Around the same time the refugees started arriving at Udny Pass, Harold was sat near the back of the tavern, nursing a mug of bitter lukewarm beer and scribbling notes into a leatherbound book. 

It was not exactly a fine establishment. The table was damp from the day's spillages and the air smelt like wet dog and smoke. Another patron lay slumped at the table next to his, snoring deeply. Harold liked the place.

Another man sat behind Harold, at a different table, at a glance ostensibly muttering to himself. After each burst of manic mumbling, Harold jotted a series of lines, ticks and symbols into the book, pausing only to swig at his drink. He wrote in no known language any Aretan would recognise, but rather a form of shorthand he'd developed for personal use over the years. He'd started it originally in an attempt to obfuscate his notes to the eyes of would-be snoopers, but eventually found it a much quicker way of writing than the common tongue, and took to writing everything in Qg; the name he'd given his note-taking, which simply meant "quick".

Eventually the man behind Harold seemed to lose interest in his monologue and got up and left. Harold kept writing, but his pace slowed. Before he could finish up, a commotion at the bar drew his interest. It was a city steward, arguing with the barman. Harold watched with increasing irritation as the barman glanced in his direction, said something to the steward, and then pointed in his direction. The steward marched over.

"Alright, old man. Let's go."

"Go where?"

"Dungeon. Guards've got some refugees for you to look at."

"And what do I look like, the judge of a refugee beauty pageant? Get lost," Harold snarled. 

The steward stared at him. Harold turned back to his notes and sighed. He wouldn't get out of this one.

"Alright fine, lead the way," he said quietly. 

As the steward turned to leave, Harold picked up his pencil and wrote one more thing down in his notes, before flipping the book closed. A name. In plain Aretan, this time. He had a second system for disguising names and places, something his Qg shorthand didn't account for, but in this case it didn't seem necessary. If his source had given him accurate information it'd be a short investigation. 

Harold wrote: 'Ilingard.'