Shadow over Riddleport

Game Master Joana

At Thuvalia's door, his knock is ungentled, but not deliberately abrupt.

In contrast to his knock, the reaction from within the room is quite abrupt. "What?!" the Varisian performer's voice demands in a tone of outrage from behind the closed door.

"A familiar," he repeats with some surprise. "You summoned it, did you not?"

Snake just kind of stares blankly at Tendal as he tries to decipher his question. "I summoned it," he mutters under his breath, looking away as he does, seemingly to be elsewhere mentally. That makes sense. He was already there so I must've. Looking back to the gentleman, "Yeah... summoned him. That seems right." He then takes another bite of his breakfast. "You appear to know a lot about it. You some kind of wizard like Gristav?"

... that I didn't know." He looks frustrated and a little embarrassed.

Braddon reappears in the doorway, carrying a steaming kettle.

"Does he still not know? How is it we know more about what he did yesterday than he does?" Braddon crosses into the light beside the caged scribe.

Gristav wrote:

At Thuvalia's door, his knock is ungentled, but not deliberately abrupt.

In contrast to his knock, the reaction from within the room is quite abrupt. "What?!" the Varisian performer's voice demands in a tone of outrage from behind the closed door.

Gris raises one brow, then both, as a dull frown becomes a sharpish grin. Whispering, sure to be unheard beyond the door, he asks, "Thuvalia, would you please bring a pot of tea, to the upstairs?". Then, stowing the grin away from his voice, he speaks through the door, "Good Morning, Thuvalia. It's been requested; you bring a pot of tea, to the upstairs table. You've been specifically missed; at least by me. ...It's good to hear you're well.", he added at the last, devoid of volume or art, and possibly unheard beyond the door. But possibly unwelcome, he knew.

In similar possibly unwelcome vein, he skulked away from Thuvalia's door, back to Samaritha's, where he again soft-tapped, sufficent, he reasoned, for elven ears. Judging his volume for similar sonorousness, he followed the knock gently, with "The tea has been dealt with; please come when you can."

Not waiting for a response (Oh alright, he waited, but he would never admit to it, standing, pining like a penitent... In any case, he waited not long.), Gristav glided down the hall with a smile at the displayed Desna, ceremonially crossing himself. Well, his fingers.

In the kitchen, before going upstairs, he fills the firebox and sets a service for tea in sight, in offered aid to any attending to the task.

Then tea brought thoughts of hot water, and hot water, very cold thoughts indeed. And Gristav stood staring at the stairway down, weighing his rights against wrongs...

"You appear to know a lot about it. You some kind of wizard like Gristav?"

"Well," Tendal clarifies, "not exactly 'like Gristav.' His training appears to have been more martial than my own. It would be more accurate to say 'like Miss Beldusc' -- the half-elven girl you met last night. There are all kind of arcane casters, you know. I take it your own training has been ... less formal?" He takes a sip of coffee.

"If it's part and parcel of your, eh," Saul waves his extant hand around in a vaguely arcane manner, "skill set, I suppose I've no objections. Best to keep it out of sight when we're open to the public, though. Wouldn't want rumors to spread that the Gold Goblin is rat-infested. No offense, you understand," he apologizes, half to Lucky. "Ladies tend to jump to conclusions, and there are those in Riddleport happy to bruit about misapprehensions if it'll do me some harm."

Having seen Ethel off into the gray morning, Phil closes the door behind her and heads back into the kitchen toward the stairs. Before he gets there, the double doors from the casino proper swing open just enough for Samaritha to enter the room. "Oh! Mr. Hargreaves," she smiles on seeing him. "You're not just getting in, are you?"

"Does he still not know? How is it we know more about what he did yesterday than he does?" Braddon crosses into the light beside the caged scribe.

He takes on the scribe's severe tone. "It's all Lil's fault."
He returns to his normal voice. "What did she do?"
"I don't know."
"Were you riding to meet her?"
"I don't know."
"We do. Did you spy on her with clients?"
"I don't know."
"We do. What can you tell us about her Windward clients?"
"I don't know."
Braddon turn back to the others.
"Has he told us about those number books? Those manacles under the knothole? The stuff he took from the crates? The letter? Anything new? He tells us we violated his privacy, I tell him we know stuff and still he doesn't tell us stuff. I don't think he wants to leave today."
Braddon raises the kettle gingerly over the cage, ready to pour.

"'Number books' are called ledgers, you simpleton!" he yells. "I keep financial records as a profession; it's not some kind of code. The manacles I used in Korvosa; what I took out of the crate were the potions and cape you stole from me. And it's none of your business, but Lil knew about the knothole. We had ... an arrangement to lower her rent. She didn't bring Windward clients to the flat, though; just low-lifes like that Sczarni, fares she picked up in Free-Coin, for the most part. Her Windward clients value their privacy too much to be caught slumming."

Phillip returns Samaritha's smile, before shaking his head "Not just in... I was in late, out early, then returned and just now have seen Miss Braum on her way." running a hand through his hair before asking "And now above, for coffee first and foremost... Are you headed that way also?"

"Mm," she answers in the affirmative, looking on the counter where Gristav laid out the tea service. "Gristav said the tea had been taken care of.... Most of the things are here, but that's not the kettle I've used before. Perhaps it is upstairs. Oh, Mr. Hargreaves... Phillip," she hesitates, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention ... what you overheard yesterday to anyone. I don't want any trouble with Mr. Vankaskerkin."

"'Number books' are called ledgers, you simpleton!" he yells. "I keep financial records as a profession; it's not some kind of code. The manacles I used in Korvosa; what I took out of the crate were the potions and cape you stole from me. And it's none of your business, but Lil knew about the knothole. We had ... an arrangement to lower her rent. She didn't bring Windward clients to the flat, though; just low-lifes like that Sczarni, fares she picked up in Free-Coin, for the most part. Her Windward clients value their privacy too much to be caught slumming."

"Simpleton? I'm holding boiling water over your head and you're calling me names? That sounds pretty dumb to me. And you were wearing golden armour and riding on your own in the middle of the night. That made it pretty easy to catch you. And these guys ask you some questions and you write out the answers half an hour later in a letter and almost give it to us. How does it feel to be outsmarted by a simpleton? How does it feel to watch your whore with low-lifes when you can't have her yourself? Or is that your thing? Is that what you like about it?"

Phillip retains his smile, but his eyes lose a little warmth as he gives a short bow "Of course... the words are yours to speak of and none shall hear of it from me... but I stand by what was written. If you wish my help or forswear me against it's offering - you need but let me know." straightening and holding eye contact a few moments to let her know that the words were genuine.

He then brings hands together in a clap "Well, we should not keep them waiting then?" assisting where his diminished stature may in taking what is not already above through to the meeting room.

Malkith clears his throat in an attempt to draw Braddon's attention away from their captive for a moment. Leaning closer to Daynadrian, the Varisian explains "I don't like keeping a prisoner, but if we don't get anything useful from him, we may need to make some arrangements to prevent him from running off to Scarlet again."

Braddon shrugs, almost spilling the water.
"I said I wouldn't kill him if he told us everything. But if you want to give up already, that's okay. It gives us more time to stash the body."
Braddon makes no attempt to lower his voice.

The scribe's eyes flicker from Braddon to the kettle. "I was a Banker in Korvosa: worked for the temple of Abadar. I ferreted out merchants who cheated their customers, businesses that kept two sets of books, confidence men who sold fraudulent goods, tax evaders, and the like. The armor was my badge of office, and I used the manacles to deliver offenders back to the Bank of Abadar for punishment. The potions came from the Bank as well."

"I served well and faithfully for several years, but no matter how many violators I arrested, there were always as many more out there perverting economic justice. Even worse, the Bank did nothing about the charities in the city, sapping the will and strength of the poor by giving them something for nothing, discouraging them from honest labor." Despite his precarious situation, his voice twists with disgust. "I grew ... disillusioned, watching the shiftless and corrupt prosper while I made do on meager wages. When the next charlatan offered me a bribe to look the other way while he fleeced the populace, I accepted. I was found out eventually, of course, but I had taken care to secrete my savings away under false names where the Bank couldn't confiscate them before I had collected them and left town. I had seen enough false sets of books to know the tricks of the trade."

"So I came to Riddleport, a place blessedly free of hypocritical legalists. I hung up my shingle, put the paraphernalia of my past life away in the attic, and set about the honest business of bettering myself. A woman needed a private flat, and I provided it in exchange for mutually-agreed-upon remuneration. The peephole was installed by joint consent. Lil's business suffered when Orik Vankaskerkin killed Falk Zincher, and she wanted to keep some extra coin in her pocket each month; my business and investments were doing well enough that I was willing to accept non-monetary considerations in lieu of her rent."

"For Cora's information," he goes on coldly, "I have never broken our marriage vows, despite the fact that she is an idle and self-absorbed woman who was coddled by her father for far too long. Like the poor in Korvosa, her lack of any gainful employment has left her too much leisure time to dream up fantastical slights and dreams of victimhood. Yet I promised when I married her to keep her in the style to which her late father had allowed her to become accustomed. Let it not be said that I have broken my word to her, no matter how much ill it has done her to be spoiled so."

Gristav stood staring at the stairway down, weighing his rights against wrongs...

Coming to a decision, Gristav heads down into the darkness, kindling the firefly on the end of his staff. The staircase is narrow almost past the point of utility and approaching unwelcoming for the sheer sake of inhospitality. It comes to an abrupt end at a blank stone wall at which a tight about-face must be maneuvered, leaving him facing an equally bleak corridor which extends straight ahead as far as his light extends. A door is almost immediately visible on his right; opening it reveals a dusty wine cellar.

A few steps further down the hallway, he finds another door. Turning the handle on this one, he finds a spartan bedroom, a ratty bearskin rug on the floor its only concession to comfort. Despite their austere nature, the furnishings are familiar enough that he recognizes them as Larur's; this must be the dwarf's subterranean sleeping quarters.

If you want a different light source, Gris can easily find a candle or a lamp in the kitchen to use.

--------------------------

A short time later, Samaritha and Phillip exit the kitchen by the other set of stairs, ascending to Saul's suite of rooms. Entering the dining room, they find the owner himself, his dwarven partner, his bodyguard, Tendal, and the new hire known only as "Snake" seated around the table.

Phillip lets the smile that sat easily on his lips with Samaritha fade into a more buisnesslike disposition. He gives nods of greeting to those present, as he makes a bee-line for a large cup of coffee. Once furnished he fits bolster to a chair where he has an easy eye upon both Larur and Saul and settles in to drink and pick apart a few pastries for late-breakfast.

"For Cora's information," he goes on coldly, "I have never broken our marriage vows, despite the fact that she is an idle and self-absorbed woman who was coddled by her father for far too long. Like the poor in Korvosa, her lack of any gainful employment has left her too much leisure time to dream up fantastical slights and dreams of victimhood. Yet I promised when I married her to keep her in the style to which her late father had allowed her to become accustomed. Let it not be said that I have broken my word to her, no matter how much ill it has done her to be spoiled so."

"That's very touching," Braddon says blandly.

The staircase is narrow almost past the point of utility and approaching unwelcoming for the sheer sake of inhospitality.

Good theatre, this, Gristav thinks. 'Abandon all hope, ye who enter here...', he silently quotes from some once-read arcanum, smirking at the overdone undertone of the voice he imagined.

It comes to an abrupt end at a blank stone wall at which a tight about-face must be maneuvered, leaving him facing an equally bleak corridor which extends straight ahead as far as his light extends. A door is almost immediately visible on his right; opening it reveals a dusty wine cellar.

"Almost traditional...", Gristav murmurs. He pauses, but goes on down the hall.

A few steps further down the hallway, he finds another door. Turning the handle on this one, he finds a spartan bedroom, a ratty bearskin rug on the floor its only concession to comfort. Despite their austere nature, the furnishings are familiar enough that he recognizes them as Larur's; this must be the dwarf's subterranean sleeping quarters.

"No lock?", Gristav absently engages his friend in one-sided absent oneversation, "You probably allow yourself nothing worth stealing... And the prison's not through your quarters, so..."

Gristav returns to the wine cellar.

If you want a different light source, Gris can easily find a candle or a lamp in the kitchen to use.

No, thank you. The immediately-dismissable magicked mote serves superiorly for surreptitious sidling, dismissed on demand, threatening neither smoke, nor scent, nor shatter.

Malkith listens to the scribe confess his past sins as he watches the kettle with some measure of mirth, imagining it as an hourglass running out of sand. The harrower waits for their captive to respond to Braddon's more recent history before asking, "Tell me again what this investment deal was all about."

"Well," Tendal clarifies, "not exactly 'like Gristav.' His training appears to have been more martial than my own. It would be more accurate to say 'like Miss Beldusc' -- the half-elven girl you met last night. There are all kind of arcane casters, you know. I take it your own training has been ... less formal?" He takes a sip of coffee.

The traveler raises an eyebrow to his question, a look of revelation forming. "Less formal. Yeah, that would be right. Miss Beldusc, you say. Hm." I'm gonna have to speak with her. Maybe she has some answers. He takes another bite of his food before tearing a piece off and feeding it to Lucky.

"If it's part and parcel of your, eh," Saul waves his extant hand around in a vaguely arcane manner, "skill set, I suppose I've no objections. Best to keep it out of sight when we're open to the public, though. Wouldn't want rumors to spread that the Gold Goblin is rat-infested. No offense, you understand," he apologizes, half to Lucky. "Ladies tend to jump to conclusions, and there are those in Riddleport happy to bruit about misapprehensions if it'll do me some harm."

"Fair enough." He nods in thanks.

"Now, your business whore has crossed us. We don't want her dead just yet, but she's done something with my Gramma. Gramma was working up in Windward for a rich girl. Idle and self absorbed, perhaps, certainly spoiled. Lil disguised herself as Gramma to get close to the girl, drugged her and stole her valuable necklace. Rich girl has been returned to her father, but both the necklace and my Gramma are missing. The necklace was actually worth less than the poison used, so your investment sucks. More importantly though, Gramma hasn't been seen since then. I want her back now."

He sighs. "I don't know anything about that, I've told you. The first I heard of it was when you mentioned it in my office. Lil's Windward clients didn't come to her; she went to them. They have too much to lose not to be discreet. It's possible she has another room up on the ridge; it would seem to be safer than meeting her clients in their homes with their families. But I honestly don't know."

"Tell me again what this investment deal was all about."

"Rare metals. Mining, I presume, although I admit I know little of the process. Lil was quite clear that it wasn't any ordinary ore but something special: something that only the Gas Forges could smelt. I know they're the only forge in Varisia that works with adamantine; you'd have to ask a dwarf to find out more about it. She never even told me it was a Windward client involved; I just assumed it must be a wealthy man to back such a project. She said that if we fronted the money for the supplies needed to harvest the ore, we'd be paid back a hundredfold when the metal was refined and sold."

Gristav returns to the wine cellar and walks its perimeter, searching for another door, but the walls seem to be solid. Wherever Braddon carried his kettle, it doesn't appear to have been through here.

Returning to the hall, he continues down the narrow corridor. Just as his keen eyesight picks out a dead end looming ahead of him, the wall to the left suddenly falls away into emptiness. Lowering the tip of his staff, he sees that steps are leading even further down. He takes the staircase cautiously. As he reaches its foot, he sees a glow of illumination spilling out of an open door ahead and to the left and hears men's voices.

You've arrived at the sub-basement, area 2, where the interrogation is taking place.

"Master Hargreaves, good morning," Saul greets Phillip cheerfully as he enters, "and Miss Beldusc, you grace us with your presence. Our newest employee has just been introducing us to his, eh, pet; I wouldn't want it to startle you."

Samaritha has been fruitlessly eyeing the table for the teakettle, but when she spies Lucky, she cries, "Oh, how adorable! Is he a familiar?" She takes a seat next to Snake, smiling ingratiatingly at the mongoose.

"If you're done with the kettle", Gristav says from the doorway, "There's tea to be made." He's wearing a faint smile when Braddon turns to look at him. "Good morning, Mister Weatherby.", Gristav nods to the scribe, as though Weatherby were sitting at a desk, not a cage floor. Holding his hand out for the kettle, Gristav promises, "I'll return it heated. After we've had the tea..."

Absently, on his way out, Gristav requests, remarks and reminds, "Word on the old woman, yet?"

Snake is a bit taken aback with the woman's reaction to Lucky. I didn't see that coming. Grinning just slightly, "Um, yeah, that's correct. That's what the gentleman in the fancy clothes said anyway." He motions to Tendal. "His name's Lucky." He eyes his friend that resides on his shoulder at the moment. "Say hello, Luck." The mongoose looks to Samaritha, sniffing at her while keeping his balance upon the tall man's shoulders. Grinning, "It's alright, my friend, the lady's not gonna hurt you," he tells him with confidence. "Luck is a real life saver for sure," he says as he scratches the tiny animal on top of his head.

"If you're done with the kettle", Gristav says from the doorway, "There's tea to be made." He's wearing a faint smile when Braddon turns to look at him. "Good morning, Mister Weatherby.", Gristav nods to the scribe, as though Weatherby were sitting at a desk, not a cage floor. Holding his hand out for the kettle, Gristav promises, "I'll return it heated. After we've had the tea..."

Absently, on his way out, Gristav requests, remarks and reminds, "Word on the old woman, yet?"

Braddon pauses only briefly before he hands the kettle over to Gristav.

Phillip didn't appear too concerned by the presence of the mongoose... he'd known more than enough Sczarni back in Magnimar that used small beasts in their work. He keeps to his coffee and pastries.

Malkith shudders at the sound of Gristav behind them. Realizing he's not about to spoil their already unproductive interrogation, the harrow relaxes and even responds to Braddon, "Indeed, it is about time we broke our fasting. It will give us some time to discuss what to do with our scribe." Without looking at Weatherby, Malkith picks up the light source and exits the room, waiting for the others to follow suit before closing the door behind them.

Returning to the kitchen, Gristav smiles at the absence of the tea service, before returning the kettle to heat. "That'll be a minute", he says, "I'll come back for it. Should already be that our ladies are above.", Gris celebrates, leaving the kettle, but taking the stairs up.

At the mention of 'ladies' Braddon continues his way upstairs into the dining room and takes a seat as close as possible to Samaritha.

Contrary to Gristav's expectations, only one lady is in the breakfast room: Samaritha is seated next to Snake crooning at a furry weasel-like creature perched on his shoulder. She glances away long enough to give Braddon a smile as he sits on her other side, then returns her attention to the animal.

"There you are, lads," Saul greets the rest of the staff as they enter the dining room. "Did our esteemed guest cough up anything of vital interest that needs immediate action, or are we free to concentrate on getting our delivery in house uneventfully?"

Contrary to Gristav's expectations, only one lady is in the breakfast room: Samaritha is seated next to Snake crooning at a furry weasel-like creature perched on his shoulder.

Gristav smiles at this scene...

She glances away long enough to give Braddon a smile as he sits on her other side, then returns her attention to the animal.

...though the smile fades as he does various maths.

"There you are, lads," Saul greets the rest of the staff as they enter the dining room. "Did our esteemed guest cough up anything of vital interest that needs immediate action, or are we free to concentrate on getting our delivery in house uneventfully?"

Eager for the summary, Gristav waited near the door, impatient, for it all raced the kettle, downstairs, and he had plans to race to it, when it announced its boiling.

Phillip coolly notes the arrival of Gristav and Braddon et al., proferring a minor inclination of the head in greeting if eye-lines cross and awaiting the response to Saul's question.

"There you are, lads," Saul greets the rest of the staff as they enter the dining room. "Did our esteemed guest cough up anything of vital interest that needs immediate action, or are we free to concentrate on getting our delivery in house uneventfully?"

"Depends what you want done with Lil. The scribe used to be a merchant enforcer in Korvosa but got caught taking bribes and ended up here. He took Lil in as a renter and they've been, um, investing together. He reckons Lil has his money in this new secret mine thing and he doesn't want to lose it. He reckons the deal is with one of her Windward clients 'cause they're rich but he really doesn't know any of them. He's probably safe to release. I don't think he'll bother us, especially if we hand him over to his wife. That should keep him very busy explaining his actions to her." Braddon grins evilly.

"If the horses you'll return are the same you were riding...", Gristav puzzled, "Where did you stable them? How extensive are the earthworks?" Gris waved off this last, nearly rhetorical question.

"I've a crockery to return, might be the same errand as your horses. Assuming they've not been left saddled and unwatered, in which case I'd not have the proprietor remember me as that man. Although I suppose I could have found them. 'I saw them on the road...'", Gristav tried the twisted truth. "Could do."

"If we're to release the scribe, we ought to first reduce his recourse to authorities. Perhaps an illusion of a guard officer, to establish in his mind he'll find no help, there? If any know a suitable subject for figment, they're welcome to use of my magister's notes on illusion."

"Regarding us finding help with furnishings, won't these deliverymen have their day already planned? Also, if we meant to sweep clean her apartment, we might time the scribe's release for afterward. The looting of her rooms does not agree with a posture of official sanction. His discovery of emptied rooms, however, might suggest to him, her own willful evacuation."

In a quiet and even voice Phillip adds over sips of coffee "Not delivery men... dock workers. And unless you've clearance from the harbormaster I'm not for thinking you'll get them to do much at all. I think you'd find it cheaper looking for dry labour." then with a pointed look towards Saul "And I'd think no good would come from releasing the scribe."

"What evil will come, from holding him?", Gristav adds softly. "Let's think of that. For now, we've a missing matron, and a just cause for his capture and delay. When she's found, or mourned, or he's known to have nothing on the matter, our moral license lapses. Expressed thus to him, and our... protectors stated or alluded to, can we not risk his release? Timed for our profit, of course, and after magical detects have proven him beyond the time of any controls she may have on him. It's possible, with those controls lapsed, he'll turn against her. Provided we haven't shown ourselves worse, perhaps he'll turn to us."

Phillip shrugs, expecting Saul to fill in the gaps without his arguing the case.

"That's about the sum of it," Malkith agrees with Braddon, "I don't think he holds any more value to us. However, I tend to agree with...the short one. Herr Weatherby has already gone running off to Scarlet once after our initial confrontation. It wouldn't be unlikely for him to do so again. While I very much doubt he's connected us with the the Golden Goblin, I think that, in the interest of preserving what security we can, that we detain him until after the next opening."

Saul grimaces. "I don't like keeping a prisoner long-term; we're not set up for it. The question, of course, arises of who we could conceivably hand him over to. Maybe inform Mescher of his connection to Lil and thence to his daughter, let the Gendarmes work him over for a while? Then again, I don't particularly trust them to keep quiet about where they got him from. You say there's a wife," he addresses Braddon. "Young, pretty? Does she have money?"

With clear evidence of distaste showing on his face (it must have been the Red ), Gristav turns his elven ears toward the kitchen, as though hearing the kettle.

He rises, and descends.

Saul grimaces. "I don't like keeping a prisoner long-term; we're not set up for it. The question, of course, arises of who we could conceivably hand him over to. Maybe inform Mescher of his connection to Lil and thence to his daughter, let the Gendarmes work him over for a while? Then again, I don't particularly trust them to keep quiet about where they got him from. You say there's a wife," he addresses Braddon. "Young, pretty? Does she have money?"

"Apparently she doesn't have money. She spends money. Not as pretty as some," his eyes barely dart to Samaritha, "but not a hag either. She wasn't too pleased with the idea of him running off with a whore and did demand his return. And the sooner we ditch him the less likely he is to exact revenge. I say tell him he can go tomorrow morn and follow through. It'll give us enough time to empty the place today."

Phillip watches Gristav go with a relatively impassive face, before turning back to Braddon's words. He offers fairly neutrally "You let him go... and you are hoping that there is no means for him to revenge upon the Goblin. But... he knows your faces... and if he managed to exchange words with Lil - then his ire would be easily directed.
You release him to Mescher... you are hoping that the service you performed for his daughter will buy discretion and silence. But those same gendarmes guard the Dragon's Hoard at night.
Assaulted, robbed, kidnapped, beaten - he has many reasons for anger... and there are many forces in Riddleport who would happily channel the same ruinously towards the Goblin.
Whatever words or tricks you play or expend upon him... you are reduced to hoping upon the outcome."

Phillip pauses, shifting position in his chair and taking his dagger from it's place of concealment. He places it upon the table, before closing "Chains or the blade... with those at least you can be sure of the outcome."

Malkith growls softly in thought, "Both Herr Vankaskerkin and our other associate are correct. We aren't setup for hold a captive and it brings unneeded risk to the establishment to keep him on the premises. Additionally, there are too many unfavorable variable to just let him loose before we open again.

"I tend to agree with our employer's idea; have him turned over to the Gendarmes. He fled from Korvosa. Perhaps Mescher can earn some favor by returning him to their authorities?"

Phillip pauses, shifting position in his chair and taking his dagger from it's place of concealment. He places it upon the table, before closing "Chains or the blade... with those at least you can be sure of the outcome."

"Outcomes are never certain. We let him go, we're dealing with his wrath. We've proven we can handle that. He's not that smart," Braddon says without a trace of irony.

Gristav takes the stairs back to the kitchen to check on the kettle. As he arrives, the doors from the casino floor open, and Thuvalia wanders in with a stretch and a yawn.

"Heard the whistle from that far off?", Gristav asks Thuvalia, smiling. "I'd barely heard it myself. We'll speak more on this, later. Business being discussed above, you might rather you had not been there. I cannot explain; you'll just have to choose."

Gristav ascends the stairs with the descending whistle of the teakettle, regaining the great room in time to frown, then steady, as Braddon says,

...We kill him and maybe no one will care. But if they do, we can be found. We questioned his wife, the stable owner, some nearby people. They see him again and we're off the hook."[/b]

Braddon shrugs.
"Maybe word will spread that those who help us will be let go. We know him, we can handle him."

Carrying the kettle to fill Samaritha's waiting teacup, it seemed Gristav was naturally responding to Braddon alone. "We can have him seen again, if we must. Disappearance does not preclude false appearance, magically made. But are we really discussing such an end to this episode? This man has done us no wrong, and the only ill will he bears us, we have earned well. Well, you have earned well.", Gristav says comradely to Braddon, almost in congratulation. Speaking more then to the room at large, Gristav asks rhetorically, "He's now to be put to death, owing to our fear of a threat he has never stated? Aren't we braver than that? This is a casino; will we also not pick up dice again? Nor women? I've been betrayed by both. I still contemplate trusting, again." As he leaned to leave the kettle before Tendal, Gristav's eye met Sam's, and smiled.

"He's an Abadarite, yes? From the armor, and the scales? Then his word might bind him better than our chains, if perhaps less well than Lil's. It's she we fear, I'm told rightly so. Let a part of his parole be proving he's beyond her grasp, if not her reach. Let him provide better and willful details of her plans, or even letters of introduction for us. Let him by those letters put arguable evidences in our hands of his complicity. Evidence held against any future perfidy."

"There's a statue of Luck downstairs. I don't want to hide my brow, when I walk past it again. We should take the chance. Wisely, yes, cleverly, cautiously. But take it."