By midday, when he returned to relieve his father at their small stall in the lesser market, Kaelan had mapped most of their neighborhood through his insect network. He'd discovered three hidden caches of valuables, overheard a dozen private conversations, and identified every entrance, exit, and hiding spot within his range.
He'd also cataloged the insect population available to him:
Desert ants, numerous and industrious, perfect for searching and carrying small objects. Flies and mosquitoes, ubiquitous in the city, ideal for surveillance. Spiders of various sizes, from tiny jumpers to hand-spanning hunters, skilled at accessing tight spaces. Scorpions, not abundant but present, especially in older structures, useful as a threat. Beetles, both common house varieties and exotic specimens kept by wealthy collectors, good for distraction or as living tools. Bees and wasps, found in gardens and around flowering plants, excellent as strategic deterrents. Silkworms, cultivated by merchants for their valuable thread, potentially lucrative.
More importantly, he'd remembered what he knew of Qarth from his previous life. The city was ruled by merchant guilds: the Thirteen, the Ancient Guild of Spicers, and the Tourmaline Brotherhood. Each was powerful in its own right, and they all contended with the Pureborn who nominally ruled the city. There were warlocks too, with their blue lips and strange powers, dwelling in the House of the Undying.
It was a city of intrigue and opportunity. A city where a clever young man with unusual abilities might carve out a place for himself, if he was cautious. If he was smart.
"Boy!" Eran's sharp voice cut through his thoughts as Kaelan approached the stall. "You're late again. Mind this while I go to settle accounts with Yezzan. And don't you dare let Malko's boy cheat you on the saffron price again, you hear me?"
"Yes, Father," Kaelan replied, taking his place behind the small counter.
Eran grunted, eyeing his son suspiciously for a moment before gathering his ledger. "I'll return before sundown. Don't wander off."
Kaelan watched him go, tracking his progress through the market with a cloud of flies that followed at a discreet distance. Once he was certain Eran was truly gone, he turned his attention to the stall itself.
It was a pitiful thing, really. A small wooden counter displaying meager amounts of saffron, pepper, cinnamon, and various other spices—all of dubious quality and age. Eran Dhasir had once been a spice trader of modest means, but years of poor decisions and poorer luck had reduced him to selling inferior goods in the lesser market.
Kaelan knew that tonight would be his last night in his father's house. Tomorrow, he'd begin a new life. But first, he needed capital.
Using his insects, he began a careful survey of the surrounding market. Flies slipped into coin purses, beetles crawled beneath stalls, ants explored the ground for dropped valuables. He was careful not to steal—not yet. For now, he was only gathering information.
Where did the wealthy merchants congregate? Which stalls earned the most coin? Who carried their wealth openly, and who concealed it? Which guards were attentive, and which could be distracted?
As the afternoon wore on, Kaelan sold small amounts of his father's spices while building a comprehensive map of opportunity. By the time the sun began to dip toward the horizon, he had identified several promising targets—not to rob outright, but to benefit from in more subtle ways.
When Eran returned, red-faced and smelling of wine, Kaelan dutifully reported the day's modest sales. His father grunted, pocketing the few coins without counting them, then gestured for Kaelan to pack up the stall.
"I'll be at the tavern," Eran muttered. "Have dinner prepared when I return."
Kaelan nodded, watching as his father shambled off toward the nearest wine sink. Through his fly scouts, he tracked the man's progress, confirming what he already knew—Eran would drink until his coin ran out, then stumble home to eat and pass out.
Perfect.
As he packed away the spices and folded the stall's awning, Kaelan finalized his plan. He'd leave tonight, taking only what he could carry easily. He'd make for the port district, where the opportunities were greatest and the scrutiny of newcomers least intense. And tomorrow, he'd begin using his powers in earnest.
The thought brought a smile to his face. In a city of merchants and secrets, a young man who could listen through walls and search any room without entering it would have advantages nobody could anticipate.
Let Qarth beware. The Spider had awakened.
True to form, Eran Dhasir returned home well after dark, staggering through the door reeking of sour wine and sweat. He devoured the simple meal Kaelan had prepared without a word of thanks, then collapsed onto his pallet in the main room, snoring before his head fully settled.
Kaelan waited an hour, tracking his father's descent into deeper sleep through the movements of a few careful flies. Once he was certain Eran wouldn't wake, he gathered his meager belongings: a change of clothes, a small knife, a waterskin, and the few coins he'd managed to hide away over the years. He added a handful of the better-quality spices from his father's stores—not enough to be immediately missed, but sufficient to trade for a meal or two if necessary.
He took one last look around the small house that had been his prison for seventeen years, feeling nothing but relief at leaving it behind. Then, silent as the spiders that now crawled alongside him, he slipped out into the Qartheen night.
The city was different after dark. Torches and oil lamps cast pools of flickering light amid the shadows, illuminating the faces of those who still prowled the streets: merchants returning home from late business, sailors seeking entertainment, guards on patrol, and those whose business flourished best in darkness.
Kaelan moved purposefully, keeping to the better-lit streets where a young man alone wouldn't draw too much attention. He extended his awareness through his swarm, using insects to scout ahead and behind, creating a sphere of perception that warned him of any potential dangers.
It took him nearly an hour to reach the port district, the air growing heavier with salt and the scents of the sea as he approached. Even at this late hour, the area hummed with activity. Ships needed to be loaded and unloaded, goods secured, deals made. The great port of Qarth never truly slept.
Kaelan found a quiet alley near the edge of the district and settled in for the night. Using his insects, he created a protective perimeter—nothing obvious, just enough that he'd be warned if anyone approached. Then, wrapping himself in his cloak, he allowed himself a few hours of rest. Tomorrow would be a day of opportunity, and he needed to be sharp.
Dawn found him already awake and alert, his mind connected to thousands of tiny scouts exploring the port district. As the sun climbed higher, he moved out into the growing bustle, careful to project the confidence of someone who belonged. In Qarth, as in most places, looking uncertain was an invitation for trouble.
He spent the morning watching and learning, using his insects to explore every nook and cranny of the port. By midday, he had mapped most of the major warehouses, identified the busiest trading areas, and pinpointed several promising spots where valuable items might have been lost or forgotten.
It was time to test his theory.
Keeping his expression neutral, Kaelan began walking along the docks, casually gathering insects as he went. Ants and beetles joined his swarm by the hundreds, climbing up his legs and into his clothing where they remained hidden. Flies and gnats formed a near-invisible cloud around him. Spiders dropped onto his shoulders from overhangs, quickly disappearing into his hair or collar.
To anyone watching, he was just another young man strolling through the port. But beneath that ordinary exterior, he was building an army.
As he passed a group of merchants lounging in the shade of a warehouse, one of them called out, "Hey, boy! Aren't you Eran's son?"
Kaelan turned slowly, recognizing the man—Malko, one of his father's few remaining business associates. With him were three other merchants, all nursing cups of wine despite the early hour.
"Yes, sir," Kaelan replied politely, inclining his head.
Malko snorted, exchanging amused glances with his companions. "Running errands for that drunken fool, are you? Or has he finally sold you to the slavers to cover his debts?"
The others chuckled, clearly enjoying the mockery. Kaelan forced his expression to remain neutral, though inside, his anger flared.
"Actually, I'm establishing my own connections now," he said coolly.
This brought a round of laughter from the merchants. "Oh, is that so?" Malko grinned, showing stained teeth. "And what connections would those be? The beggars' guild?"
Kaelan simply smiled, turning away without another word. Let them laugh. They wouldn't be laughing for long.
Moving deeper into the port district, he began his real work. Following the mental map created by his insect scouts, he directed his swarm to search specific locations—the gaps between warehouse planks, the spaces beneath piers, the forgotten corners of storage rooms.
The results exceeded even his expectations.
Within an hour, his insects had located dozens of dropped coins, a silver bracelet that had slipped between the boards of a dock, a small pearl earring lost in the sand, and several small packets of valuable spices that had fallen from torn sacks.
Carefully, discreetly, he retrieved these items one by one, making sure no one noticed as his ant columns delivered tiny treasures to his waiting hands. Each find was quickly secreted away in his pockets or pouch, to be evaluated properly later.
By late afternoon, Kaelan had amassed a small fortune in recovered goods—nothing that would make him rich, but more than enough to secure lodging and food for several days while he developed his next move.
It was time to cash in on his first day's work. And he knew exactly where to start.
Retracing his steps, Kaelan made his way back to where Malko and his friends had been drinking. As he expected, they were still there, now visibly drunk and louder than before.
"Well, if it isn't Eran's boy again," Malko called as Kaelan approached. "Come back for more mockery, have you?"
Kaelan smiled thinly, reaching into his pouch. "Actually, I thought you might be interested in this." He held up a small item that gleamed gold in the late afternoon sun—a merchant's signet ring, its face etched with the mark of one of the Thirteen. His insects had found it wedged in a crack near the harbormaster's office.
Malko's bleary eyes widened, his mockery forgotten. "Where did you get that?" he demanded, suddenly much more sober.
"I have my ways," Kaelan replied, deliberately mysterious. "The question is, what would it be worth to you?"
The older merchant stared at him with new respect and a hint of suspicion. "Two hundred honors," he offered finally.
Kaelan scoffed. "A ring bearing the mark of one of the Thirteen? It's worth five times that, at least."
"Three hundred, then," Malko countered, "and I don't ask how a boy like you came to possess it."
"Seven hundred," Kaelan said firmly, "and you tell your friends that Kaelan Dhasir is no longer running errands for his father."
There was a long moment of silence as Malko assessed him, clearly trying to determine if he was bluffing. Finally, the merchant nodded slowly.
"Seven hundred it is," he agreed, reaching for a purse at his belt. "Though your father won't be pleased to hear you're trading on your own account."
Kaelan accepted the coins, feeling their weight with satisfaction. "My father," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "no longer has any say in my affairs."
As he turned to leave, one of Malko's companions called after him, "If you find any more interesting items, boy, bring them to us first!"
Kaelan didn't bother to answer. He was already planning his next move. With seven hundred honors in his purse—enough to live modestly for months—he could secure proper lodging, better clothes, and begin establishing himself in earnest.
And that was just the beginning. As his insects continued to scout the port district, they were already finding more treasures, more opportunities, more secrets to be exploited.
In a city built on trade and intrigue, information was the most valuable currency of all. And with his army of tiny spies, Kaelan Dhasir was about to become very, very rich indeed.