Morning sunlight spilled across the cobbled streets of Blackwater Bay, catching in the weathered stone facades of merchant houses and dancing across puddles from the previous night's rain. Jaygon shifted uncomfortably in his formal livery, the stiff collar chafing against his neck as he maintained a respectful distance behind Lady Eloise and Inspector Holloway.
"You're to accompany them to the market district," Halford had instructed earlier, his thin lips pursed with disapproval. "The baron insists on a chaperone for propriety's sake, though he'd prefer someone... unobtrusive." The steward's gaze had flicked dismissively over Jaygon's weathered features. "Follow at ten paces. Speak only when spoken to."
Now, as they wove through the awakening streets of the port town, Jaygon watched the performance unfolding before him. Inspector Holloway walked with measured confidence beside Lady Eloise, his gloved hand occasionally brushing against hers—a gesture too deliberate to be accidental yet too subtle to be improper.
"I find port towns endlessly fascinating," the inspector was saying, his cultured voice carrying clearly in the morning air. "The convergence of goods and ideas from distant shores... one might say they represent the very pulse of civilization."
Lady Eloise nodded politely, her silk parasol twirling above her shoulder. "Indeed. Though I imagine your duties bring you to many such places, Inspector."
"Please," he smiled, revealing teeth as perfectly ordered as a naval formation, "when we're away from the formalities of the mansion, I insist you call me Edmund."
Jaygon kept his eyes fixed on the uneven cobblestones beneath his boots, his face carefully blank even as he noted the practiced ease with which the inspector guided their path toward the bustling marketplace. Holloway was handsome enough, Jaygon supposed—tall and well-proportioned, with the confident bearing of a man accustomed to authority. And yet, there was something in the calculating glint of his eye when he thought no one was watching that reminded Jaygon of the harbor cats that toyed with mice before the killing strike.
The marketplace sprawled across the central square of Blackwater Bay, a riot of color and sound that assaulted the senses from all directions. Merchants hawked their wares from stalls draped in vibrant cloths—spices from the southern isles, silk from eastern empires, exotic fruits preserved in honey and brandy. The air hung heavy with the mingled scents of fresh bread, smoked fish, foreign incense, and the ever-present tang of salt from the nearby harbor.
"Has any particular region caught your interest, Lady Eloise?" the inspector asked, gesturing expansively toward the market stalls. "Perhaps the pearls of the Cerulean Straits? I've been told they complement eyes of your particular shade of blue."
"You're too kind," Eloise replied with practiced grace, though Jaygon caught the subtle tightening of her fingers around her parasol handle. "I confess I find the book merchant's stall more enticing than the jeweler's."
A flicker of impatience crossed the inspector's face before it was smoothed away by another practiced smile. "Ah, a scholarly bent. How... refreshing. Though I fear such diversions offer little practical value in the duties of a—" he paused delicately, "—woman of standing."