Rhonda
Ollie 
The Headquarters of His Majesty's Trading Company

The Headquarter's of His Majesty's Trading Company was, perhaps, the most opulent place in Tonate Proper. The Maith Mansion was beautiful, he had to admit, but there was a certain beauty within the walls of the Headquarters that surmounted that of even the King's royal keep. 

The Headquarters of His Majesty's Trading Company was a simple, square three story building with brown walls and a clay shingled roof, not unlike the other buildings in the Iron's District. It stood beside the Guild of the Wharfmasters, which in all accounts was a better maintained and more attractive building, but inside was no more than a collection of longtables, a smattering of chairs and piles of unorganized ledgers, complete with dust and cobwebs. Everything inside the Headquarters His Majesty's Trading Company was made of fine maroon leather or dark wood, and it all stank intoxicatingly of rum, ink, sugar, pepper and tobacco smoke. It was a place of _business,_ where good men came to do dirty work for the sake of the Kingdom of the Southern Isles. 

Ollie's office, which on the second floor of the Headquarters of His Majesty's Trading Company was a sparse little thing. His name was placard onto the door in silver lettering. The space was messy, not only because was he always coming and going so quickly as to place his ledgers and books anywhere he could set them down, but also because the information enclosed within those ledgers and books was often so secretive that no one was allowed to come in and fix up the place. Once a maid had mistakenly wandered in to his second floor office and began to dust the unruly piles. Ollie had to have her eyes gouged. She had died in the process, and then he had to put her feet in cement and sink her offshore. 

_"But vhat's why you read tha door,"_ Bradai had said. _"You always read the door, Ollie."_ 

He supposed there was some truth to that. 

There was a knock.

The door opened slightly ajar allowing only for a voice, and no peering eyes, to pass the doorframe. 

"Mykolas-Reed Lanters 'as arrived in tha Whistlefish. E' awaits yer arrival in the 'angedman's 'arbour." 

"So he does," Said Ollie McAllister, "Bring a carriage around, and we'll meet him."

"Aye, ser," The voice said, and was gone.
Joel
**Mykolas-Reed Lanterns
Tonate Proper, the Irons**

As they approached the gates leading into the city, Tokiel squeezed his shoulder. "Don't be frightened," He urged. "This treatment is only for criminals."

It took Mykolas a moment to realize what his guardian was talking about. Above them, swaying from atop the red walls and partially concealed by clusters of seagulls, dozens of skeletons were slumped inside cages and dangling by chains. One body was especially fresh and dripping. Gulls were gathered on its shoulders and inside its abdomen, stripping off flesh and fighting over the ribbons. They'd already taken the most tender morsels off the skull and were now focused on the arms and thighs. Mykolas was startled to realize the sight didn't bother him at all. *Maybe it's because none of them have faces,* He thought as they passed.

Once through the gates, Tokiel kept his arm firmly looped around Mykolas's shoulders. He steered them through breaks in the crowd, trying to protect Mykolas from being jostled as much as possible. It was a noble but fruitless effort. Only two, maybe three hundred people lived on the Isle of Lanterns and Mykolas figured there must have been at least that many on the one boulevard alone.

Finally they escaped through a side street that lead them to a large brick square. They were surrounded by some of the most impressive architecture Mykolas had seen yet - huge, multi-floored structures with gabled roofs and dormers and bright glass windows. They went to a bench to sit and await their chaperone. Tokiel set their belongings protectively between his feet.

"Mykolas," He said, "Until the moment we step foot again on the Whistlefish, you're not to leave my side."
"Uh-huh, I know."
"Stop and listen to me," Tokiel scolded. "There are dangers here, in places you wouldn't expect. I've sworn to protect you, but I can't hope to do that if you don't follow my directions. Do you understand?"
Mykolas paused to make certain Tokiel was done. "I understan', Tokiel."
"You remember what you're to tell the Pirate King?"
"Yea, I 'member." But his mind was elsewhere. There was a group of people passing through the square dressed in long black coats that swept behind them like feathers. He couldn't help but think they looked like big black roosters. 

When the carriage arrived, pulled by two mules, Mykolas was fascinated. He'd only seen donkeys before, and these were certainly not donkeys. They were too big, long-limbed, and their fur was flat rather than shaggy. He assumed that these creatures must be horses, an animal he'd only ever seen in books.
"This must be them," Tokiel said, standing. Mykolas stood as well, fully attentive as the carriage rolled to a stop before them.
Rhonda
Ollie
The Irons District, off the Hangman's Harbour, Tonate Proper

The carriage was a simple thing, a rounded roof covered a wooden wagon that sported woven wicker windows and a wooden door that opened directly onto the street. The entire thing was painted in the colors of House Maith, the wooden a dark black and the wicker a cool teal. On the back flapped a banner of the House Maith, the poppyflower on proud display. At once, the driver pulled back on the reigns and brought the carriage to a stop. The mules tugged against their restraints feebly before whinnying and eventually stopping, although not without an unhappy twist of their long, brown necks. One of them looked at Tokiel, flapping it's long lips in his direction in an exhale.

When the door opened, a young man emerged. He was red of hair. It was a bright, orangey red and not the rusty copper of the Tonati. He was babyfaced, with a light dusting of freckles on his nose and cheeks. He gave a youthful smile as he dismounted from the carriage. His hair was close cut but messy on the top, with a flourish of rogue hairs that could only be an unintentional cowlick. His skin was pale, and that was enough to mark him for a man belonging to the King, but for emphasis, he also wore a dark black overcoat, emblazoned with the teal poppyflower on it's breast. 

The young man took only a few strides to meet the pair. "Lord Lanterns," He said, and gave a brief bow of the head in respect. The effort seemed rehearsed, but nonetheless genuine. "The King has put aside a lodging for your stay in Tonate Proper." His tone implied a follow-up sentence, once that silently said: _"And we should not keep him waiting, don't you think?"_

The door to the carriage lay open, a dark refuge from the bright and airy harborside. 

With a hand, Ollie ushered them both in.