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Gamshack looked at me for a long moment. Then he did something I wasn't expecting at all. He leaned forward slightly and said something, a single word, in a heavily-accented but understandable take on the Goblin tongue. "Visitor." I sat back and blinked slowly. Without anything overt, showy or open to misinterpretation, Gamshack had positively confirmed what I had already surmised, that he was one of the very few humans entirely aware of the Lower Realms and their teaming population of Goblins, had in all probability visited below in person and managed to learn at least a few words in our notoriously difficult language. I was impressed. No wonder Tarsapple had pointed me in his direction. "Let me buy you a drink," he offered, reverting to English. "Sure," I muttered, still slightly surprised, "Whatever you're having." Gamshack rose slightly, caught the bartender's eye, gestured with a two-fingered wave and resumed his seat. "So," he continued, "Exactly who recommended you?" "A mutual acquaintance," I countered, "Name of Tarsapple." I made no attempt to disguise the pronunciation of the Goblin's name. Gamshack drained his beer in a swift gulp and set the bottle on the edge of the table. "Of course," he said, "And so you want something doing. Do you want to tell me about it?" I hesitated. The law up here is very different, and of course varies enormously from place to place, country to country. But I have to stick to the rules of the Lower Realms, mostly, at least if I want to retain my PI's licence. "There's a question of client confidentiality," I said, "So I won't be able to tell you everything." Gamshack said nothing, just nodded slowly. Something about his caution appealed to me. "There's a man I need to find out about," I continued, "He's called Taylor Mungall. Resident of this very city, apparently. I don't need to contact him, just find out about his recent movements, contacts, where he lives. That sort of thing." Obviously I was keeping things back. Wouldn't you, under the circumstances? I paused and shrank back into my seat as the barkeep arrived bearing a tray. He deposited a couple of shotglasses apparently identical to that already in front of Gamshack, followed by a couple of opened bottles. He collected Gamshack's empty without so much as a glance in my direction, and high-tailed it back in the direction of the bar. Very discreet. "Okay," Gamshack said, "Anything else you can tell me about this Mungall." "Actually, no," I said, with complete honesty, "I know nothing about the man. That's why I'm here." He nodded, then fell silent. I reached for the shotglass, drew it towards my nostrils. A very decent brand of scotch, I could tell. Gamshack, seeing my movement, reached for his own glass, raised it in an unspoken toast. I responded in kind, of course, then took a cautious sip. Very nice, really very nice. Gamshack took a swallow from his own glass, nodded appreciatively, then coughed discreetly. "There's one other matter," he began, "That I'm not sure how to bring up." "You'll be paid for this," I said bluntly, "You'll be acting as my agent. What's your rate?" I'd have to pay him in any case, to stay legal, and to make sure anything he found out was covered by the same client confidentiality as my own work. He named a day rate in US Dollars which - given the very favourable exchange rate in operation - was really a trivial sum, even for me. I nodded, then raised my glass again. "It's a deal. Let's drink to it." He grinned, unexpectedly, and returned the gesture. I was beginning to like this man.
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Part 15