Then it occurs to me that Angus insinuated that people know about my dad. “Wait, what do you mean by ‘those in the know’?” I ask. “Are you saying that other Strategia know he’s alive?”

“Who’s to say?” he answers cryptically.

I open my mouth to ask him a slew of questions but close it again. He already made it a point to tell me I’m sloppy. I force my fingers to relax their hold on the polished bar top and I take a measured sip of my drink. I study him for a few seconds. I haven’t played him the way Ash would have or used any of the deception techniques I learned in Professor Gupta’s class; I’ve basically been honest. In fact, I’ve shown very little Strategia finesse at all. Yet…

“You said someone was here looking for my dad,” I say, eyeing him. “That information must not be private or you wouldn’t have said it in the first place. And considering I’ve taken a huge risk in telling you who I am, the least you can do is tell me who I’m up against.”

He grunts, but his eyes look amused. “Is that so?”

“You know it better than I do,” I say. What I don’t say is that he told me that before he decided to trade with me, which makes me wonder, did he suspect who I was all along? Was he trying to give me a warning or has he been playing me this entire time? I remember Professor Gupta saying in deception class that a good deceiver will make you see a lie where there isn’t one and truth when it doesn’t exist. Was he just leading me down a path?

“The Ferryman,” he says with a neutral expression, watching my reaction.

The Ferryman??? My mind spins. As in the mythological Greek figure who shuttles dead people across the river? Oh god. That does not…I can’t even think about…

“If you want to know more, then trade with the blacksmith near Edinburgh,” the old man says, interrupting my silent panic, and turns away from me.

“The blacksmith?” I say, and my throat feels unnaturally dry.

“Another.” He holds up his glass and it’s clear that our negotiation is now over. “And one for the lady.”

I try to get my bearings, but everything feels upside down and wrongways. Someone called the Ferryman is after my dad. I still don’t have the faintest idea where my dad is besides somewhere in the UK—maybe. And the one clue he left me is now pointing me to some unknown blacksmith? My head feels like it’s floating, instead of being properly attached to my body.