We take a carriage to the section, then proceed on foot. I don't know what I was expecting, but for all its reputation of squalor it's better maintained than Fluemberg. It's definitely a noticeable decline from the rest of the city – cobblestones occasionally replaced by muddy puddle, but they're still cobblestones. No glass in the windows anywhere, some peeling paint and dull threadbare clothes, but it's better than any town I've been in during the insurgency, though I suppose that's a low standard.

Sarith fills me in on all the details as we go. The candidate gang is called the Mud Hares and is led by a man named Jack while the rival gang is the Thrushes led by Henry. She also tells me about a few lesser members and the tactics that Greg was oblivious to.

"You seem knowledgeable about all of this," I say, meaning it as praise.

"It's my job," she says, indifferent to my tone.

"So why don't you like me?" I say without missing a beat.

She stumbles for half of one, but recovers quickly. "It's not my job to."

"You only like people who pay you to?"

She glares at me menacingly, so I smile in a disarming impression of Allan. She doesn't stop, but also doesn't act.

I continue with a steady tone. "Of course, you aren't required to like me, but you actively disliked me from the moment we met. This tells me you're either very unprofessional or have a specific reason. Either would be something I should know about."

"…I'm very professional," she states flatly.

"No doubt."

She continues, "I have a reputation here. People know not to mess with me. You'd already be attacked if I weren't with you." She gestures to about a half dozen individuals separately tracking us.

"So, tell me the reason," I say, unimpressed. No doubt she has some talent, but she's ironically making me less safe as without her I could cast concealment without worry of it being discovered.

She inhales through her teeth, clearly irritated with me, but finally decides to tell. "…Greg is a good employer. A steady employer who pays well and doesn't ask too much of us. Part of that steadiness is having a steady patron. Now, all of a sudden, he has another patron – some snot nosed kid. This tells me I'll be needing to find new work soon."

"…I wouldn't underestimate snot nosed children," I say, irritated at being dismissed once again, "they have a way of surprising you."

"Don't I know it. I have a scar from one of them. But that reminds me that a few friends of mine went missing around the same time as you showed up – freelancers who did a lot of Greg's dirty work."

"…What do you think happened to them?" I say, feigning interest.

"…I'm certain I couldn't say."

"Well, I will say this then," I say, suddenly speeding up in front of her and turning to stare her in the eyes. "Whatever you think happened, didn't. Greg asked me to become his patron, I didn't extort him for the role."

It's a tricky bluffing situation. I already noted her being well enhanced – likely an intermediate boon from her movements and her reacting to sounds that one with a lesser boon would miss. Likewise, she almost certainly noticed me reacting to those same sounds, and knows I'm at least at her level. But what she doesn't know is that my senses exceed hers and that my coordination is on the same level. So, I don't just control my face for an absence of agitation, but also feign an openness so she thinks she can read me – very tricky, but I pull it off.

We stare each other down for a few seconds before she turns away. "Well, whatever went down, I'll do my job. I'm very professional after all."

… I think she's less suspicious now, but it's hard to tell. At the very least I've dismissed killing her as the best option. It's a fine line though. If I pretend to be just a kid she'll think I'll ruin her employer, while if I convince her I'm too competent she'll suspect me of killing her friends.

Well, I suppose I can let Greg handle her if she becomes a problem. I'll trust that he knew what he was doing when he picked her as my escort.

"We're here," Sarith says, stopping in front of a square, three-story apartment. "The gang lives on the top floor with a few renters on the lower ones. They had more renters before, but they moved out when it became clear that the gang couldn't protect them."

I nod, assessing ascents. "Alright, go back to the carriage and wait for me."

"I was told to protect you." She clearly doesn't care about my wellbeing, just her reputation as a guard.

"I'll be fine. Besides, if I'm wrong, you'll be rid of me."

"And rid of a job too."

"Fine," I say and pull out a sheet of paper which I write a brief letter of absolution to Greg, then heat a clump of wax with a cantrip and seal it. "This will preserve your job. Now go."

She complies and I dart into an alley where I cast concealment before I can be accosted in her absence.

I consider repeating my stunt at Lindrid's office, but decide that to be unnecessary and to just walk in instead. There are two thugs guarding the sole staircase with cudgels which gives me pause. Concealment coupled with colour changing cloak might be enough to slip past, but might not be, and I'd rather talk directly with the boss first.

All I need is a slight distraction though. I cast mental whisper and plant a thought of hearing something 'over there' and slip past when they look. The only downside is having to drop my shield spell, but I find a good place to recast it on the second floor. I don't see anyone else, but I do hear breathing and some movements behind the doors.

On the third floor I hear arguing. The door is ajar, so I peek in to see a circle of thugs in hot debate. I stay and listen.

"We can't keep fighting," one of them, a woman in her twenties with a willowy look, says, "A merchant on Hare Street turned over just this morning. That's in eyeshot of here. They're closing in and there's nothing we can do about it. What can we do but come to terms?"

"We hold on," the oldest man, still in his mid to late twenties, says. "If we keep on long enough, something will happen that will force them to slip a little. The Chance Dancers have been eyeing their territory for years. If we just put up enough of a fight they'll join in. Then we can recruit and fight them again on even footing."

"Recruit who, Jack." the woman states more than asks. "Everyone knows they're winning. No one will join us. Even footing? We started this fight with even numbers, now we have less than half of them. Why? Because we can't beat Henry."

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"It's simple then," I say, choosing my moment and walking in, "you find someone who can."

The clink of steel as knives are drawn and cudgels are lifted. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm your salvation."

Jack spits. "Go to Tacyn's hall to peddle salvation, we're not interested in it here."

I chuckle. "Cute. No, I'm here because you have a very corporeal peril – the Thrushes are going to kill you all. Lucky for you I'm here to help… for a price."

"Price?" the woman asks.

I nod. "If I kill Henry, then you become my clients and work for me."

"Noble." The woman states with venom.

I nod and Jack speaks. "Then get lost, noble. I spent the last five years keeping us out of noble schemes, and I'm not about to hand us over now."

"You'll have to hand yourselves over to someone by the look of things, noble or not. Better the demon you don't know." A few heads tilt at my twisting the phrase; I grin. The words had their intended effect – causing them to pause.

The woman speaks. "That's not the usual wisdom."

"Then the usual wisdom is wrong. After all, if you don't know a demon, how do you know they're a demon? All you know is that they can't be worse than what you do know, but they might be a lot better."

"Who says you can't be worse?" the woman says. "You say the Thrushes are going to kill us all, but why would they if we surrender? They'll need us to help maintain their new territory, especially since they have less fighters now than when we started."

I nod in acknowledgement, hiding my distaste of the woman – I think she's been bought by the enemy, but saying so won't help me. "Certainly, they won't kill you right away. No, they'll just use you for all the tasks too dangerous to risk their own people on, getting you killed one by one until only they remain.

"But say I'm wrong, and you all live until a hundred – would that really be that much better? You'll be their servants, working entirely for them. But I'm not asking for so much. Just give me a share of the profits, and do the occasional task for me, and your territory will remain entirely your own to do with as you wish. In return, I will provide a reasonable level of protection, and do what I can to help you grow into the best clients you can be."

"How much of the profits?" Jack asks scornfully.

"How much is there?" I ask back, playfully.

He pauses before deciding the moment calls for boasting rather than reticence. "A medium gold."

"A month?"

"A week."

I nod to indicate being impressed; it's a bit more than I was expecting though he's likely holding back a little. "Then half."

"Half!" he laughs.

"Half to keep all of your territory and kill whom all of you could not. I say that's a good deal."

"You think too highly of yourself, high born, and too lowly of us. Any day now the Chance Dancers will join the fight, we just have to hold on until then." Jack says, maintaining his prideful tone.

"And what makes you think the Chance Dancers won't wait until they can take both of your territories?" I say, not quite mocking.

A stillness descends on the room, and I know I hit the mark – I've said what everyone has been thinking but didn't dare say: Their hope may be their doom. Jack looks around at his gang, sees the same as me, deflates a little then puffs himself back up. "They wouldn't dare," he says as if I'm being absurd. "They'd overextend and make themselves vulnerable to the Cranes."

I smile as if I had already known that. "And what's to stop the Chance Dancers from tossing the Cranes a piece of your territory as a… fish. For all you know, they might be talking right now about how to best carve you both up."

"But they hate each other!" Jack shouts.

"When has that stopped a treaty!?" I laugh. "It hasn't even been ten years since we split up Syranthuse with Hyclion." A look of mild confusion spreads through the room and I realize they aren't aware of the event, but I press on as if it wasn't a misstep. "The point is, we gained because we talked with our mortal enemy, Hyclion. Can you say the same about your hopeful allies? Have you been talking with the Chance Dancers, asking them to intercede?"

Jack flinches.

"No," I state, "of course you haven't. Because you know that such a negotiation would be done from a position of weakness, and whatever they asked in return would be nearly as bad as the Thrushes. But with me? You'll gain more than you'll lose."

"…Still," Jack says gravely, "I say no."

A clamour erupts from the room as they split into shouting groups advocating for the various actions. Jack says to hold strong, the woman wants to surrender, and a few others with their own ideas – very few siding with me.

"Wait!" a girl's voice a few years younger than me pierces the room as she walks to the centre of the circle. "Aren't we forgetting something? How did he get up here? What happened to our guards?" She looks to me.

"They're alive and unharmed," I state.

"Do you have magic then?" she asks and I nod, "Can you teach us?"

…That wasn't part of the plan, but maybe I should. Negotiations with the Eye will reduce their effectiveness, especially without luxury beds and baths to comfort them. Very likely many that I teach will be distracted and killed before they become useful. But then again, the ones that I teach will be the youngest and therefore least useful anyways, and they can always be sequestered until capable.

I nod. "I can start some of you on your journey, but I cannot guarantee anyone becoming a mage. Moreover, my time with you will be limited, perhaps only so much as a day a week. Finally, many of you are too old to begin the training. But for those who aren't, all I can say is that I have successfully turned a mundane into a mage before, so the odds are favourable that at least one of you will succeed."

She turns to Jack. "Isn't that worth living with a noble patron?"

Jack hesitates, but I can see the seed has taken root, so I graciously give him room. "I'll wait in the hall while you discuss, but know that my offer is good only for today; I don't have time to go back and forth for a maybe."

I walk out the door before they can say anything and go far enough that they think I can't hear them.

The debate now has three main sides. Jack still wants to hold on, the woman still wants to sell out and the girl wants to become a mage. A handful of them are her age and all side with her, making them the majority between the three. Their hope makes them resolute while the others are worn down and fall one by one. Eventually, the majority is enough that the holdouts acquiesce, and I'm called back in.

"You've come to a consensus?" I ask coyly.

Jack speaks, "Fine, noble, you win. Now tell us your terms."

I nod respectfully, changing my tone slightly now that I have them, and pull out a sheet of paper and a pen. "Let's get started then."

"We can't read," Jack says.

I shrug. "I'll have to remedy that then. But don't worry, patron/client agreements of this sort aren't really binding contracts as there are no penalties. It's really just a list of expectations that can be expanded or contracted by interactions. So, I can't really trick you into agreeing to something unfavourable.

"Anyways," I distract myself from their blank faces by writing, "my expectations are simple. You give me half of the gang's income and provide the occasional service. In return, I kill Henry and provide protection, access to resources and some teachings. To clarify, my presence will not be constant. You will be left to your own devices most of the time to handle your territory as you see fit. I will likely only visit you once a week unless there's an emergency, and will only fight enemies that you cannot handle."

Jack doesn't look satisfied. "How many services do we need to provide?" he asks.

I shrug. "It's open ended, but likely not many. At the very least I don't have anything in mind, I just wanted to state that it's a possibility."

He shakes his head. "That's not good enough. You might not have plans now, but who knows what you might come up with later."

I smile reassuringly, though he clearly does not find it so. "If I start asking too much, you're free to let me know. As I said, it's not a binding contract… But expectations should be set. Let's say no more than one service a week?"

He shakes no, "Once a month."

"…Fine, but they accumulate, and only major services count… Let's say anything that has the potential to result in loss – blood or coin – or just require too much effort… say more than a day or require leaving the section. Also, I get extra services each time I act, and start out with one."

"Fine, now what do you mean provide access to resources?"

I shrug. "Weapons, medicine, food… poisons if you want; anything that you can't get here or is cheaper elsewhere."

"And who's paying?" the woman asks.

I regard her then nod slightly. "We can split it down the middle for weapons – a benefit for your tribute – the rest you pay for."

"What weapons?" a boy a little older than me steps forward to ask, "will you give us stuff like the Inexorables have? Plate armour, halberds and crossbows?"

I grimace at the request. "That's a bit excessive. I could afford it, but you'd all be dead in a week. It'd signal to all the other noble backed gangs that a new actor is making a powerplay and they'd join together against you.

"Still, I can compromise. A few sets of more subtle armour, better side arms and maybe a pair of crossbows to keep in reserve. More can come when you get enough members to handle the attention it'll bring. Any more questions?" There are none.

I smile. "Then I suppose it's time for me to get to work."

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