"Let's trust to stealth, then?", Gristav suggests to Braddon. "I'll follow at the lamp's-edge, so you have light enough, but hopefully not too much, in case some leaky watched door waits ahead."
Ethel seems pleased by his appraisal and eagerly agrees to further lessons back at the Goblin. "You can't imagine how difficult it was, 'yes-madam'ing Betta and her frumpy clients all day," she complains. "I mean, I suppose it was always tedious ... but now that I'm 'astray,'" she splashes him playfully, "it's hard to go back to walking the beaten path."
The pair finish their bath and climb out of the pool, still behind the shelter of their curtain. Once dried and dressed, they emerge, damp hair slicked back, and head back toward the stairs. Phil notices the strawberry-blonde attendant watching Ethel's departure with a thoughtful smirk.
Phil winks knowingly at her words before mocking aggrievance at the unprovoked liquid attack.
While departing the baths Phil notices the eye of the attendant and plays a part. Absentmindedly he puts hand to his jacket pocket and feigns concern, before patting down his other pockets and continuing to walk with furrowed brow.
Once out of sight of the Veil, Phil sidles closer putting arm around Ethel's waist and confiding "Did you notice the attendant on the way out? She seemed to buy your charade on the entry." as he guides them warily back towards the Goblin.
Ethel turns a little pink with pleasure but downplays the success. "Oh, women," she scoffs. "I lie to them all day. 'Oh, no, madam, horizontal stripes are very slimming.' 'Oh, yes, madam, the herringbone jacket is quite becoming on you.'" She shakes out her loose hair, already starting to dry in the warm night air.
"Unexpected!" Braddon mutters reaching for his bastard sword. He thinks better of it then draws the short sword so recently claimed from Volo's gang as being more suited to the small space. Before advancing he kneels down and examines the floor, looking for more long, dark hairs, seed husks, any buildup of dust and fluff around the corners or more obvious signs of passage.
Suddenly, he pauses at a blank spot on the floor, looks up and whispers, "Someone may want to tell Dayn where we're going...", before resuming his careful inspection.
He then begins moving carefully down the passage as if following the point of his sword.
"Allow me," Malkith offers as he moves towards the door through which they originally came through. He opens it just far enough to get Daynadrian's attention and communicate their findings thus far. Shutting it again, he pauses for a moment before re-engaging the lock. He takes a last glance around the room before extinguishing the flame they had lit and joins the the others at the hidden passage. "No sense in tipping her off that someone had been prowling around her abode while we're gone."
Before Malkith puts out the oil lamp, Braddon takes advantage of its light to examine the floor beyond the secret door. Most of the room and its contents are covered with dust, which only makes the footprints along the path cleared between the crates more obvious. He can make out at least two sets, one made by common boots, the other more delicate footwear with a raised heel and a pointed toe. The woman's prints are the most recent, something less than two days old, Braddon would judge; they lead from the secret door to the staircase. Some scattered seeds of the same type as the empty husks back in Lil's flat are also fresh; the ranger can make out the tiny trails in the dust along the edge of the path where some of them rolled before coming to rest.
Chuckling "If you can lie to woman then men should prove no impediment... our minds are far simpler... and more base." winking to emphasize.
As the others had found on their way to Lil's secret flat, the streets of Leeward are, if less busy, not entirely untrafficked and feel little less safe than during the day, at least outside of the shadowed alleyways. The halflings arrive safely at the back door of the Gold Goblin where Phil makes use of his new key to let himself and Ethel in.
They walk through the kitchen and out onto the casino floor on their way to the residential wing. Tendal and Samaritha are seated at one of the golem tables with books open in front of them, and the half-elf glances up sharply when the kitchen doors open. When she sees who it is, she looks first disappointed, then, as her eyes slide to Ethel, a little embarrassed.
Tendal quirks an eyebrow as the halflings enter. "Master Hargreaves," he greets Phillip with a bit of reserve, "we missed you at dinner." He half-rises from his chair to offer Ethel a polite bow.
Before Malkith puts out the oil lamp, Braddon takes advantage of its light to examine the floor beyond the secret door. Most of the room and its contents are covered with dust, which only makes the footprints along the path cleared between the crates more obvious. He can make out at least two sets, one made by common boots, the other more delicate footwear with a raised heel and a pointed toe. The woman's prints are the most recent, something less than two days old, Braddon would judge; they lead from the secret door to the staircase. Some scattered seeds of the same type as the empty husks back in Lil's flat are also fresh; the ranger can make out the tiny trails in the dust along the edge of the path where some of them rolled before coming to rest.
"Beware... Malkith, my minor light may not be equal to any emergency. We may yet want that lamp."
"The footsteps go down, they don't come back. But if you can magic real light, that'll be faster than the lamp in an emergency. Hopefully with that dim light, we won't be noticed first."
Braddon begins carefully down the steps, checking for loose or creaky steps or steps that appear overly unused.
"Mr Deverin, that's strange as I had neither inclination nor invitation of attendance." stopping to turn to oneside and give Ethel a similar bow "The lady to my left is Miss Braum, a confidant and companion both... she and Samaritha have already been acquainted." not elaborating and allowing either of Tendal or Sam the opportunity of addressing or querying them.
Samaritha blushes a little and stammers a greeting to Ethel who responds with a dignified nod, despite her loose and damp hair. "Miss Braum," Tendal greets the halfling before turning his frown back toward Phillip. "I should hope you know that, as an agent of this establishment, you have a standing invitation to dine with the rest of the staff." His tone and the look in his eye make the 'invitation' sound like an obligation.
----------------------
To the north of the Gold Goblin, Braddon carefully descends the narrow staircase. It terminates in a closed wooden door. Pausing, Braddon motions behind him for the others to be still and strains his senses for any hint of life on the other side, but he sees no glimmer of light under the door and hears no signs of movement. Carefully, his shortsword in hand, he eases the latch open, pushing the door just ajar enough for him to glance out.
The room beyond appears to be an office of some kind. He sees the dim shapes of a desk and a few chairs and walls lined with shelves and cabinets. The front of the room is faintly lit by a sheen of starlight coming in from paned windows facing east. He is in the scribe's office on the northern end of first floor of the building. Apart from the door between the windows leading onto the street, there is a side door in the north wall which leads back outside; it looked little used from the exterior when Braddon and Daynadrian cased the building earlier in the day, most of the foot traffic evident at the front entrance.
Tendal's term and tone raise Phil's hackles and he turns on the man coldly and with measured but gravely voice "You'll do well to remember that I don't answer to you Master Deverin, and when Saul put to hiring he made no claim to my time outside of when the Goblin's doors are open for trade. So with due respect if Saul wants to alter his agreement... then he will need speak with me..." holding a stare at Tendal for a few seconds before smiling towards Samaritha "Always a pleasure little bird."
Words spent he leads Ethel by the arm through the room to his quarters.
"If anything hazarded the stairs, me reading, for instance", Gristav reasoned softly, "The cautious resident might enter on this path. We might hide a man here, where he is not expected, and have one block the stairs. She passes the man in the shop, and cannot see our tracks in the blackness. Once she's past, up the stairs, our man here can deny her this retreat, by holding the door, and thus be safe from her magics. The others would rely upon numbers."
"Although it seems a fair guess that she may not return tonight at all. IF she did, and spoke to me I'd rather not know who had what of our evidences against her, so shuffle them about. And let it be agreed, if we are set upon and scattered, such evidences and testimony will be given to the General with the dawn. I say all that now, so I can say only that to her, even if turned to her side. If I can sincerely believe her best option is to come to the Goblin and discuss the matter, I can sincerely champion that position."
"Or we can mob her in the apartment proper, hoping surprise and numbers keep her from flight. I would prefer reason or cleverness carry the day in a civilized, even gallant, manner, but I will dance to the drums of the tribe, if we elect to be brutish."
Tendal watches the pair of halflings depart with disapproval, but Samaritha draws his attention back to the books they were studying. As Phillip unlocks his room and holds the door to let Ethel enter, she asks, "Was that Saul's new capp? Did you know him in Magnimar?"
Phillip muses before answering "I'm not sure exactly what he is to Saul... perhaps... but no, I didn't know of him in Magnimar." seeing the door locked behind Ethel before shedding the outer layers of his gear and stretching. "He certainly expects deference... but doesn't deserve it in my eyes."
"This must be her office. Her footprints were on this side. Grab some sheets and shawls to cover this window. We're going to need some proper light in here if we're going to look for incriminating paperwork."
"It makes sense to have a discrete egress for clients," Malkith states aloud. He nods at Braddon in the dark, assuming his elven eyes can pick up the gesture, and begins to gather a few items to block the windows with.
"May I observe aloud a moment? We haven't enough light to move about freely. We haven't enough light to know when we've curtained the windows well enough to then have enough light to search this office. And making a mess or a thorough search here, seems at odds with the care we've taken upstairs to hide our presence. All of which assumes this to be her office, which I doubt, and not the legitimate office of some partwise ally or patsy of herself, which I find far more likely."
"I would recommend we gather mostly back in her rooms, leaving one man, hidden, here, and one man, plain, at the top of the alley stairs. If that doesn't please you all, we could wait all together. But I do not think we ought to search this office without light, nor redecorate the draperies to allow light we imagine to be secret. If we must search this place, let us fetch the lantern, unlit until my magics drape the windows. I can do so once, but for as long as we need."
"If you can block the windows, great. But we should search. If there's a list of clients or people she's worked for. Or she's paid someone to take away the governess. Or plans to usurp Shorafa. She walks through this office. Why wouldn't she keep papers here too? And if she's fled somewhere, there may be a record. People love to keep records, especially business people. That's why I never write anything down."
Braddon nods decisively, as if this makes perfect sense.
"This is not her office. This is another's office, a scribe's, by the look of the number of varied and ready pens. The secret stair to one's own office, one flight down in the same building, where you keep your secret files, but do business with the public... Is just a regular stairway. This is not her office." Gristav met Braddon's eye, but his simplistic certitude seemed unswayed. Sighing, Gris sorcelled, and a curtain of conjured coal-black cloth, flocked fuligin, unfurled across the shopfront windows. "Do let's search..."
Braddon remembers from earlier in the day that the placard on the door identifies the scribe as one Nathanael Weatherby, but as he was looking for residences and not businesses, he hadn't entered to see who might have been presiding inside.
Gristav works his spell and concentrates his mind on maintaining the image while the others begin to sift through the contents of the office. Mr. Weatherby -- or whoever -- seems to be of an exacting and organized frame of mind. His -- or her -- records are neatly catalogued and arranged both alphabetically and then by date. The earliest papers seem to go back almost a decade, and he appears to have handled legal documents and financial records for most of the businesses in Leeward at some point or another. The crime bosses are outside of his purview, however, as no portfolios are found concerning any dealings with Boss Croat, Cleg Zincher, or Shorafa Pamodae; nor does he appear to have had any congress with the Gendarmes or Maskyr's Island.
Two rather unusual findings come to light in the course of the search. First, one of the newest folders lists some rather large amounts of gold being paid into some kind of investment, but in contrast to the painstaking completeness of his other records, neither a payee nor a depositor is listed -- merely a column of numbers. The latest entry is dated just yesterday, the 28th of Erastus.
Second, a small, leather-bound personal ledger is found in the desk drawer. It appears to list the scribe's personal income and expenses. Beginning four years ago, there is an entry for rent for the upper room, although the name of the renter is conspicuously absent. While the amount listed begins as a rather standard monthly payment for a tenant, the payment gradually begins to lessen; for the last several months, there is no entry at all for income from the let room.
Apart from these last two items, the office appears to conceal nothing untoward or unusual for its stated purpose.
"Looks like I was wrong. There's nothing useful here. What a waste of time. I guess she just walks through the office and has nothing to do with it. A secret front entrance. Odd."
He looks around.
"I guess we wait, though I feel she may not be coming back."
Phillip muses before answering "I'm not sure exactly what he is to Saul... perhaps... but no, I didn't know of him in Magnimar." seeing the door locked behind Ethel before shedding the outer layers of his gear and stretching. "He certainly expects deference... but doesn't deserve it in my eyes."
"I heard he's not a person you want to get on the wrong side of," Ethel replies doubtfully. "Word on the street is, he killed so many men in Magnimar, the bosses got nervous and ran him out of town to Riddleport."
"When you're done with the lamps, putting things as they were, I'll drop my curtains. We'll wait upstairs then? We all?"
Phillip is genuinely surprised by Ethel's rumors regarding Tendal. Musing a moment he responds with a chuckle "Be that as it may, I'll trust my own eyes first... and he's given me nothing that suggests any danger." stopping and facing her directly "I'll drag the chair before the door if you think it might keep you safe from his murderous reprisal" eyes twinkling and impish.
Malkith paws through the personal ledger. "Judging by these numbers, I'd guess that she has the proprietor of this business under her thrall as well. It's one way to ensure any comings and goings through that passage are kept clandestine." He drops the book back in its place.
"Other points of note: generally quite reputable. And the single other incompletely documented topic, the curious repeating 'investment'. Would any of the dates there correspond with the personal ledger? I would make a point to remember the dates, for comparison to other records, in future."
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The first deposit in the investment portfolio was recorded as taking place about six months ago. The first four entries were made once a month; since then, deposits have been made once a week. As of yet, no return from the investment has been noted.
Comparing the dates against Mr. Weatherby's personal ledger, it seems clear that some of the money being invested is his own -- but not all of it. The lump sum in the first entry corresponds to a debit from his personal account, but since then, the amount paid in is greater than the amount subtracted from his own books. In particular, yesterday's entry has no corresponding debit in his ledger; he appears to be investing with at least one partner.
Gristav is beginning to feel the strain of his prolonged concentration as Braddon and Malkith put the records carefully back where they found them and then begin to douse the lights. As Malkith replaces the personal ledger, he notes a small two-pan balance scale on the desktop with a set of brass reference masses arranged neatly beside it, of the sort used to value precious metals or any other valuable priced by weight.
When everything is back in place and the lamps extinguished, Gristav lets his figment fold in on itself and rekindles his firefly, careful to keep his body between it and the front windows. By its light, the three men quietly return up the stairs, closing the door behind them.
"Be that as it may, I'll trust my own eyes first... and he's given me nothing that suggests any danger." stopping and facing her directly "I'll drag the chair before the door if you think it might keep you safe from his murderous reprisal" eyes twinkling and impish.
"It wasn't me talking back to him," she points out with a smirk, setting her bundle down on the ottoman.
Chuckling Phil concedes the point before looking through his gear and realising he hasn't the means for what he intended. "No cards, so we'll need get a mite more creative..." With scissors and a handkerchief he cuts and roughs out four squares of cloth, inking the side of one as a marker. He then spends some time showing Ethel the basics of three card monte, before turning the cloth over to her to show whether she's learned by observance.
"What happened six months ago?" asks Braddon when informed of the details. "Is that when that guy was killed by that other guy?"
He begins to make his way upstairs.
"Hey, if this guy is under her thrall, maybe he'll know where she's gone? Respectable businessman like him should be easy to put the hard word on. Especially if he's using money from his clients. We should talk to him in the morning if Lil doesn't turn up. I'll sleep in Lil's bed until the dead man's watch. Wake me then."
"I'm newer here than six months.", Gristav answers. "We'll take the question to Herself, or lacking her, the brighter lights of our constellation, too precious for field work."
"I would speak against using her bed. Waiting for her, is arguably within our rights, given your charge from the General. But a woman's bed... seems too far. And thinking more cautiously; you may not want to smell like her scent, and you may not want to smell her scent so long, or while you sleep, in case such is part of her Arts."
"For me, I think I'll wait until invited, between those sheets. And then likely refuse."
Braddon rests his swords carefully against the bedhead, easily within arms reach and settles into Lil's bed as Gristav warns him against the idea. He sits up very suddenly though as Gristav mentions 'her Arts'.
"Is the bed magical? Can she do that?" His concerned questions are more directed towards Malkith though.
He then spends some time showing Ethel the basics of three card monte, before turning the cloth over to her to show whether she's learned by observance.
Ethel has no luck at all as the mark, trying to follow the marked cloth through Phil's furtive fingers, but when he slows down to walk her through the motions, she's able to pick up the technique and mimic his movements, albeit not as quickly or deftly. He has no trouble following the inked patch as she shuffles them, but he judges she ought to do well enough to fool a rube or a drunk or a common laborer -- if she can keep her head and not get rattled.
"That bed is the most dangerous place in this room. There are magics and poisons and weapons and traps beyond those seen even with magical aids. But nothing I can speak surely of. So rest well, Braddon."
:)
Phil gives a measured nod "Not bad for the first attempt... you should try it on Almah and Maddy for a laugh - see if you can get it past them."
"That bed is the most dangerous place in this room. There are magics and poisons and weapons and traps beyond those seen even with magical aids. But nothing I can speak surely of. So rest well, Braddon."
Braddon glares at Gristav and rises slowly from the bed. He crosses the room, pulls out a few articles of clothing, dumps them on the floor under the window and curls up on top of them, one hand resting against his short sword as he does so. He closes his eyes and tries to snatch some sleep before his watch.
"That bed is the most dangerous place in this room. There are magics and poisons and weapons and traps beyond those seen even with magical aids. But nothing I can speak surely of. So rest well, Braddon."Braddon glares at Gristav and rises slowly from the bed. He crosses the room, pulls out a few articles of clothing, dumps them on the floor under the window and curls up on top of them, one hand resting against his short sword as he does so. He closes his eyes and tries to snatch some sleep before his watch.
Gristav straightens the bedclothes via cantrip, reflecting with sunny disposition on the swordsman's acceding to reason. Clouds roll in when Gris turns to see Braddon settling onto the pile of clothing, and Gris absently wonders if Braddon trod them all down in the manner of a hound, while Gris was attending the bed.
In the dim light of Scarlet's appartment, Malkith smirks as Braddon momentarily panics about the possibility of the bed being enchanted, "There is nothing magical about the bed - at least not in the arcane sense. I think the Arts our friend is referring to are more carnal in nature." With a chuckle he heads over to the door.
He quickly updates the elf waiting outside as to their progress and intentions of waiting out the night for Lil' Scarlet's return. Upon returning, the Varisian makes sure to lock the door before settling into a corner of the room. "Get some rest. I will wake Herr Hurst when it is his turn to keep the watch," he instructs Gristav. With that, he pulls his harrow deck from his robes and begins shuffling them. The well-used cards are soft with frequent use and make barely a whisper in the silent dark.
With a bit of a grimace, Daynadrian agrees to wait under the stairs in the alley. "I'll be a drunk who didn't quite make it home before needing a place to sleep it off," he decides, "or an overeager client waiting for Lil to come home, depending on who might find me. If anyone's on their way up, I'll try to make some noise, let you know what's coming."
The night watches seem to crawl for the three men in Lil's flat, their waking hours hypervigilant for any sounds of approach, their sleep restless as they are ready to be awakened at any moment. Their readiness, however, is for naught, as neither Lil Scarlet nor anyone else attempts to gain entrance to the apartment before dawn.
Meanwhile, back at the Gold Goblin, Phil passes what is undoubtedly a much more pleasant night in his room with Ethel.
Shortly after Phillip awakes in the morning, Ethel still asleep with her head on his chest, he hears a faint tapping sound from without. It pauses after a few raps and then repeats itself. Like a woodpecker, he might think if he'd grown up in the country, but being a city boy, he immediately recognizes it for what it is: someone knocking at one door after another down a hallway. Back in Underbridge, it usually meant trouble: authorities going from door to door in the tenement looking for a suspect or someone they might catch red-handed with stolen goods. He tenses subconsciously to listen and soon hears the muffled sounds of voices.
"Calm down now, Miss Beldusc," Tendal's voice replies, sounding a little grumpy at being called into the hallway at sunrise. "Perhaps they're already upstairs at breakfast. Let's not jump to any dire conclusions."
Wealday, 30 Erastus 4708:
Perception:
Rousing slowly and feeling quite self-satisfied with himself, even the dull ache of yesterday's rotgut and blow to the head fade given his degree of contentment. However the blood in his veins turns to ice as he hears the knocks and instinct takes over from reasoned thought for a few moments. Immediately tensing, his eyes flicker from bed to his clothes nearby where sits his blade.
However as his ears also awaken from slumber that which is said without filters through and he lets the tension fade, and a nervous smile crosses his lips. Memories of Magnimar begin to flutter up to the surface... the feel of cold steel around his wrists, hard elbows pushing him to walk before and a bloated corpse in the shallows. Shaking his head, Phil puts them to one side and gently rocks Ethel's head to rouse her from slumber.
When she also begins to re-enter the waking world, he ventures "Morning... I'm getting up and about, want anything from the kitchen?"
"Mmmmm," she agrees drowsily, "but not coffee. I don't have to wake up quite so suddenly this morning since I don't have to go home first."
Still smiling, Phil eases Ethel's head off his chest and unto a pillow before standing to stretch and re-don discarded breeches. A shirt is sloughed on o'ertop before he squeezes out the door and moves in search of caffeine... wondering exactly what besides water he might rustle for Ethel.
In the dim light of Scarlet's appartment, Malkith smirks as Braddon momentarily panics about the possibility of the bed being enchanted, "There is nothing magical about the bed - at least not in the arcane sense. I think the Arts our friend is referring to are more carnal in nature." With a chuckle he heads over to the door.
Braddon scowls but doesn't return to the bed. "If he wants it that badly, he can have it."
His mood is no more improved by morning. Upon waking he stretches, scowls again, shakes out the clothes and returns them to the appropriate drawers, then makes his way to the secret door and rests his ear against it for sounds from downstairs.
"It looks like she's done a runner. If we can't interview her we'll have to talk to her boyfriend downstairs when he gets in. I doubt she told him she was fleeing, so he'll probably be upset and then eventually decide to help us find her. They usually do. He won't know where she's gone but he may have some idea of her recent dealings."
"It's more likely that whomever runs the business we visited last night is simply enthralled to permit the clandestine traffic through the passageway, Malkith remarks as he stretches his muscles, "Then again, with the way Volo was smitten with Scarlet, I suppose it's not unreasonable to expect the proprietor to be so too. Of course, theirs may simply be a business arrangement."
Malkith stands from his spot on the floor, going through a routine of brief stretches he typically implemented after a night on a vardo floor or hard-packed earth under the stars. As he works the last of the kinks out he adds, "Either way, I would think we want to approached said proprietor through the public entrance." He looks at Braddon.
"We are three or four. If one approaches the scribe publicly, through the front door, speaking of normal business...", Gristav says, rising from the floor near a wall, pausing in in a sighing twist and stretch, an echo of Malkith's. "And while the normal business was being conducted, another of us left down those stairs, and out through the business, we'd learn something from the reaction. Our third and fourth place themselves to watch where the scribe goes. Will he follow the unexpected exiting stranger? Or rush to Lil with news of the trespass?"
"If it were a chess play, I'd call it, 'baiting the knight'. The customer blocks the scarlet queen's knight from blocking the exiting pawn. The knight can pursue, but only by revealing that intent. And if denied pursuit, we can witness his actions thereafter."
Phil emerges into the Desna-graced atrium to see Samaritha still standing outside Tendal's door in the opposite hallway. Wrapped in a dressing gown, her hair still tousled, she obviously hasn't taken the time to prepare herself for the day before coming out to check on the others.
"Oh, Phillip," she greets him a bit self-consciously. "Do you know if the others ever came back last night? I never heard them come in, and they're not in their rooms."