However, when word came to the Rankan priest that a woman named Mariat wanted to see him, he put aside his scheduling and planning for the rebuilding and continuing edification of Sanctuary to arrange an appointment to see her. The Torch had known her husband by reputation and had even met Mariat once or twice back in the heyday of Ranke's splendor. He had heard of the tragedy which had struck Aquinta, and he was now curious to find out why Mariat had come to Sanctuary, and what possible business she could have with him.
A soft knock came at Molin's door. It was Hoxa, his secretary, letting him know that Mariat was there to see him. The priest nodded for Hoxa to let the woman into his office.
"Greetings, madame," Molin said, rising and coming to meet her as if she were an acquaintance he had not seen for many long years. In actuality, that was the case, though he had not known her well back in Ranke.
"Lord Torchholder." Mariat curtsied as the priest kissed her hand. "It has been far too long since I have had the pleasure of your company."
"Please accept my deepest sympathies and condolences on the recent deaths in your family," Molin said with unfeigned concern. "Kranderon was a fine man and an astute businessman. He will be sorely missed by all who knew him."
"My thanks for your kindness and thoughtfulness," Mariat said, as she accepted the seat Molin offered her. He himself chose a seat next to hers, rather than returning to the chair behind the desk which he had occupied before her entrance. The priest did this as a show of respect, treating her as a peer rather than a subordinate.
It also occurred to the Torch that the woman had been speaking the finest Court Rankene since she had entered his office. She spoke it so naturally that he had slipped into the court language himself without even realizing it. It was going to be a pleasure to hold discourse with someone so cultured and polite.
"And please accept my sympathies, for I believe that you lost your beloved wife not too long ago," Mariat continued.
"Yes," the Torch replied. "But my wife and I had been estranged for some time. Even still, I believe that we can both understand the poignancy of grief which death can bring."
Molin paused, and then continued, trying to get the conversation away from the intensely personal subject at hand.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of this timely visit?" the priest asked, broaching the subject as politely as possible.
"I have heard so much about you, Lord Torchholder, since I entered Sanctuary. People say that you have done wonders for this town, rebuilding the city walls and restoring order," Mariat began, smiling sweetly and demurely.
Looking into her face, which was very handsome for a woman of her years, the Torch realized that it had been a very long time since he had exchanged pleasantries with a woman so near his age and station. This interview was turning out to be an enjoyable interlude for the worryladen priest.
"You are most kind, madame. I have labored to bring this thief-ridden town up to some measure of respectability. Your kind comments are a tribute to what little success I have had." the priest said modestly.
"It's been more than a little success from my vantage point, my lord. Why, I have even heard it said in some parts of the Empire that Sanctuary is a place to come to start life anew," Mariat returned, maintaining the air of grace and decorum.
"Is this your intention, to start your life over in Sanctuary? I am sure that Kranderon has left you sufficiently provided for. Perhaps a retirement to one of the uptown estates would be of interest to you. I am sure I can arrange a lease for a reasonable price, between friends." Lord Torchholder was finding himself hoping that the woman would indeed move uptown and become a part of his social sphere.
"Actually, I had something more audacious in mind, my lord," Mariat said, flirting gingerly with the priest. "In fact, I am formulating a business venture which will benefit Sanctuary's economy considerably."
That statement took even conspiracy-seasoned Molin by surprise. He blinked at her incredulously.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I think perhaps you would like to have your secretary join us, so he can take notes on what I am about to propose," Mariat said. Suddenly but smoothly the courtly lady transformed into a businesswoman.
The Torch rose and crossed over to the door of his office.
"Hoxa," he called. "Would you please come in here and bring pen and parchment?"
As the priest's secretary seated himself, Mariat laid out her plan for the future. Skeptical at first, Molin soon lost his cynical outlook and was drinking in her plan wholeheartedly. Hoxa was so dumbfounded by the brilliant simplicity of the plan that he stopped taking notes several times just to listen to the wine merchant's widow. Then, of course, they had to go back over the points he missed so they could have them recorded.
After obtaining information and the answers to certain questions from the priest, Mariat left Molin Torchholder with the latter's assurance that he would be in attendance at the merchants' meeting in the Warm Kettle the next day.
As Mariat left the palace complex which housed the priest's office, she felt light on her feet and much younger than her years. Everything seemed to be coming together beautifully.
Back in the Torch's office, Hoxa also commented with optimism, "I think she can really pull it off. She actually sees Sanctuary as a place to build, not to tear down." He turned to his superior and asked: "Could it be that this is no longer the same city you came to years ago?"
Molin Torchholder sighed and said, "Perhaps we have done some good after all."
As the stranger entered the Vulgar Unicorn, he took in the scenery with one sweeping glance. Though he had been in his share of dives and bars all across the Empire, never had he seen so despicable an assemblage of depraved and unsavory individuals. The denizens of the Vulgar Unicorn made the street slime of the Bazaar look like saints and princes in comparison. There was not an honest face or an untainted soul in the place.
The stranger made his way over to one of two free tables against the barroom's west wall. He sat down and waited to be served. He shivered as he contemplated the night dangers of the Maze he had just braved to come to this place.
He did not have long to wait, for soon the barmaid made her way over to his table.
"What'll it be, luv?" she said, with a disinterested glaze in her eyes. Those eyes widened in disbelief at his answer.
"Just a cup of boiling water, if you would be so kind, my girl," the stranger said. "I have some herbal tea which I think I'll take before sampling your establishment's finest."
"Water costs the same as ale," the barmaid said tartly. "That's the rule of the barkeep, Abohorr the One-Thumbed."
"Please be so kind as to tell that august personage of monodigitation that I will pay just such a price," the stranger retorted with a sophisticated air.
He watched bemused as the wench tried to work out the meaning of the words.
"That means I'll pay!" he said in mock exasperation. "So just bring me the water, and make sure it's boiling hot."
As the barmaid left to fulfill his request, a heap of filthy rags detached itself from the bar and shambled in the stranger's direction. As it approached his table, the man saw that the rags housed the even filthier body of a wizened old man. Out from the cow! peered a withered and ruined face, across which a deep and ugly scar cut diagonally, in and out of a black and dirty patch over the unfortunate's right eye.