The room is dim despite the extensive candlework, but the Red Shell is of sufficient class that the candles are attended and replaced as they go out and heated waxtroughs collect the remnants so they don't land on the patrons. Barmaids shove their way through the throng with relatively polite force to deliver drinks, and those who don't like shouting to attract their scant attention hunch at the bar itself, a long scratched affair that nevertheless bears a well-worn shine. The bar also serves as a place for those interested in hiring or being hired, and a significant section of the stools are occupied. Mercenary soliders, craftsmen and laborers - as well as several others whose occupations are less apparent - decorate a significant section of the bar. Some are approached and move off to tables in company.

"No, Mal."

"You have no sense of adventure," she said disdainfully, scowling into the bottom of her mug before finishing off the last swallow. "You can stay behind for all I care. One of the ships can have you. I'll make this run myself. Lahkis isn't that far away. A month. I can't remember the last time I had a month out of your watch. And I can keep the entire fee for myself, too, 'stead of having to share with the likes of you."

Reno knew better than to take any of her threats seriously, and wordlessly offered her the rest of his drink to pacify her. She frowned at him, but by the time she'd drank her way through the mug she was mostly done with her sulking, and her attention had shifted to other things.

"Quiet lads in here tonight," she sighed, with a hint of longing, and he shook his head. The night before a run began was the worst time for them. They were both restless, Mal especially, and he always had his work cut out for him, keeping her out of trouble. Now she was busy looking around the bar, eyeing the ones she knew weren't regulars here, and it was Reno's turn to sigh.

More patrons came and went, men and more men and none of them appeared suitable. Most were mercenaries and brigands by the look of them, and Devona would rather save herself the trouble and kill the girl now than to ask one of them to lead them into the wilderness. Her standards had dropped rapidly since they had arrived in Guildsport. She'd thought that the city would be large enough and refined enough to yield them the kind of guide they needed, but she should have known better. All she'd found were filthy barbarians, gouging merchants and thieves, and now she was nearly out of time. Better to travel on their own than to spend any longer here; inaction was no longer an option. She would see them across the Vesari herself. The possibility of death on the sands was not the certainty of death if they lingered.

She was about to stand when a woman pushed past her table, slipping in between the great hulks of men with ease and planting herself firmly at the bar. She had on riding leathers and boots, but she didn't look like she'd just come into town. The knife in her belt looked like many of the other local blades she'd seen but her voice identified her as a foreigner, though she spoke the common tongue well. She was reasonably well-groomed and not ill-favored, and as she turned around to head away from the bar Devona stood up and held out an arm, half-blocking the woman's path.

"Ranger, forgive my rudeness, but I have need of your services." Ranger? Mal stopped, looked the other woman over, and then glanced at the girl that seemed to be with her. They were both foreigners, and neither looked like the type that usually asked for her services. It made her curious, and then suspicious, but when the little pouch of coins was dangled in front of her, she figured she could oblige them.

She shrugged. "Sure." With a quick smile she reached out and hooked a finger around the strings of the pouch, and after a pause the woman let her have it. "I'm over there," Mal said, nodding toward the far edge of the northern room, and then turned and began her way toward her table without looking to see if they were following.

The ranger led the way and Devona gestured to the girl, who stood and followed meekly. The girl's gaze was not on the ranger, however, but on a pair of stripling lads seated near the door. Devona noticed with irritation that the two were returning the silent interest and placed herself between the girl and her immature admirers, slipped an arm around her protectively and hurried her along.

The crowds weren't much thicker than they had been, but for a heartstopping moment Devona couldn't spot the ranger. Then she did spot her, relaxed, and took another two steps forward before she stopped again.

There was a man with her, a tall scruffy specimen with shaggy brown hair. At least he didn't appear to be the loud drunken sort that most of the other men here were. Disappointed but resigned, she steered the girl over to the table and settled them both onto the bench opposite her prospective guide. The pouch had disappeared, and Devona looked at the man and then back to the woman. Should she speak with the man here? She wanted no misunderstanding that might include him in their travel plans, but it would not do to alienate the first good potential by casting aspersions on the character of her acquaintance. The woman said nothing, and Devona realized she was wasting time and relented.

She could feel Reno's silent disapproval, and acknowledged it with a gentle nudge beneath the table. He said nothing, and his expression didn't change, but he relaxed enough that she knew he'd understood.

It seemed like she was trying to decide whether or not to accept, but truth be told, Mal had already made up her mind. Seven hundred gold was a very pretty price, and she and Reno were already heading to Lahkis on a run. Taking on the woman and girl would be nearly double the pay for the same journey, and if she found the prospect of spending a month with the two strangers to be unpleasant, for that sum she could learn to live with it.

Still, Reno would have to be convinced, and there was the matter of logistics to work through. They already had their own horses, and enough supplies to make the trip, but their two charges looked like they were going to need the whole packlist. It would be easier to buy them all onto a caravan than worry about food, water, and transportation, and it would be much safer, too. She and Reno traveled alone because, as the woman suggested, they could provide an excellent defense. But Mal wouldn't go so far as to get herself killed for a guide job, and protecting the women could be the caravan leader's problem.

Decision made, Mal tilted her chin to look the question at Reno, and answered him when he raised an eyebrow at her. "<Two for one, sweets?>" she asked him in a low voice, speaking now in their native tongue, instead of common. "<Can't do any harm, us getting rich and them following us. We'll caravan.>"

When the woman had hustled the girl up from their table, and Mal was certain that they were gone, she dropped the smile and turned to Reno. He gave her a level stare and she matched it for awhile before finally conceding the point and sighing. "Look, mate, more gold won't hurt us."

"Running, Mal. Not guiding."

"I know, I know. But we can run and guide at the same time, eh?" She didn't try to charm him this time, and he didn't try to humor her. "'sides. We pocket the five, and if the guidin' business doesn't suit us, we move on. Caravan'll keep 'em and it won't hurt us none." The lines around his eyes softened a little, and sensing an advantage, she pounced. "Over a thousand for the run, five or seven for the guide... we'll be rich as merchants, sweets. What could be bad about bein' rich?"

The air was still chill and damp with the night's dew, and Devona scanned the slowly growing crowds intently. She would have preferred to choose her guide in the morning, so that departure might be arranged the same day and without separation. She didn't think the courier-turned-guide would cheat her, but there were never any guarantees when dealing with...well, when dealing with anyone, really.

Mal's agent, a man by the name of Varn, met them at the appointed time and the exchange of goods took place. It was nothing more than a box, a small box, even, and it didn't look valuable. That was good. A few times she'd made the mistake of accepting large, complicated cargo, and it was a nightmare to run something so damn conspicuous. After the requisite contract details and delivery information, and after Varn had left, she shook the little box, but it didn't sound like anything exciting and Reno gave her a stern frown. Disappointed, she carefully packed it in a food tin specifically made to hide its contents, and they set out again, this time for the tavern.