The Golden Fish advertised its elegance with fresh paint on the doorframes and shutters, pots of flowers out front, and two stout door guards alert to keep out anyone they suspected of not having enough money. They ignored the agent, Arcolin, and Arcolin’s remaining escort; Arcolin paused and told the nearer guard that Jamis would be coming with a mule to take away the ale he was planning to buy.

“He can’t block the entrance,” the man said.

“No, of course not.”

“In uniform?”

“Yes. Phelan’s Company.”

“Good enough. S’long as he don’t park a mule across the entrance, we won’t bother ’im.”

Inside, the floors shone with oil; the common room smelled of fresh herbs. The innkeeper came to meet the Cortes Vonja agent, then led them to the inn strong room with its impressively iron-bound door and heavy lockplate. Inside, shelves held labeled sacks and boxes. In the presence of the innkeeper the agent opened a box with Cortes Vonja’s city seal on the lid, and counted out the first installment of southern gold, natas and nas with the Guild League and Cortes Vonja mint marks. Arcolin and the agent both signed a paper stating Arcolin’s receipt of the money. The innkeeper signed as witness.

“As you see, Captain, I have a good, secure strong room and would be happy to protect your payment overnight, until the banks open tomorrow.”

“No, thank you,” Arcolin said. To his eye the strong room was not proof against anything but casual and incompetent thieves. Valdaire abounded in such, but also had a branch of the Thieves’ Guild. “I have ample guards. I will, however, buy two kegs of your best ale, if you have it to spare.”

“Certainly, certainly,” the innkeeper said, beaming now.

“And in a glass and a half, one of your side rooms for the evening. M’dierra dines with me.”

“Yes, of course, my—Captain.”

“You’re dining here?” the Cortes Vonja agent said, frowning.

“M’dierra’s choice,” Arcolin said. “You object?”

“Er … no. I just wondered.”

“Captain, Jamis is here,” Tam said.

“Excuse me.” Arcolin bowed and looked around the common room. How long would it take the innkeeper—? But there he was, behind two servants, each with a keg. “This way,” he said to the servants, leading them to the front door. As he paid the innkeeper, Jamis and Tam packed the money first, and then the kegs on top of them. Arcolin went on ahead. Kieri had an arrangement for after-hours deposit at his banker’s. Arcolin gave the coded knock, a guard opened the door, and when Jamis and Tam arrived, the money went into a vault far safer than the innkeeper’s strong room.

“So, when’s himself coming down again? Or is it true what I hear, that he’s become a king somewhere up north?” Fenin Kavarthin, the banker, gray-haired and a little stooped, secured the vault door while Arcolin looked politely the other way.

Part of the banker’s pay was information. “He’s the new king of Lyonya,” Arcolin said. “That much is true. He’s the son of—I think it was the second last king before the one that died this winter, sister of the last queen. But the whole story’s long, and I have an appointment.”