Chapter 38 : How to Open a Closed Door
The next morning, Fenlor walked the streets of Thalvaron with Henry close behind, asking questions where he could — merchants, passersby, anyone who looked like they might know something. He kept his tone easy and his questions indirect.
Nobody gave him anything useful.
They returned to the inn in the afternoon. Fenlor dropped into a chair. Henry threw himself flat on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
The silence stretched.
Then Henry turned his head. "Instead of asking who he is — why don't we pretend to be some of his men? Get close that way and pull the information out."
Fenlor sat up slowly.
He looked at Henry for a moment. Then he let out a short breath and rubbed the back of his neck.
"…Henry. You're brilliant." He shook his head. "Why didn't I think of that."
Henry sat up, looking pleased with himself. "But if we're going to pretend to be his men — we need to catch one of them first. Someone who actually knows something."
Fenlor smiled. "Leave that to me. I already have someone in mind." He leaned back. "But we wait until night."
The inn grew quiet as the hours passed — the last guests retiring, the hearth burning low, the common room settling into stillness.
Fenlor came downstairs alone.
The innkeeper was still at the counter, working by candlelight. He looked up at the sound of footsteps and his expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
"What do you want, sir?"
"Information," Fenlor said simply, stopping a few feet away.
The innkeeper exhaled. "Sir. I have already told you — I cannot help you with that."
Fenlor smiled. "You just need to hold still."
He moved before the innkeeper could react — fast, deliberate. The innkeeper threw his arms up and caught the strike, barely, stumbling back against the counter.
He stared. "Sir — why are you—"
Fenlor's hand caught him at the back of the neck. Clean, precise. The innkeeper crumpled without a sound.
When the innkeeper opened his eyes, the room was different.
He was seated. His arms were bound behind him, rope pulled firm at his wrists. The candle nearby cast unsteady light across the walls. He turned his head, searching — and found Fenlor sitting directly across from him, calm and unhurried, Henry standing quietly to the side.
"Don't bother," Fenlor said. "You're not going anywhere."
The innkeeper's breathing quickened. "What — why are you doing this?"
"You already know why."
The innkeeper's jaw tightened. His eyes darted once — twice — then settled into something hard and closed. "I won't say a word. Not one."
Fenlor looked at him for a moment. Then he stood from the chair.
"We'll see about that."
He crossed the distance slowly. The innkeeper leaned back instinctively, the chair creaking under the shift.
"What are you — hey — what are you doing—"
Fenlor grabbed him by the collar.
What followed was not clean. It was not measured. Fenlor drove his fist into the innkeeper's face — once, then again, then again — each blow landing without pause, without hesitation, as though he intended to take the man apart piece by piece. The innkeeper's head snapped with each impact. A tooth hit the floor. His face swelled, distorted, the skin splitting at the cheek.
He did not stop.
The innkeeper's eyes began to lose focus — glassing over, drifting — right at the edge.
Fenlor stopped. He drew back his hand and delivered a sharp slap across the innkeeper's face, snapping him back.
The innkeeper gasped. His chest heaved. Blood ran freely from his lip, dripping onto the floor below.
"I — I'll talk." His voice came out broken, wet. "Please. Please stop."
Fenlor stepped back and looked down at him, expression unreadable.
"Well then," he said quietly. "Look who's speaking now."
The innkeeper swallowed, wincing as the movement pulled at his swollen lip. "I don't know everything about him. I'm just here to pass word along — if anyone comes asking about them, I report it."
Fenlor studied him. "Have you already reported us?"
"No." The innkeeper shook his head carefully. "I only send a word once a week."
Fenlor was quiet for a moment. Then he crouched down to the innkeeper's eye level.
"Good. Then when you send your next report — tell them we are working under you. We came in asking around to test the network."
The innkeeper stared at him, then gave a slow, pained nod.
Fenlor held his gaze a moment longer, making sure the message had landed. Then he stood.
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— cardboard_box_mask