Few things stirred a man’s protective instincts like ill-gotten goods.

To anyone who had no business there, Mermeia’s east waterfront district was a place best avoided after dark. Chances were, if a man had killed to obtain certain objects, he had no qualms over killing to keep them a while longer, at least until he saw fit to sell them for a healthy profit.

The warehouses of the waterfront were full of valuables of questionable ownership, and manned by those whose jobs it was to guard them. Between the three of us, we knew most of them, and they us. But I wasn’t holding my breath counting on any for help. If anyone brought trouble with them to the waterfront, chances were they had brought it on themselves and were expected to deal with it the same way.

Simon Stocken conducted business out of a small warehouse on the central city side of the waterfront. Prime locations backed up to the lagoon for easier and more discreet loading and unloading of cargo, but, as much of Stocken’s business was conducted from the rich coffers of the central city, his less than ideal location suited his needs nicely, as did his front as a wine merchant. If it was a rare vintage, Stocken could get it for you—for a price. Like many merchants in Mermeia, Stocken’s most valuable shipments were never seen by city tax agents.

Mermeia’s central city also had the dubious honor of being the financial center of the seven kingdoms. And where there was money, there were creative uses, and misuses. Mermeian loans financed wars, coups, treasons, assassinations—all the building blocks of civilized society.