World of Warcraft®

Grizweld Hopper turned the page in his newspaper, surreptitiously eyeing the newsstand with distaste. The coveted top row, next to the brightly wrapped snacks, was filled with the hottest titles: The Goblin Gabbler, The Scope, The Questionable, and, most infuriatingly of all, Trust Worthy Financials. The bottom row was reserved for those that looked like they hadn't moved all week- in the furthest corner was the business paper The Inside Trade. There was actually nothing really unusual about the stand at all, which irked Hopper to no end.

Sales for the fourth quarter had dismal projections. It hadn't been the worse quarter ever for The Inside Trade, but it had been the latest in a steady decrease in sales. Trust Worthy Financials was eating into his market share and squeezing him out of the top. His top three reporters had already been poached by the other business journal.

“Did you hear about the Vrocket merger with Combust-a-Booms?” someone at a nearby table asked his companion loudly. “That’s gonna reduce their costs. Might be time to invest.”

“Yeah, but trust me, it ain’t gonna happen.”

Grizweld perked an ear in their direction.

“Oh, yeah? Waddaya know about it?” the first voice asked.

“I heard from my wife’s brother’s partner that Springstep’s wife was spotted having a ‘business lunch’ with that old lout from Ship’n’Shine. No way Ship’n’Shine’s gonna let the merger go through, you wait and see.”

“Now that’s the sort of news that would be useful, you know?”

Grizweld’s eyes shot back to the newstand. The top row… gossip rags. That’s where the money was.

Let Trust Worthy Financials keep his old staff. It was time to hire a new staff. Create a new focus. Time to move on to a new market... and maybe a broader one, too. Ever since Bilgewater had joined the Horde, goblin products had been growing in popularity amongst the other races. There was an entire untapped consumer group to be catered toward.

The next morning, Grizweld Hopper strode into the offices of The Inside Trade with a thick folder and quick footsteps. “Paulie! Hold my calls! And get everyone in the conference room for a staff meeting!”

It was time to retool.

It’d been a long while since Renzly had spent any significant amount of time in Azshara. Not since her father had died, certainly. Yet every time she did come to the city, she stopped by tavern at the end of the Bilgerat Street.

The food was just barely on the correct side of edible, but the tavern was rather clean and well run, considering how quickly all the buildings around it had already morphed into monuments of cobbled together repairs and disreputable businesses. Having a meal there was a guilty habit.

Lunch was a simple sandwich, chips, something fizzy, and a perusal of the tavern’s notice board. Nothing unusual; the types of notices pinned there rarely were in her field of interest. She paid the coin for her meal and left.

A glint of light to her right caught her attention as she exited the door. A reflection of some sort. She continued on her way, then doubled back around the building. There was a goblin loitering at the entrance to an alley, face hidden behind a camera.

The goblin was busy snapping pictures of street and the people entering buildings, occasionally swapping out lenses and tinkering with nobs and dials on the back of the device. He seemed very absorbed in his work. Absorbed enough, in fact, to not notice the rogue approaching him until the hilt of her dagger collided with the back of his head.

She dragged the body into the alley, leaning him up against a wall. She lifted the camera off of him and popped open the back to remove the film. A check of his pockets produced some coins, a pocketwatch, and a folded up piece of paper.

The quality of the paper felt odd in her fingers. She unfolded it, revealing a ripped out page from one of the newsstand periodicals. An add in large print predominated the page.

NOW HIRING

REPORTERS, PHOTOGRAPHERS

Looking for new talent in finding hot scoops and juicy details about the wheelings and dealings of today’s global society and its movers and shakers.

Commissioned positions available, all races accepted.

Bring samples of your work to the offices of The Inside Trade.

“Photographer, eh?” Renzly nudged the unconscious man’s shoulder. “Don’t know what you were expectin’ ta take a picture of here.”

She folded the ad and placed it in her pocket. “Tell ya what, I’ll take over for ya and let ya get some sleep. See ya ‘round, buddy.”

Renzly slung the camera over her shoulder and waved a jaunty goodbye. It didn’t hurt to pick up a new hobby now and then, particularly one that just might pay money.

Hopper grinned as he passed the newstand on the way to the office. The Inside Trade had come close to ruin, but after their “retooling,” sales were slowly beginning to climb. Already, the publication had crept its way off the bottom rack and back next to other flashy items on the top row.

The newest edition had just been released today; the front cover featured a rather large picture of a trio of goblins with the caption, “Boutique and Bar: Potential Boom or Blast? Should YOU Invest? More tantalizing details inside.”

The spread inside had more pictures of the goblins in question. A few zoomed in shots of a male goblin wearing sophisticated goggles, looking rather thoughtful. A picture of the female mage from one of her magic shows, surrounded by lights. And finally, a rather unflattering set of pictures of a dark-skinned, dark-haired goblin with her mouth half-open and gesturing to something off-page. The populace was going to love such ‘real,’ unstaged depictions.

Drinks & Dresses- Should you give it a shot?

Preparations are already underway in one corner of the infamous Azshara Pleasure Palace for the grand opening of “Mormel & Rhazin’s Boutique & Bar,™” scheduled in little less than a week. For some, it has been hard to escape the marketing plastered over every wash room stall on this side of the Maelstrom; the question on many people’s mind, however, is whether the store is doomed to go down the drain.

The store’s concept certainly has appeal. Who doesn’t love both booze and shopping? Having a few drinks is certainly guaranteed to loosen patrons’ purse strings. Imitators are sure to spring up in the following months. Until then, Rhazin and Mormel are taking the riskier choice of being innovators, charting new territory. Eyes are upon both to see what should be copied, and what mistakes to avoid.

Just who are theses two intrepid entrepreneurs? Cursory background checks show both have had histories of sales, small time peddlers of goods, but in neither of the store’s advertised specialities. Mr. Rhazin in the past has been a purveyor of mechanical toys and gadgets, while Ms. Mormel runs a potion business. Are they prepared for the demands of a new trade? They have already gathered a small group of investors confident in their business plan, and must have already shelled out a good chunk of cash to afford Gallywix’s fees for prime real estate. That’s not an insignificant vote of confidence.

However, sources suggest that not all is going smoothly for the pair. Rumors have recently cropped up that there are problems with inventory arriving on time and that Mormel may be scrambling to have everything ready. The notices looking for security have yet to be taken down. Rhazin has been overheard to say that he was “not really into running a store,” and that the preparations have been primarily handled by his partner. A few people, when questioned by The Inside Trade described Mormel as being a touch “unhinged” and “unusually nervous when asked to count.” A sign, perhaps, that said partner has been stretched too far.

The grand opening, then, will be a true test for the pair, and an indication of whether they have the moxie to pull it off. One thing is for sure: success or disaster, either way it will be an interesting night.

Grizweld Hopper
photos R. Silvertip

“Gnome biscuits! What is this!?”

Mormel harshly slammed her copy of The Inside Trade down against the top of a rusted table. Her cramped shed located in the goblin slums of Orgimmar was so small the whole structure shook violently from the outburst. Miss Softpaws, her cat, knew what was coming and bolted outside to roam around on her own for a little bit. Mormel then rose from her chair and began panting while tightly clenching her fists.

“Unhinged!? Usually nervous when asked to count!? Imitators will pop up to try an’ steal my idea!? Nyah! I’m the very model of a sane, collected, reserved and upstandin’ goblin citizen!”

Mormel’s shed shook once more as she slammed her fist against the side of it. This time several rather kinky calendars featuring revealing photos of blood elf men fell off the wall but she did not even notice it in her current state of mind. Momel then held out her right hand and spread her fingers open before she continued ranting.

“And I can count just fine! See!? One, two, three er… er…”

Mormel scratched her head as she realized she had run out of fingers to use. She then quickly remembered that she could use her thumb for counting too.

“Ah right! Four! No problemo!”

With a quick snap of her fingers on her right hand Mormel produced a brief but intense burst of green flame which singed the interior of her shed. A few of her calendars that had not fallen off the walls were all but destroyed by this abrupt act. Still, she remained completely oblivious to the damage she had wrought.

“ ‘An any competition that get’s any sneaky ideas will be introduced to the wonderful world of corporate arson! Nyah ha ha ha ha!”

Mormel cackled maniacally to herself before finally sitting back down. Still seething in anger she began skimming through The Inside Trade once more as she muttered incoherently to herself. The pictures of her and how poorly done they were was a particular source of annoyance right now. As the most beautiful woman alive it would be easy for any photographer to capture the purity of her essence for all to see. However this one had clearly gone out of his or her way to do the opposite.

“Swizzy looks great! Rhazin looks great! But me!? Ugh! These are all of my lesser good side. Who would do thi-”

Mormel failed to finish her sentence. As if a veil had been removed from before her eyes a realization dawned on her with all the force of a lightning strike.

“That sneaky sneak sneaky pants rogue thief face!!!”

With unnatural strength Mormel flipped the rusted metal table over and she began to furiously pace around in a small circle. The shed nearly fell apart entirely this time but, by some miracle, held together.

“It had to be her! That flatty mc-flat flat bill board chested bimbo! She had better watch out ‘cause I’m on to her now!”

Mormel gave the turned over table a few violent kicks for good measure. Surprisingly it had a cathartic effect as she began to calm down and breath normally. Her copy of The Inside Trade lay sprawled on the floor in front of her, its front cover still easily visible. As Mormel looked at the picture of her, Swizelle, and Rhazin together her lips curved into a smile.

“Still… any publicity is good to have. I better tell Rhazin and Swizzy about this. I’m sure they’ll love it!”

When Renzly first started the job, it had been solely to earn some extra money. Skulking around and taking pictures of people was certainly easier than her previous line of work. Now, however, as she picked up the latest edition of The Inside Trade, reading the blurb on the first page brought her an extra layer of satisfaction.

New Business Right on Target:
‘Zacki’s Gown and Gun Gallery’!

Shoot Sharp While Looking Sharp!

“What’s hotter than a gal wielding a firearm?” asks Zacki. “One who has a matching outfit to go with it.”

Interview and Photo gallery starting on page 10.

Of course, the page featured a picture of a goblin woman with impeccable makeup and hair holding an impressive sniper rifle that glistened. The filigree of her silver necklace and earrings were echoed in the silver accent work of the rifle's scope. Zacki had been quite willing to pose for Renzly’s photos and allow her and Grizweld Hopper access to the new shop in exchange for extra publicity.

Renzly spent hours getting the pictures of the store and mannequins just right, asking Zacki to show her every interesting nook so she could get the angles and lighting perfect. She kept her visit completely professional, focusing on her photography and letting Hopper handle the talking and the interview, rather than point out the multiple security flaws she’d noted.

Her only regret, she considered ruefully as she admired the multi-page spread, was that she wouldn’t get to see Mormel’s face when the other goblin caught sight of the news.

((I like it!))

Mormel smiled as she held the mechanical figure up to the lamp light of her cramped shed. It was a 100% authentic, limited edition replica of a Burning Legion’s fel reaver. Having just recently been polished by her, the metallic chassis of the model had a glistening sheen to it despite its black paint job.

Feeling particularly satisfied, Mormel sat the figure down on the table in front of her along with the other dozen engineered toys she had recently picked up on her shopping spree across Azeroth. With barely contained enthusiasm she tugged on the string built into the back of the miniaturized fel reaver before resting her elbows on the table.

“Tremble mortals! I will crush you beneath my iron heel!”

Mormel snickered as the fel reaver shouted at her in its menacing but nonetheless high pitched voice. She quickly tugged on the string once more.

“Your world is forfeit! We are the harbinger of your destruction!”

As Mormel prepared to tug on the string again a blur of movement caught her attention. She turned to see that her cat, Miss Softpaws, was creeping into the shed but she was struggling to drag something in behind her. As Mormel stood to investigate she realized that it was a magazine.

“What’cha got there kitty catty?”

With sincere affection Mormel gently patted the top of Miss Softpaws’ head before picking up the magazine. She frowned slightly upon seeing that it was the latest issue of The Inside Trade. Mormel had never truly forgiven them for publishing such poorly shot photos of her. Still, she could not help but wonder if there was any information in this issue on the highly publicized upcoming sale the Boutique & Bar was having at Area 52.

As Mormel flipped open to the first page all of the blood drained out of her face, turning it a sickly, pale shade of green.

“What what what what!?”

Words completely escaped Mormel as she continued reading the spread and viewing all of the incredibly well shot pictures of this new store. For a few minutes she could only stutter in shock and disbelief at everything she was seeing.

“B-but that’s! I mean! H-how? W-why? Grrr!”

In a frenzied boodlust Mormel bit off a chunk of the magazine with her sharp goblin teeth before using her hands to tear the rest of it apart into tiny little pieces. Miss Softpaws, knowing an outburst when she sees one, quickly scampered back outside. As Mormel finished shredding the offensive material she then engulfed it in fel fire for good measure. Not even ashes remained and Mormel clenched her fists as she rapidly paced back and forth.

“Someone’s stealin’ my idea!? No one can combine a clothin’ store with something’ else ‘sides me! An’ who does this Zacki think she is anyway? That scanky hussy has got nothing’ on me! I’m way better lookin’ than that fat cow!”

Mormel halted in place as her anger continued to boil. Her immediate instinct was to find this Gown and Gun Gallery so she could turn it into a crater but she knew that was too much of a risk. No. She’d need to figure out another way to destroy this competitor. Something like hiring an assassin or stocking her own line of firearms or perhaps simply…

“Yes! That’s it! Rhazin an’ I will just bury the competition by bein’ the best clothin‘ store for all of your shoppin‘ needs! ‘sides, we can’t lose with this new line of engineered doohickeys! Nyahahaha!”

As Mormel raised her arms triumphantly in the air and cackled she heard the high pitched voice of the miniaturized fel reaver bellow from the table behind her.

“There is no hope! Your failure is complete! You will lose!”

“Nyah! Shut it!”

((Picking up on a storyline I mean to do while ago, but got distracted by other things.

Relevant forum post here!
http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/14609011273#4 ))

Several months ago...

Grizweld Hopper poured over the notes from their latest investigation. A company, based in Booty Bay, in direct competition with so many goblin endeavors, and yet employing so few goblins themselves? He looked over some of their older material... "Why trust a goblin?" indeed. Quite insulting.

Silvertip had finally relented and offered some photos of the AAMS offices, but not until after he threatened again to start giving her assignments to another photographer. Overall, the pictures were rather dull. There were a few goblin employees, but it was clear the company did not favor them.

"Now, wait jus' a moment, here..." Hopper frowned at the pictures, the grabbed at the series of pictures their anonymous source had sent from the "lounge night" the company hosted. According to his sources, there was a goblin employee who frequently attended. The white-haired chick from the pics. She wasn't in any of Renzly's pictures, however.

"What was her name again?" He looked at his other notes.

Kanzelry, Kezrin. Often at Lounge, apparently high ranking but exact job unknown

He twitched his nose. There was something familiar about that name. He looked at the picture again, which was too blurry to see close details. Years of being a reporter told him that there's was something about that name, that description, that ought to be familiar to him. Not anything recent, but perhaps a few years back.

Thoughtfully, he walked to his office door and pinned his eyes on the first gopher who happened to pass by.

"Hey, you. Yeah, you. Stop what you're doin' and go down to the archives. I wan' a copy of our back issues from... eh, let's say, the firs' six months after the cataclysm. Then look through 'em for mention of anyone named Kezrin."

"On it, chief."

Nothing of interest was found, and the topic was temporarily forgotten until...

The paper hit Renzly’s desk with a sharp slap.

“And just what is this supposed ta mean?” Grizweld Hopper jabbed a finger at newspaper. “You’re workin’ for a rival paper?”

The Scholar lay flat under his finger, one of the Renzly’s pictures clearly showing on the first page.

“Hey, now,” Renzly Silvertip shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “No one ever said anythin’ ‘bout me workin’ for The Inside Trade exclusively.”

“I’m the one who first offered ya a job in this biz,” Hopper reminded her. “And now you’re workin’ for a gnome! Ain’t ya any goblin pride?”

Renzly couldn’t avoid a flinch at the reminder, but she shrugged again. “Jameson pays more.”

“A gnome!” Hopper repeated in exasperation. “So what happens when ya get a new lead? How am I supposed ta know ya ain’t givin’ them all the scoops?”

“I’m jus’ a photographer, Hopper, or d’ya see anything with my byline?” She nudged the paper back at him with a sweet smile. “I jus’ go where I’m sent.”

The goblin editor studied her skeptically. “Right, sure. And when you’re sent ta cover… let’s say a high-end business’ open house… didja think ta drop a line to tha people who took a risk on ya?”

“Hey, now, if ya want me ta spy on ‘em, you’re definitely gonna hafta pay more.”

“Bring me somethin’ of substance, and maybe we’ll talk.”

“Whatever. Now did ya actually have an assignment for me, or did ya jus’ come over here ta gab?”

Hopper crossed his arms, glaring down at her. “Fishin’ tournament in Booty Bay. Try ta get something other than a borin’ fish photo.”

“Gotcha, Hopper.”

“Well? Watcha waitin’ for? Get to it.”

She rolled her eyes, grabbed the camera bag sitting beside her chair, and headed out. Hopper glared at the eyes turned their way; the rest of The Inside Trade’s staff quickly looked away.

Once he was certain Renzly wasn’t likely to come back, Hopper turned his attention to her desk, opening drawers and rifling through them. There was very little to be found inside except pens and scraps of paper, plus a few blurry photos that hadn’t been used for an article. He looked over the papers, but the notes jotted on them were nonsensical words and symbols. Or… almost nonsensical. A few of the symbols reminded him of arcane shorthand, but there wasn’t enough to decipher.

The bottom drawer stuck as he tried to open it, forcing him to give it a good yank. He heard a rolling sound followed by a few clunks and the smell of gunpowder. The drawer was empty save for a few unused canisters of film and a heavy, black candle in a jar. He had not really thought of Renzly as the candle type.

The candle at least explained the scent. It was a Goldwick candle labeled “Fresh Powder.” He hadn’t seen a Goldwick candle in several months, his mind automatically rifling through what information he knew on the company (he wasn’t a business editor for nothing). It was a goblin company, of course, from a smallish cartel… Brasswright, the same place Renzly was from. It only made sense she’d be a fan of its products.

He slammed the drawer shut in frustration. No leads, no notes, nothing new except finding out that Silvertip once bought a candle from an small luxury goods consortium that he only remembered due to a small scandal a few years back. He hoped she at least brought him some interesting photos from Booty Bay.

Then the connections clicked, and Hopper slowly grinned.

Grizweld Hopper had disappointed his father by not being mechanically inclined. He wasn’t an inventor or a scientist, but he always imagined the thrill of discovery wasn’t much different than what he felt at that precise moment.

He went to the Trade’s archives to verify his hunch, not trusting anyone with the possible lead. After a half hour of searching through back issues, he didn’t find what he was looking for, but found something equally suspicious. Someone had carefully removed several pages from an archived edition, eliminating all the personal and business announcements.

“Your mistake, Silvertip,” he chuckled. Very few people were aware of his private archive of issues, the final drafts he had to approve before mass printing.

By the end of the day, looking over his papers, he knew he was on to something.

He examined a blurry picture, taken in Hardwrench Hideaway, and compared it to the crystal clear portrait that accompanied one of the missing announcements. He couldn’t say for certain, but the similarities were striking. A clear picture of the subject and a few inquiries to contacts in Brasswright would provide him with all the details and evidence he needed.

“Well, now, Kezrin ‘Kanzelry,’ I think you just might be newsworthy after all.”

It had gotten to the point where the room Solendenus had offered Kezrin was starting to feel like home. She felt a twinge of guilt at that, particularly when she thought about the goblin-sized furniture he’d arranged for her not too long ago, but staying at the Quel’thorin estate had its benefits. There was the obvious protection of the anti-demon wards, and the convenience of the salle when he had time to teach her (though in fact she hadn’t seen him in quite a while; he did have a tendency to disappear frequently), but it was probably the gardens she’d miss the most. The greenhouse had become her haven when she wanted a bit of peace and quiet.

Well. If she were truly honest, she’d also miss the pampering.

She’d forgotten what it was like to have someone else do all the cleaning, cooking, and housework. Kezrin found it easy to slip back into the habits of letting the household staff handle those things, and she really wasn’t looking forward to eating her own cooking again. So while there was the niggling feeling that she was taking advantage of Sol, she was more than willing to shove it aside and enjoy herself.

She was hiding in the corner of the greenhouse, reading a book from Sol’s library, when Sprocketquill’s voice over her hearthstone interrupted her solitude.

“Miss Kanzelry? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah… I can hear ya.” She flipped another page in the book.

“Hiya! There’s someone here from some magazine… the, ah, Inside Trade, I think, wantin’ ta talk ta ya.”

That got her complete attention. “Wait...the… it ain’t Silvertip, is it?”

“No, no. Some other fellow. Wants to do an article about being a goblin in the AAMS. Sounds like fun!”

“Uh.. right. Sure does. Why don’t ya get him in contact with that new gal, Sprikket? Or wait, how 'bout Borbitox? I’m sure Borbitox would love an interview.”

“He’s asking specifically for you.”

She looked around in panic, as if expecting someone to be watching her all the way in Eversong. “Just, uh, tell him I’m busy. Really busy. He’ll hafta talk ta someone else.”

A mental picture of a reporter talking to her sister appeared in her mind and she quickly added, “But not Myzzi! In fact, don’t even mention Myzzi!”

“Oh… all right, then. Anything else?”

“Yeah. If he asks for me anymore, let the bossgnome handle any questions, ‘kay?”

“Sure thing.”

Kezrin turned off her stone completely, not wanting anyone else to ask her questions. She rested her head on her knees, thoughtfully, the book forgotten at her side. She wasn’t going anywhere near Booty Bay until the reporter was gone.

Lounge night...crap.

“OW!”

She was leaving the Booty Bay offices for Lounge when the rather hard pebble bounced off her head. She glared angrily at the sky, then blinked a few times in surprised before she recognized the face peering over the roof edge’s, urgently waving at her.

“Renzly?”

“Yeah, now get yourself ova here so I can talk ta ya!” she hissed angrily, pointing toward one of the narrow alleyways between Booth Bay’s tall buildings. Kezrin looked at the dark, confined space skeptically.

“Yeah… I don’t think so.”

The rogue groaned in frustration and disappeared. Kezrin didn’t hear any scrambling or movement, but a few moments later, Renzly was on ground level beckoning her into the alleyway again. “C’mon, I don’t know fer sure if Hopper has anyone watchin’ ya. Listen ta me for jus’ this once, why dontcha, Goldie?”

It was hard not to flinch at the nickname, but it did remind Kezrin of everything she owed Renzly. With one hand on her mace, she cautiously stepped off the main boardwalk out of sight from most vantage points.

Renzly held up a warning hand, watching their surroundings carefully. “Right. So if anyone is followin’ ya, I don’t think they can see us here. I came ta warn ya.”

Renzly unslung a bag from her shoulder, pulling out a magazine already flipped open to an article. Kezrin’s heart stopped as she took in the article name: The AAMS HIDES SHOCKING SECRET.

It was accompanied by a grainy picture of Kezrin, taken in Silvermoon.

“What is…” She glared at Renzly.

“Hey! This ain’t my doin’! I’ve been doin’ my best ta keep ya out of Hopper’s notice.” Renzly thrust the magazin at her. “It’s your fault for not findin’ some quiet little job like I told ya to.”

Kezrin numbly took the magazine into her hands, skimming the accompanying article.

Former critics of the company point to one goblin success story: Kezrin Kanzelry… . no record of Kanzelry outside her time with the AAMS… She is a fugitive hiding under an assumed name… photographic evidence identifying her as Kezrin Goldwick...previously assumed deceased… weeks before the planned merger of Goldwick Candles and Waxworth Industries, as well as the pending nuptials between Miss Goldwick and Nozzel Waxworth…

Included was a picture of a slightly younger Kezrin in an expensive dress and elaborate hair: the picture her parents had forced her to take for the wedding announcement. She continued reading and could feel the blood drain from her face as she reached the end of the article.

Upon contacting Brasswright authorities with evidence of Goldwick’s whereabouts, several charges have been laid against her, including first degree contract violation, corporate sabotage, identity fraud, theft, and the abduction and endangerment of a minor, due to her now assumed complicity in the later disappearance of Myzzi Goldwick, which was hushed up by both families involved. No official statement has been made yet on whether the AAMS will be included in any of those charges.

“H-how long has this been out?” Kezrin asked shakily.

“Ain’t yet. That’s a first run print I managed to snatch. They’ll be all over the newstands by tomorrow morning, though.”

“So I got until tomorrow, huh?” She slumped against the building wall.

Renzly forced a smile. “Well, look at the bright side, if it were really that serious, someone would’ve been sent ta bring ya back by now, and I ain’t heard of any new bounties on yer head in the past few days.”

“And ya’d know, wouldn’t ya?” Kezrin sighed with a weak smile of her own. “Need this back?”

“Nah, keep it. Better be prepared for what people are gonna be readin’. I’ll give ya a heads up if Hopper finds anything else out.”

“Thanks, Ren.”

“Keep safe, Goldie.”

He must have been waiting for her to show up. Kezrin had barely come within view of the AAMS’ office when a gravelly, familiar voice called out, “Miss Goldwick?”

She stopped with a long sigh and turned to see a middle-aged, well-dressed goblin walked up the boardwalk toward her. Trailing behind him was someone who’d fit in among Steamwheedle Bruisers.

“You’ve grown a bit!” he chortled as they came with conversation distance. “Not as scrawny as I remember. You remember me, of course?”

She mutely nodded. She hadn’t seen Brunz Lockspring since she’d left home, but it was hard to forget one of her father’s most trusted negotiators.

“Shall we go someplace a little more private and have a chat?” he asked, motioning slightly toward the AAMS building. “I’m sure a business like yours must have a conference room or two.”

“Right. Just follow me. Don’t even think about poking around anything.”

“Of course not.” He showed off his teeth with a smile.

She begrudgingly showed them inside, making sure to select the larger of the meeting spaces; the idea of being cooped up too close with Lockspring and his bodyguard made her nose twitch. He settled into the head chair without any prompting, the guard taking a position against the wall.

For her part, Kezrin deliberately sat a few chairs away.

Lockspring glances around the room. “Not a bad space. It seems you’ve done quite well for yourself.”

“Well enough.”

“I’m sure you have an idea of why I’m here. Your parents were very relieved to hear you were still alive. May I ask where the younger Miss Goldwick is?”

“Nowhere you’ll find her, I promise.”

“I’m only asking out of concern. You realize how distressed your family was when they lost not one, but two daughters?”

“Because they didn’t have anyone else left to sell?”

Lockspring tsked condescendingly, shaking his head. “You left them in quite a lurch, you know. Goldwick Candlery was practically bankrupt.”

“That was true before I left.”

“You’re the one who tanked the merger.” Lockspring leaned forward, tapping his fingers on the table. “Let’s put the cards on the table, Miss Goldwick. I’ve got enough charges laid against you that I’d be within my rights to drag you back to the islands right now.”

The bodyguard shifted his weight against the wall in the classic cliche of the not-so-subtle threat. Kezrin crossed her arms.

“Then why haven’t you? ‘Cause I’d like to see what good that’ll do you.”

“That’s the rub, isn’t it?” He chuckled as if expecting the question. “Simply locking you up would be largely punitive, of course. Can’t have you just breaking contracts whenever you wish. However, the Waxworths are now demanding extra concessions now that your fraud has been uncovered.”

“My fraud!”

“You haven’t been hiding out underneath an assumed name and identity? I didn’t think so.” He pulled a sheet of paper from a folder and consulted it. “Moving on, then, the Waxworths are demanding recompense. They are willing to accept fiscal compensation in lieu of time served. You also owe your parents financial compensation for their lost business, funeral costs, and emotional grief.”

“Emotional grief,” she repeated flatly. “Just how much are we talking?”

He grinned again, setting the invoice on the table and sliding it down toward her. Her breath caught at the amount.

“I could practically start a new company for that much!” She shoved it back at him.

“Most of that amount is paying Waxworth for the shares that would have been his if the marriage hadn’t been called off.”

“How the fel do you think I’m going to pay that?”

“We’ll accept a partial down payment, of course, followed by an installment plan at a reasonable interest rate. In exchange, we’ll drop all the charges.”

“Waxworth’s the one who should be sued. I only left because he was planning to kill me.”

“Was he, now?” Lockspring asked with no surprise. Kezrin was beginning to wonder exactly who he was representing. “Do you have proof? We could always take the contract into arbitration according to clause sixteen, subsection D. Of course you’ll still need to be held in custody until it’s determined there were extenuating circumstances. May be able to give you a discount on some of the fines.”

He slid the invoice back toward her. “I’ll give you a bit of time to assess your capital and resources. I strongly advise you don’t disappear again.”

“And if I did?”

“Right now we’ve negotiate for you to be under the parole of your employer. You wouldn’t want to cause them trouble. Nor is the AAMS the only company skilled at finding people, Miss Goldwick. I can always pay a visit to your sister in Hearthglen.” Lockspring stood from the table, gesturing for the bodyguard to come with him. “We’ll be in touch soon.”