot avoid Banningtown altogether, as my duties will bring me here. But I will avoid the Fatted Poult, and leave Batisse be.”

“That was my original price but you’re the one that brought up not coming back to Banningtown. We’ll call it a deal struck,” he said. He got up and walked behind a counter to fetch a sheet of paper and an envelope. “What do you want the letter to say?”

She thought of the consequences of the forged letter, if the commander brought it back to the Magister. It would be a loose thread she may have to contend with. Then she thought of her mission, and the decision was easy. 

“Commander of the guard, there is word the fugitives are headed east toward the seaside city of Sildur. They must not reach Sildur, else they will cross over to Kienne and we will lose them forever. Make haste east and cut them off on the road. Mitul, Order of the Magistry, Province of Gamesh.”

Remy was writing down every word. “Sildur eh? That’s a bit far. But you did say you wanted a redirect.”

He folded the letter into an envelope, then opened a small case with various stamps and rings tucked into a slots of a green velvet interior. He retrieved a brass stamp and examined the etching at its end. “This is it.”

He melted black wax on the envelope and pressed on it with the seal. He removed it and blew on the seal, revealing a spear over a sun. “Black wax for the Black Guard. You know who else uses black wax? The Kiennese King’s Herald.”

“I know that.”

“Of course you do, I forget. You probably helped him press your share of seals back in the day. Now what do I do with this?”

“Give it to Constable Prasad,” she said. “Have him deliver it rightly to the commander.”

“You do have all this figured out, don’t you. That’s that thing you do,” Remy said as he rose from his chair to leave. He put his satchel over his shoulder. “Information is never a controlled scenario. When you put it out into the world, true or false, you’ll never know the streams it travels in, and what waits for it at the end. I’ll deliver this now before I load my wagons for delivery.“

“What time do you depart?”

Remy stood at the doorway. “The third hour of the afternoon, from the Fatted Poult.”

“I will ask something of you, but consider this as a favor to me.”

“A favor? Nothing is free, you know that. But I’m willing to hear what you ask of me.”

Singis walked to the door. She glanced around, cautious of prying ears. She leaned in and whispered to Remy. 

Remy nodded. “That I can do. I must go now. But first, a favor for you, now a favor in return. Tell me, Inspector Singis…did you ever even love the Boss?”

Singis wrapped her scarf around her face. “Goodbye Remy. I don’t suppose I’ll see you again.”