'No matter how long you live in a place there are always parts of it that you don't know or that you hardly visit. For me it's the wharf and riverfront.
My life doesn't take me to the riverfront much. I've delivered a couple of babies there but mostly I don't have need to go there. The riverside wharf where the goods from the coast are landed is a very masculine place, full of ropes and barrels and lawlessness. Not to say there aren't women down there but they're very secretive types and don't mix much with the rest of us. Many a young man has lost his virginity and sometimes more to the wharf women.
So for me to venture down to one of the riverfront taverns is a new experience. But I know that the bloke I want to speak to will be here some time today so I'm prepared to take a bit of a risk. Still got me knitting needles in me backpack though. Can't be too careful.
As taverns go it's not as seedy as some of those near the barracks. Clean floor and tables, good beer and cheap food. I settled in for a long wait, lit a pipe and huddled into a corner. Tried to look inconspicuous too. Never been very good at that, takes up too much space to blend in quietly. Also, there was a darts match going on and one of the women serving was taking bets and well, I got a bit carried away. Several bets later I was unofficial substitute for the home team and throwing at a double to win the match. So much for staying in the shadows.
After we'd celebrated our win and the beer was flowing I leaned on the bar and winked at the serving woman. Luckily I wasn't her type so there were no misunderstandings and she sidled over. I've always wondered why they spend so long polishing the glasses and was in half a mind to ask but stayed focused. I asked her if she had seen Crafty Nick. She raised her eyebrows, looked across the bar and nodded. Lurching against a wall was a skinny bloke, eyepatch, stains on his jacket. She shook her head.
'Standing behind him, the dark man.'
A dark, shadowy figure was standing in the doorway, pipe clenched between his lips, scanning the room. He didn't look very crafty but he was the one I needed to see. I pushed my way across the bar, brushing off congratulations and thieving fingers until I was standing next to the skinny drunk. Crafty Nick looked at me. I looked at him.
'Right, I want a word with you, Nick.'
I grabbed his elbow and propelled him out of the door into a back yard where the beer barrels were kept.
'I want to know about spying in Grimwise. Word has it you do business with them and you know your way round the barracks. So, what can you tell me?'
Crafty Nick is one of those silent types, think they're all mysterious because they don't say much. Luckily I know how to get them to talk. Usually at the point of a knitting needle. And I may have threatened to tell his mother where he was hanging out these days. Don't matter how big or how old a bloke is, he still don't want to disappoint his mother.
Nick was good enough to tell me about the Guardian's plot to infiltrate Grimwise, plant spies there and bring the Dark Lord down 'for the glory of Lunecaster' as Nick put it. Glory be buggered! Stupid plan if you asks me. They're not stupid in Grimwise neither and it seemed that they'd already seen right through it. According to Nick there were still several spies in Grimwise and they'd stopped sending reports back. He'd know, him and his mates were tasked with picking the messages up from secret locations along the river. I made Nick promise to visit his mother and he made me promise to play in the next darts match. He'd bet his mother's house on another win so I guess I'll have to keep that promise.
What worries me is that if there are spies in Grimwise and they ain't sending messages anymore, we'd best prepare for more bodies. And that's something I don't want to see.'
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