"Were you joking, at 'Herald', or is there some lesson there, among the many I've not yet learned?"
"Only that twice you boarded the Cloud just ahead of danger and twice helped ward it away," she smiles. "It's why Dawkins said you were an albatross. To spy one at sea is a sign, of good luck or ill or both at once, and when one lights on your mast, well, you'd best treat it with respect until you know which it means to you; perhaps you can change its mind with kindness. They're sacred to Gozreh, and those sailors who don't dance to the Pirate Queen's tune owe some reverence to the Wind and the Waves."
"First Mate Jaelle Beshaley, of the Flying Cloud, where in that first night latest, I found a hammock less restful than a rug, and they found me more useful than a hammock's space. Jaelle, Larur. Larur, Jaelle."
"Not First Mate," she puts in hurriedly. "Just sailor in good standing." She offers her hand frankly.
"If there's not a key to be found, perhaps this time we just leave the door unlocked when we leave. Herr Weatherby knows we've been poking around; if he's even still in Riddleport to notice."
Daynadrian grunts noncommittally as he sets to the lock once again. "Getting pretty good at this one," he remarks dryly. "Next time I'll try it blindfolded."
Practice must, indeed, make perfect, because the elf springs the lock open with a minimum of effort. "You want me to help search," he asks, "or keep a watch on the door? We're pretty sure she's not even in Riddleport, right?"
He swings the door open casually, with none of the caution of the previous times he's opened it, to reveal the room which is, by now, familiar to Malkith but brand new to Samaritha. She slips in nervously, wide-eyed at the idea of breaking and entering.
"Being turned from Nabin's House is a possibility... but to observe and watch might at least give us some chance of forging path through the threshold. At any rate, the Hoard of the Dragon will serve for purpose of the night." pausing for a moment before patting her hand to reassure "Tonight I do not act... I only watch, observe and talk."
"Wait until we both have our new clothes," Ethel says with a determined glint in her eye. "Then they'll let us in the House of Nabin."
Their feet wend their way toward the fusty brownstone where the girls have their attic apartment. "Will you come up," she asks at the door, "or wait for me down here? I don't know if anyone else might be home yet."
Phillip mock bows in a show of deference "I submit to your superior knowledge on the subject milady... Just the Hoard tonight then, and we'll hold the sparkle of peridot for when we do make the attempt on the House. I've coin enough in silver and gold without needing to expend crystal also."
Once at the apartment Phillip smiles and holds hands wide "By your words milady, I have no fear of ascending if you need help to change" winking suggestively.
"Were you joking, at 'Herald', or is there some lesson there, among the many I've not yet learned?""Only that twice you boarded the Cloud just ahead of danger and twice helped ward it away," she smiles. "It's why Dawkins said you were an albatross. To spy one at sea is a sign, of good luck or ill or both at once, and when one lights on your mast, well, you'd best treat it with respect until you know which it means to you; perhaps you can change its mind with kindness. They're sacred to Gozreh, and those sailors who don't dance to the Pirate Queen's tune owe some reverence to the Wind and the Waves."
Gristav wore for a moment a pensive expression, but when Larur came in, there were introductions to make...
"First Mate Jaelle Beshaley, of the Flying Cloud, where in that first night latest, I found a hammock less restful than a rug, and they found me more useful than a hammock's space. Jaelle, Larur. Larur, Jaelle.""Not First Mate," she puts in hurriedly. "Just sailor in good standing." She offers her hand frankly.
"Do you see the sense of duty?", Gristav asks Larur, in praise of Jaelle. "Quite right, It's Quincy Dawkins, yes? The First Mate? But you're some step of bosun; I watched men set to as you said to. Still, odd of me to make that peculiar error...", Gristav finished with a faint smirk.
"Larur, would you tell the lady my name? None's done it yet, save as 'Quincy's albatross' or 'lubber', and it remains a point of question, at least formally."
"Say, quiet around here. Some lead been discovered to the young lady? The old lady?"
"Aye, it's quiet," the dwarf scoffs. "Quiet as long as you're out of the house. Tongue hinged in the middle, that one," he goes on more politely to Jaelle, enclosing her hand in his large, rough one, "if you haven't noticed it yet. Gristav's his name, and why should there be any doubt about it?" he reverts to Gris.
As Daynadrian, Malkith, and Samaritha disappear into the alley to go through Lil's apartment, Braddon begins his rounds with the purloined letter. The milliner has no idea where Weatherby resides, but the cobbler reports that he recently resoled a pair of boots for the scribe and had employed a boy to run them to his home. He digs through a shockingly disorganized drawer in search of the slip of parchment the directions were scrawled on; it's not until Braddon thinks to offer a few coins as reward for locating the scribe that he's able to lay his hand upon it.
"Here it is," he smiles, exchanging the paper for metal. "Not Windward -- you must have been misinformed there -- but a right smart address for Leeward District: the big boardinghouse facing the Common."
"The Windward one is secret." Braddon taps his nose and beams as the address for the elusive scribe is handed over to him, the coin forgotten in the exchange.
"Thank you. Thank you so very much." There is almost a quiet reverence in his voice before he turns around and strides towards the door.
He halts suddenly as if the door was still closed in front of him. His eyes narrow and he looks around suspiciously.
"How much for those boots?" Braddon points out a pair of mid calf, soft black leather boots with a thick sole.
"I've recently lost mine and I'd like something better than these. Do you make to order?"
"Might as well lend a hand, Malkith concedes, "We've been in and out of this place enough times today that I imagine anyone that has noticed us is beginning to think we work here." Without further comment he sets to work scouring the office once again for any suspicious paperwork or items that may help in their investigation. As he shuffles through drawer and shelves, he keeps an eye out for a key to the building.
"By your words milady, I have no fear of ascending if you need help to change" winking suggestively.
She grins back and clasps his hand. "All right, then," she replies leading him up the stairs, "but I'll warn you now: If they're there, Maddy will be catty, and Almah will be morose." Arriving at the trap door in the ceiling, she fits her key to the lock and gives the door an experimental nudge. It lifts easily enough, and she shrugs. "Almah and Win aren't in there together, at any rate." Opening the door fully, she climbs up a few more steps and glances around. "No one home from work yet," she informs Phillip cheerfully, clambering the rest of the way up and waiting for him to follow.
"Aye, it's quiet," the dwarf scoffs.
...right on cue. Reliable Dwarf..., Gristav thought, smiling.
"Quiet as long as you're out of the house. Tongue hinged in the middle, that one," he goes on more politely to Jaelle, enclosing her hand in his large, rough one, "if you haven't noticed it yet.
Gristav grins at Jaelle from beyond Larur, and puts his hinged tongue on childish display...
"Gristav's his name, and why should there be any doubt about it?" he reverts to Gris.
...who stands innocently. Close-mouthed. Stonefaced. Well, sandfaced, really, for it all instantly fell to pieces. Gristav laughed, and shrugged, "Why? Because I suggested it. I predicted she'd want a last name, explained I didn't have one I'd trust to be true, that I'd made Gristav to fit, but hadn't just put it on recently, and that I had a stout friend of years who might tell her so." Gristav smiles warmly at Larur. "And here you are."
"Oh!", Gristav remembers, rounding on the oven to the warming shelf, and producing the pie. "And here this is. Blueberry. Unwarmed, but still hidden. Do you think it safe there for dinner? Or should it be in your care?"
"Blueberry?" His eyes light up, and his nose does all but twitch as he reaches for the pastry. "With that Sczarni moll on the loose? She'll have it half-eaten or hidden away before the table's laid. Best let me lock it away in my office until it's needed." He takes the pie with reverence and turns to transport it to safe-keeping.
"Blueberry?" His eyes light up, and his nose does all but twitch as he reaches for the pastry. "With that Sczarni moll on the loose? She'll have it half-eaten or hidden away before the table's laid. Best let me lock it away in my office until it's needed." He takes the pie with reverence and turns to transport it to safe-keeping.
Gristav smiles as the dwarf leaves. His happiness at the dwarf's happiness is plain. Almost as if noticing Jaelle again, he turns to her, reasoning aloud. "Well, I guess you don't know how long he's known me. But you can tell, I know him fairly well. And dwarves... that takes a while."
"I once would have said, he's my only friend in this town. But I don't think that's true anymore.", he says to Jaelle.
"Sczarni?" she asks sharply. "I thought they weren't allowed to operate in Riddleport."
"Sczarni?" she asks sharply. "I thought they weren't allowed to operate in Riddleport."
Chuckling, Gristav laments, "You've got to learn to recognise a set-up line." Shrugging off the setups interruptus, he observes, "I thought one of their signal characteristics was their abuse of allowance. Anyway, this Thuvalia is only peripherally Sczarni, largely by injection, and has had her connections killed from around her. Larur has the typical forgiving nature of the rest of his race; she might always be Sczarni to him. I wouldn't call her Sczarni, but neither any more flattering term. In fairness, her situation is unenviable. But the postures herself as a Luminita. Yet, as I recall, Luminita was doing her best. I don't think Thuvalia is."
Feeling that they did a sufficient job of searching Lil's flat the previous night, Malkith and Daynadrian pass it by to focus their efforts on the part of the building used by Weatherby. Daynadrian volunteers to search the upstairs room while Malkith and Samaritha go through the paperwork downstairs. It's dull work, unless a person finds columns of numbers exciting.
It would appear that the scribe took anything useful or incriminating with him. Most of what remains are simply records of accounts he keeps for businesses and individuals around town. They have a bit more information than they did the last time they went through the files, however. Samaritha is browsing through papers in a drawer, frowns, and thumbs back a few files. "Didn't Braddon mention the name Treeg?" She holds out a file for Malkith to see with the name E. Treeg penned neatly on its edge. Inside are what appear to be shipping manifests. The dates of the departures seem to correspond to the deposits in the unlabeled portfolio; when he looks for it to compare, he finds that the record of the mystery investment has been removed from the office.
Daynadrian comes down the stairs, a frown on his face. "Those boxes up there... most of them are just boxes of old paperwork, closed accounts or the like, I'd guess. But one of them I busted open and found this." He holds up a gleaming set of manacles. "There's something else you ought to see." He leads Malkith and Samaritha up the stairs. Wending among the stacked crates, he departs from the cleared path to the secret door and steps into the corner. He prods at a knot in the wood, and it comes out in a plug. "Have a look."
He moves aside, and Samaritha steps up to peek through, curious. "Oh," she says. "Oh!" She blushes red and moves away herself to allow Malkith access. Peering through, he finds that the hidden peephole provides an excellent view of Lil's bed.
In the meantime, Braddon shops for new boots.
"How much for those boots?" Braddon points out a pair of mid calf, soft black leather boots with a thick sole.
"I've recently lost mine and I'd like something better than these. Do you make to order?"
"Aye, of course, sir," the cobbler replies. "It's closing time today, you understand, but I could take your measurements tonight and have you a fine pair of boots by Fireday. You buy the pair off the shelf and make do, it's two silver coins, but I can make a pair that fits you like your skin for five, just half a gold."
"Yet, as I recall, Luminita was doing her best. I don't think Thuvalia is."
She laughs. "Poor Luminita: I haven't thought about her since I was a child. I always thought she was a fool for staying with her stepfamily's caravan when the world is large enough for her to make her own way. If your Thuvalia feels ill-used, why should she do her best? In the hopes of being rescued by a rich man like Luminita?" She arches her brows skeptically.
"Yet, as I recall, Luminita was doing her best. I don't think Thuvalia is."She laughs. "Poor Luminita: I haven't thought about her since I was a child. I always thought she was a fool for staying with her stepfamily's caravan when the world is large enough for her to make her own way. If your Thuvalia feels ill-used, why should she do her best? In the hopes of being rescued by a rich man like Luminita?" She arches her brows skeptically.
"When I met her, I tried to be friendly, and positive. I suppose you might be able to imagine that, of me. She seemed to need to repeat, as though I hadn't heard, how superior she was. I had occasion to charge her with a task, and she did it, only to the degree that she could claim to have done it. Then she waved a flag of more pressing duties. More pleasant duties, I think. She takes what she can, and gives what she must, and takes that back, if possible. And, that might be wisdom, for who she was, for where she lived. But it won't serve well, here. Or with me. And it makes her a bad teacher."
"It doesn't matter how superior, even superlative, she may be at dance, if she cannot share, she cannot teach. Only... exemplify. But as she herself said, watching dance won't teach it."
"I do see your point, or I think I do: Why should she be kinder than life has been to her? But the converse applies: Why should life be kinder than she is ready to see of it? We've thrown coins and kisses to chance, and it's brought us luck. But how to suggest such acts, such thoughts, to the dark-minded, the heavy-hearted?" He chuckled wryly, and asked, defeated, "Aren't an avatar, and a herald, supposed to know?" But he smiled at the joke of it.
"Let's go find someplace to dance.", Gristav said, putting an arm around Jaelle. "Until you ought to go." His hand gentled over where her blouse hid her tattoo. "And let Her decide, whoever presents... presense."
As Malkith, Daynadrian and Samaritha gather around the secret knothole, heavy footsteps come up the stairs behind them. A moment later, Braddon appears grinning from ear to ear.
"Look! New boots! I've been after a pair since that window shredded the old ones on Sunday. The pair from the costume room were okay, I guess. But these are great. Thick soles, soft leather and they don't stink of muddy water. They've still got that new boot smell. Do you want...?"
He holds up a foot but puts it down as the others recoil.
"Of course not. Sorry. Stupid question. And they only cost me two silver."
He beams at everyone, almost bobbing with excitement.
"Hey, are we going after Weatherby? I got his address. How did you guys do?"
"No one home from work yet," she informs Phillip cheerfully, clambering the rest of the way up and waiting for him to follow.
Phillip follows Milady above and after double checking his person for overt sign of filth or dirt - moves to Ethel's bed and slouches there for a rest. Making conversation as his lady picks out a suitable gown "Of course dinner should precede the night's entertainment... is there anywhere that you fancy trying? Through my purse and your looks I'd imagine we shouldn't be turned away from many places."
"Hey, are we going after Weatherby? I got his address. How did you guys do?"
"We found out Mr. Weatherby has been spying on his tenant," Samaritha responds, indignant on Lil's behalf. "And he has some ... unsribelike belongings boxed away up here." Daynadrian dangles the manacles for Braddon's benefit.
Ethel browses her wardrobe disconsolately. "Oh, there's nothing here as nice as my new dress is going to be, and I think you've seen me in everything I own...." With Phillip's input, she eventually selects something to change into and settles down on the edge of the bed with a hairbrush. "We should eat in Free Coin," she says around a mouth full of hairpins. "No point eating this side of the river and being rushed out before closing time. We can have a nice leisurely dinner over there; there's a café with outside tables so we can watch the people pass by before it gets too dark ... and they can admire us too, of course," she smiles, pinning her hair up.
"She takes what she can, and gives what she must, and takes that back, if possible. And, that might be wisdom, for who she was, for where she lived."
"Aye," she sighs. "That's the way of the Sczarni: to get as much as you can for as little as you can give up. If I were Sczarni, I would have let you sleep and then stolen your purse; and if he were Sczarni, the captain would claim I am his woman and demand more coin of you for the insult."
She returns with Gristav to the casino floor where he danced with Thuvalia the day before. "If you are to be the rube," she points out, "you have little to do but not notice as you are robbed blind; you have no set part to master. Or do you simply want to learn a Varisian dance?"
"We found out Mr. Weatherby has been spying on his tenant," Samaritha responds, indignant on Lil's behalf. "And he has some ... unscribelike belongings boxed away up here." Daynadrian dangles the manacles for Braddon's benefit.
"Ooh, manacles. I could do with another pair of them." Braddon takes them from Dayn and dumps them with a clank into his backpack.
"I didn't realise he was into the slave trade. How much other stuff is missing? He wasn't carrying much when I followed him this morning, so he may have come back here to grab the extras." Braddon's eyes flick briefly to Samaritha."Anyway, he's probably at his place packing, so he can leave first thing tomorrow morning. I say we head there now and grab him as soon as it gets dark. He's just across the Common."
"She takes what she can, and gives what she must, and takes that back, if possible. And, that might be wisdom, for who she was, for where she lived.""Aye," she sighs. "That's the way of the Sczarni: to get as much as you can for as little as you can give up. If I were Sczarni, I would have let you sleep and then stolen your purse; and if he were Sczarni, the captain would claim I am his woman and demand more coin of you for the insult."
Gristav smiles grimly. "Aye. And of such folk, one of them would have given up your secret already. Or... I'd have only been aboard as shanghai'd, held below, and the witch's spell would have swept the upper deck entire, the boarders would have come... more of them, because, Sczarni reputation. Maybe one is slitting throats, while the rest seek the secret, maybe my throat, when they find me wherever I've been put, or maybe we two meet when you return early, the boarders trapped between us..."
"Or more factually, more actual events: Maybe a Varisi girl, bedded to a Sczarni, finds herself in a casino, part of a failed robbery, that part of a tangled plot. Finds herself amid the litter of her conspirators, hard eyes and sharp blades at her throat, the blades already red, with Sczarni blood. Bargains her cooperation, for her life and freedom."
"I entered the scene after all that, which is why I began with 'maybe'. And I'd help her, if she would, change her course. But I'm not sure how. Already, I've offered, a possible mis-step... When she cheated me, lied to me, I offered her such reward as she'd find in a Caravai vardo... that may have been unwise, but now it's a promise made. I'm not sure how, to help, to change such a course. It's her course to set."
He grinned at Jaelle. "Want to help? We can add her to the list with the hound, the hostess, the wizened half-mind, the young wizard housemaid, the old housemaid whither-went, the short-breathed dwarf..." His fae faltered, and he saddened, until he looked again at her. "...The hunted secret of the ship with the comely bosun."
"Think on it. Answer by action, even in absence... later. Now, is not for worry. Let's dance."
She returns with Gristav to the casino floor where he danced with Thuvalia the day before. "If you are to be the rube," she points out, "you have little to do but not notice as you are robbed blind; you have no set part to master. Or do you simply want to learn a Varisian dance?"
"You might find, I know some. I did live, as Caravari. But I've not danced so lately, and not largely, ever. Come Moonday night, I'd rather not embarass the casino, or myself. OR rather, I'd prefer that embarassment now, and to plot Moonday's course by the bosun's expert measure, of this vessel."
"No point eating this side of the river and being rushed out before closing time. We can have a nice leisurely dinner over there; there's a café with outside tables so we can watch the people pass by before it gets too dark ... and they can admire us too, of course,"
Shrugging "All styles of cloth have purpose" hinting slightly towards the lesser of the two gowns ordered from Ethel's stern overlord "And ours tonight is less to stand out as it is to blend and merely enjoy one another's company... come Sunday - that is when the standing out will be needed... and hopefully my own clothes shall match the one that will be sewn in your honor?"
As Ethel moves to fix her hair, Phillip slides to assist, talking of plans as there is shared intimacy in the mundane "I am as always guided by your words Milady... on the opposite banks of the Velashu it is... to eat, drink... and watch. Do you think that the others might be upon Free Coin this eve?" querying as to whether the other halflings might be favoring the skiffs once more.
"You might find, I know some. I did live, as Caravari. But I've not danced so lately, and not largely, ever. Come Moonday night, I'd rather not embarrass the casino, or myself. OR rather, I'd prefer that embarrassment now, and to plot Moonday's course by the bosun's expert measure, of this vessel."
"Taberna dantza?" she suggests. "The men stomp, and the women spin?" She looks down at her boots and breeches. "You will have to imagine the twirling skirt," she allows with a grin. "I am not dressed for dancing." Arranging his arms around her, she leads him into a dance similar to the one he performed yesterday with Thuvalia to the accompaniment of the carpetlayers' orchestra. "This is difficult without skirts and scarves," she calls apologetically as she moves through the steps. "And music, and companions. Varisian dances, perhaps more than others', are meant for a dozen people at least, not just two."
"Do you think that the others might be upon Free Coin this eve?" querying as to whether the other halflings might be favoring the skiffs once more.
She muses on the question a moment. "Normally, I'd say yes, but with your news from the harbor, I'm not sure. If the boys have to work late in the shipyard, they might be too tired to go out afterward. Maddy will surely want to go to the 'Cress, but if Marce and Olin and Ewart are working, there's no one to escort her. As long as Win's ship is in port, he and Almah will want to be together ... but if Maddy's home, they can't be alone in the flat. If they take her to Free-Coin and the boys from the shipyard don't show up, there'll be no one to bring her home again after dark, except Win and Almah, so they can't slip back here early while she's still at skiffs." She slides the last pin into her hair and considers the possibilities. "Knowing Almah, she'll go ahead and tell Win to take them both to Free-Coin. She can persuade herself that she's doing a good thing by putting Maddy's feelings above her own, all the while she's secretly hoping the boys show up so she and Win can come back home where she'd rather be anyway."
Smiling he nods "Good, we'll for the Hoard after dinner and only come upon the 'Cress late in the eve if at all... At any rate we should be away from here before arrival of your room-mates, lest we get dragged into adventures not of our choosing." standing he bids her look over his likely still less than ideal appearance "Am I fit to be seen with you?..."
"Am I fit to be seen with you?..."
"Hm," she smiles as she looks him over. "Given that you've told me you mucked out a warehouse today, I don't doubt but you could use another bath ... but if you were smart enough for Betta not to set her dog on, you should stand up to Free-Coin society after dark. I'll just have to be pretty enough for the both of us," she says pertly, smoothing her skirts and shaking her yellow bracelet down her wrist. "Let's hurry if you want to miss the others." Ethel locks the door behind her carefully as she climbs down out of the attic room, and the two race down the steps and out into the street, where they head west toward the river, shading their eyes against the rays of the sun as it nears the top of the ridge.
"We found some paperwork on Treeg that you had mentioned. It seems his comings and going to Riddleport correspond with Herr Weatherby's deposits on some sort of investment." Malkith casts a glance out the window. "If we're going to pay Herr Weatherby's private residence a visit, I suppose we should do that now; we have a boat to catch in the morning."
Daynadrian looks at the backpack where Braddon dropped the manacles and shrugs. "Looks like he only emptied one box," he replies as they make their way back out into the alleyway through Lil's flat. "I opened some of the other boxes, just to see what they held."
Most businesses are closing now, as the late afternoon sun streams in over the top of the western ridge, and the streets are heavy with traffic: workers going home, vendors hawking their last wares of the day at a steep discount, and people heading toward the Velashu and the nightlife beyond. The crowd makes their odd knot of companions less visible as they cross Leeward Common, where farmers and merchants are loading up their handcarts for the evening. At the southern end of the common, a long boarding house with exposed beams and a thatched roof is their destination. The slip of parchment Braddon received from the cobbler indicates a set of rooms on the second story. Entering and climbing up a flight of stairs, they fairly quickly find themselves in front of the correct door.
"Do you think this is the only way out?" Daynadrian asks, looking up and down the hallway. "Should we all be visible out here? How do we get him to open the door?"
Phil accepts his worthy damning by faint praise before accompanying Ethel down and back into the wilds of Riddleport. He keeps her arm safely ensconced in the crook of his elbow as his eyes rove in search of danger... though it is not too much expected at this early hour. As they wend towards the ferry he makes small talk of nothingness and potential dinner options, but doesn't speak anything worthy of remembrance.
"You had better check the rest of the building," Malkith agrees with Daynadrian. He then looks to Samaritha, "Keep an eye on the windows from the street. You don't need to get involved in this, but if he gets out, it would be helpful to have someone see where he goes." He waits for them to depart before finally addressing Braddon, "If you're sure this is the correct residence, then I think we are done playing cat and mouse." The Varisian tests the door handle to ensure that it is locked.
Malkith takes a look around and then, with a loud hurried knock on the door, calls out, "Zotëri, të hapë derën.Njeriu Scarnzi është në rrugën e tij këtu për ju."
Braddon takes a step back from the closed door. "Appropriate," he thinks as he slides Volo's short sword from its sheath.
He looks across to Malkith, then back at the closed door.
"Do I get to test out my new boots?" he whispers with a grin.
"Taberna dantza?" she suggests. "The men stomp, and the women spin?" She looks down at her boots and breeches. "You will have to imagine the twirling skirt," she allows with a grin. "I am not dressed for dancing." Arranging his arms around her, she leads him into a dance similar to the one he performed yesterday with Thuvalia to the accompaniment of the carpetlayers' orchestra. "This is difficult without skirts and scarves," she calls apologetically as she moves through the steps. "And music, and companions. Varisian dances, perhaps more than others', are meant for a dozen people at least, not just two."
"Well, our duties draw us apart, or...", he let his arms do as they would, and if they held her no closer, they did hold her better. "...I don't think I have to draw you a picture.", he said in tones of threat and promise. Loosening his grasp of her, he allowed, "If this teaching cannot be done, it would not be my first plan to fail. Nor likely my last. If we've no venue for teaching dance, nor time to find it, and no time to return to our last stage, and dances I know..." He smiled, and met her eye for confirmation, but he was too forewarned to be disappointed. "Then what pleases the bosun? A taproom, yonder? A tour of the house? An escort? I've no habit, I assure you, of offering to follow a girl home."
"It can be taught," she insists, "though I may not be the one to do it. The problem is that when you dance, you cannot stop and watch, and when you stop and watch, there is no one to dance. We need another, so that you or I could step out of the dance and observe." She checks the level of daylight filtering in through the tall, narrow windows and sighs. "Even with that, we would need time we don't have. I have to be back on the Cloud before sunset. Do you still intend to speak to the captain?"
"Yes.", Gristav replied. "The shipwright's argument was surprisingly reasonable. Now, I don't expect it to be the whole of his motivation, but it deserves repetition to your captain. Mind you, the argument deserves. I don't expect the shipwright does. Beyond that, a secret, committed to text and drawing, secured ashore, might bring a peace to the more-mobile source, as the curious and unscrupled would naturally seek the secret, where it... lie." His eyes sparkled at the ruse he suggested.
"I don't favor your odds. As your adversaries contrive new methods, what will you do, besides, as the shipwright says, eventually either yield or lose the secret? If it's not to be yielded, and I accept it ought not, it becomes a question of loss, and of defense."
"I know the way. Do we leave in shifts?"
"The secret's the captain's problem to wrestle with," she replies decidedly. "My part is only not to tell it. Aye, let me go first and tell the captain you're coming. Find something to occupy yourself with around here for a short while, then make your own way to the wharves. And watch your back. There's enough men eager to lay a sap to the back of your head and steal your purse or your person. If you're not there before dark, I'll have to send the lads out to search the alleys for you." She heads back through the kitchen toward the back door, wrapping her fingers loosely through his to pull him in her wake. "I can't swear we'll be back before Moonday," she goes on, "but if we are and I'm given shoreleave, I could go with you up to Lubbertown. Bound to find some dancers there."
"The secret's the captain's problem to wrestle with," she replies decidedly. "My part is only not to tell it. Aye, let me go first and tell the captain you're coming. Find something to occupy yourself with around here for a short while, then make your own way to the wharves. And watch your back. There's enough men eager to lay a sap to the back of your head and steal your purse or your person. If you're not there before dark, I'll have to send the lads out to search the alleys for you." She heads back through the kitchen toward the back door, wrapping her fingers loosely through his to pull him in her wake. "I can't swear we'll be back before Moonday," she goes on, "but if we are and I'm given shoreleave, I could go with you up to Lubbertown. Bound to find some dancers there."
Her back was turned. She didn't see, how the taking of his hand seized part of his heart. But even while a lad turned handsprings in his mind, a world-worn wyrdsman wove wylie... "Are we to swearings, then? Or only not-swearings? A good first step, not-swearings.", he said, in teasing truth. "I in turn, can not swear, to come tonight, at all. A life is unaccounted for, in a mystery that, my neighbors are working on now. While I dally with you. But I've had a plan. The gnome, the one who serves his highness? That pair offers senses my neighbors lack. I currently plan, to enlist his highness, at breakfast tomorrow. But if my neighbors return, before I leave for your ship, then based on what news they may carry, I may leap in any direction."
"So, speak of me, to your captain, but do not promise me, for tonight, nor worry on me, nor search for me, if you do not see me. And perhaps... we'll breakfast with the prince?"
"You had better check the rest of the building," Malkith agrees with Daynadrian. He then looks to Samaritha, "Keep an eye on the windows from the street. You don't need to get involved in this, but if he gets out, it would be helpful to have someone see where he goes."
Daynadrian nods and heads quietly down the corridor to investigate.
Samaritha hesitates. "All right, but please be careful. If you get into trouble, try to wave out a window or something, and I'll call for the Gendarmes." She gives each of them a worried look before turning back toward the stairwell.
"Zotëri, të hapë derën. Njeriu Scarnzi është në rrugën e tij këtu për ju."
There's a clatter and a rustle from behind the door; then an anxious female voice answers, "I... I'm afraid you have the wrong apartment. Please go away."
"So, speak of me, to your captain, but do not promise me, for tonight, nor worry on me, nor search for me, if you do not see me. And perhaps... we'll breakfast with the prince?"
"I expect we'll be away with the tide, if not tonight, then in the morning," Jaelle cautions. "You can leave word for him at the Publican House, if you miss us. It's where the captain drinks when we're in port, and Arnando can be trusted to deliver messages for the crew of the Cloud."
If Phillip's goal for the evening is to blend in with the crowd, then he meets with success on their trip across the city. No one seems to pay any attention to the pair of halflings as their path, like so many others' around them, takes them to the ferry and across the Velashu to Free-Coin.
The entertainment district already lies in the shadow of the ridge rising above it to the west, although the rays of the sun are still lighting up the roofs of buildings across the river, as well as the massive span of the Cyphergate. The dark splotch in the sky beyond it is more noticeable as the sun is sinking to the west, and more than a few people are seen squinting up at it or heard commenting on its appearance.
The cafe Ethel mentioned is just north and across the road from the ferry's stop; the tables and chairs set outside it provide an excellent vantage for people-watching, as the evening crowds cross the river and have to pass by on their way to the three casinos. With a bit of scrounging, the staff are able to produce cushions for the chairs to make dining more comfortable for the halflings.
Phillip is indeed happy to blend into the crowd for the short term, content with saving most of his attention and thoughts for later in the evening when they would be among the Hoard's clientele. He also looks up at the splotch on occasion, eyes tightening with remembered affront as well as genuine interest. The ferry is navigated and the cafe reached and Phil maneuvers himself to sit beside rather than across and makes an initial call for kahve for himself, and whatever Ethel desires to wet her throat.
Once the waitress departs Phillip settles leaning into his chair and rests a hand lazily upon Ethel's. Smoothing out his mustache with the other he watches the crowd with an appraising eye, while musing "So... what's good?"
There's a clatter and a rustle from behind the door; then an anxious female voice answers, "I... I'm afraid you have the wrong apartment. Please go away."
Braddon rolls his eyes and sheaths the sword again, before moving up to the door.
His voice is low and curt as he speaks through the closed barrier."If you open this door, right now, you have nothing to fear," growls Braddon. "But if I have to break it down, then someone is going to get badly hurt. I'll make sure of that."
"3."
"2."
"1."
"I expect we'll be away with the tide, if not tonight, then in the morning," Jaelle cautions. "You can leave word for him at the Publican House, if you miss us. It's where the captain drinks when we're in port, and Arnando can be trusted to deliver messages for the crew of the Cloud."
"I'll convey your regrets to his highness.", Gristav half-jests, then adds more sincerly, "And my regrets, to you." He kisses her hand, and releases it. "Be well.", he wishes. "You may kiss me, if you like.", he offers with nearly successful chasteness. "For luck."
Malkith frowns in mix of confusion and uncertainty at the unexpected voice of a woman. He gives Braddon a look as if to ask, "are you sure this is the right place?" The half-elf's reply to the disembodied voice is answer enough. When he is done with his threat, Malkith adds, "Harrojeni nxitojnë shok im, por Scarnzi nuk do të jetë aq i sjellshëm. Ne duhet të shkojnë - tani."
"Forgive my associate's haste, but the Scarnzi will not be so polite. We must be going - now."
He kisses her hand, and releases it. "Be well.", he wishes. "You may kiss me, if you like.", he offers with nearly successful chasteness. "For luck."
"Aye, for luck," she laughs, running the hand he just released up the back of his neck and pulling his face down to meet hers. "I wouldn't want your stumble into ill fortune to be on my head." She kisses him and then slowly lets him go, ruffling the hair at his nape with her fingers before stepping toward the door. "I'll keep a weather eye open for you at the wharves tonight. Desna keep you, Friar Lubber." With a twinkle and a nod, she lets herself out.
"3."
"2."
"1."
"No! Wait!" The voice sounds panicked and is followed by a scrabbling at the other side of the door, as if someone is trying quickly to disengage a lock with shaking hands. The door opens a crack, revealing a small, mousy woman with a weak chin. Her tired eyes open wide with alarm when she sees her visitors, Malkith in particular. "Take the silver," she begs, stumbling back away from the door, "and anything else you want. Just take it and go!"
Having grown weary of the chase, Malkith pushes the door open and indicates, with a nod of his head, that Braddon can precede him into the residence. Approaching the woman, he asks, "Who are you? Where is Herr Weatherby?"