Meeting a forger

Once outside the warehouse, you pause at the edge of the quay, your gaze sweeping across the empty stretch of dock that occupies the rear third of the compound. Weathered planks creak softly beneath the breeze, their surfaces bleached pale by the sun. No ship rests at berth, no riverboat tied to the posts that jut like broken teeth from the water’s edge. It is as it should be. The riverboat is not due until tomorrow, and the ocean vessel will not arrive for weeks yet.

Any other day, you might have lingered, watching the broad river surge toward the bay in a ceaseless, churning flow, its waters glinting like gemstones. Today, the sight barely registers. Your attention is elsewhere, drawn tight around the final play of your grand design.

A quick glance to either side confirms what you already expect. No one dawdles nearby, no idle stevedores or curious servants. Not that it would matter as lead representative of your people. Concessions were exactly that, land conceded, leased, and signed away in careful script and mutual agreement. Most such enclaves concern themselves with trade and coin, run by merchant houses, coasters, or even enterprising guilds eager for profit.

You do not disdain such pursuits, but your role has always been more than mercantile as ambassador of your glorious people. Why you were placed here, so far from your homeland, far from any artery of imperial trade, is a question that lingers like a thorn beneath the skin. Others avoid mentioning it in front of you. The answer is obvious enough: rivals with long memories and deeper purses. They will rue the day I come back resplendent, a thousand slaves following in my wake! The thought sharpens your expression, a faint curl of savage satisfaction touching your reptilian lips before it fades.

You had chosen this part of your compound to make the trade-off, timing the guard shift perfectly. While you had no fears about a traitor amongst your ranks, you pruned those out your first year here, you were still wary of outside observers.

A quick scan of the nearby buildings showed nothing out of the ordinary. With a practiced motion, you flick your inner eyelids across your vision. The world dulls for a heartbeat, colors muting as faint traces of heat resolve into clarity. No hidden forms. No lurking shapes cloaked by magical trickery.

By the smaller postern gate, your contact waits.

The human man shifts his weight as you approach, his posture uncertain. Confusion flickers across his face before settling into something more guarded, though you could still sense his disquiet. His voice was surprisingly light for such a thick-set man. "Same deal as last time?" His beard, thick and unkempt, stirs with the motion of his jaw as he speaks.

You keep your shudder from showing, disturbed by the way the thing moved. Disgusting things really.

You incline your head, offering no more than that. The contractual scroll passes from your hand to his through the narrow gap in the gate. The moment it leaves your grasp, some small tension in your chest eases, but does not vanish.

You begin to turn away when a rough cough halts you mid-motion. A sharp hiss escapes you before you can stop it, your body tensing instinctively.

“My payment, m’lord?”

You blinked.

“Oh. Of course.” The reply comes quickly, though a faint edge creeps into your tone.

You reached down into your robe, wrapping your scaled hand around the pouch of coi-

Erm.

You freeze, claws catching on empty air. You distinctly remember picking up your coin pouch this morning for precisely this meeting. Just as you had every other time you met with this forger for all the other contractual scrolls.

A strange stillness settles between the two of you. As if a virtuous god had just smiled down upon you, the dirty man did not dart into an alleyway or even scowl at you. Instead, he blinks, slow and uncertain, as though he too senses something amiss but cannot name it.

Making up your mind quickly, you wrenched off one of your bracelets. Silver catches the light, set with small amethysts that gleam with muted violet fire. You press it into his hand without ceremony. Surprise flashes across his features, his bushy brows lifting as he weighs the piece. It was at the very least double your standard payment. “Generous, m’lord! I won’t forget this!”

Now he moves as expected, turning sharply and vanishing into the nearby alley. Within moments, he is gone.

The well of frustration drew deep inside you, boiling and frothing. Nothing about this morning had aligned as it should. Each slithering glide had carried some small flaw, some subtle discordance that refused to be ignored. That insipid feeling haunting you over your shoulder only grew bolder, loudly ringing in the back of your mind that something truly was wrong.

An involuntary shudder shook your bulk as it ran down your spine to the tip of your tail. You exhale slowly, steadying yourself. There were other plans for today, carefully arranged, but they could wait if need be. You again wished that Mylora or Laethir were here, your nuts felt heavy with pent-up need and your cock was lipsticking from its sheath, threatening to poke out of your robes.

The nearby river rushed along as it always has, indifferent to the fracture beginning to form within your carefully ordered world.