Butt Man was a large butt and nothing else, and he wanted the greatest chair in the world to sit in. The trouble was, no one had ever told him where that chair sat. So he rolled through the tavern door shaped like a toppled flagon and dropped himself onto the nearest bench, waiting for someone to know. Drinkers stared. A man dropped his mug. Butt Man had grown used to this. He cleared what would have been his throat, if he had one, and spoke. "I seek the greatest chair in existence. Does anyone here know where it sits?" Laughter rolled through the room. But a broad man in a red headband did not laugh. Gareth Gold-Tooth leaned across his table, his grin flashing metal. "A chair, is it? I know men who'd trade a chair for a barrel of mead. What's it worth to you?" Butt Man had no gold. He said so. Gareth spat and turned back to his drink, done with him. The room lost interest fast. A butt with empty pockets was just a joke, not a customer. Then a hand set a fresh mug in front of Gareth. The tavern woman with red hair tied back did not look at the pirate. She looked at Butt Man. Marta Whisperwell had been carrying trays across this floor for years, and she remembered every drunk word spoken near her. "The chair is real," she said. Flat. Certain. The nearby tables went quiet. "A merchant owns it now. Two men who touched it are dead. A dockworker. A courier." Butt Man leaned forward on his bench. "Where is it?" Marta wiped a ring of ale from the wood. "That costs coin. I don't give it away." "I have no coin," Butt Man said again. She studied him. A butt with no purse, no sword, no fear. She had refused richer men. But none of them had walked in asking so plainly, and none of them had made the whole room go still the way this shape did. "Then here is a name, no more," she said. "Kael Goldmane. The merchant with the bronze coat. He owns the chair. He smiles when men ask where he got it. He does not answer." She straightened. "That name is free. The rest costs. Bring me gold, and I'll tell you where he keeps it." Gareth lifted his head at the merchant's name. His grin was gone now. "Goldmane," he muttered, and reached for his mead. Butt Man rocked back on the bench. He had come in blind. He was leaving with a name. The chair belonged to Kael Goldmane, and two men had died near it. He pushed himself off the bench and thumped toward the door. He knew who held the chair. He did not know why it killed. And to learn where it sat, he needed gold he did not have.

Butt Man rolled back into the tavern shaped like a toppled flagon. He had a name and no gold. Marta Whisperwell would not tell him where the chair sat until he paid. So he sat on his old bench and thought about coin he did not have. The pirate found him first. Gareth Gold-Tooth dropped onto the bench across from him, his metal tooth flashing. This was the same man who had spat at Butt Man the day before, when his pockets were empty. Now the pirate leaned close and smiled. "I've been thinking about you," Gareth said. "A shape like yours could carry things. Slip through gaps. Sit heavy on a hold full of cargo." He slid a single gold coin across the wood. "I run a crew. We take what floats past. Work one job, and you'll have more of these than Marta's price." Butt Man rocked forward. Gold was gold. Gold bought the chair's location. "I will do it," he said. Gareth's smile widened. He told Butt Man the plan. A merchant ship, heavy with cloth, would pass at dawn. The crew would board and strip it. Butt Man would go in first, low and quiet, and jam the hold door open. What Gareth did not say sat in his eyes. Butt Man could not read men. But Marta could. She stopped beside the table with a tray on her hip and looked at the pirate, not the butt. "He's lying to you," she said. Flat. Certain. "I heard his mates talk last night. If the job goes wrong, they leave you behind. You take the blame. They keep the gold." Gareth stood fast, his hand near his belt. "Mind your trays, girl." Butt Man did not move. He had come here for one thing. He weighed the coin, the plan, the trap. Then he pushed the gold piece back across the table. "No," Butt Man said. "I want the chair. I do not want your rope around my neck." Gareth's face went hard. He snatched the coin and stood. "Then rot poor," he said, and shoved out the door. The tavern breathed again. Butt Man had refused the only gold anyone had offered him. He sat with empty pockets and a warning that had likely saved his life. Marta set the tray down. She studied the shape on the bench, the plain butt who had turned down a pirate to his face. "You listened," she said. "Most men don't." She wiped the table slow. "Goldmane keeps his chair guarded. Gold won't be enough to reach it. You'll need someone inside his company. Someone who knows his secrets." Butt Man leaned in. "You know such a person?" "I know a name," Marta said. "But not tonight." She lifted her tray. "Come back when you can pay. The next step costs more than the last." Butt Man rolled toward the door, still poor, but still alive.

Marta's price was too high, and Butt Man had no coin. Kael would not spend a copper on trust. So Butt Man made a choice. He would get his own gold. He remembered the pirate crew, and their hoard, and the man who once tried to hire him. He rolled off toward the shore alone. The hideout sat low against the water. Weathered timber walls sagged under a rope net. A carved skull hung over the door, and barrels crowded the sand. Butt Man pressed against the wood and listened. Inside, men laughed and coins clinked. He found a gap where two boards had split, wide enough for no man but perfect for a butt. He squeezed through and dropped onto a floor of spilled mead. Gareth Gold-Tooth stood at the head of a long table, counting gold into stacks. The pirate had once offered Butt Man a coin and a trap. His crew had meant to leave Butt Man to hang for their theft. Now their gold sat in the open, and their captain had his back turned. Gareth heard the wet slap of Butt Man landing. He spun, hand on his belt, and his gold tooth caught the lantern light. "You," he growled. "The seat that turned down my coin. Come to steal from me instead?" He drew a blade. His men rose, cutlasses out, backing him in a half circle. Butt Man did not run. He could not. He had one weapon, and he had carried it his whole life. He clenched. He aimed at the crowded room. Then he let go. The blast filled the hideout. A green fog rolled off him and swallowed the lanterns. The stench hit the pirates like a wall. Gareth gagged and dropped his blade. His men clutched their throats and folded. One by one they hit the floor, eyes rolling, mouths open. Gareth reached for Butt Man, took one breath too many, and toppled across his own gold. Butt Man waited for the air to clear. Snores filled the room. He rolled to the table and scooped coins into a torn sack with the pirates' own tools. The sack grew heavy. He had more gold now than Marta had ever named. He dragged the sack out through the split boards and onto the sand. Then he heard Gareth cough behind the wall. The pirate was already stirring. The gas did not hold them long. Butt Man had his gold, but now Gareth Gold-Tooth knew who took it, and knew the strange shape that had felled his whole crew. A screech cut the dusk. Down the shore, a tall clawed bird lifted its head from a carcass and fixed one yellow eye on him. It smelled the mead on his skin. It stepped toward him, then broke into a run. Butt Man had gold at last, and a hunter between him and the road back to Kael.