The auditor's name was Pendwick. He took very good notes. That was more or less all you needed to know about him.
He arrived at the Guild Hall at precisely the time he said he would, which I noted because nobody in my experience ever did that. He was a small man with careful handwriting and an expression that told me he had spent a long time being the least physically capable person in any room and had made his peace with it.
The actual dungeon we were set to clean, called The Spore Hollow, was a fungal dungeon we had cleared once before. It was a strangely beautiful place. Bioluminescent fungus and mushrooms cast everything in blues and purples. Massive mushroom caps were the majority of the natural architecture, providing streets, platforms and ceilings. Some were big enough to build villages on. Mycelium webs connected everything in a massive network.
I was surprised that we had been assigned a repeat job for an audited dungeon run. A new dungeon would make more sense, providing unknown challenges and requiring quick thinking. But I recalled a phrase about looking a gift horse in the mouth and decided to roll with it.
The challenges were indeed familiar.
The monsters were odd: Spore Crawlers — small, fast, fungal creatures that would burst into clouds of toxic spores when killed, making cleanup genuinely unpleasant. Mycelian Hulks — slow, massive, fungal constructs that were more obstacle than predator. Shriek Caps — stationary fungal growths that emitted ear-splitting sounds when disturbed. Rot Wraiths — mana manifestations that had absorbed the dungeon's ambient spore energy, leaving corrosive residue when destroyed.
Fortunately, it seemed as though the adventurers had properly cleared the place, and there were no premature respawns. Pendwick was thoroughly terrified anyway, and routinely hid behind Hask, taking notes. I noticed he didn't take a lot of them however; I expected an imperial auditor to be extremely thorough. He was not.
Spore residue got into everything and needed specialized treatment — a chemical called Shroomsolve, something Tessa mixed specifically for fungal mana. The excess mycelium webbing regrew if not properly dissolved. The bioluminescence interfered with standard mana readings, making Tessa's work harder than usual, but she got through it with little challenge. Rot Wraith residue was corrosive enough to eat through standard equipment if left untreated.
We cleaned the entire dungeon in a couple of hours. Pendwick, despite being scared, did not complain once about the monotony. He simply observed, occasionally asking the odd question. He did seem genuinely interested in our team.
He also seemed like he would wet himself when he saw the Boss. In the Core chamber lay the body of a dead dragon – not a slightly amorphous, dragon-like horror like the Boss of the Ebon Maw, but a proper dragon. Black scales, curled, ram-like horns, fangs the size of daggers. I was told last time that his name was Blackclaw.
After assuring our auditor that the Boss was, in fact, fully dead, we made relatively quick work of dissolving the body.
The Core was tampered with, because of course it was. When Tessa had announced it, Pendwick made a note. Just one. That was odd. I wrote it off. He was the government professional here, after all.
We scrubbed the Core and warped out, surprised that the run had been so clean and undemanding.
At the entrance to the dungeon, Pendwick debriefed us. "Alright!"
He perched his glasses on the end of his nose and squinted at his notes. "Threat level low, cleaning handled efficiently, no team conflict, no injuries…yes, indeed, this looks like a pass."
Hask grunted. "So what's next?"
The auditor gestured to his notebook. "Well I've got what I need. When you all are reinstated, you'll be officially B-Rank janitors."
"When?"
He quickly corrected himself. "If and when, is what I meant."
"Mhm."
Pendwick adjusted his glasses, smoothed out his clothes and cleared his throat. "Well done to you all! I will be taking my leave here. I bid you all farewell and good luck in the future."
Tessa piped up. "You're not coming back with us?"
"Oh no."
As he spoke, a small portal opened behind him. "I have channels for return."
"At least take us-"
The portal closed as he stepped through. "With you…"
Hask shook his head and addressed us. "We've got a half-day trip ahead of us. We'll take the road, in case we can catch a ride with a merchant caravan. Five minutes."
We complied without a word, preparing our gear for travel. Kael packed SCRUB up, the machine booping in a satisfied manner. I sidled up next to Hask and spoke quietly. "Varkas paid him off, didn't he?"
The foreman did not look at me. "Most likely."
We left it at that and started the journey home.
A couple of days later we received word that our B-Rank Licenses were approved and we were cleared for active duty once more.
We were back.
A few days after the dungeon job, I found myself walking through the streets with Tessa.
She had a shipment coming in. Crocus threads, she explained, which were apparently rare enough to warrant a dedicated trip to the docks rather than waiting for the guild supply chain to sort itself out.
I hadn't known what Crocus threads were, but by the time we reached the waterfront I had a reasonably thorough understanding of what they were, where they came from, what they did, and approximately forty years of history regarding their use in advanced mana-stabilization work.
Tessa added that she specifically used them to stabilize the corrupted mana we kept finding in the dungeon Cores so that it could be observed. "I lay them out on the Core in a weave and then burn them from the left corner. The way the weave burns ensures a residue is left on the Core that stabilizes the weird mana."
I almost bumped into someone because I was paying such close attention to what she was saying. "So do you have to lay it on a specific spot on the Core?"
She shook her head, her red curls bouncing. "No. Crocus doesn't usually react to healthy mana. I don't know the real nitty gritty of it, to be honest. But I think the plants are bred that way."
"You're really smart."
She blushed. "I just read a lot of books."
We were both distracted from the conversation as the heavy smell of salt water finally reached us.
The city opened up — suddenly wider, louder, the cramped streets giving way to open sky and the broad grey expanse of the harbor. Ships of every size lined the waterfront, their masts a forest of bare wood against the afternoon clouds. Dockhands moved between them with practiced efficiency. Crates, barrels, ropes, nets — the accumulated material of a city that needed things from everywhere else and had built an entire district around the receiving of them.
The water itself was dark and restless, catching the light in pieces rather than all at once. It smelled like distance, if distance had a smell — salt and cold and several other things that I couldn't name.
Tessa had gone quiet, which meant she was looking at everything simultaneously and hadn't decided what to say about it yet.
That lasted approximately four seconds. "Oh — oh, Lorne, look —"
She had already grabbed my arm.
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What she was looking at had just rounded the harbor mouth.
It was a galleon — huge. The kind that made everything else in the harbor look like it was still figuring out what it wanted to be when it grew up.
Four masts rose from its deck in descending order from bow to stern, the two forward ones carrying wide square sails in deep forest green that caught the wind with ease. The two rear masts carried narrower triangular sails — a rust-orange that matched the painted trim along the hull — angled to catch what the square sails couldn't.
The hull itself was dark, almost black, the wood so weathered and treated it was practically made of the sea rather than just used to sail it.
Along the waterline, faded gold lettering spelled out a name I couldn't read from this distance. At the stern, flying from the highest point of the rear mast, was a flag — deep green with a silver tree, branches spread wide, roots visible beneath.
The Verdant Expanse.
I looked at Tessa.
Her face had done something I hadn't seen it do before. Not the wide-eyed excitement of the festival or the professional focus of a dungeon job. Something quieter than either. Something that looked, if I was reading it correctly, like home.
The galleon continued its slow, deliberate approach toward the dock, lines already being thrown from its deck to the waiting handlers below. "Oh…my…gods…"
I saw what was coming.
"LORNE! IT'S FROM THE VERDANT EXPANSE! OH! OH! IT'S A HALFLING SHIP, IT'S GOTTA BE!"
She was bouncing up and down with such fervor that I thought she might take off into the sky at any moment. "ELVES DON'T HAVE A LOT OF SHIPS! IF IT'S A HALFLING SHIP, I BET THEY HAVE ALL KINDS OF NEAT THINGS!"
I watched her with a grin. After everything we'd been dealing with, it was nice to see her get so worked up. "OOOOO! WHAT IF THEY HAVE BRAMBLEWOOD HONEY?!?! I'm sure they do, it's the best thing ever! OH! OH! I BET THEY HAVE LOTS OF PIPEWEED TOO – the good stuff, too! OOOOO – AND THAT'S PROBABLY WHERE MY SHIPMENT OF CROCUS THREAD IS! THAT'S PERFECT! AND –"
She stopped and let out the biggest, most dramatic gasp I'd ever heard. "THEY MIGHT HAVE CORRESPONDENCE – my mom always writes me letters – AND I WOULDN'T HAVE TO WAIT FOR THE POSTAL SERVICE!"
She looked at me, and the joy in her eyes only made me grin even wider. "And I might have family on the ship's crew!"
I chuckled. "Then let's get going."
She didn't respond. Before I could say anything further she was racing toward the ship at full tilt. I often forgot how fast she was, and it was only seconds before she was further ahead than I could easily follow.
Then I caught something that made my smile falter. Something I didn't realize I would ever be able to catch.
The ship had fully docked by this point, sliding into place in a way that told me it was expertly handled by its crew. I saw a metal pipe bolted to the side of the ship. A crewman – who definitely looked to be a halfling – was preparing to tug a length of rope attached to it.
I didn't know how I knew what it was, but I did.
A ship's whistle. Set to announce its arrival officially.
Some instinct in me that I didn't fully recognize kicked in.
Tessa.
The whistle was so loud that I was sure it could be heard from the Guild Hall across the city. Shrill, yet booming, it made sure that if anyone had any doubts about a ship being there, they were quickly assuaged.
I blinked and suddenly I was standing behind Tessa, both of my hands clamped firmly over her ears, just as the whistle went off. I saw her whole body flinch at the start of the sound and then relax as it was muffled. Then, as the noise faded she quickly became confused.
I removed my hands as she turned, looking up at me with a puzzled expression that matched how I was feeling.
I had done it again.
Night Step.
I didn't have time to question it, as my thoughts were interrupted by Tessa. "What was that about?"
The question wasn't accusatory, but genuinely baffled. Looking down into her eyes, I suddenly knew what that clench in my gut had been. "Do you remember that dungeon we were in that was just a giant train possessed by a demon?"
She nodded, as if I had said the most mundane thing in the world. "The Screaming Line, of course."
"Well…I noticed that every time the train blew its whistle, you got upset, like it was hurting you."
Her face did several things consecutively – acknowledgement, realization, further confusion, and finally, acceptance. "Yeah. I'm scared of loud noises like that. And the fact that the train whistle was fueled by the souls of the eternally damned was not helping."
I nodded. "Yeah, that too."
"So you ran up just to cover my ears?"
That question seemed to carry all of her befuddlement. I had been at least fifty yards from her. "Well…yeah…"
I couldn't think of anything else to say.
She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment before a wide grin broke out on her face and she pulled me into a tight hug, arms wrapped tightly around my waist. "You're the best, you know that?"
Her voice was muffled against my waist. I felt myself get flush. "I mean, I'm alright, I suppose. Come on. Let's go see the ship."
She let me go and we ventured down to the docks, together this time. Her hand did not leave mine.
The dock was a veritable beehive of activity — ropes being secured, cargo manifests being checked, crewmen coming down the gangplank with the relieved energy of people who had been at sea long enough to be nostalgic for the feeling of solid ground.
We had barely taken three steps toward the ship when Tessa made a sound I can only describe as a halfling war cry and detached from my side entirely.
My gaze followed her to see her bounding toward a halfling sailor that had just made it off of the docks. He looked exactly how I would picture a sailor: windswept and sunburnt, a tousle of long blonde hair blowing dramatically in the sea breeze. He wore loose-fitting clothing in a variety of colors that did not match whatsoever. At his side was a fearsome looking saber. His stride was cocksure, especially for someone who was wobbling.
"BERNIE!!!!"
Tessa's voice was overflowing with excitement. The sailor looked up just in time for her to collide with him.
Without missing a beat, the sailor wrapped his arms around her and spun her about. "Tessa!"
I continued to keep my stride casual, but approached the two curiously.
Once she had regained her feet, she bounced enthusiastically. "I had no idea you'd be coming into port today! How are you?"
The halfling – Bernie, I assumed – grinned a crooked grin. "How am I? How am I?! I'm g-g —" he clicked his tongue, pivoted without breaking stride, "—spectacular. Never better. Three months at sea and not a single kraken."
"You saw a kraken?!"
"No, that's what I said. Not a single one."
"Oh."
He looked past her at me, and the crooked grin widened. "And who's this?"
Tessa turned, seeming to remember I existed. "Oh! Bernie, this is Lorne. He's on my team at the guild."
Bernie looked me up and down with the unhurried assessment of someone who made a habit of sizing people up. Whatever conclusion he reached, he seemed satisfied with it. He extended a hand. "Bernie Copperpatch, at your service. Right pleasure."
I shook it. "Lorne Callister, and likewise."
He looked between us with an expression that hinted at him connecting dots. "So are you her b-b—" He stopped. Started again. "Gentleman caller?"
Tessa went seventeen shades of red and very enthusiastically tried to change the subject. "Did you come from Clearharbor?"
Bernie shook his head. "Ain't been home in some time. We were in elf country for a while, working up in Silverfen."
Tessa looked skeptical. "A halfling working in Silverfen…that would mean…"
She gasped. "Bernard Winkler Copperpatch…have you taken up –" her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper "–piracy?!"
The sailor went wide-eyed. "A bold accusation, cousin! I'll have you know that now every sailor in Silverfen is a pirate!"
Tessa giggled. "It's okay if you are, Lorne's an assassin."
"Tessa, I'm not an assassin."
"You don't know that!"
"Neither do you."
The sailor looked at me with a different expression this time: curiosity mixed with caution. "He does have a rather n-n – acrobatic look to him."
Tessa nodded enthusiastically. "He's amazing! We were in a dungeon, there was this dart trap, and I was pretty sure I was gonna die, then Lorne –WOOSH – Lorne saved me! And our friend Alara! He caught a dart, Bernie, it was so cool! He –"
I held up a hand. "Tessa, let's not give out too much Guild Business."
"But it was just a –"
I fixed Tessa with a look and she stopped in her tracks with a sudden understanding and nodded. "Right. Sorry."
Bernie clapped my shoulder with a grip I was certain could have bent a sword. "Well in any case, it seems like you're a stand-up fellow, assassin or not, if ya saved my cousin. You have my thanks."
I nodded awkwardly. "Anyone would've done the same."
"You'd be surprised, lad. But Tessa ain't a liar, and I can tell when she's spinning a tall tale. Seems like she found herself a keeper!"
"Bernie –"
"Anyways! I gotta get going. Gotta get this cargo manifest to the Harbormaster."
Tessa looked as though she had just remembered our whole reason for being here. "Is the ship carrying Crocus threads?"
He nodded. "Aye. Got one t-t-ti– small box. That yours?"
"Yep!"
"Must've been expensive."
"It's important."
He adopted a serious expression. "You keeping safe?"
Tessa shifted her weight, almost embarrassed. "Yeah, mostly."
"Mhm. Well, we'll be unloading within the hour, come to the ship then, we'll get it in your hands."
He looked at me. "Keep her safe."
He hugged Tessa again, tightly, shook my hand once more, and strode off along the docks.
We watched him go quietly for a long moment, Tessa looking quietly elated.