Callum is asked to prove himself

The room that Callum stepped into was brighter lit than the corridor and staircase, with the light cast by several chandeliers serving primarily to illustrate how sparingly furnished it was.

Sitting behind a large desk covered in rolled-up parchment and closed ledgers was a man, about Cahern’s age – meaning late thirties or early forties – with sharp features and skin too dark for him to be of pure highlander descent. His hair too was quite dark, in the places where it hadn’t started to turn grey. As for his clothes, they were pretty expensive-looking without being gaudy.

“You’re Cahern’s nephew,” The man said in greeting of Callum, then got out of his seat and moved out from behind it while seriously favouring his right leg. He didn’t use a cane though.

“Yes,” Callum replied to the limping stranger, noting that he too was unarmed. Or at least seemed to be.

“It’s not hard to tell,” The man smiled as he moved in closer and offered Callum his hand, which he shook, “I’m Baram.”

“Callum.”

“How much has Cahern told you about what we’re doing here?”

“Only that it’s crazy and that it should suit me.”

With a nod and a smile at Callum’s blunt answer, Baram moved back to his desk.

“If it’s one thing you’re going to learn fast about Zatakia it’s that people don’t tell you everything straight away,” Baram explained, taking a seat and not offering Callum one, “But what I’ll tell you right from the start is that your uncle is right. My plan is crazy, and anyone who gets involved in it might end running for their lives, dead or rich and powerful.”

“It’ll also involve going up against some proper bastards with more influence than they have any right to have,” For a second, Baram’s face became locked in a tight grimace before softening into a dry smile, “On the plus side, there’s a good chance you’ll have beautiful, busty women throwing themselves at you.”

Callum nodded, and the image of Ilyria popped up inside his head.

“Sound interesting?”

Again, Callum nodded.

“Good. There’s a brothel owned by a woman named Zoriah. Ever been to a whorehouse?”

This time, Callum shook his head instead.

“Well, you might not enter one tonight either,” Baram smiled dryly once more, “There’s a nasty little shit that runs a gang of bandits that controls a handful of neighbourhoods, including the one with Zoriah’s whorehouse in it.”

“Why hasn’t anyone killed him yet?” The idea of justice was quite straightforward where Callum came from.

“Because they don’t know how,” The thin smile persisted as Baram shrugged and brought his fingertips together, “This isn’t the highlands, Callum. Not everyone knows how to handle a sword round here. A lot of people haven’t even held one.”

“Anyway, I want you to find out his name and where his gang’s holed up,” Without pausing, Baram resumed laying out the matter at hand, “They’ve added slaving to the mix, and you’re likely to catch them picking up their latest victim if you wait outside the whorehouse.”

“Is the woman who owns the whorehouse in on it?” Callum had been raised in the belief that hospitality was sacred. If a man showed up at your doorstep, you gave him shelter for the night and treated him honourably.

“Probably not,” Now it was Baram who shook his head, “Some gangs like this one **** brothels and bars under their ‘protection’ to **** a few of their customers and hand them over to them. Then they sell them on to the more powerful slavers. If this Zoriah would try to refuse to do it, she’d more than likely end up dead or in chains and waiting to be sold to some grabby, pig-eyed shit of a merchant.”

“You already know the name of this bandit leader, don’t you?” Callum wasn’t dumber or more naive than to recognize that he was being tested.

“Your uncle’s got a good head on his shoulder, Callum, though he hides it well,” Baram grinned, “I’m hoping the same’s true of you. Either way, we’ll find out soon enough.”

“That we will,” With no questions to ask Baram, Callum figured he might as well get proving that he wasn’t just dumb muscle over and done with.