The Informant on the Verge of Collapse

Jorgen stood on the second floor of an abandoned building and looked out. There used to be several rooms side by side here, but now the walls had been knocked down, the materials taken away by the relocated residents, leaving an empty and spacious room. Although no one had lived here for a long time, the faint fishy smell still emanated from the cracks between the dilapidated wooden boards and the rotten fishing nets on the walls. The overhanging eaves enveloped Jorgen in shadow. In fact, he had been hiding here for two days and two nights. Since killing the goblin assassin, he had not returned to the Sailor's Home.

The view here was very good. Just slightly sticking out, you could see the beginning and end of this grocery street. But Jorgen couldn't do that. He had to hide in the shadows.

A familiar figure appeared: Banjay. According to Jorgen's usual instructions, he pretended to stroll casually from the west end of the grocery street to the east end. He weighed the weight of cheese in the pastry shop, and then picked up an inexpensive fishing rod in a nearby fishing tackle shop and fiddled with it. His actions were a bit exaggerated, but still quite effective, Jorgen thought. To confirm that no one was following, he focused on the section of road behind Banjay.

As he approached the abandoned building where Jorgen was hiding, Banjay accelerated. About twenty yards behind him, a figure in a gray cloak caught Jorgen's attention. Judging by his figure, he was like a human padded with a lot of padding under his clothes, but his gait was very unnatural, more like a smaller tauren or ogre. His face was completely covered by the hood of his cloak, and his hands were wrapped in thick gauze. At this time, Banjay passed under the building where Jorgen was. Jorgen quickly moved to the next window fifteen yards away and saw that not only Banjay, but the man in the gray cloak had also moved the corresponding distance. Although the crowd was bustling, his target was very obvious: to follow Banjay, because he always kept in line with Banjay.

This did not seem like the usual thugs who would harass Banjay, because asking them to cover their faces when doing bad things and not show off their prestige would make them more uncomfortable than eating old punches. Wrapping in a cloak for only one reason: even if his behavior was exposed, this follower would never allow his identity to be exposed at the same time.

Jorgen went downstairs, hiding behind the corner of the street along the wall, waiting. A few seconds later, Banjay appeared in sight. He didn't notice Jorgen and continued to walk quickly toward the east end of the street. Jorgen had to wait for the follower.

He estimated that it would take twenty seconds, but after thirty seconds, the follower still did not appear. Jorgen flashed out from behind the corner and found that the other party had turned back, his body hidden by the crowd, only the top of the gray cloak was visible.

Did the follower discover himself? If so, Jorgen would have to figure out now whether the follower was retreating to escape or to lure him into a trap. In either case, Jorgen could only catch up. He could no longer let the suspicious person know his whereabouts in Booty Bay. He tracked the gray shadow of the cloak and moved forward in the crowd.

Because he had to keep an eye on the nearby goblin guards at all times and avoid their sight, Jorgen's counter-tracking was not smooth. But fortunately, this was a straight street without many branches, so even if he temporarily lost track of them, he could catch up quickly.

The man in the gray cloak did not slow down for a moment. He obviously wanted to get away from here as soon as possible, but only dared not let go and run at full speed in order not to attract attention. When approaching the exit of the street, a cart carrying large fish goods turned in and stopped. He took the opportunity to hide behind it. By the time Jorgen came around the cart, facing the two alleys that forked in front of him, the other party had disappeared.

Jorgen did not intend to give up so easily. He observed carefully and found that the man in the gray cloak was walking up the stairs on the side of the road in the alley on the left. Jorgen ran over, and when he approached the stairs, the other party realized that he was being chased and wanted to quicken his pace, but it was too late. Jorgen threw the dagger with its handle over and hit the target in the waist, causing him to tilt to one side and roll down several steps wrapped in a cloak.

Jorgen went forward, bent his wrists behind his back, pressed down on his back, and then lifted the cloak. Before him was an old, gaunt, grimy-faced man whose teeth were as crooked as sticks in a field fence. He did not remember meeting this person before.

"Ah, what are you going to do?" the man said. "Are you going to take away my blanket? My blanket...cough, cough, this is mine. Damn guy, let go."

Only then did Jorgen realize that the spine he was holding down was as weak as a baked fish bone. Although not much force was used, the man before him was almost out of breath. This could not possibly be the agile and alert follower from before. He let go, and the other party struggled to turn over and sat cross-legged on the ground like a loosely made mud statue.

Jorgen understood. "Who gave you the cloak?"

"Cloak? I've never seen any cloak. Why are you treating me like this, impatient young man?" He patted the ground with his hand. "No cloak, only my blanket. A kind man wanted to give it to me, but I couldn't take it for nothing from a kind man, so I gave him my tin cup. Ah, in one minute I met the kindest and most hateful man! What a day!"

"What did that man look like? Tell me, and this will be yours." Jorgen took out a copper coin.

"You almost beat my old bones to pieces, and now you want to dismiss me with a stinky coin?" He sniffed and wrapped the cloak tighter. "The young man was still better, about your age, just several times more civilized than you."

Jorgen knew he couldn't get any more useful information from this crazy old vagrant, so he threw down the copper coin and turned to leave. At least, he knew the follower was human. This follower must know his appearance directly or indirectly, and was agile and good at hiding and moving in crowded places.

For the identity of the follower, Jorgen did not have many candidates in mind.

Forty minutes later, he came to a fish curing workshop built into a recessed cliffside. In the confined space between the back wall of the workshop and the cliff face, Banjay was waiting for him.

"Master Jorgen, why are you here only now? You're half an hour late, I thought you wouldn't come."

"I had to meet an informant, and I never break an appointment because I know how important credibility is. But you, Banjay, don't you know you were being followed?"

"Followed?" Banjay became nervous immediately. "I didn't feel that way myself, Master Jorgen."

"It's good you didn't know. Because you can't handle this situation yet. But don't worry, I've taken care of him already, so I'm half an hour late."

Jorgen had to lie to reassure Banjay, because Banjay's nerves were becoming more fragile day by day as his addiction deepened. Compared to the last meeting, his eye sockets had sunk in more, and his eyeballs seemed oddly placed at the bottom of charred tea trays. He used his right hand's prosthetic thumb to fiddle with the stubble on his chin, while his little finger twitched nervously.

"Did you use 'dinner' before you came?"

"No. There's none left."

The amount given last time, Jorgen thought, should have been enough for him to get by for half a month. In his career, many informants had been ruined by the revenge of others, but the Banjay before him would be ruined by himself. But now there was no time to consider his fate. There were more important things to discuss.

"Tell me the situation at the gambling den."

"The settlement of gambling winnings has ended, with a small portion unpaid, mainly because many people went bankrupt."

"Bankrupt?"

"Yes, these people's gambling funds were borrowed. They were mostly small and medium businessmen with overextended funds, desperate fellows. In our business, the money these people bet is called 'dead money' to avoid risk, and is often not accepted. But this time was special, everyone was too crazy..."

"What about Silversnap?"

"Oh, his situation is a bit complicated. The settlement of these big businessmen's gambling money is always complicated, because what they often bet is not just cash. I did not participate in Silversnap's settlement, so I don't know the details, but he lost at least two large cargo ships. At first, he was very high profile, betting heavily on Vossuva from the start, and kept promoting it...It can be said that the scale of this gambling was stirred up by him. Now he's fallen quite miserably."

It seems that Silversnap may have really trusted and relied on Vossuva's victory, Jorgen thought. He currently couldn't find a reason for Silversnap to harm Vossuva.

"Also, in addition to large cargo ships, there were others. I heard that some arms dealers approached him. I don't understand the details, but I heard they were in very tense negotiations."

If Silversnap owed the arms dealers money because of gambling, then Jorgen would probably regret taking the threats of the goblin businessmen seriously.

"Master Jorgen, this is all I've found out..."

"What, do you want the other half?" Jorgen said. While shocked at Banjay's haggard face, things still had to be done according to the rules.

"That's what you promised me."

"I have one last thing for you to do, Banjay."

Banjay's body trembled, and he blinked his dry eyes hard. The blood vessels near his temples were even more prominent. He seemed to have expected that after saying the information just now, he could immediately get "dinner" and get relief.

"This really is the last thing. When it's done, I'll send you back to Stormwind."

"Why?"

"You can't go on like this, Banjay. Look at you. I even have a premonition that the last twelve and a half grams of 'dinner' will kill you."

"Oh, no, Master Jorgen, you're not going back on your word."

"Of course not. Do this last thing for me, and I'll give you 'dinner', but I advise you never to use it again."

"Whatever it is, please say it quickly."

"Keener Marando, do you know this name?"

"Of course, Vossuva's opponent in the semi-finals."

"I want you to find out if he participated in gambling. If so, how did he arrange his bets?"

"This will be very difficult, Master Jorgen..."

"I know he may use an alias, but find out as much as you can."

"I may not be able to do it. You see, my eyes have been turning black these days, and my ears have been ringing...Master Jorgen, what's wrong with me? Will you really send me back to Stormwind? I want to go back...If I go back, please don't tell my mom first, she'll definitely kick me out again..."

Banjay began to talk nonsense. Jorgen knew he was facing someone on the verge of mental collapse. To stabilize his emotions, there was only one solution left.

He took out the twelve and a half grams of "dinner".

"Take it now," he said, "just a little bit can relieve the craving and restore some spirit. Then do this thing for me again."

Jorgen thought Banjay would grab it immediately with both hands, but he did not do so, just staring at the small bag. Jorgen could see that Banjay feared what was in it, yet could not resist the impulse to burn it and inhale it into his decaying body. To suppress the impulse, he had shackled himself, then willingly dragged the shackles toward hell. Jorgen could only put the "dinner" into Banjay's shirt pocket himself. "That's it," he said.

Banjay was silent, at a loss for Jorgen's "generosity". He nodded, staring at the ground, and turned to leave.

Watching Banjay's crooked back, Jorgen recalled the first meeting that lured him into becoming an informant. The Banjay at that time sat on the straw in the cell, silly and crude, full of vitality. He did not call Jorgen "Master", but used words like "lapdog" and "maggot" to vent his anger. For each informant he recruited, Jorgen would promise them a "stable life" and "safety", but after years of dealing with informants, whether it was Jorgen or the informants themselves, they would treat these promises as empty and floating clouds. Jorgen did not remember how many times he had said "send you back to Stormwind, and hide it from your mother" to Banjay, but they always repeated these dialogues.

Perhaps there will be no next time. If all goes well, I will definitely send you home, Banjay.

But if it doesn't go well.

Jorgen concealed one thing: he believed that if the person following Banjay was not someone he had never met before, it was very likely to be Keener Marando. Now, asking him to investigate Keener would be very dangerous. If there was anything he had learned from years of dealing with informants, Jorgen could only say one thing: situations that inevitably require sacrifice will always arise. As for whether the sacrifice is worth it or not, only the survivors can judge.