Tendal mutters to himself as he thinks, remembering his books and discussions with the sailors on the trip. "Our welcome matches the suspicion that any stranger would receive at this time. I wonder if there is a ghost...or if its just the locals causing the smugglers to get upset. I think that I would like to see a ghost, so I hope that there is one..."
"Well I am for bed." he says as he stands. "I think that this evening is at a close, and I want to be rested for our explorations and inquisitions tomorrow. Good evening, gentlemen." he announces, then moves away from the table.
Nodding at Tendal, Snake looks to Braddon as the well dressed man takes his leave, "The suit's got it right; I think I'm for turning in as well." He rises, grabs his untouched whiskey and heads for the stairs. And as he does, he places his glass of whiskey on a table where a couple of patrons reside, "Enjoy, bubs," he says as he starts upstairs.
"Hey," Braddon mumbles.
He swallows the last of his ale and follows Snake upstairs.
"You didn't have to waste it... and you should make sure Phil knows he's up before dawn."
Braddon grins and then sighs. "I suppose if he needs some backup I could help."
Snake looks over at the ranger as they walk, "I don't think that'll be a problem. Somethin' tells me Raccoon will probably be too. And backup for what?"
"And backup for what?"
"I just figure we'd be taking down that guy and his lackeys. After all, no-one's tried to kill me today. They're late."
"That man, appears to be an aide to the Lieutenant Governor. His ire seems based on his evaluation of Tendal's fine dress and manner, as a threat to his own position. If we don't find him waiting, we might find him with his master. A house of finery might also draw, well... a bird to a gilded cage?"
"I just figure we'd be taking down that guy and his lackeys. After all, no-one's tried to kill me today. They're late."
"Hm. Yeah I guess we might be; but not tonight. Like you said: let 'em wait. Hopefully they got better things to do besides sittin' around waitin' for us. Initially, this place doesn't seem to differ too much from Riddleport so my guess is... they probably don't."
With a bit of elbow grease and some negotiation, the party assembles their sleeping quarters with the ticks and blankets from the storage room and settles down for the night. The tavern directly beneath makes no effort to quiet itself out of respect for the sleeping quarters above, but eventually the group manages to block enough of the sound sifting up through the uncarpeted floor, or perhaps grow accustomed enough to it, to achieve slumber.
The morning in Roderic's Cove comes earlier than in Riddleport, the horizon softened only by the trees of the Churlwood across the Chavali River, rather than walled out by a rocky ridge. The windowed one of the two rooms, however, faces north, so the intrusion of the summer sun is not as rude as it must be in the rooms on the western wall of the Fish and Fortune; the room across the hall is unwindowed and thus undisturbed by natural light.
The morning's work in Roderic's Cove seems to begin at much the same time as in Riddleport. The sounds of banging doors, heavy footfalls, and inconsiderate shouts penetrate the walls of each of the two rooms equally.
Accommodations short of comfort did not vex Gristav. The habits of a roadworn made a tick in a corner sufficient, after cantripic cleansing of both. And the morning's noise was neither too early nor too loud for the magus, long used to rising for study at first light, the better to make use of the day. Awake, about, a-horse, and at larg-
That vexed. No clear path forward. No path that clearly was forward. At least, when travelling, North was always North.
"Well", Gristav said, softly aloud, perhaps the first word in the room that morning, "Dawn is dawned." With a gentle waking shove of his spellbook's spine against Tendal, Gristav held the book in the path of the opening eyes a moment, then, with a nod and a smile, set to his own studies.
"GAH!" Tendal grunted awake after being stabbed with a tome.
"That was not the most pleasant way to wake in the morning." Tendal said, rolling over and looking at the already studying Gristav. "I wish that you could have been female, and a bit more shapely, perhaps blond..." he complained, then rose, perhaps not that quickly, and splashed water on his face from the pitcher by the door. He then whispered a quick cantrip to remove the stubble from his face.
He sat down on the bed, opened his traveling spellbook, and reviewed his daily spells.
Quiet silent moments passed, punctuated by the turn of a page and the creak of leather binding.
"You know, other than stirring up the locals and seeing what shakes out, I am not certain what our plan of action is to be while we are here." Tendal said into the silence as he closed his spellbook some time later.
"GAH!" Tendal grunted awake after being stabbed with a tome.
"That was not the most pleasant way to wake in the morning." Tendal said, rolling over and looking at the already studying Gristav. "I wish that you could have been female, and a bit more shapely, perhaps blond..." he complained, then rose, perhaps not that quickly, and splashed water on his face from the pitcher by the door. He then whispered a quick cantrip to remove the stubble from his face.
"Just a bit, more shapely?", Gristav mathed aloud, grinning. "Well, no accounting, for taste."
He sat down on the bed, opened his traveling spellbook, and reviewed his daily spells.
Quiet silent moments passed, punctuated by the turn of a page and the creak of leather binding.
"You know, other than stirring up the locals and seeing what shakes out, I am not certain what our plan of action is to be while we are here." Tendal said into the silence as he closed his spellbook some time later.
"The barman says, the lieutenant governor has a degree of impressionability for persons possessed of your professional, posh polish. I'd suggest that drawing room, as a better daytime base than this taproom. You'll have to tell me; do the rules of propriety allow, deny, or require a man of your standing to present himself? Or do we tend other business, perhaps false business, while being noticed, until an invitation comes?"
Morning finds Phillip with bags under his eyes, as though he'd struggled through a troubled night or was about three or four hours short of a good night's sleep. He puts a copper dancing to hand as he looks around for a sign of a kahve pot anywhere... memories of Sargavan Red welling up in his breast. He looks to Serpe and Braddon quickly to check and confirm if they had anything burning through their minds - before grunting and returning to thought.
At Gristav's words he ventures "Aye, that'd be 'an' idea, and likely worth following - but only for Magnimar and one other interested. While there's a chance Lil's fit fine in with the management, I'd wager she'd be secreted a mite further from the light in the shadows."
Cracking his neck and running a hand through his tousled hair the halfling continues "Braddon and I, with Serpe in tow if he's willing and interested - can see to those shadows. First and foremost we needs know if the ship in questions been through or is due, and try and skirt round the edges of Marlo's world to see where it stands."
"I'd guess that with Serpe in tow, he'll find us soon enough... if not... then probably we'd still draw some degree of attention. I don't think any of us should be alone..."
"The barman says, the lieutenant governor has a degree of impressionability for persons possessed of your professional, posh polish. I'd suggest that drawing room, as a better daytime base than this taproom. You'll have to tell me; do the rules of propriety allow, deny, or require a man of your standing to present himself? Or do we tend other business, perhaps false business, while being noticed, until an invitation comes?"
Tendal's eyebrow quirks upward at this. "There is civilization to be found in this...outpost? I am sincerely shocked. I imagine that it will be much like play-acting however. Ruffians with the rude trappings of civility making motions towards the reality that is their betters." Tendal snorts.
"Aye, that'd be 'an' idea, and likely worth following - but only for Magnimar and one other interested. While there's a chance Lil's fit fine in with the management, I'd wager she'd be secreted a mite further from the light in the shadows."
"As Mr. Hargreaves has said, if we make enough noise where we can be seen, perhaps they will be able to come upon the lady with stealth and guile, and nab her none the wiser."
"Shall we see if our comrades are up and about, break our fast and then I will go and present myself to see if we can discern the lady's whereabouts?"
"...the lieutenant governor..."Tendal's eyebrow quirks upward at this. "There is civilization to be found in this...outpost? I am sincerely shocked. I imagine that it will be much like play-acting however. Ruffians with the rude trappings of civility making motions towards the reality that is their betters." Tendal snorts.
"Every rooster thinks he's a prince. Reward either the crow, or the buzzard." Gristav grimaced. "That has more punch in the Tien. Oh, and here's another: No one plays the game correctly, except the locals."
...
"As Mr. Hargreaves has said, if we make enough noise where we can be seen, perhaps they will be able to come upon the lady with stealth and guile, and nab her none the wiser."
"Shall we see if our comrades are up and about, break our fast and then I will go and present myself to see if we can discern the lady's whereabouts?"
"I'm amenable. If I'm in guise of bodyguard and factotum, I'll need to know your proper full name and title. Against any request for introduction that may come." Chuckling, Gristav leaned on a Sczarni pronounciation, and said, "Oy! Dis is Tendal 'Magnimar' Dev'rin, an' if you don' know 'im, dat's on you." Gris grinned, and asked, "If that will serve...?"
"Braddon and I, with Serpe in tow if he's willing and interested - can see to those shadows. First and foremost we needs know if the ship in questions been through or is due, and try and skirt round the edges of Marlo's world to see where it stands."
"Will these shadows let me sleep a little longer?" Braddon mutters.
After further conversation, Braddon gives up and staggers to his feet."Normally, I'd just ask the harbourmaster and pay him with a few silver. Most are corrupt enough for that. It's almost a standard supplement to their regular wage. If they won't tell, there'll be someone near the docks who can. If the ship's been, we go searching. If not, we wait and make merry. Easy peasy."
Braddon thinks for a moment, then turns to Phil.
"That's what you said, right?"
Cracking his neck and running a hand through his tousled hair the halfling continues "Braddon and I, with Serpe in tow if he's willing and interested - can see to those shadows. First and foremost we needs know if the ship in questions been through or is due, and try and skirt round the edges of Marlo's world to see where it stands."
"I'd guess that with Serpe in tow, he'll find us soon enough... if not... then probably we'd still draw some degree of attention. I don't think any of us should be alone..."
"I'm game. And you're right about that last bit," he says, looking to the others, "No one goes anywhere alone."
Phil smiles and gives Braddon a slight nod of confirmation.
The party equips themselves for the coming day, the spell casters arming their minds while Braddon adjusts his weaponry to be at the ready. When their preparations are complete, they clatter down the staircase back into the common room of the Fish and Fortune. Scattered empty mugs and displaced chairs and tables testify to the night's business. The overweight barkeep is half-heartedly straightening up some of the mess when he notices their passage.
"Turning in your keys? Or will you be staying another night? If you want to keep the same rooms, you'll need to pay in advance to carry the keys away with you."
"I don't doubt that we will be in town another night. Further, it will likely take us some modicum of time to acquire return passage to Riddleport. Let's pay the man and be about our business." Tendal sniffs.
"I don't doubt that we will be in town another night. Further, it will likely take us some modicum of time to acquire return passage to Riddleport. Let's pay the man and be about our business." Tendal sniffs.
With a silent, faint-smiled nod, Gristav turns to the barkeep, and settles up. "Are there meals to be had, here or nearby?", he asks, as the coins are done being counted.
The man grunts appreciatively as Gristav hands over the requisite coins. "Hair of the Dog down by the docks," he replies with a chuckle, "though your master might stand out among their usual clientele. And there's always some purser or other making a few copper selling off leftover supplies after victualing up again. Good for cheap hardtack and salt pork to fill your pockets." The fellow nods an obsequious valediction to them as they walk out into the street.
The morning light reveals a small and squalid town. The buildings are laid out haphazardly rather than with any thought to straight lines and right angles; it's reminiscent of Lubbertown in Riddleport, where wagons were made stationary and shacks built wherever the caravaners found room to leave them. Most are ramshackle single-story affairs, the Fish and Fortune the group just left being among the few exceptions.
To the east, the Chavali river shimmers in the morning sunlight, the Churlwood Forest a dark mass on the other side. To the south is the Varisian Gulf; undoubtedly, the harbormaster's office lies in that direction, somewhere along the docks. To the northwest, an incongruously tall and stately building, made all the more prominent by its placement on a minor bluff, towers above the rest of the town, which huddles around it like clumps of toadstools around the roots of a tree. If one is to judge by appearances, whoever has the most authority in Roderic's Cove ought to live there.
The man grunts appreciatively as Gristav hands over the requisite coins. "Hair of the Dog down by the docks."
"Hair of the Dog it is then," Braddon nods appreciatively.
When he opens the door he peers outside cautiously before heading out blinking into the morning sun. He stretches and peers into the corners for anyone who might be watching them."You guys be careful," he addresses Tendal and Gristav. He leans in to Tendal and mutters a bit quieter, "Gristav ain't much to look at but he took down half a dozen cultists on his own last Fireday. Stick by him if trouble starts."
He waves along Phil and Snake then starts south.
"Undoubtedly," he explains to them, "the harbourmaster's office lies in this direction, somewhere along the docks."
Looking over at Braddon curiously, "Undoubtedly? What makes you so sure? Wait... never mind. I don't want to know."
Snake then looks about the area, noticing the tall building in the northwest. Narrowing his eyes in thought as he looks upon it, "If we need to find Marzo for whatever reason, I'm thinking we won't have to look far." Adjusting his pack, he turns his head to the side, looking at Lucky upon his shoulder. "Well, Luck, we're back where it all started, buddy. At least I think this is where it all started. Let's find out, huh?" Turning his attention to the others, "Let's move, bubs. Time is not our ally."
Phil settles in a step behind and to the side of Braddon, agreeing with his undoubted turn of mind t'wards the harbourmaster's location. As they walk he keeps his eyes to the side as well as forward, sharing "Aye, though lets bribe for a look at the comings and goings in general if we can. A scan of the logbook will tell us if the Teeth's been in..." pausing a moment in revelation before adding "Scratch that... let's bribe him for the book and also mention of any others who laid coin to be left out of the book if we can... assuming our harbourmaster's likely to be as honest as the rest of the town."
Matching pace with Tendal, Gristav says, after a dozen paces, "You know, I heard what Braddon said. It's not as grand as all that. A bit of twisted hues and forms, spraying colors. Illusion, permuted past the possibilities of perception, and the mind... refuses. Shuts down. That was two of them. The third, fell to the staff, quickly, and the fourth, less quickly, to wood and frost. And the witch's will was wove withall... I suppose, until he leaped through the window. Regardless, some credit is his. And then... the madness started hitting, vented and voiced by the villainous vicar... and I'm not sure any of us are reliable witnesses thereafter. So, I cannot dispute, 'half a dozen'. But I can state, with clarity, that it was, not at all, grand."
"Undoubtedly? What makes you so sure? Wait... never mind. I don't want to know."
"Look, I grew up in a harbour town. My father was a sailor. But really, you don't have to be a genius. Where else would you find a harbourmaster but at the docks?"
Braddon grins.
Braddon, Phillip, and Snake retrace their path from the night before, returning from the Fish and Fortune to the docks. The waterfront is much shorter than in Riddleport with room for fewer ships to dock, but what there is of it is just as busy.
The Hair of the Dog is at the eastern end of the dock, near the mouth of the river, and appears to be doing brisk business. What looks to be an official building is identifiable only by a standing frame of raw wood outside the front door, with a handful of bulletins and papers nailed to it; this would seem to be the harbormaster's office.
-----------------------------------
Gristav and Tendal head in the opposite direction. The land slowly rises as they move away from the river, so that by the time they arrive at their destination, they can look back and see most of Roderic's Cove spread out below them. It's far from a scenic vista, the assorted jumble of taverns, warehouses, and hovels marring what might otherwise be an idyllic view of the river and gulf. Up close, it's clear that the house itself has seen better days: some of the shutters are hanging crookedly, the scrollwork is rotting, and the whole thing could use a fresh coat of paint. Still, compared to the rest of the town, it's opulent.
A short set of stairs leads up to a wide porch and a carved front door, with decorative beveled glass panels on either side.
Gristav and Tendal head in the opposite direction. The land slowly rises as they move away from the river, so that by the time they arrive at their destination, they can look back and see most of Roderic's Cove spread out below them. It's far from a scenic vista, the assorted jumble of taverns, warehouses, and hovels marring what might otherwise be an idyllic view of the river and gulf. Up close, it's clear that the house itself has seen better days: some of the shutters are hanging crookedly, the scrollwork is rotting, and the whole thing could use a fresh coat of paint. Still, compared to the rest of the town, it's opulent.
"The grand lady still has her curves and stature.", Gristav forgives aloud, notes of regret evident in his voice, at least to his elven ear.
A short set of stairs leads up to a wide porch and a carved front door, with decorative beveled glass panels on either side.
Nimbling up the stairs, his staff spinning an arc in one hand, the half-elf and the grey stave both seemed to freeze for an instant, the staff an inch from the door, one ear a foot from that. A hearbeat, then two, and *rap rap* rang the rod on the detailed door, loud enough for anyone actually listening.
"Good morning", Gristav greets any answer, a sweep of his stave signaling the bored nobleman still at the base of the steps. "Tendal Deverin, of the Deverin Tradehouse", he says, as if expecting a recognition. "Magnimar?", he adds, as if to ensure it. "To be presented to the Governor.", he explains, catching himself, "Ah- Lieutenant Governor." His smile is as warm as the warming day, as he regards whoever has answered the door with interest contrasting the nearby noble's nonchalance.
"The grand lady still has her curves and stature.", Gristav forgives aloud, notes of regret evident in his voice, at least to his elven ear.
Tendal glances over his shoulder and barely represses a shudder. "I must say, I doubt your taste in women then. This, dear sir, is a rathole." he trailed off, silent for a moment as they climbed. "You know, this feels like a bit of a downward slide. First I left Magnimar, to Sandpoint...which all things being equal is a quite lovely town...then Riddleport, which is...Riddleport, and now here to this festering sore. I cannot, nor do I wish to imagine the next location will hold for us."
As Gristav presented them, Tendal looked on, tapping his cane on the ground and feeling moderately annoyed that he was presenting himself to some puffed up pirate with pretensions to nobility.
"Look, I grew up in a harbour town. My father was a sailor. But really, you don't have to be a genius. Where else would you find a harbourmaster but at the docks?"
Braddon grins.
"Hm. Fair enough," he responds, the merest of a grin visible.
Noticing the building, "There it is. Looks like we showed up at the right time," he says sarcastically, angling his head toward the ground bit and pulling the neck flaps of his coat to.
Phillip doesn't turn to knocking, instead giving the door a light kick and calling out "Hail within"
"Good morning", Gristav greets any answer, a sweep of his stave signaling the bored nobleman still at the base of the steps. "Tendal Deverin, of the Deverin Tradehouse", he says, as if expecting a recognition. "Magnimar?", he adds, as if to ensure it. "To be presented to the Governor.", he explains, catching himself, "Ah- Lieutenant Governor." His smile is as warm as the warming day, as he regards whoever has answered the door with interest contrasting the nearby noble's nonchalance.
The man who answers Gristav's knock opens the door just enough to fill the gap with his not-inconsiderable bulk. He blinks slowly and suspiciously between Gristav and Tendal a few times before grudgingly opening it the rest of the way and waiting for them to enter. "The governor's still at her breakfast," he mutters reproachfully as they pass.
The interior of the building is typical of a certain level of gentility, three or four generations out of fashion, not unlike many homes of outdated nobility Tendal has visited, save that intermingled with the peeling flocked wallpaper and dusty landscape paintings are ornaments of a considerably more maritime bent: mounted fish with gaping mouths and startled-looking glass eyes, an antique brass sextant, and a large nautical chart in the gilt frame that surely once held a family portrait. An umbrella stand in the corner behind the door contains a trio of fishing rods, a harpoon, and a narwhal's horn.
---------------------------------------
Phillip doesn't turn to knocking, instead giving the door a light kick and calling out "Hail within"
"Open the damned door if you're coming in!" a voice roars from inside. "What in the Nine Hells are you waiting on? A butler?"
Rolling his eyes towards his companions, Phillip fords the door and steps inside. Adjusting eyes to what lies within he ventures a response "Something tells me not much in the Nine Hells would be described as a butler." licking his lips a mite disconcertingly before adding "We're after a man whose can listen, see and forget everything after except the fact that his pocket's a little heavier. Would you be a man of such persuasion?"
Tendal eyes the green and yellow floral patterned sofa squatting like some horrible toad in the center of the room with both amusement and horror.
"Hm, what...interesting decorating." he says, on entering the sitting room. He walks across to the fireplace and peers at the carved pink marble tiles.
"You mentioned earlier how illusory magic can cause an effect of dazzlement causing the sudden loss of consciousness. Interesting how we now find ourselves surrounded by the physical manifestation of that spell." he observes wryly.
Rolling his eyes towards his companions, Phillip fords the door and steps inside. Adjusting eyes to what lies within he ventures a response "Something tells me not much in the Nine Hells would be described as a butler." licking his lips a mite disconcertingly before adding "We're after a man whose can listen, see and forget everything after except the fact that his pocket's a little heavier. Would you be a man of such persuasion?"
A man seated behind a rickety wooden desk with stubble spread evenly between his chin and his head grins and gestures eagerly for his visitors to shut the door behind them. The office is little more than an oversized wooden crate, and the man behind the desk is large: between him and the furniture, there is scarcely room for the three new arrivals with the door closed. Snake finds his hat brushing against the ceiling, even as he hunches his shoulders.
"You'll find a great deal depends on exactly how much heavier," the man goes on in a wheedling tone which makes a sharp contrast to the previous shout. "I'm a strong man, you see; my pockets can hold quite a bit before I'd notice the difference."
----------------------------------
In the Port Governor's home, the man who opened the door to Gristav and Tendal huffs to himself, "May as well show them to the dining room. The sooner they see her, the sooner I'll be rid of them." He seems either oblivious or indifferent to the fact that the men he's talking about can hear him quite clearly.
Phillip's voice carries a sharpness to it's edge that cuts through the wheedling to clarify "And copper is far heavier than gold..." allowing the implication that he's not one to be o'erbargained with stand before continuing "We're interested in two things... the log of comings and goings... and the 'other' log of comings and goings that ain't written down."
Snake - doing his best to keep a low profile - glances around as the two speak, curious if they've garnered any attention.
Tendal eyes the green and yellow floral patterned sofa squatting like some horrible toad in the center of the room with both amusement and horror.
"Hm, what...interesting decorating." he says, on entering the sitting room. He walks across to the fireplace and peers at the carved pink marble tiles.
"You mentioned earlier how illusory magic can cause an effect of dazzlement causing the sudden loss of consciousness. Interesting how we now find ourselves surrounded by the physical manifestation of that spell." he observes wryly.
"Nik ezagutzen kontzientzia galtzen sofa bat, noizean behin.", Gristav admits in his Caravari Varisi.
In the Port Governor's home, the man who opened the door to Gristav and Tendal huffs to himself, "May as well show them to the dining room. The sooner they see her, the sooner I'll be rid of them." He seems either oblivious or indifferent to the fact that the men he's talking about can hear him quite clearly.
"Gosaria, gonbidapena?", Gristav smiles. "Varisia, bizi arte bere ospea."
"We would not wish to intrude...", he cautions in common.
The man grunts, which might or might not be a response, and pushes open a door to one side of the room. The welcome smell of kippers, fresh bread, and hot cocoa waft through the opening. "Fellow from a tradehouse in Magnimar, ma'am," he grumbles. "Here to complain, no doubt."
"Is he, Mr. Arrow?" a female voice answers crisply from the next room. "Excellent. I never enjoy a breakfast without complaints, you know. They go so well with the marmalade. Show him in, sir."
Giving the visitors a baleful glance, Mr. Arrow puts his back to the open door to usher them into the next room.
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"We're interested in two things... the log of comings and goings... and the 'other' log of comings and goings that ain't written down."
"And I'm only interested in one thing," the man counters, "which is exactly what's in it for me."
"And I'm only interested in one thing," the man counters, "which is exactly what's in it for me."
"Why don't we compromise? I think I've got a few silvers here somewhere."
Braddon rummages around and pulls out a small wallet."Ah, I forgot about that."
He tosses it to the table and it falls open to reveal the badge of the Riddleport Gendarmes.
"Oh, and there's this."
He carefully unfolds the writ identifying himself as working for the Gendarmes and slides that forward.
"No silver. Sorry about that. I don't usually deal in small change anyway.
He glances back to Snake. "Didn't I owe you for that... oh, you told me never to mention it. Sorry."
The man grunts, which might or might not be a response, and pushes open a door to one side of the room. The welcome smell of kippers, fresh bread, and hot cocoa waft through the opening. "Fellow from a tradehouse in Magnimar, ma'am," he grumbles. "Here to complain, no doubt."
"Is he, Mr. Arrow?" a female voice answers crisply from the next room. "Excellent. I never enjoy a breakfast without complaints, you know. They go so well with the marmalade. Show him in, sir."
Giving the visitors a baleful glance, Mr. Arrow puts his back to the open door to usher them into the next room.
"Thank you, Mr. Arrow.", Gristav says, entering with a bodyguard's eye first, for the corners, and then for conviviality. Stepping a pace away from the door's line to the lady, Gristav grounds his staff and regards her, dropping his gaze and raising his voice, both just slightly. "Madam. I regret, no one to introduce us. That is the only complaint we brought. I am Gristav. May I present Tendal Deverin, of the Deverin Tradehouse of Magnimar?" Mindful of his role, Gristav still wore a smile at the lady's humor.
"Why don't we compromise? I think I've got a few silvers here somewhere."
Braddon rummages around and pulls out a small wallet.
"Ah, I forgot about that."
He tosses it to the table and it falls open to reveal the badge of the Riddleport Gendarmes.
"Oh, and there's this."
He carefully unfolds the writ identifying himself as working for the Gendarmes and slides that forward.
"No silver. Sorry about that. I don't usually deal in small change anyway.
The man's demeanor changes when Braddon produces the token from the general, and he grows a little pale beneath his stubble when the affidavit appears. "I, uh, was only joking ... I mean, seeing if you were serious about ... about trying to bribe me," he stammers. "I don't ... I don't take bribes. I...."
The breakfast room is sunny and so full of light that one doesn't immediately realize that the many eastern-facing windows haven't been recently cleaned and some are cracked. Seated at the head of a long, narrow gilt table is a rangy, raw-boned woman a little on the sunny side of forty. Her dark brown hair is hanging loosely and has yet to show a thread of silver. An assortment of delicate porcelain dishes, the source of the inviting aromas, are arranged on the table in front of her plate, which contains a brined, smoked kipper, topped with a fried egg, and a couple of thick slices of brown bread.
The woman's sharp eyes rake over Tendal as he enters. "Tradehouse of Magnimar, you say? You don't look like a complaint from a tradehouse. Where's your paunch and your walrus moustache? Well, Mr. Deverin? What complaints have you to lodge against me this morning?"
"I don't ... I don't take bribes. I...."
"Of course not," Braddon grins amiably.
The smile suddenly vanishes."What you do do, is get us the log AND the other log. Now."
Braddon's voice is quiet and firm and there is no trace of his previous good humour.
Gristav had the habit of paying attention to trifles, and truffles, and jams. But like a wayward monk, the lady's presence had drawn him from his habit. Still, as the barman had predicted, her eyes were for Tendal.
The woman's sharp eyes rake over Tendal as he enters. "Tradehouse of Magnimar, you say? You don't look like a complaint from a tradehouse."
Aside, to Mr. Arrow, Gristav hushes, "He would, if the lady were a gentleman." Gris momentarily mimes the mage's manner of olfactory opprobrium, but swiftly resumes his usual smile, sincere, and faintly fae.
"What you do do, is get us the log AND the other log. Now."
Braddon's voice is quiet and firm and there is no trace of his previous good humour.
The man retrieves a heavy leatherbound book from behind his desk and sets it out on the surface. "There's only the one log," he insists sulkily. "No one's cheating the Overlord."
Upon hearing the woman's voice coming from the other room, Tendal's interest suddenly sharpened with bladelike focus. He flicked a bit of barely perceptible lint off of one of his sleeves and strode into the room as if he owned it.
"Tradehouse of Magnimar, you say? You don't look like a complaint from a tradehouse. Where's your paunch and your walrus moustache? Well, Mr. Deverin? What complaints have you to lodge against me this morning?"
"Ah, you seem to have caught me out. My paunch I left in the trunk in my room, and my walrus mustache was snatched off my face by a gull on the trip north. I find myself less than suitably attired to present myself to you this morning." Tendal said, the barest hint of a smile playing across his lips.
"As for my complaints, I have none," he continued. "I don't actually find that complaints aid the digestion of anyone, so I don't think it fair for me to subject you to them. Besideswich I have only just arrived here, so I haven't had a chance to form an opinion that could be considered a complaint."
"As for why I am here, I have found that open discussion of interest between those who have authority in a town," he pointed with his cane at the seated woman, "and those who are interested in a full and productive future relationship," he said as he tapped the cane to his brow in a small salute, "both ends up being fruitful in the future as well as elucidating any areas that might become problematic. And so, here I am."
Fading back as Braddon's more direct and confrontational approach once again trumps his more circumferential and obtuse, Phillip is content to play his secondary fiddle. As Braddon moves to the fore he scans the logbook for mention of the Teeth, while surreptitiously flicking the harbourmaster a paltry silver while Braddon isn't paying attention.