The bookseller ventured into the guard post, to whispers and catcalls from the bystanders. He was a thin and wispy man, though not especially short. His skin was pale, and his brown hair was straight and just a bit too long. He had very blue eyes that were usually glassy and unfocussed, but just now scanned the courtyard with feverish haste.
The bookseller appealed to the watchers.
“I’m - I’m Alin Landerson,” he said in a low voice, slightly hoarse with disuse. “I need to find a guard captain.”
Several guards chuckled.
“And why, perchance?” asked the boldest among them.
The bookseller sucked in a breath. “I’m going on a treasure hunt.”
There was silence. Then the guards burst into raucous laughter.
A wash of color flooded the bookseller’s face. He waited, blinking rather fast, until the noise subsided.
“You’re serious?!” said the questioner in a tone of disbelief. “Come on, man, you must be mad. It’s too late in the season to launch an expedition… if that’s what you’re trying to do. No one here is fool enough to risk exposure to the winter storms.”
The bookseller’s face fell. Apparently, this was news. He seemed to gather his resolve. “I still need a guard captain. How do I find one?”
Most of the young guards had lost interest and wandered away. The few that remained, debated amongst themselves. Finally one returned to the bookseller. “There’s a fellow that might do it… only one that I can think of.”
The bookseller looked up, hope sparkling in his eyes.
The guard hesitated. “His name is Wilder.”
“Brigham Wilder?”
The guard nodded.
“Wilder who sided with the Russos last spring and fought for Inglade through the summer?” shot the bookseller, sounding slightly wild himself. “The Wilder that hires his sword out to whichever hoodlum pays the most? That Wilder?”
“He’s not that bad,” offered one guard, trying to be helpful. “I heard he’s gone straight.”
“Yeah, he only hires out on legitimate need now… no more ‘hoodlums’,” said the other.
The color was still high in the bookseller’s face. “Fine,” he husked. “Where can I find this Wilder?”
“He shoots dice with the boys behind the stable,” offered the helpful guard. “I’ll show you, if you’d like…”
The bookseller bobbed his head, so the mismatched duo made their way through the guarding complex.
The infamous mercenary was indeed involved in a dice game. He stood head and shoulders above the others. He had ruddy cheeks stretched taut over angular bones. He had a black pointed beard, and curly black hair. His laugh boomed around the walls of the room.
At a loss, the bookseller turned towards his companion, but the young guard had disappeared. “Furies,” the bookseller swore. He hesitated a moment more, then called the guard captain’s name as loud as he could. It took several tries before he got the big man’s attention. Wilder squinted down at him, then frowned, but he backed out of the dice game and prowled around the players to where the bookseller stood. He loomed over the bookseller.
“I’m Alin Landerson,” said Alin.
“Be quick,” said Wilder, “They’ll skip my turn.”
“Can - Can we talk somewhere more… private?”
The guard captain’s face darkened, and the bookseller talked. Fast.
“I’m going on a treasure hunt. I need protection and guidance.”
Wilder’s brows shot into his hair. “A treasure hunt? You?”
Ah, thought Alin, he’s interested.
Then Wilder spoke again. “Let me see the map.”
“That’s the thing,” said the bookseller, “There is no map.”
“Well, where is the treasure?” demanded Wilder.
“I’m - not sure.”
“Huh,” said Wilder. “So you want protection and guidance, on a quest for treasure, without a map, and with no real idea where it is we’re going.”
The bookseller flushed. “I know it sounds crazy.”
“It’s hard to supply a trip without knowing its length,” Wilder muttered, his brow furrowed. “It will take time to assemble a crew.” He squinted. “What do I get out of this… Alin?”
The bookseller took a deep breath. “I can give you fifty golds up front and ten percent of whatever we find.”
“Thirty,” said Wilder.
“Twenty?” Alin countered.
“Twenty.” The guard captain extended a monstrous hand and crushed the bookseller’s fine-boned one. Alin carefully counted out fifty golds from his purse. He watched them disappear into Wilder’s pouch. “Meet us here in seven days’ time, packed for the road,” the guard captain ordered. “I’ll bring the horses. And Alin - ” He bent down, and Alin leaned in, expectant. “Don’t call me ‘Wilder’, eh? It’s Brig.” He clapped the startled bookseller on the back, sending him stumbling.
Alin caught his balance and watched the guard captain walk away with half Alin’s savings tucked into his shirt. Brigham Wilder, he mused. An odd choice. Alin considered himself a good judge of character. The ruddy man who’d stood before him and asked about maps was more the action type than the intellectual type. The guard captain would, of course, focus on the task at hand and not ask questions. But the bookseller did suffer a moment of doubt: Brigham Wilder could not be savvy enough to wonder about the nature of the quest…could he? Certainly not.
Annoyed with the thought, Alin shushed himself and went home.
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