Despite its reputation as a gambling den, Two Pence was cleaner than Krashina expected. The floors were polished, the bar gleamed with lacquered wood, and the air smelled of sweet liquor, not the acrid smoke or sour sweat she had anticipated. Tables were set neatly, although a few still bore cards and dice from recent games. A curtain hung behind the bar, hinting at another room or passage beyond.
The barkeep stood behind the counter, silent as a statue. He wore a fine button-up silver embroidered black tunic and his greying hair was tied into a neat ponytail. His broad mustache was well groomed, and his eyes darted only briefly to the group before settling back to the middle distance.
At a table near the back sat at a woman whose muddy riding boots were propped on the table. She wore a blue leather doublet over fine scaled armor, with a slender broadsword hanging from her hip. Her long curly black hair was tied back, and her sharp eyes scrutinized the newcomers.
The woman was flanked by two swordsmen with similar blue sleeveless tunics over their chainmail.
"Step forward," she commanded, an air of authority instantly convincing Nixor that this deadly looking woman was likely the head of the criminal organization that used the Two Pence as a front for legit business. Nixor shifted uneasily by the bar, his sharp eyes scanning the room. Though he said nothing, his tension was palpable. This was not just a gambling den—it was a known haven for southern guild interests. His guild. The wrong face might see him here. He tucked his hands deeper into his coat, masking his growing anxiety. He was surprised by Cairvish's next move.
Cairvish stepped forward first, bowing slightly with the polished manner of minor nobility. "Lady Belserel?"
The woman gave a faint smile, although neither humor nor cheer reflected in her eyes. "Not quite. I am Grand Inquisitor Belserel of the Church of Erathmus."
A silence fell over the room. Her gaze swept over the group. "You were imprisoned. Tell me why."
Grey, speaking with the careful diction of a court-trained apprentice, took a breath and began. He recounted the tavern, the drugged meal, and waking in the cell. Cairvish added his fury and confusion at Tambor's execution. His voice cracked as he described how his pleas for mercy were ignored. They told her everything.
Belserel listened, her expression darkening.
"And now," she said slowly, "he sends you after a man known as the Black Spore? An odd request, if you are traitors and assassins."
"Perhaps," Grey said cautiously, "he wants something the Black Spore knows silenced."
"Or hidden from the Grand Duke," Belserel finished. "Yes. That would explain much."
Belserel's eyes turned to Krashina. "And you, knight. You've been silent."
Krashina blinked, as if waking from a dream. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed.
A shadow had caught her eye—a figure in the corner of the tavern, half-shrouded in gloom. A boyish smile. Gone the moment she turned.
"I... nothing," she said finally.
The inquisitor seemed to weigh the words presented to her. After a short while she nodded, as if agreeing with an unknown participant in a philosophical conversation.
"Your words have convinced me of circumstances that I already know to be the truth, and as such, I will share with you the purpose for which the Grand Duke and the Church have sent me to this...outpost".
She swung her feet from the tabletop, leaning with her elbows as she locked eyes with each of them in turn.
"I came to investigate troubling reports about Baron Hark. What I have heard and witnessed confirms my suspicions. His rule over this trading town has shifted drastically. The Grand Duke, at the request of the church has ordered me here to bring charges against this "Mad Baron" as he has come to be called. If proven guilty, I will depose him and hold governance until the Grand Duke names a replacement."
Before more could be said, the door burst open. A young man stumbled in, panting as if he had barely finished a race. His heavy cloak fluttered behind him, revealing the surcoat of Belserel's knights.
"Captain Turask is coming!" he gasped. Nodding to Cairvish he continued, "The Baron followed your trail. He knew you'd lead them to her. He never met the envoy and assumed she was a man, but he suspected she'd contact the released prisoners. He set this up from the start!"
Belserel stood instantly. "Then we must move. You may be called as witnesses, and Cairvish's word alone could bring down the Baron. You must flee this place."
She looked to the barkeep, who nodded once and swept aside the curtain.
"Go," she ordered. "We'll hold them here as long as we can. If you are able to discover the Black Spore's importance in all this, that that information to the Church in Saerlyn. If I am not there, you must tell Lord Silveryn that I have fallen."
The stoic barkeep quietly pulled aside the curtain behind the bar, gesturing for the Baron's nephew and the others to follow.
Cairvish quickly led the others behind the bar and into the shadowy hallway beyond.
Several doors lined the narrow corridor. At the far end stood a suspiciously tidy stack of crates. The barkeep moved to them, pressing his hand against a concealed notch. With a mechanical click, the crates slid aside, revealing a narrow ladder descending into darkness.
Nixor froze a moment, eyeing the hidden passage. "I don't like this," he muttered. "That's not just some root cellar. That's the underbelly. Sewers, smugglers' roads. Places folk don't return from. Places the guild watches. If anyone down there..." he trailed off before silently finishing "recognizes me..." He shook his head, then gave a quiet, bitter laugh. "But then again, I never was lucky."
Cairvish looked back at Belserel. "Your Grace, may we count on you to speak on our behalf?"
"You may. But first, survive. That ladder is your best hope."
Without further hesitation, the group descended, one by one, into the unknown.