The director glanced briefly at Elara, then back at Keane. "Well, let's just say its different," he said. "Your permit will be provisional, subject to review after three days."
Keane nodded.
The Director produced a thin slate, already inscribed with Keane's name and a stamped seal. "This grants you residency for seventy-two hours, unrestricted access to the merchant and craft districts, and limited access to the inner ring. No entry to certain areas unless permitted by appropriate authority. Lady Vane will explain more of that to you." He slid the slate across the desk. "If you break any law, it will be revoked. Instantly."
Keane picked up the slate, feeling the weight of the Director's gaze. "Understood."
The Director leaned back, satisfied. "Return in three days, and your full documents will be ready."
Elara thanked the Director, her tone polite but distant. they then left the office, back through the maze of clerks and guards, and out into the sunlight.
As they climbed into the wagon, Keane turned to Elara. "That went smoother than I expected."
Elara's smile was thin. "It's not over yet. The city keeps its eyes open, always. Don't get into trouble."
"Of course, thank you." Keane said.
The ride back to the Merchants' Inn was uneventful, which was itself suspicious. Elara spoke little, her mind clearly elsewhere, the set of her jaw betraying some private calculation, while Sylvi watched the streets.
When the wagon pulled up in front of the inn, Elara turned to Keane. "I have business in the upper district," she said. "You may do as you please, but do not get arrested. Not even I can pull a ghost out of the pit."
Keane saluted softly, mocking but not disrespectful, though he doubted she would understand the gesture after he had done it. "I'll be the picture of good citizenship."
As they departed, Sylvi with Elara, Keane made his way into the Inn. Inside the inn, Joren greeted him with a smile, eyes darting to the slate visible in Keane's vest pocket.
"All in order, then?" Joren asked, voice oily.
"For now," Keane said. "You always this curious?"
Joren's smile widened. "In this city, curiosity is a virtue." He leaned in, dropping his voice. "But sometimes, so is discretion. Lady Vane's rivals are not above using outsiders as pawns. You'd be wise to keep a low profile."
"Of course." He answered. He would probe for information, but that would be dining with the devil.
Keane took the stairs two at a time, let himself into his room, and dropped onto the bed.
Still, sitting alone felt like wasting time, so he stood and pocketed the slate before heading back out.
Keane wandered the streets taking in the sights, letting the city show itself on its own terms. He cut through alleys and side streets, noting the subtle changes in accent, dress, and even the smells from one block to the next. Every so often, he'd catch someone watching him, a merchant's apprentice, a beggar, a pair of kids with the look of street rats, some lingered, others didn't. He didn't pay too much attention to it, after all, he hadn't seen anyone his height yet, so it was natural.
He drifted through the market again, sampling a stick of grilled meat and a mug of something like cider. The drink was sweet, and he wondered if there were drugs in it, but nothing felt off.
With the sun setting, he was just about to turn back when he heard a scuffle from a side alley near the inn. It wasn't the dramatized kind, no screams, no clash of swords. Keane decided to check it out.
He noticed a boy, maybe eighteen or older, in a ragged shirt and barely clean trousers. He was hunched over a slumped figure.
The boy's hands moved quick, rifling the pockets of another man who was out cold, probably unconscious.
Keane recognized the move immediately, a classic pickpocket clean-up, fast and precise. He let the boy finish, then stepped into view, arms folded.
"Hell of a technique," Keane said. "You always work this close to the city watch?"
The boy spun, a knife flashing into his hand. Seeing it, Keane grinned, a bit impressed.
"Who're you?" the boy hissed, eyes darting to Keane's vest, maybe the slate inside.
"Just a tourist," Keane said. "But if you're going to rob people, you should really check for witnesses."
The boy's grip tightened on the knife, looking behind him a few times. "You a watchman?"
Keane shook his head. "Well… Not today." He said in a teasing tone.
The boy seemed to weigh his options, then lunged. He was fast, but not fast enough. Keane sidestepped, grabbed the boy's wrist, and then gave it a good twist.
He boy felt the pain, but instead of screaming he contained himself, lest he drew attention. The knife clattered to the ground, and for a split second, Keane thought he would break the boy's hand, so he adjusted his strength accordingly, he just held it tight, forcing the boy to his knees.
"Easy," Keane said. "I'm not here to rat you out, but I do want something."
The boy glared up, face twisted with pain and pride. "What?" He said through gritted teeth.
"Information," Keane said. "You see a lot from down here. Tell me, who really runs this city?"
"And why would you care?" The boy asked as he grunted.
"That is none of your concern."
After a second or three, he gave in to the pain. "The Guilds run the market. The Viscount runs the walls. But the Red Guild—" the boy looked around, wary even now "—they run the rest. They know everything, even what happens in the palace."
Keane released the arm, and the boy scrambled back, rubbing his wrist and shoulder.
"Why do you care?" the boy asked, picking up his knife.
"Because I might want to run something myself, someday," Keane said, smiling. "As for you, this encounter better not reach anybody's ears, you understand?"
The boy stared at him like he was mad, then nodded understandingly before he bolted down the alley.
Keane watched him go, then knelt to check the victim. Just a drunk, pockets lighter but otherwise fine.
With nothing left to do, he turned and made his way back to the Inn for the time being.