Chapter 23

Centralmarket, Oldtown

When Quinn arrived at the Dragon Bank, he was surprised to find found that word of his coming had preceded him. A small gray gnome waited at the door and gave a deep bow of greeting. Quinn politely requested an audience with Lady Pang. The gnome asked him to take a seat in the waiting area and dashed off.

Quinn looked around curiously. A small part of him marveled he was even here in the mythic bank. In his younger days, his kind weren’t allowed to walk the streets in Centralmarket, let alone visit the mythic bank of the dragons. He took a seat in a corner close to the exit and spent the time marveling at the skills of whatever beings had built this place. He had an odd feeling of discomfort and realized that the dragon whip symbiote that the troll women had gifted him was retreating deeper into his body. He puzzled over its odd behavior until he realized it was terrified to be near dragon kind. He tried sending it soothing thoughts, but it ignored him and continued to retreat.

After a five-minute wait, a massive orc dressed incongruously in an English butler’s morning suit strode up and wordlessly gestured for him to follow.

“Ware, Keeper.” That surprising warning given; the Orc effortlessly opened two massive brass bound white oak doors that Quinn estimated to weigh north of a ton.

Quinn nodded thanks and walked through the opened door.

“Lachlan Quinn, Mistress,” the butler’s deep voice announced behind him. The doors closed without a sound.

Quinn stepped forward only to find his way blocked by two tall sword slender Sidhe lordlings. One regarded him with contempt, while the other, who bore a familiar crest on his armor, glared cold hatred at him.

Daoine royals.

Another shoe drops. I knew this was going to be a fucking mess. Now we find out how bad it really is.

He stopped and regarded them silently. The Other clamored to merge. It did not care for the Sidhe.

Peace, brother. Let us learn what’s going on.

“Let him by my lords,” sang a fluting a voice that sounded like tinkling silver bells.

The Lady Iris of The Daoine Sidhe Court was perfection personified—her features were utterly feminine but far too perfect to have any sort of sexual allure. Huge jade colored cat eyes gleamed with vast ancient intelligence. They held no trace of kindness or warmth.

She lounged across from two delicately beautiful Chinese women; one dressed all in red, the other in green, both wearing in what Quinn recalled were cheongsams.

The dragon banker’s daughters.

The room carried a faint scent of myrrh. He wondered which one had magic.

Royalty, I guess I shoulda dressed up, his thought made him quirk a faint smile.

The elder daughter’s eyes quirked humor back at him like she read his thoughts. She took an elegant sip from a teacup from a tea service that sat on an ancient hammered brass table. Quinn eyed it, imagining it might have graced one of the Great Kahn’s tents.

“May the Singer and Song bless you, Lady Iris and you all as well, Milady Bankers.”

“You are well come, Lachlan Quinn,” the scarlet clad banker sang in flawless high alfar. “Please be seated and take your ease. Would you care for some tea?” She signaled a handsome half-blood wood elf, who silently glided over and poured tea into a hand painted teacup that was so thin it was translucent.

Quinn watched him move and instantly figured him for the one of the bank’s feared enforcer/assassins. All beings in Oldtown, with any sense, carefully avoided running afoul of the bank’s enforcers. He nodded his thanks but was careful not to touch the bone china cup. He had a fleeting thought that he needed to take mental notes so he could describe the cups and elegant tea service perfectly. Mistress Marigold would be sure to interrogate him.

She switched to standard English. “How may I be of service, Lachlan Quinn?”

Quinn grinned an inward grin as he saw all three of women’s persona light up with a bright eyed, breathless attentiveness. He was suddenly a most fascinating being—and if he would share his secret thoughts and especially some of his secrets, the tale would be ever so precious and entertaining. The room filled with warm spicy scent of myrrh as one of the dragon daughters cast a subtle compulsion spell. His glyphs flared under his ragged workman’s shirt.

All eyes widened slightly when the spell frayed and fell away.

“The Lady Luciana Marinus tasked me to stop by and reassure you she had only peaceful intentions for you last meeting. She assured me she did not hire the assassin.”

“Forgive me, Keeper. I will be blunt. I know that. I am not a fool. And what is more, she knows I know that. Why did she send you? What is her real purpose?”

Quinn decided to give her his boyish grin. “I have no idea. I’m but a simple human.”

The Lady Iris gave a delicate, disbelieving cough.

Quinn relented. “I suspect she is concerned about the state of affairs here in Oldtown. More particularly here at the Bank. I also suspect that she thought you could convince me to look into things. But Oldtown’s problems are not mine. She tasked me with delivering a message and I have. My secondary purpose is to assure myself that the witch-crafter, Elisabeth Van Horn, is alive and here willingly.”

The Dragon shifter smiled. “And if she isn’t here willingly?”

“Well Mistress,” Quinn’s voice was mild. “Then I will take steps.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Quinn saw the wood-elf stiffen.

The dragon woman seemed amused by his implied threat.