Zero's visits to the Warehouse of Silent Shadows were becoming a self-inflicted torture. He knew he should stay away – the place was a monument to his escalating, accidental fraud. Yet, an awful compulsion, disguised as 'Masterly responsibility,' drew him back. He had to ensure his incredibly clever instructional notice about the Shrine of Lost Socks dead drop was still securely tacked to the door, ready to enlighten any Acolyte perceptive enough to find it.
He crept into the vast, dusty space a few days after his last visit, his cheap lantern doing little to dispel the oppressive gloom. He made his way to the main door, heart hammering. The notice was still there, praise the non-existent Shadow Gods. He let out a shaky breath.
Turning to survey his 'Sanctum,' his gaze fell upon the crate-throne. And on it, something new. Something that hadn't been there before.
A small, neatly rolled scroll, tied with a single strand of crimson thread.
Zero froze. His blood ran cold. No. It couldn't be.
He approached it as one might approach a venomous snake. With trembling fingers, he picked it up. It was definitely not his. The parchment felt different, finer. The crimson thread was identical to the ones he'd used for his thyme bundles.
A report? His mind reeled. An actual report? From an Acolyte?
He fumbled with the knot, his fingers slick with sweat. Unrolling the scroll, he scanned the neat, precise script. It was not a coded message about lunar phases or weeping ravens. It was… information. Specific. Detailed. Terrifyingly real.
"Observations concerning Guild Elder Theron of the Spice Traders' Emporium," it began. It went on to detail clandestine meetings with a known underworld figure named Jax, descriptions of specific crates, the movement of goods between the Emporium and a known smuggler's den in the Southern Docks, and even a sketch of a small, chalked symbol – a serpent coiled around a spice bloom – used as a clandestine marker.
Zero's knees felt weak. This wasn't a test. This wasn't a symbolic offering. This was… actual intelligence. About real corruption. Involving real, dangerous people like Guild Elder Theron and Jax the smuggler. Anya, his quiet, intense Acolyte, had taken his vague pronouncements about "observing the city's heart" and "festering shadows" and had gone out and found… actual festering shadows!
He didn't know whether to laugh or scream. What was he supposed to do with this? Expose Elder Theron? Confront Jax? He, Clerk Zero, who got nervous ordering extra noodles?
His first instinct was that Anya was testing him. Yes, that had to be it! She was presenting him with this information to see if he, the all-knowing Master, was already aware of it. Or perhaps to gauge his reaction, to see if he would order swift, shadowy retribution.
He sank onto his crate-throne, the scroll clutched in his hand. He had to respond. He had to maintain the facade. But how? He had no resources, no power, no plan beyond making things up as he went along. His brilliant dead drop system for receiving reports now seemed like a horrifyingly effective way to get himself implicated in things far beyond his capacity to handle.
***
Anya, meanwhile, had located the Shrine of Lost Socks. It was exactly as its name suggested: a tiny, neglected alcove tucked away in a forgotten back alley of the Weavers' Quarter, almost entirely swallowed by encroaching ivy. A small, crudely carved wooden sign, half-rotted, was the only indication of its purpose. Inside, a few dozen mismatched, holey socks lay scattered like fallen leaves – pathetic offerings to a whimsical, unheard-of deity. The air smelled of damp wool and forgotten hopes.
This, according to her interpretation of the Master's impossibly coded notice, was the "forgotten alcove where misplaced hopes find solace." Now, she needed to find the "silent guardian" and utter the passphrase "Umbra's solace comforts sorrowful soles."
She examined the alcove meticulously. There were no obvious guardians, silent or otherwise. Just crumbling brickwork, cobwebs, and the sad little collection of socks. Her gaze fell upon a section of the back wall where several bricks were loose, one protruding slightly more than the others.
The silent guardian, she thought. Not a creature, but a feature of the shrine itself. A loose brick, guarding a hidden space.
She approached it carefully. The passphrase… "Umbra's solace comforts sorrowful soles." It sounded like a line from a particularly bleak poem. Was she supposed to speak it aloud to a brick? The Master's methods were truly beyond conventional understanding.
Deciding that directness, even in the face of the esoteric, was best, she touched the loose brick and murmured, "Umbra's solace comforts sorrowful soles."
Nothing happened. The brick remained a brick. The socks remained socks.
Anya frowned. Was the passphrase incorrect? Or was her interpretation of the 'guardian' flawed? Perhaps the conditions – the seventh bell after the first hoarfrost, the blooming of a crimson lily under a gibbous sky – were paramount, and she was too early. The Master's instructions were clearly designed to test an Acolyte's patience and discernment over a long period.
She decided not to force it. The Shrine was clearly significant. She would return, observe it at different times, under different conditions. She would meditate on the meaning of the passphrase. The Path did not yield its secrets easily. For now, she had left her report for the Master at the warehouse. That was a concrete action. This new puzzle required a more contemplative approach.
***
Whisper leaned back in her chair, a faint smile playing on her lips. Her network was proving fruitful. The bounty notices for the 'Bleeding Eye' vandal, Master Borin's public outrage at the Dyers' Guild defacement – these were public knowledge now. But her informants had brought her more.
One had tracked the source of the particularly vibrant indigo dye used in Ren's accidental redecoration of the Artisan's Quarter. It wasn't from the Dyers' Guild at all, but from a small, independent importer known for dealing in rare and sometimes illicit pigments from the southern continent – the same importer whose warehouse was adjacent to the one Jax the smuggler used, the one Elder Theron was seen frequenting. A tenuous link, but a link nonetheless.
Another informant reported that a stern, soldierly man (Barric) had been making discreet but persistent inquiries about security vulnerabilities at several City Gates, mentioning a need for "integrity" and "true strength." He'd even been seen near Old Agnes's stall in Blind Alley, purchasing herbs tied with crimson thread.
And then there was the quiet, silver-haired swordswoman (Anya), whose intense observation of the Spice Traders' Guild had not gone entirely unnoticed by their own private security, though she was too skilled to be caught. She, too, had been seen in Blind Alley prior.
Finally, the most curious report: the old, dilapidated warehouse by the Southern Docks, third from the Salt Pier. It was supposedly empty, yet her sources confirmed at least two different individuals making nocturnal visits – one nervous and quick (Zero, though Whisper didn't know his name), the other a highly skilled, stealthy woman (Anya). And a third, scholarly type (Argent) had been seen observing the warehouse itself from a distance.
Blind Alley's crimson-threaded herbs. The 'Bleeding Eye' symbol, in various crude forms. The Southern Docks warehouse. A silver-haired swordswoman, a stern ex-guardsman, a reckless indigo-streaked youth, a nervous cloaked figure, a scholarly observer.
It was a messy, confusing tapestry of seemingly unrelated events and individuals. But Whisper was beginning to see a pattern, a faint crimson thread running through it all. There was a new player in Veridia, or perhaps several, operating under a similar, shadowy banner. They were disorganized, perhaps, even amateurish in some respects, but they were active. And they were starting to poke at some very sensitive parts of the city's underbelly.
This 'Crimson Path'… it was becoming much more than a whisper. It was becoming a distinct, and potentially very disruptive, noise. And Whisper made it her business to understand every significant noise in Veridia.