Chapter 17

Northmarket District, Oldtown

The Oracle’s pawn shop was tucked into a dead-end alley four blocks west of the tavern. When they arrived, Quinn asked Klzyx and Clover to keep watch and walked into the shop. The dimly lit shop looked like a hoarder’s paradise. It smelled of dust and mildew. Four long glass cases were filled with assorted bric-à-brac and dusty jewelry. The walls were festooned with a haphazard collection of pots and pans mixed with tools of all sorts. Racks of clothing took up the remaining floor space.

A scarecrow-thin female gnome perched behind an age blackened counter haggling with a couple of young street toughs who were trying to pawn a silver necklace.

The Oracle was an age-wizened matriarch with bright green eyes. She styled her snow-white hair in a thick braid that curled around her shoulders like a stole. A pair of hulking blue mountain trolls who served as her security sat at a table next to a display of dust-covered musical instruments playing some sort of complicated game of dice. The street urchins held that she was a thousand years old. True or not, no one in living memory remembered when she wasn’t sitting at her pawn shop. The two street toughs, now swaggering out of her shop having completed their bargain, gave truth to the rumor she supplemented her income as a fence for the thieves’ guilds.

Quinn was counting on the fact that while she had her fingers in many nefarious pies, most of her income came from the fact that she traded in information. She cultivated a vast web of informants who listened and passed along the rumor and innuendo that flowed from mouth to ear in Oldtown’s five marketplaces. Unlike Earth-realm, Oldtown had no World Wide Web, where data and its offspring information were available at the touch of a finger. Seven-year-old Quinn had picked up more than a few coppers sharing street rumors and scandals with her. Nobody paid attention to the random guttersnipes who infested the markets. He had quickly found eavesdropping to be far safer and more profitable than cutting purses.

“It’s about time you answered my summons, boy. They sent word you were on your way. But first, have you some mote of juicy gossip about our betters? Perhaps you might share what happened to the Druid and the Leprechaun, hmmm?” Her sharp black eyes gleamed with inquisitiveness. She absorbed gossip like a sponge.

Quinn didn’t have to ask who “they” were. The Troll Women were in full puppeteer mode.

“Blessings, Mistress,” he said politely. “This day, I am a buyer, not a seller.” He reached into his pack, took out two rolls of pennies, and slid them to her.

She set the mini crossbow on the counter. He knew she always kept it close at hand while negotiating with the thieves of Oldtown. The rolls of pennies disappeared.

“Well, you have made an excellent start. How can I serve Vísdómur’s Shadow Walker?”

“First of all, I don’t need that fact that I’m here spread about Oldtown.”

“It is too late. My watchers spotted you the moment you crossed. How do you think I knew to message you?”

Quinn sighed. Apparently, his disguise wasn’t as good as he thought. He chided himself for his hubris.

“I need to know who the major players are in the current power struggle. Next, why does the Bank suddenly need a hex witch? Third has to do with Wraith. Why would she take a on a job against the dragon bankers of all people? Who is running her? She is supposed to be retired. Oh, I almost forgot. These treasures are for you.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a one-pound bag of peanut M&M’s.

She clapped her hands in glee. “Now, that is the reason you were always my favorite.” She pointed at her two bodyguards. “You see this; you louts. This is how you stay on my good side.”