The Jeggare Museum looms large at night, with its colonnade and solid marble pillars holding up a grand pointed roof. Guards stand around the museum bearing the symbols of the Sable Company, while a pair of hippogriff riders alight upon the landing pad situated next to the pointed roof. The Jeggares are well known as one of the five main noble families of Korvosan nobility, owing most of the docks that trade comes in, and are the major financial backers of the Korvosan Guard and the Sable Company.
Io jumps down from a neighboring rooftop, rejoining her comrades, fists wrapped in canvas to save wear on her fingers (and, of course, to "cushion" the blow to her targets), and a pair of shields on her back
"Does anyone else think I should get a dozen or so bucklers to throw? It's an amusing image, with tons of flying disks soaring through the air, hitting people on the head.... it could make a fun sport." she muses.
As she arrives, Machaera looks down the colonnade rather wistfully. The Museum’s collections hold quite a few pieces that bring back both good and bad memories of her unintended travels, to say nothing of artifacts from places she can only dream of. Maybe in 30 years, once she’s had more time to settle herself?
She gives a bit of a start when Io jumps down, and the young human woman’s first words are hardly less surprising. “I hope there would be helmets involved,” she says, playing along. “I’m all for making target practice more interesting, and I suppose shields would do as well as arrows and bullets, but I’m not sure about catching any of them.”
“Unlike these deserters.” She turns to look for the others’ arrival. “Although I’ll admit I don’t know much about Northgate or Old Korvosa. Maybe one of the masked men will know something useful? ‘All the World’s Meat,’ indeed. And there are at least four other men in there, apart from Vancaskerkin…”
Machaera falls silent as part of her starts fruitlessly cataloguing the possibilities, far too many to grapple with based on her current limited knowledge. There's nothing for it but to wait and see what the others might have discovered.
"Indeed. I believe I have a way in," comes a voice from the shadows. Stepping into view of the light (gaslight? continual light lamps?) is the familiar outline of the avian mask. Vancaskerkin and his group have made a name for themselves. They've been handing out meat to the local townsfolk, which would normally be applaudable if they legally acquired it themselves. However, they've also been hiring themselves out as local mercenaries. We could get inside by seeking an audience to hire them."[/b]
"That could work, where are they getting this meat from?" Yanis asks, "That could be a way in as well."
“Interesting,” Machaera says, nodding a greeting to the Albatross. “So, is the plan that they let us in to work out the details, and then, when we see our moment, we wreak havoc? Do you know if they hire themselves out piecemeal, or only as a group? It would be convenient if we could split them up.”
“Then again, I’m not sure what we could pretend we need mercenaries for. Or how easily we could trick them into a dark alley not too far away and encourage them to be reasonable, before we go back to round up the others.”
“Either way, though, it sounds tidier than just breaking down the door.”
"One or two of us could make a bit of a ruckus outside, try to lure them out, and then we jump whoever comes out."
Headsman shrugs.
"Bet a street hooligan throwing a brick through their front window would get 'em moving."
The Merlin lies in wait on a rooftop. After watching Io drop down he pauses for a moment. The girl stole my entrance! The black clad figure begins making his way toward the alley at the side of the building and catches Albatross' entrance in his peripheral vision. Et tu my feathered friend? Panicked, he glances about the street looking for an opportunity to spring out surprisingly at his companions. Dejectedly, he climbs down to the street and approaches the party sans-drama.
'It may be more convincing if we have one or two of us try to hire them. Aside from a theater troupe, I don't think we look like much of anything that needs much from sell-swords.'
“I hate to say it, but I’m afraid you’re right,” Machaera frowns, more out of tactical than sartorial concerns. “Albatross, in your investigations, did you notice another way in? A trade entrance, compared to the shopfront? We could time things so that half of us try the front, and the others sneak round the back, or we could just have the first group kick up a fuss with reinforcements not half a minute behind. There’s a bunch of these thugs, so if that’s what we decide, I wouldn’t ask anyone to do something I wouldn’t be willing to.”
Machaera lets that sink in for a second before continuing lightly, as if this is all in a night’s work, “That said, perhaps two groups of one fighter, one bird, and one witch – begging your pardon, Doctor, and all – would be ideal.”
The question of numbers and volunteers jogs something in the elf witch’s memory. She adds, as tactfully as she can, “Headsman, back at the Citadel, did I imagine things, or did you recognize one of the names of Vancaskerkin’s men? It’s none of my business, of course, so you can just tell me that that’s between you and him. Or, if you know something about him that would make him a priority target, just let us know.” Something about the way she pronounces the expression makes it clear that the gloves can come off, in that case, if this is another monster out of the young man's past like the unlamented Lamm.
"Yeah. Ain't gonna hide it. One of the men in there, Baldrago, that's one of the guys who offed my father."
Headsman works a fist into a palm as he speaks, a sonorous crack of knuckles making itself heard.
"I'll keep myself down until we're in a good position, but I ain't leaving here before I make sure my dad can have a swing at him too. Whatever you guys want to do with the others is fine, but I gotta do my pops right."
"Allow me to see if I can talk to them and bring them outside? Or do we want to go in?" Yanis asks while looking though his supplies.
"Yeah. Ain't gonna hide it. One of the men in there, Baldrago, that's one of the guys who offed my father."
Headsman works a fist into a palm as he speaks, a sonorous crack of knuckles making itself heard.
"I'll keep myself down until we're in a good position, but I ain't leaving here before I make sure my dad can have a swing at him too. Whatever you guys want to do with the others is fine, but I gotta do my pops right."
“Calistria’s lus-” the beginnings of an explosive curse form on Machaera’s mouth, before she remembers herself and that the youngsters might still be somewhat impressionable. No wonder the boy’s in a mood, she thinks, her thoughts leaping instantly, unwillingly, to run over what she might do if she lost a loved one to murder.
“Hell, Headsman,” she offers feebly, retreating into a show of warrior brusqueness to cover her consternation and to give the youth whatever space he wants. “I hear you. We’ll help you see justice done.”
"Allow me to see if I can talk to them and bring them outside? Or do we want to go in?" Yanis asks while looking though his supplies.
As the doctor brings them back to immediate questions, Machaera suggests, “I think we’ll want to go in, Doctor. We don’t want to attract too much attention or risk any bystanders getting hurt by letting a fight bleed into the streets if the deserters resist, and we might be able to use the space to our advantage if we can keep them from getting past us. Now, I have an idea for a tale we can spin for why we need mercenaries…”
"Do tell, I am ready to meet these men and women, this city needs some order brought back to its streets." Yanis says while keeping a watchful eye out.
“It’s a variant of the same old story, I’m afraid. You’ll end up thinking I’m terribly vain. Basically, an elven gentlewoman, yours truly, has been cursed by a rival with unpredictable bursts of magic, and her family and friends have almost given up. Her loyal doctor is at a loss, and so she turns to a desperate remedy: with her magic weakened, to hire some mercenaries to extract the counter-curse from her rival, and teach him a lesson…”
“In the meantime, while we haggle about the job, the others will either find another way in, or get ready to burst through the door, which we’ll make sure is left unlatched behind us. That way, either we’ll divide the deserters, or at least not tip our hand as to our full strength too early.”
“The fun part,” Machaera says with a grin, “is that I actually have learned an interesting trick in my travels that will give me a chance – though only a chance, mind you – to force raw magic into the Wise only knows what shape. At the very least, it will provide a distraction, and if Headsman, say, shouts out, ‘Watch out! She’s having another fit!,’ he might ‘accidentally’ catch a deserter a blow when he’s trying to restrain his friend, and you could do – well, however it is you work your wonders. It will give us a few extra seconds to gain the advantage, and in the worst-case scenario, I estimate only an 8% chance of a pillar of negative energy, lightning bolt, fireball, or petrification.”
"'s a fine plan with me." Headsman nods.
Time to do right by you, pops.
'Sounds good, let's go get a proper look at the place and finalize everything.'
“Albatross, in your investigations, did you notice another way in? A trade entrance, compared to the shopfront? We could time things so that half of us try the front, and the others sneak round the back, or we could just have the first group kick up a fuss with reinforcements not half a minute behind. There’s a bunch of these thugs, so if that’s what we decide, I wouldn’t ask anyone to do something I wouldn’t be willing to.”
"There's only one entrance. The building is two stories with offices on top. Entering the second floor would require rappelling and coming in through a window. I observed eight in total, in addition to Vancaskerkin," answers the Albatross, matter-of-factly.
"So we know the place, lets maybe start this, we don't have all night do wel?" Yanis asks a bit impatiently.
“Enough to go around, then,” Machaera says, hoping her bravado isn’t as transparent as she’s afraid it might be. Her self-deprecating smile makes it clear that she’s glad to have the information, not puffing herself up individually. Armoured both physically and mentally against what is sure to be a violent confrontation, she thinks, Strange how even though I’m not wearing a mask, I’m still wearing a disguise…
* * *
With the Albatross to show them the way, it doesn’t take long for the group to fade into the shadows only to emerge near the butcher’s shop just far enough away to not attract any casual attention from those within. Machaera nervously checks her pendant again, as if for luck, and offers a grim last blessing, “Alright, let’s go. Hopefully we won’t keep you climbers waiting too long for a distraction. Expect – oh, bursts of light, gunfire, screams. The moment should speak for itself.”
Even as she speaks, the nimbler members of the party are already in motion.
As the group approaches the butcher’s shop, Machaera tries her best to get into character, messing up her hair, widening her eyes, moving a bit more shakily, like a woman who hasn’t – or daren’t have – had a good night’s sleep in days. She tries to feel the full weight of her armour again: ‘This? Oh, sir, it’s stifling and heavy! But it makes it less likely that my spells will run away from me with this curse!’
All it takes, really, she realizes, is playing a bit with her own insecurities. There’s even a perverse sense of comfort in sorting out what she’s actually afraid of and what she’s exaggerating.
In a minute, she finds herself trying to get a glimpse through the darkened shop window of any sign of activity within. She gives everyone a glance once they’ve gathered to make sure everyone’s ready to give the door a knock, and the second-storey folks a bit more time to move into position.
Yanis moves up beside Machaera laying a comforting hand on her shoulder, spear in hand the words of power ready to activate at a moments needs.
"This is not what I expected to be doing with my life, but once we get this city back on track I can get back to my regular life."
Headsman stands behind Machaera and Yanis, hoping not to give the ruse away.
The Merlin leads the way across the rooftops towards All the World's Meat. As they approach the final rooftop He slows as to reduce the noise of his footfalls. He approaches the edge of the roof at the front of the building and begins tying off a rope from which to rappel.
A grisly old veteran wearing a winged helm and blue cloak overlaying several phaleras strolls towards All the World's Meat. Turning towards the duo, he nods towards the entrance and asks, "Are you ready for this?" before heading in the indicated direction.
Once there, he gives a quick rap on the door with the back of his bracers.
The shop appears to be dark, with no movement or lights inside on the first floor from what you can see via the windows. The second floor has light coming out of the front of the second story. No one responds to the Albatross' rapping or the Black Merlin on the roof.
The Albatross knocks again and proceeds to clear his throat before speaking loudly, "We're hear to ask about the night's special cuts."
The Merlin waits patiently on the roof above, tensed for the moment when things escalate.
Machaera doesn’t need to pretend to be suffering from a curse for her pout to be reasonably convincing. Sotto voce, she considers their options, “Should we make a fuss about needing help? I can do shrill, if I need to.”
As the moments creep by, she wonders if the code phrase is dreadfully literal. Are they out mercenarying as we speak, some poor soul getting beaten, a special cut?
Still keeping her voice low, in case the Cow Hammer Boys have their own guard posted somewhere with better night vision and hearing than she has, Machaera continues, “Do you think we could … let ourselves in? If nothing else, we could be sure we’re here when they return.”
"Can you open the door without breaking it down?" Yanis asks Machaera.
The door remains shut, and the lights in the second story don't seem to move.
Yanis knocks on the door to the meatery
Leaning over the edge of the roof, the Black Merlin watches the group at the door knocking. He attempts to focus his thoughts outwards into the collective. Think they're out roughing up some poor citizens? Maybe we should just storm the place. Hoping his message got through, he continues to watch and waits for a response.
"Or they are sleeping, Do you see a guard set?" Yanis asks back
Nothing from up here. I think there's a lamp burning upstairs, but no sign of anyone other than that.
Yanis knocks again a little harder this time.
"Hello"