He has just the lightest of blushes, "Will do." 

 And off to the stables. The hostlers bring out his Sweetroll and then he's off to Whiterun. 

Whiterun! He's been here before - it's the first city he checked when he got to Skyrim, on the theory that it's the capitol of the central hold, and therefore probably a trade center and a good spot for thieves. No luck there, but he did make a few friends.

He pulls into the city just past midnight two days after leaving Riften. He checks the Bannered Mare for Maven's contact, but he's not around. So he heads up to Jorrvaskr to see if Linnea will put him up for a while. 

She has no objections. So long as he'll spar her at some point. 

Fine by him. 

He checks back at the Mare the next day. Anyone of Mallus' description around? 

Sure is. He's alone at a table, drinking Black-Briar.

Poor guy. 

He heads over to hear what he has to say about the contract. 

"So you're the one, then? I'm going to keep this short 'cause we've got a lot to do. Honningbrew's owner, Sabjorn, is about to hold a tasting for Whiterun's Captain of the Guard and we're going to poison the mead."

"Will you be supplying the poison?"

"No, no. That's the beauty of the whole plan. We're going to get Sabjorn to give it to us. The meadery has quite a pest problem and the whole city knows about it. Pest poison and mead don't mix well, you know what I mean?"

"And how are we to get him to hand over the poison?"

"You're going to happen by and lend poor old Sabjorn a helping hand. He's going to give you the poison to use on the pests, but you're also going to dump it into the brewing vat."

"Clever. Where does he keep the vats?"

"Both of the buildings are connected by tunnels made by the pests infesting the meadery. There's an entrance to it in the basement storeroom of the warehouse that used to be boarded over. I've already removed the boards so the meadery would get infested. That's where you should start."

"Alright. I'll get to it." 

He passed the brewery on his way into Whiterun. It's simple enough to walk back - no point in fetching Sweetroll from the stables when he'll just have to board her again in a couple hours. He's not made of money. 

Sabjorn is more than happy to have a helping hand with the skeever infestation. He hands over a sizeable jar of poison and tells him to empty it all out on the nest, when he gets to it. Then he unlocks the cellar door and waves Gaemir in. 

Time to get to work. 

Shit, they're venomous?! 

He downs a general health potion after he takes care of the latest swarm, suddenly in much more of a hurry than he was earlier. He's halfway down the tunnel at this point, just coming into a larger cavern of some sort. Hopefully the nest is just up ahead. 

It is! So is this large swarm of venomfang skeevers! And this random dude, now attacking him and screeching about skeevers and the college of winterhold for some reason. 

Motherf-

He handles it. Staggering a little, he pours half the bottle of poison on the nest, before leaning against the skeever guy's table to down another potion and catch his breath. He pockets the journal left there automatically - he'll look it over later to find out what in oblivion all that was about. 

The tunnel up to the brewery is shorter, at least. He climbs the stairs to get to the right vat and nudges the lid aside so he can pour the remainder of the poison in. Then it's back down the tunnel to the other building to let Sabjorn know the job is done. 

Mallus is there when Gaemir comes back. He nods to him when Sabjorn isn't looking.

"You can stick around for the tasting, if you want," Sabjorn offers. 

Sure, he could, or he could head back to Whiterun so he can get his hands on an antidote before he runs out of health potions. 

"Thanks, but I've got somewhere to be pretty soon." Whiterun, an apothecary, as soon as possible. 

Sabjorn waves him off gratefully. Mallus pulls him aside before he can get out the door.

"I think I know where he'll be keeping that information Maven wants. Come back tomorrow and I'll hand over everything I can find." 

Sounds good. He acknowledges the Imperial's words with a nod, and then heads out the door. 

It's a twenty minute walk to Whiterun. He's regretting not taking his horse now. Well, nothing for it. He downs another potion, and starts off down the road. 

Some time after he passes out:

There's a hand on his shoulder, a voice murmuring, and the feeling of ugh fades a bit dramatically.

He groans, rolling away from the hand, "Ah- Wha? 'Nea?" 

"Not exactly," says an androgynous voice, dryly, with the husky purr typical to Khajiit.

He scrambles to his feet, reaching for his sword. He halts when he realises the situation. 

Side of the road, friendly Khajiit who must have found him passed out. Why was he passed out? Oh right, skeevers. Venomous skeevers. 

"I've been defeated by rats," he mutters, shaking the fog out of his head. The ultimate indignity. The Camoran spirit is probably disgusted. 

He looks up at his rescuer, "Uh. Thanks for the save," he says, sheepish.