Prince Canis Major, Lieutenant-General Crux Chevalier, and three Crown Champions began their quest to find Pierre Delacroix in Pyxis's South End.

They harassed the poor, the drunk, and the homeless. When the subjects of their interrogations were rude or unhelpful, the ruthless quintet used threats of death to loosen their tongues. A number of suggestions led them to the Dark Nebula, a grimy tavern by the West River.

They entered the hole in the rock wall—and that description was exceedingly generous—and secured a primitive, sticks-and-twine table by drawing their swords. Even the toughest patrons moved aside.

While Crux and the soldiers took a seat, Canis lowered himself onto the corner of the only remaining "chair" with extreme caution. He didn't want to soil his hands or clothes on anything unsavory.

A scantily clad barmaid eventually fluttered over to their table with wings that were fractured, notched, and frayed at every edge. It would have been quicker to walk. "Can I get you Royals something to drink?"

Crux spoke first. "We're here for information, no delays, no excuses, and if you don't—"

"Crux, please," Canis interrupted, "be pleasant." He put a hand up in an attempt to counter the angry red hue of Crux's face. "Let the lovely fem-fairy do her job before we get to know one another." He tossed in her direction a gold coin and his best debonair smile. "Five ales. Your finest. Please and thank you."

The barmaid gaped at the gold in her hand. She pocketed the coin and returned promptly with five mugs.

"You can keep the change," Canis said, his face surely souring at his first taste of their finest ale. "Now, your name is?"

The barmaid turned back toward him . . . with extreme caution. "Gemini."

"Ah, yes. Lovely. Gemini, are you aware of the goings-on in this fine establishment?"

Gemini pursed her lips to the side when he used "fine" to describe her place of employment. "I suppose you could say that."

"Well then, we were told Pierre Delacroix frequents this place. Are you acquainted with him?"

Gemini gulped and fiddled with the sloppy, straw-like hair by her ears. "I've heard of him."

"Where can we find him?" Crux chimed in abruptly. He leaned so far forward, straining to hear her answer, that he looked as if he might hover off his chair.

Canis gave him a glance or warning, trusting it would be his last. "Gemini, any information you can give us would be greatly appreciated. Have you seen him here lately?"

Her eyes wandered, pointlessly, guiltily. "I said I've heard of him. I wouldn't be able to pick him out of a crowd, though."

A clear lie, Canis thought. He moved his face into the torchlight. "I'm confident you can do better than that, Gemini. Where can we find him?"

"Sorry. Pierre doesn't tell anyone where he's going these days." The barmaid turned away.

"Wait!" Canis pulled a handful of gold out of his pocket. "Can you venture a guess, love?"

She turned back around. "You can ask the Banker," she replied as if hypnotized, her eyes fixed on the gold. "He knows everyone. He's sitting in the back."

With an indolent flick of the eyes, she pointed out the Banker's approximate location. And he was easy to pick out from there.

"Now, was that so hard? We are through with you, Gemini. You may go." Canis gave her one additional piece of gold and thrust the rest back in his pocket. "Crux, come with me." Then he said to the others, "You three, stay here and try to stay awake."

The distance wasn't far and the space was confining, but still, Canis and Crux flew over, their broad wingspan fully extended. It was a privilege to be a Sauvageau and a Chevalier, and the Banker was likely the sort who could use some reminding.

Grotesquely fat and with more hair in his nose and ears than on his spherical head, the Banker was playing cards with a grubby lot of miscreants while two fem-fairies, a mere fraction of his age, had bare limbs draped across his shoulders and lap. Judging by the greens sticking out of what remained of their clothing, he had his particular method of keeping them close—a way that certainly had nothing to do with his appearance.

Canis cleared his throat to get his attention. "Are you the Banker?"

"I am." The fat fairy's eyes were slow to lift as if heavy with irritation. "What business brings you here?" He returned to his task of dealing cards, unyielding to the interruption.

"My name is—"

"I know who you are, Prince Canis Major," the Banker interjected after glancing over Canis's features. "I see the family resemblance. Why is it you seek my company?"

"I've heard you are the fairy to speak to for my particular situation."

The Banker paused in his dealing, narrowed his eyes as if he'd lost count, and then collected the cards back into a pile. "That being?"

"I need to find Pierre Delacroix. Anything you can tell me will be lucratively rewarded."

"I see." The Banker whispered to his neighbor, who nodded and set the exodus into motion. He then gestured to the empty seats, and Canis and Crux sat down. "I may know where Pierre is. I may not. Unfortunately for you, I am a rich man already and, with favors only he can provide, Pierre pays me to not know where he is, if you follow." 

Canis leaned back in his chair and scoffed at the Banker's blatant lack of fear and respect. "Don't play games with me. You may be powerful in your own realm, but even you are expendable."

The Banker chuckled. "Are you threatening me? It would be extremely unwise to do me harm." He twisted his jeweled rings around on his stumplike fingers. "Surely, fairies of your upbringing realize the threat of an angry mob. I cannot emphasize enough that I am the life force of Pyxis. I am the one who controls this place. You may think you have all the power with your legacy and your might. But without me, commerce would stagnate, currency would dry up, fairies would grow even more hungry and uncivilized. Is that something your mother's floundering administration can manage right now?"

"All right. You've made your point," Canis replied. "You have no interest in our gold, then?"

"No, it would take more than gold to capture my interest," the Banker said as his attention wandered off.

A group of giggly, intoxicated fem-fairies entered the tavern and caught the Banker's eye. And at that moment, Canis Major narrowed in on one of the fat fairy's weaknesses.

"You seem like someone who can always make a deal," Canis said in a tone meant to massage the Banker's masculine ego. "All we want is a street address."

"There is something that comes to mind. . . ."

"Name it!" Canis demanded.

"Your sister. After her whole wedding fiasco, your mother surely wouldn't mind if she rejoins my staff. She was. . ." he began, and then he lost himself to a thought he had to shake off. Cassiopeia was clearly many things to the fairy-male. "A tutor for my children. And I want only the best for them."

"Of course," Canis conceded as if he believed in the purity of the Banker's intentions. "My mother wants Cassiopeia dead, but she won't mind if we turn her over to you instead . . . as long as you keep her out of trouble. There is, however, one tiny problem. Cassiopeia ran off with those abhorrent MacRae brothers. Recapturing them is our top priority. If you've read The Pyxis Discourse this morning—and I'm sure you have—then you know why I'm asking."

The Banker's watery jowl practically fell to the ground. But then he regained his composure and his face hardened. "How do I know you will follow through with your end of the bargain?"

"You'll have to trust me," Canis said. "Besides, it seems like getting answers out of Pierre is in your best interest as well as mine."

"And what about her servitude papers? If she abandons her assignment again, I want to ensure she'll be arrested and returned to me without hassle."

"I'll sign them myself. They'll be delivered upon her arrival. Her rights will be yours to protect."

The Banker massaged his stubbly jawline for a while, and then gave his assent with a nod. Canis brought his head down to hear his whisper.

"Discourse headquarters recently moved into one of my buildings on Le Noir Alley, number 11," the Banker told him. "A fire destroyed the structure a few years ago, but the cellar is undamaged. There is a trapdoor entrance buried under a rock pile in the back of the premises. It may seem locked to an ordinary prowler. The lock is faulty, however. You can wriggle it open with patience and strong hands. Pierre arrives at precisely four o'clock in the morning to prepare the printing press. At six o'clock, the Discourse is ready for distribution. Pierre doles out responsibilities and goes about his other business, no pattern to speak of, until early the next morning."

Canis stood up and offered the Banker his hand to confirm the transaction. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, sir. I will look back at this day favorably when I am king."

The Banker returned the handshake with a firm grip. "Please find me as soon as your mission is complete. There will be penalties to endure if you keep me waiting."

"You have my word." 

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