Вилорп

→"Who did you see coming out of the building?"

→"What about it?"

→"Silver Lane," I repeat. "Do you beg there?"

→He stares at me, no longer hopeful. Now I'm not a person who's about to give him money. I'm a person who wants to ask questions, never a popular thing in Twelve Seas.

→"Do you have a spot for begging up in Silver Lane?"

→Nerinax has a bowl in front of him containing a few small coins. There's a crutch propped up on the wall beside him, and one of his legs ends just below the knee. When I approach him he looks up hopefully. I take another small coin from my purse.

→Nerinax the beggar is sitting right in front of the church. The last time I was inside the building I encountered some Orcs. Makri killed them. She was so keen to kill them I was left trailing in her wake.

→I give Kerk a larger coin. He stops scowling. I leave, picking my way carefully down the dark, litter-strewn stairway into the street below. It's not far to the church. A chill rain starts to fall and I walk swiftly over the frozen streets. I'm hoping I don't run into the priest, Derlex. He's had it in for me ever since I got into an argument with his superior, Bishop Gzekius. While I admit that I've never been the most godly of men, I still say it was going too far to use me as the main example in his famous sermon against the four great vices— gluttony, gambling, drunkenness and violence. Children still point at me in the street.

→"His name's Nerinax. He usually begs in front of St. Volinius's church in the morning. Good spot, usually gets something from the pontifex."

→I hand over another small coin. Kerk used to be a reliable informer. These days he's not so reliable and I'm not paying him too much in advance only to find he knows nothing. Kerk scowls at the two small coins in his hand.

→"I know where you can find him. Give me more."

→"More when you tell me something."

→"More," he says.

→Kerk holds out one hand. This early in the morning he's fairly lucid, but already trembling, in need of dwa. I hand over a very small coin.

→"The same."

→"The place where that sea captain was murdered?"

→I tell him I'm looking for the beggar I saw outside the tenement in Silver Lane.

→Kerk opens the door and looks disappointed when he sees me. He has a slightly Elvish look to him, something about his eyes. If he does have a touch of Elvish blood it was no doubt deposited by some visiting Elf into a whore in Twelve Seas. Even visiting Elves need a little entertainment. I think he might have been a smart guy when he was younger. Occasionally he still is, but he's too far gone with dwa to ever get out of it. He scrapes up what little money he can, uses it to buy the drug, and then looks for more money to buy more dwa. The same thing, over and over, destroying himself a little more each time. I doubt he's eaten a proper meal in years. It doesn't seem like much of an existence. Maybe the Orcs will be doing him a favour if they destroy the city. Even if they don't, he'll be dead soon enough.

→Kerk is at home; he's living in one squalid room at the top of a ramshackle tenement at the far end of St. Rominius's Lane. It's the sort of place where the very poorest people end up; one step up from sleeping in an alleyway. The landlords divide and subdivide the floors into smaller and smaller rooms, till they're barely sufficient for humans to live in. Nothing is good in a place like this: no sanitation, ventilation, hygiene, privacy, nothing.

→Next morning I wrap my magic warm cloak around me and head out early to visit Kerk, an informer of mine. In Quintessence Street the stall-holders are already at work, shivering behind their meagre displays of goods. I'm grateful for my warm cloak. It gives me a slight feeling of superiority to the procession of cold figures hurrying about their business in Twelve Seas. None of them have a magic item keeping them warm.