Of Gods and Elves - By Brian D. Anderson Page 0,58

few yards from the docks. Mostly patronized by officers and merchants, Lee knew the place well. It boasted the best seafood stew in the known world, a claim well supported by popular opinion. Lee had once tried to get the owner to give him the recipe but to no avail.

Lee climbed the stairs to the deck where a short, plump, young woman greeted him. She smiled warmly and showed Lee to a table.

“And what'll you be havin' today, sir?” she asked cheerfully, with a thick Baltrian accent.

“Seafood stew, of course,” Lee replied.

“Right away.” She spun around heading to the kitchen.

A few moments later a young, dark haired boy brought him some bread and a bottle of wine.

“Careful, Starfinder,” said a voice from the steps. “That isn't weak northern wine you're drinking.”

“Lanson Brimm.” Lee laughed. “I don't think it's my drinking that needs to be monitored.”

Lanson was a tall, slender, middle-aged man. His fine, sandy blond hair blew carelessly in the sea breeze. He wore a blue cotton shirt and trousers with white silk embroidery, and a silver-handled short sword hung from a black leather belt.

Lee stood and embraced the man tightly. “It's good to see you.” He offered him a chair. “Are you eating?”

“I'm sorry, my friend,” said Lanson. “I must leave you soon. Frankly, I was surprised to get your invitation.”

“Why is that?” asked Lee.

Lanson shook his head and wagged his finger. “You've made some powerful enemies. Every noble in the city has been paid for information on you, and the Gods only know how many street vermin are on the lookout.”

Lee straightened. “Paid by whom?”

“Don't be naïve, Starfinder.” He reached over and took a piece of bread. “The ambassador from Angrääl started making inquiries months ago.”

“Ambassador?” Lee exclaimed. “In Baltria?”

“I'm afraid so,” said Lanson. “He and his attendants have set up residence inside the governor’s mansion.”

Lee suddenly felt exposed. “The King allowed that?”

“Allowed?” laughed Lanson. “He gave it to him.”

“And the governor?” Lee asked.

“He moved into his own private home, claiming it was his decision.” He bit off a piece of bread. “I...” he swallowed. “I personally think the man is no longer running the city in any capacity.”

“Why would you think that?” asked Lee.

Lanson shrugged. “Because crime is down, and in spite of the empty docks, profits have never been better. Governor Greenly is a moron. He couldn't manage the city in good times. If he wasn't the King's nephew, he would never have been appointed in the first place. No, Angrääl is in charge around here. They're pumping gold on top of gold into the economy.”

Lee was appalled. “So you want them here?”

Lanson nodded indifferently. “Sure. They're good for the city. So long as they don't send an army our way, I don't mind.” He could see Lee's apprehension. “Don't worry. I'm not one of the faithful. Those people are lunatics.”

“The faithful?” said Lee. “What in the name of Dantenos are the faithful?”

Lanson cocked his head. “You have been gone a long time, old friend. The faithful follow The Reborn King of Angrääl. They claim he's the reincarnation of King Rätsterfel, and spend most of their time causing trouble for the temples. Lately, it's become fashionable to become one of them if you're nobility. But, if you ask me, it's a bunch of hogwash. None of them really believe it. They just like that their purses keep getting fatter.”

“What are the temples doing to stop them?” asked Lee.

“What can they do?” Lanson replied. “King Talminian doesn't seem to care what the faithful do, so long as the gold keeps flowing into his coffers. As for me... I have found it wise to stay out of it.”

“Talminian has always been a fool,” Lee grumbled. “And weak.”

“Dangerous words,” said Lanson. “But as you're already in danger, I suppose it doesn't matter. Speaking of which...” He reached in his pocket, pulled out a small key, and pushed it across the table. “I assume you'll not heed my words and leave the city at once. You remember my rental house.”

Lee nodded.

“It's vacant,” continued Lanson. “I want you to hole up there until you're business here is finished, which brings me to the next question. What is it you need me to do?”

“I need you to tell me when Millet arrives in Baltria,” he answered. “And if I'm found out give me warning.”

“You didn't drag poor Millet into your adventures again, did you?” he scolded. “But I already know the answer, don't I? Even if you tried to leave him behind,