After midnight | Barnet:
Morven walked alone down the empty main street, boots and cane tapping a slow rhythm against the stones. He glanced at the dark windows of the sleeping houses.
Only a few dozen yards from The Red Lion Inn, he stopped abruptly, slammed the tip of his sword cane into the ground, and pressed his left palm to his temple.
"Nights… everything about nights is exhausting, even a simple walk."
A low, rolling thunder growled overhead. Morven lowered his hand and tilted his face to the sky.
"I just hope the rain holds off while I'm outside…"
He resumed walking and soon reached a narrow alley branching off the main road. After a quick look around, he turned into it. The cobblestones quickly gave way to packed dirt.
He studied the rough brick walls on either side and muttered,
"This leads straight to the fields…"
A little farther on he turned left, then right, and suddenly heard the low murmur of a man's voice.
Morven's grip tightened on the silver handle of his cane—ready to draw the hidden blade in an instant.
"Who the devil is out at this hour…?"
The voice grew clearer. Morven rounded the final corner and froze.
A tall man in a long brown coat, black trousers, and black shirt stood beneath the faint moonlight. Long black hair shifted as the wind caught it from behind Morven.
Morven's gaze flicked briefly to the simple farmer the stranger was speaking with, then locked back on the man in black.
"Who are you?"
The stranger raised a white meerschaum pipe to his lips with his left hand and took a slow draw. Silence stretched.
Morven lifted his cane and struck the ground hard a second time.
"I asked—who are you?"
The man sighed, turned the pipe upside-down to tap out the ash, and took several calm steps forward.
"Mr Blacktide… do keep your composure."
Morven's eyes narrowed, scanning every detail of the stranger's posture and clothing.
"That black ring with the gold line on your right hand—what is it?"
The man gave a faint, amused smile.
Before he could answer, Morven continued coldly,
"You're on the board of directors of the black market. Aren't you?"
The stranger's fingers twitched—barely—but Morven was faster.
He pressed the hidden release; the wooden sheath slid away with a soft hiss, and in a heartbeat the naked steel rested against the man's throat.
"Tell me the truth.
The stranger didn't flinch. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and smiled.
"Mr Blacktide… isn't this a little excessive for someone like me?"
Morven pressed the blade a fraction closer.
"No."
The man exhaled sharply through his nose.
"Very well. Yes. I am a member of the black-market board."
Morven eased the sword back an inch.
"What are you doing here?"
A casual shrug. "Buying wheat seed from that farmer. Is that a crime?"
Morven's brow furrowed.
"You can import grain from half of Europe. The black market's entire trade is smuggling goods into the country."
The stranger's gaze locked onto Morven's dark red eyes.
"Your eyes… they're like blood rubies. Only darker."
Morven's leg snapped up; his boot slammed into the man's chest, driving him back several steps. The sword point flashed forward again, levelled directly at the stranger's heart.
The man clutched his sternum for a second, then simply smiled again.
"I am William Fenwick, Mr Blacktide. Remember that name."
Morven's lips curved into a chilling smile.
"Who said I'm letting you leave?"
William Fenwick's smile widened.
"Surely you know that board members never travel alone."
Morven's gaze flicked to the right—the alley he had just come through.
A second figure now stood silently at the entrance, face hidden beneath a low hood.
Morven gritted his teeth.
Slowly he lowered the blade, bent, retrieved the wooden sheath, and slid the sword home until the cane looked harmless once more.
"Well then… you have very nice eyes yourself."
William's smile turned almost playful.
"Ocean-blue, Mr Blacktide."
Morven's expression twitched with irritation.
"Rest assured—if I see you in another town, I will kill you."
William gave a courteous little bow.
"I look forward to it… Mr Blacktide."
He turned and walked calmly toward the open fields. The hooded figure emerged from the shadows and fell in step behind him without a word.
Morven stared at the hooded man's concealed face for a long second, then turned back into the alley.
When he reached the main street again he exhaled heavily.
"Damn him… I'm certain that bodyguard had a pistol trained on me the whole time."
He had barely taken two steps toward the inn when the first fat raindrops began to fall.
Morven sighed in resignation and quickened his pace back to The Red Lion.
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The Red Lion Inn:
He knocked softly. The night porter opened the door at once, gave a small bow.
"Welcome back, sir."
Morven waved a tired hand.
"No need for noble courtesies—I'm travelling, remember?"
The porter scratched his head sheepishly.
"But you're still nobility, sir…"
Morven gave a wry, bitter smile and climbed the stairs without another word.
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A short while later | Morven's room:
He entered quietly, locked the door, hung his soaked long coat on the stand, placed his top hat on the table, and leaned the sword cane against the bedpost.
For several minutes he sat motionless on the edge of the bed, lost in thought.
That man… who was he?
A black ring with a gold line—board member of the black market.
But above all… how did he already know my name?
He glanced at the wall clock: 2:40 a.m.*
He sighed.
"Better get some sleep…"
Morven lay back fully clothed, closed his eyes, and let exhaustion pull him under.
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Morning | The Red Lion Inn, Morven's room:
Morven jolted awake to Marcus's unnecessarily loud, cheerful shouting about breakfast.
He opened his eyes, fixed his apprentice with a murderous glare, and growled in a voice still thick with sleep,
"…You have exactly three seconds to explain why you're yelling before I throw you out the window."