The paper hit Renzly’s desk with a sharp slap.
“And just what is this supposed ta mean?” Grizweld Hopper jabbed a finger at newspaper. “You’re workin’ for a rival paper?”
The Scholar lay flat under his finger, one of the Renzly’s pictures clearly showing on the first page.
“Hey, now,” Renzly Silvertip shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “No one ever said anythin’ ‘bout me workin’ for The Inside Trade exclusively.”
“I’m the one who first offered ya a job in this biz,” Hopper reminded her. “And now you’re workin’ for a gnome! Ain’t ya any goblin pride?”
Renzly couldn’t avoid a flinch at the reminder, but she shrugged again. “Jameson pays more.”
“A gnome!” Hopper repeated in exasperation. “So what happens when ya get a new lead? How am I supposed ta know ya ain’t givin’ them all the scoops?”
“I’m jus’ a photographer, Hopper, or d’ya see anything with my byline?” She nudged the paper back at him with a sweet smile. “I jus’ go where I’m sent.”
The goblin editor studied her skeptically. “Right, sure. And when you’re sent ta cover… let’s say a high-end business’ open house… didja think ta drop a line to tha people who took a risk on ya?”
“Hey, now, if ya want me ta spy on ‘em, you’re definitely gonna hafta pay more.”
“Bring me somethin’ of substance, and maybe we’ll talk.”
“Whatever. Now did ya actually have an assignment for me, or did ya jus’ come over here ta gab?”
Hopper crossed his arms, glaring down at her. “Fishin’ tournament in Booty Bay. Try ta get something other than a borin’ fish photo.”
“Gotcha, Hopper.”
“Well? Watcha waitin’ for? Get to it.”
She rolled her eyes, grabbed the camera bag sitting beside her chair, and headed out. Hopper glared at the eyes turned their way; the rest of The Inside Trade’s staff quickly looked away.
Once he was certain Renzly wasn’t likely to come back, Hopper turned his attention to her desk, opening drawers and rifling through them. There was very little to be found inside except pens and scraps of paper, plus a few blurry photos that hadn’t been used for an article. He looked over the papers, but the notes jotted on them were nonsensical words and symbols. Or… almost nonsensical. A few of the symbols reminded him of arcane shorthand, but there wasn’t enough to decipher.
The bottom drawer stuck as he tried to open it, forcing him to give it a good yank. He heard a rolling sound followed by a few clunks and the smell of gunpowder. The drawer was empty save for a few unused canisters of film and a heavy, black candle in a jar. He had not really thought of Renzly as the candle type.
The candle at least explained the scent. It was a Goldwick candle labeled “Fresh Powder.” He hadn’t seen a Goldwick candle in several months, his mind automatically rifling through what information he knew on the company (he wasn’t a business editor for nothing). It was a goblin company, of course, from a smallish cartel… Brasswright, the same place Renzly was from. It only made sense she’d be a fan of its products.
He slammed the drawer shut in frustration. No leads, no notes, nothing new except finding out that Silvertip once bought a candle from an small luxury goods consortium that he only remembered due to a small scandal a few years back. He hoped she at least brought him some interesting photos from Booty Bay.
Then the connections clicked, and Hopper slowly grinned.
Grizweld Hopper had disappointed his father by not being mechanically inclined. He wasn’t an inventor or a scientist, but he always imagined the thrill of discovery wasn’t much different than what he felt at that precise moment.
He went to the Trade’s archives to verify his hunch, not trusting anyone with the possible lead. After a half hour of searching through back issues, he didn’t find what he was looking for, but found something equally suspicious. Someone had carefully removed several pages from an archived edition, eliminating all the personal and business announcements.
“Your mistake, Silvertip,” he chuckled. Very few people were aware of his private archive of issues, the final drafts he had to approve before mass printing.
By the end of the day, looking over his papers, he knew he was on to something.
He examined a blurry picture, taken in Hardwrench Hideaway, and compared it to the crystal clear portrait that accompanied one of the missing announcements. He couldn’t say for certain, but the similarities were striking. A clear picture of the subject and a few inquiries to contacts in Brasswright would provide him with all the details and evidence he needed.
“Well, now, Kezrin ‘Kanzelry,’ I think you just might be newsworthy after all.”
“And just what is this supposed ta mean?” Grizweld Hopper jabbed a finger at newspaper. “You’re workin’ for a rival paper?”
The Scholar lay flat under his finger, one of the Renzly’s pictures clearly showing on the first page.
“Hey, now,” Renzly Silvertip shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “No one ever said anythin’ ‘bout me workin’ for The Inside Trade exclusively.”
“I’m the one who first offered ya a job in this biz,” Hopper reminded her. “And now you’re workin’ for a gnome! Ain’t ya any goblin pride?”
Renzly couldn’t avoid a flinch at the reminder, but she shrugged again. “Jameson pays more.”
“A gnome!” Hopper repeated in exasperation. “So what happens when ya get a new lead? How am I supposed ta know ya ain’t givin’ them all the scoops?”
“I’m jus’ a photographer, Hopper, or d’ya see anything with my byline?” She nudged the paper back at him with a sweet smile. “I jus’ go where I’m sent.”
The goblin editor studied her skeptically. “Right, sure. And when you’re sent ta cover… let’s say a high-end business’ open house… didja think ta drop a line to tha people who took a risk on ya?”
“Hey, now, if ya want me ta spy on ‘em, you’re definitely gonna hafta pay more.”
“Bring me somethin’ of substance, and maybe we’ll talk.”
“Whatever. Now did ya actually have an assignment for me, or did ya jus’ come over here ta gab?”
Hopper crossed his arms, glaring down at her. “Fishin’ tournament in Booty Bay. Try ta get something other than a borin’ fish photo.”
“Gotcha, Hopper.”
“Well? Watcha waitin’ for? Get to it.”
She rolled her eyes, grabbed the camera bag sitting beside her chair, and headed out. Hopper glared at the eyes turned their way; the rest of The Inside Trade’s staff quickly looked away.
Once he was certain Renzly wasn’t likely to come back, Hopper turned his attention to her desk, opening drawers and rifling through them. There was very little to be found inside except pens and scraps of paper, plus a few blurry photos that hadn’t been used for an article. He looked over the papers, but the notes jotted on them were nonsensical words and symbols. Or… almost nonsensical. A few of the symbols reminded him of arcane shorthand, but there wasn’t enough to decipher.
The bottom drawer stuck as he tried to open it, forcing him to give it a good yank. He heard a rolling sound followed by a few clunks and the smell of gunpowder. The drawer was empty save for a few unused canisters of film and a heavy, black candle in a jar. He had not really thought of Renzly as the candle type.
The candle at least explained the scent. It was a Goldwick candle labeled “Fresh Powder.” He hadn’t seen a Goldwick candle in several months, his mind automatically rifling through what information he knew on the company (he wasn’t a business editor for nothing). It was a goblin company, of course, from a smallish cartel… Brasswright, the same place Renzly was from. It only made sense she’d be a fan of its products.
He slammed the drawer shut in frustration. No leads, no notes, nothing new except finding out that Silvertip once bought a candle from an small luxury goods consortium that he only remembered due to a small scandal a few years back. He hoped she at least brought him some interesting photos from Booty Bay.
Then the connections clicked, and Hopper slowly grinned.
Grizweld Hopper had disappointed his father by not being mechanically inclined. He wasn’t an inventor or a scientist, but he always imagined the thrill of discovery wasn’t much different than what he felt at that precise moment.
He went to the Trade’s archives to verify his hunch, not trusting anyone with the possible lead. After a half hour of searching through back issues, he didn’t find what he was looking for, but found something equally suspicious. Someone had carefully removed several pages from an archived edition, eliminating all the personal and business announcements.
“Your mistake, Silvertip,” he chuckled. Very few people were aware of his private archive of issues, the final drafts he had to approve before mass printing.
By the end of the day, looking over his papers, he knew he was on to something.
He examined a blurry picture, taken in Hardwrench Hideaway, and compared it to the crystal clear portrait that accompanied one of the missing announcements. He couldn’t say for certain, but the similarities were striking. A clear picture of the subject and a few inquiries to contacts in Brasswright would provide him with all the details and evidence he needed.
“Well, now, Kezrin ‘Kanzelry,’ I think you just might be newsworthy after all.”
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