Below, in Mistress Vashti's rooms, the gnome seems satisfied with his reconnoiter. "I believe my associate must have gotten the scent by now," he tells Snake. "Come along, Sludge; let us be on our way. Sludge ... come on. Our quarry is not under there." The dog slithers further beneath the bed, and the gnome sighs with a bit of embarrassment. "A moment," he apologizes to Snake. "My associate appears to have discovered some evidence of note. Let me confer with him briefly." He drops to the floor and slides headfirst beneath the curtain of bedspread. "Sludge! Come out! What are you--? Oh. Oh! You brilliant animal!" Natinilinus reappears from beneath the bed, grinning broadly and holding a small packet. "Hidden beneath the mattress and the slats," he explains. "And if hidden in one's own bedchamber, then hidden for a purpose that must be concealed from one's intimates? I suggest examination in a more secure locale."
"Interesting. I'll go let the others know. Don't go anywhere... I'll be back." Snake exits the room and heads back upstairs. Seeing Braddon standing there like a statue, appearing a bit ticked about something as Gristav converses with some woman, he walks up behind the ranger and gets his attention - albeit quietly. "Hey, Braddon... The Gnome found something. It's some type of packet. Figured you two may wanna have a look but I see Gristav's occupied with doing what he does best: talking."
"And yet, still your suspicion. Was there some event, some seed to that vine, or was it only her origins, earned your distrust?"
"She came from the caravans in Lubbertown," she replies, as if that's all the evidence necessary to cast suspicion on someone, "and the general said he was holding Shoreleave over her head to keep her in line, so she obviously has a criminal record. Probably Sczarni connections." Her eyes dart toward Braddon distrustfully.
Braddon turns toward Snake slowly, as if with some effort. At first Snake thinks Braddon may not have heard him, but instead Braddon slowly nods. He looks back at the little old lady then glances down at his fist before looking back to Snake.
"Fine."
And suddenly, Braddon sweeps out of the room and down the stairs.
"And yet, still your suspicion. Was there some event, some seed to that vine, or was it only her origins, earned your distrust?""She came from the caravans in Lubbertown," she replies, as if that's all the evidence necessary to cast suspicion on someone, "and the general said he was holding Shoreleave over her head to keep her in line, so she obviously has a criminal record. Probably Sczarni connections." Her eyes dart toward Braddon distrustfully.
"Braddon is not Sczarni, to the final regret of some who were.", Gristav counters. "More, he has my trust, if not my confidence. For all he wears on my patience, it's because he wears his heart on his sleeve, and that honest habit of youth ought best be gardened to wisdom, and neither cramped nor pruned into world-weariness, nor woeful wariness."
"Now, to return to the document. May I have it in hand? I would read it through, thrice. Should I find myself able to advise the General, I would have it be that I advise him well, and not only that I argue your points. I believe there is a place all can meet and be well; it only remains to find that place."
Braddon and Snake descend the staircase to find the gnome and his dog waiting for them in the entryway. Natinilinus slides what appears to be a packet of folded papers out from inside his coat just long enough for the half-elf to notice it, then conceals it once more with a pat of his chest. "Hidden documents," he hisses, "missed by both the intruder and the authorities. Have you somewhere safe from prying eyes we could go to examine their contents?"
"Now, to return to the document. May I have it in hand? I would read it through, thrice. Should I find myself able to advise the General, I would have it be that I advise him well, and not only that I argue your points. I believe there is a place all can meet and be well; it only remains to find that place."
"Aye, I suppose so," she says grudgingly. "I don't carry it with me; you'll have to come to the office to see it."
As Phillip walks along the pier, he does keep a weather eye out for the Immortal Goat... just in case whimsy strikes him later... and half an eye to see if the Deceitful Mermaid was in port.
But mostly he walks the boards... and puts to thought that which needs to be thought upon... though worryingly his mind is relatively blank at present.
Braddon and Snake descend the staircase to find the gnome and his dog waiting for them in the entryway. Natinilinus slides what appears to be a packet of folded papers out from inside his coat just long enough for the half-elf to notice it, then conceals it once more with a pat of his chest. "Hidden documents," he hisses, "missed by both the intruder and the authorities. Have you somewhere safe from prying eyes we could go to examine their contents?"
Snake looks to the gnome with a raised eyebrow. He then looks to Braddon with that same questioning look before turning back to Greatreave. "Why are we whispering? Nevermind. We can examine the contents back at The Goblin. Probably the best place, I'd wager."
There are no more than a handful of ships in port as Phil strolls the wharf, deftly avoiding taller pedestrians prone to trample or overrun him; it is a simple matter to pick out the Deceitful Mermaid, particularly as her deck is a hive of activity. Stevedores are coming and going on her gangplank, while official-looking types with sheaves of parchment supervise or confer with ranking sailors. Although Phillip scrutinizes the faces of the laders, none of them are Billy Dagger or Bellamy.
On the onshore side of the boardwalk, the halfling passes a few shops, some well-maintained warehouses, and several taverns, largely distinguishable from one another only by their names and placards. The Immortal Goat is identified by a fading sign depicting a grinning billy goat with a noose around its neck and multiple arrows with colorful fletching protruding from its body. A peek through its grimy front windows reveals an interior not unlike that of the Saucy Strumpet, though it has more patrons now in the early afternoon than the Strumpet had before dawn when Phil went in search of the Poison Pearl.
So Phil, what now... back to the Goblin?... Could pay a visit to the scribe... nah, don't know when the others will get there and it'd be a better run to have the missives arrive before me and without my presence... Will be a while until Ethel's off work as well... Looking around he notices that the docks are getting to a bit of activity and wonders Old Stumpy doesn't seem to have been doing much in the way of advertising for Varisian night... bloody need it to rake in some coin to keep the Wheezer content... There's a few lads around... and with a welling of intent in his gut, he muses...
"Now, to return to the document. May I have it in hand? I would read it through, thrice. Should I find myself able to advise the General, I would have it be that I advise him well, and not only that I argue your points. I believe there is a place all can meet and be well; it only remains to find that place.""Aye, I suppose so," she says grudgingly. "I don't carry it with me; you'll have to come to the office to see it."
"That will serve. By appointment, or happenstance? I cannot simply follow you at this time, the Vishki matter remains unresolved, and with a life in the balance, there's no space in the pan for commerce. Especially whereas I'm neither the General's factor, nor yours. But I would help; when might I be welcome to call at your offices?"
"Anytime during business hours," she replies stiffly. "It's the first door on the road up from the town."
---------------------------
"Why are we whispering? Nevermind. We can examine the contents back at The Goblin. Probably the best place, I'd wager."
Sludge yawns widely and begins to whap his tail against the floor as Braddon comes down the stairs, hoping he might still have mackerel to distribute.
---------------------------
"Anytime during business hours," she replies stiffly. "It's the first door on the road up from the town."
"I do apologize if I've given offense.", Gristav says sincerely. "I hope the aid before and after acts as amends against accidental trespass and deliberate duty. Should you discover need to contact me, I'll regularly be at, and might be contacted at, the Three-Billed Duck. There are other places, less dainty than your tea-shop, but not so worthy of you. As the elves say, until eyes touch again, Mistress Carragh."
Leaving the lady to her tidying (if she is continuing) or properly preceding her down the stairs (if she is descending), Gristav rejoins the rest of the 'Away Team'.
"So, are we done here? Were we to examine also the cliffs?", Gristav asks generally.
"Sludge found something." Braddon pats his head.
"We can head back to the Goblin and look at it or kick out the old bat and check it out here. If there's a path down from the cliffs, I suppose we'd want to check them out too. Let's check the cliffs and see if the bat leaves while we do."
"I'll examine it while you check the cliffs. It may raise questions best answered here, or better unshared. I'll ask you to trust my judgement.", Gristav says to Braddon, then stands expectantly, waiting for the discovery to be handed him.
"There are two paths down the cliffs from Windward," the gnome volunteers. "The first leads only halfway down to an outlook over the Cyphergate and is maintained by the Cypherlodge. The second goes all the way down to the water to Windward's private dock; it begins at the river taxi stand and runs below half of this rowhouse, though not, sadly, directly beneath this flat. Still, it ought to provide a better vantage than the Cyphergate path, which mostly overlooks the harbor and the open gulf."
"That which approaches most closely, seems correct. Braddon, do you... are you sure you want to learn, first-hand, what might be learned?"
"Meantime, whatever was found.", Gristav requires, holding his hand now toward Natinilinus. "And quickly, while the mistress is out of sight."
Phillip sloughs off his jacket and half opens his shirt at the front before seeking a slightly higher stage through use of crate or the like. He's careful enough to put his back to the land... lest a boisterous passer by take offense at his words and think it amusing to tip a slip into the sea.
A deep breath and a hand run back through his hair to becalm it and he puts his voice to use to sing a tune to his as yet ungathered audience:
"As I walked by the dockside one Sunday so fair
To view the salt water and take the sea air
I heard an old fisherman singing a song
Won’t you take ma away boys me time is not long"
"Wrap me up in me oil-skin and jumper
No more on the docks I’ll be seen
Just tell me old shipmates, I’m taking a trip mates
And I’ll see you some day in the Gold Goblin"
"Now the Gold Goblin is a place I heard tell
Where the harbourmen go if they don’t go to hell
Where the whiskey's unwatered and the lassies do play
And the cold wharf of Rid'lport is far, far away"
"That which approaches most closely, seems correct. Braddon, do you... are you sure you want to learn, first-hand, what might be learned?"
"That witch, wherever she is, is incorrect. Gramma's done nothing wrong. Why wouldn't I want to see this?"
He folds his arms and remains within sight of the packet, but doesn't grab or direct it in any way.
The gnome removes the packet from beneath his jacket, somewhat grudgingly. "If you intend to read it here, we should all remain. A lone man in sole possession of forbidden information ... it's the perfect opportunity for them to silence you and destroy the evidence. You stand ready to kill the charwoman?" he asks Braddon. "She may well be a plant, an assassin in disguise, eager to return the newly uncovered papers to her perfidious masters."
"There will be no killing, absent demonstrated immediate lethal intent", Gristav says as if from a judge's bench. Taking the packet into his shirt, Gristav adds, "As for a plant, she may near as likely be a dryad, but don't let's make plans to water her, just yet."
Drawing the laces of his shirt closed, almost in punctuation, Gris says, "Let us speak no more of either matter, until more is known, to be spoken. Circle the house once, with bright eyes and sensitive noses, and I shall meantime seek the privacy of a privy, in case, as I said, questions are raised best answered before we had left."
"There will be no killing, absent demonstrated immediate lethal intent", Gristav says as if from a judge's bench. Taking the packet into his shirt, Gristav adds, "As for a plant, she may near as likely be a dryad, but don't let's make plans to water her, just yet."
Drawing the laces of his shirt closed, almost in punctuation, Gris says, "Let us speak no more of either matter, until more is known, to be spoken. Circle the house once, with bright eyes and sensitive noses, and I shall meantime seek the privacy of a privy, in case, as I said, questions are raised best answered before we had left."
"I don't think so, bub. The next time I'm in a haunted manor, I'll be sure to go off by myself and poke my head around a blind corner - absolutely sure there'll be nothing there. Sounds like I'd just be askin' for trouble, doesn't it. No, we go to the goblin. If this is important as The Gnome thinks it is, then we'll examine it there. I'm of the opinion better safe than sorry."
Phillip has no trouble at all finding a crate to climb atop but finds to his consternation that he started the modified chantey in too low a key, reducing him to hoarse tunelessness on the deepest notes. He tries surreptitiously to transpose upward between verses.
The crowd on the wharf seems fairly inured to men between taverns and the sea breaking into more or less tuneful song. Those with someplace to be push past without breaking stride, while others with fewer demands on their time pause to watch the halfling with some amusement before going their way. All in all, while he might have to tighten his belt if he were singing for his supper, at least he's getting the Gold Goblin's name out there.
Braddon also does not let Gristav out of his sight.
"Like Snake said. If you want credit for it, fine. The hound was your idea after all and since Dayn and I got that letter yesterday you can get some glory today. But I don't remember telling you I trust you, so you won't be opening it alone."
His arms remain folded.
Phillip makes sure to keep at it for a reasonable amount of time and moves down the pier as he does so... but is also careful to break away before time comes for the drink to begin weighing heavy on the minds of the docksmen.
"I don't think so, bub. The next time I'm in a haunted manor, I'll be sure to go off by myself and poke my head around a blind corner - absolutely sure there'll be nothing there. Sounds like I'd just be askin' for trouble, doesn't it. No, we go to the goblin. If this is important as The Gnome thinks it is, then we'll examine it there. I'm of the opinion better safe than sorry.""There will be no killing, absent demonstrated immediate lethal intent", Gristav says as if from a judge's bench. Taking the packet into his shirt, Gristav adds, "As for a plant, she may near as likely be a dryad, but don't let's make plans to water her, just yet."
Drawing the laces of his shirt closed, almost in punctuation, Gris says, "Let us speak no more of either matter, until more is known, to be spoken. Circle the house once, with bright eyes and sensitive noses, and I shall meantime seek the privacy of a privy, in case, as I said, questions are raised best answered before we had left."
Braddon also does not let Gristav out of his sight.
"Like Snake said. If you want credit for it, fine. The hound was your idea after all and since Dayn and I got that letter yesterday you can get some glory today. But I don't remember telling you I trust you, so you won't be opening it alone."
His arms remain folded.
"I know your trust was not given", Gristav replies to Braddon, "Which is why it was requested. And denied. Which is well enough. But do try to calm enough to consider, the contents might damn your gram, and perhaps you might prefer, if memory is all you have, to remember her untainted. They may also honor, or exonerate her. Which is why I asked for trust in my judgment. Which was denied. And that denial is your right, and is accepted."
"As for credit, I'm not seeking credit. My bona fides antedate the plot we are investigating, and your bloody response to it." Raising a hand in preemptive defense, Gris continues, "Not that I fault that bloodletting; you danced, you didn't choose the tune. But just a moment ago, your blade was the readiest, I dare say randiest, part of your repertoire. You're out of your depth and you know it. Whatever contents await, you'll want opinion outside your own. Would you have the contents shared with, and endangering... only Sam? Or the Hood? Neither of who know much of the town. Or do you trust Saul, then? Bojasc? The Suit? The Elf? The General? The Hobbit? Or do you mean to make them all trustworthy by sharing it with them all?"
"Your blood gives you dominion, in this case. I hope it leaves you calm enough to see reason. Once to the Goblin, find a place of privacy, and read it alone. Then, make your best judgement, of who to share it with. I'll be honest, Braddon, I trust your heart, but doubt your wit. I suspect, on your side, the matter's reversed. At least, that's a balance." Gristav smiles, weakly but warmly."
"And Snake...", Gristav turns and smiles more broadly, "Haunted manor; haunted road. I wouldn't expect you to change your habits, certainly not at my request. Bub."
---
"Let us walk the cliffs, then. Or rather, now."
Taking the papers the gnome found under the bed, the party departs Ananda's flat. Natinilinus directs their path further up the road past the seaward end of the rowhouse, where a well-trodden footpath leads to a round hut-like kiosk across from a scraggly tree which has managed to root itself in the thin soil overlying the rocky ridge. An attendant is visible within the kiosk, and the path continues past the structure and over the edge of the cliff, switchbacking back behind the rowhouse and down toward the harbor. As the group approaches, the attendant greets them. "Looking to hire a boat up the river, gentlemen? What's your destination?"
--------------------------
Meanwhile, Phillip continues his serenade outside several other dockside taverns, finishing outside the Saucy Strumpet. By the time he's completed his tour, he has found the right key and settled into his performance; one man even tosses a few coppers at the halfling's feet before he walks into the tavern. By this time, Phil's own throat is parched, his luncheon ale at the Publican House seeming long ago and far away.
Taking the couple of coppers in hand and feeling the rough metal Phillip puts his jacket over one arm and starts to make his way from the dockside.
As the group approaches, the attendant greets them. "Looking to hire a boat up the river, gentlemen? What's your destination?"
"Here again, we think. But first the voyage upriver. There's been some speculation of what might be seen, and from where. So, fare to no destination? Might such be had, let by the hour?"
"Your blood gives you dominion, in this case. I hope it leaves you calm enough to see reason. Once to the Goblin, find a place of privacy, and read it alone. Then, make your best judgement, of who to share it with. I'll be honest, Braddon, I trust your heart, but doubt your wit. I suspect, on your side, the matter's reversed. At least, that's a balance." Gristav smiles, weakly but warmly."
"Not alone. In the company of others. It's not safe to go it alone. It's not ever safe...," Snake seems to trail off a moment, seemingly farther away than what any mere mile could reach before returning back. "He can read it in our company. We'll watch your back, bub," he tells Braddon. "Then he can determine whether or not he wants to share it with us." Snake then follows the rest out toward their next destination.
As Gristav "answers", Snake just stares at the magus a moment. Seriously? There can't be that many people that can turn a one word answer into an entire sentence. He thinks to himself as he turns to the attendant. "He means the cliffs. I'm guessing there are cliffs around here because that's where we're suppose to be going. Can you take us there?"
"A sightseeing cruise, then," the man responds with a grin. "The scenic cliffs of Riddleport and the Velashu river? Or are you scholars on an academic excursion? Investigating the aftereffects of the incident in the harbor yesterday?" He glances skyward to gauge the time of day. "I suppose I could let you hire a boat and its crew for an hour or two, three at the most, as long as you're done by sunset. I'll need all of our taxis for the traffic to and from Free-Coin. Four gold pieces for each hour, the first hour in advance, and the boat is yours to command."
Phillip's feet lead him in the approximate direction of the shop purveying Ladies' Attire where his paramour awaits him at the end of the day. Rather than making approach directly, Phillip seeks out a thirst parching beverage from a street vendor and digs a little deeper into a previous mystery that was made plain to him... that of Pip the watching slip with rosy face and golden hair.
Diplomacy (Gathering Intel):
"A sightseeing cruise, then," the man responds with a grin. "The scenic cliffs of Riddleport and the Velashu river? Or are you scholars on an academic excursion? Investigating the aftereffects of the incident in the harbor yesterday?" He glances skyward to gauge the time of day. "I suppose I could let you hire a boat and its crew for an hour or two, three at the most, as long as you're done by sunset. I'll need all of our taxis for the traffic to and from Free-Coin. Four gold pieces for each hour, the first hour in advance, and the boat is yours to command."
"FOUR GOLD!?! We could almost buy our own ship for that? C'mon, we don't have to listen to this."
"A sightseeing cruise, then," the man responds with a grin. "The scenic cliffs of Riddleport and the Velashu river? Or are you scholars on an academic excursion? Investigating the aftereffects of the incident in the harbor yesterday?" He glances skyward to gauge the time of day. "I suppose I could let you hire a boat and its crew for an hour or two, three at the most, as long as you're done by sunset. I'll need all of our taxis for the traffic to and from Free-Coin. Four gold pieces for each hour, the first hour in advance, and the boat is yours to command.""FOUR GOLD!?! We could almost buy our own ship for that? C'mon, we don't have to listen to this."
Gristav asks with a gesture and a faint smile for Braddon's patience. The smile fades as Gris turns to the boatman. "We're not tourists, though some are new under the gate. We're assisting with an investigation under the authority of General Mescher. I'd rather not flash a badge nor requisition your boat. You'd get paid... eventually, paperwork takes time. I'd rather just pass the coin and have it done with; you give me a receipt, and I do the paperwork. A lot smoother all around. But, four gold? Just choose a place upriver, and partway there, we'll change our mind. Bring us back, charge us the usual fare, there'll be a tip to apologize for the confusion, and you'll provide a receipt for more. Everybody wins."
"FOUR GOLD!?! We could almost buy our own ship for that? C'mon, we don't have to listen to this."
The taxi-man grins, unperturbed. "Aye, buy your own boat," he encourages Braddon, "but who'll crew it? You? The dog? You're asking to remove a boat from my fleet for the afternoon. Someone wealthy matron comes along and needs an errand run in Leeward, I might have to tell her to wait. Rich people don't like waiting: They think everything should happen at their convenience, just like poor people don't think anything should ever cost more than they have in their pockets."
"We're not tourists, though some are new under the gate. We're assisting with an investigation under the authority of General Mescher. I'd rather not flash a badge nor requisition your boat. You'd get paid... eventually, paperwork takes time. I'd rather just pass the coin and have it done with; you give me a receipt, and I do the paperwork. A lot smoother all around. But, four gold? Just choose a place upriver, and partway there, we'll change our mind. Bring us back, charge us the usual fare, there'll be a tip to apologize for the confusion, and you'll provide a receipt for more. Everybody wins."
The man's grin fades as Gristav refers to Gendarmes and requisitions, his eyes starting to take on a belligerent gleam, but when the half-elf offers his compromise, he nods slowly. "Aye, we might be able to do business along those lines ... but fares start at one silver per passenger. And the animal counts as one."
"We have an accord. Gentlemen? Let us not unduly delay the dutiful dispatcher...", Gristav says, arranging to pass the man last, or nearest last as circumstances allow.
"Four gold? You get much of such custom, at four gold an hour?", Gristav asks the dispatcher, as though over a shared lunch.
Phillip's feet lead him in the approximate direction of the shop purveying Ladies' Attire where his paramour awaits him at the end of the day. Rather than making approach directly, Phillip seeks out a thirst parching beverage from a street vendor and digs a little deeper into a previous mystery that was made plain to him... that of Pip the watching slip with rosy face and golden hair.
Having soothed windpipes unused to warbling with a cool draught, Phil begins making subtle inquiries into the halfling he met outside Betta's shop yesterday. The first few passersby he describes him to respond only with blank stares and shrugs, but eventually, he meets someone who reacts with a double-take and a chuckle. "That's Shorafa's pet halfling," he is told. "Lives at the House of the Silken Veil and is rarely seen outside it. They must keep him busy...."
-----------------
"Four gold? You get much of such custom, at four gold an hour?", Gristav asks the dispatcher, as though over a shared lunch.
"Wouldn't take much to make a tidy profit, no?" the dispatcher grins back, dipping his quill in a vial of ink and scratching on a scrap of parchment. "But, no, we don't rent out boats by the hour as a matter of course. We live on the errand trade during the day and ferrying folk to and from Free-Coin after dark. Here," he hands Gristav the paper. "Says you're going to the far end of Maskyr's Island; that's our northernmost stop. I advise you strongly to change your mind before you get there. The Overlord doesn't take kindly to visitors dropping by without an invitation."
The footpath down the cliff to the river-taxi dock is steep but smoothly-paved, with a balustrade for safety. The rock face below and above the path, however, is rough and sheer. Sharp crags protrude from the cliffside, creating pockets and clefts that are hidden from the eye. Far above are the balconies and terraces of the Harbor View rowhouse, but it's clear that a body falling from Ananda's flat could either have come to rest partway down in an inaccessible cranny or, alternatively, have tumbled down into the waters of the harbor. The path terminates at a well-maintained dock, though the paint on its railings seems a little muddy, no doubt due to being swamped by yesterday's swell. Three cheerful little yachts are berthed at the dock; from the deck of one, a stout, middle-aged man in a neat uniform jacket and cap greets them cheerfully. "Step aboard, gentlemen! Captain Jonas Hale, at your service today. Where can I take you?"
"North, Captain.", Gristav says with a faint bow, presenting the dispatcher's scrip. "Nearer the West bank, if it's all the same? And in no great hurry. We'll return by the East bank? And hopefully, expect much less than a three-hour tour."
"I am Gristav. Good to meet you, Captain. May I introduce the company, Misters Hurst and Kane, and Greatreave, and his clever hound, Sludge."
.
Shorafa's pet eh... wonder what he's about here for... muses Phillip as he solves the mystery of the slip. Thanking the yielder of the information, Phil moves off to nearby where he saw Pip earlier - and settles in to wait for the end of Ethel's shift.
Snake tips his hat as he's introduced. "Three hours? Let's hope it doesn't last that long." He looks skyward, looking for signs for any possibility of bad weather. "We could be in trouble if the weather starts to get rough."
Despite Snake's concern, the skies have almost completely cleared after last night's rainstorm. Far out to sea, past the Cyphergate, a single dark blotch mars the sky, as if one unhappy island is overshadowed by its own personal raincloud.
"Rough weather?" the skipper scoffs. "Nothing to fear on that account. A bit spooked by the harbor wave yesterday? You're safer on water than on land when that happens." He takes the scrip from Gristav. "Maskyr's Island, eh?" he asks, a bit of his good-natured bluster fading into nervousness. "Nothing unpleasant, I hope?"
Natinilinus boards the ship with his usual aplomb, but Sludge follows him nervously, tail between his legs, giving the softly-tilting deck a look askance. As soon as everyone is aboard, Captain Hale gives a word belowdecks; from either side, oars appear, and the unseen crew starts to pull against the current to ply the way upriver.
---------------------------
Phillip checks the position of the sun to gauge how long he might have to wait; now that it is lower in the sky, the blot is more evident. While still not large, it seems either to have grown or approached nearer since yesterday. The halfling has a seat on the steps where Pip sat the previous day to wait for Ethel to be paroled.
As the ship takes off, a thought just occurs. "What is it are we looking for exactly?"
Braddon studies the cliff from below, shading his eyes. He points at a section when Snake speaks.
"Do you reckon that part of the cliff is closest to the apartments? The murderer would head for the closest bit. The body would crumple and bounce. Possibly into those nooks over there. Maybe on that boulder over there."
Braddon waves an arm ineffectually.
"I didn't see anything when looking over the edge the other day. Do you think from that point there she might have been able to swing the body out into the water?"
Braddon looks around to Gristav. "Hey, does this thing go as far as Lubbertown? That's where Gramma came from."
"Rough weather?" the skipper scoffs. "Nothing to fear on that account. A bit spooked by the harbor wave yesterday? You're safer on water than on land when that happens." He takes the scrip from Gristav. "Maskyr's Island, eh?" he asks, a bit of his good-natured bluster fading into nervousness. "Nothing unpleasant, I hope?"
"Where we're writ for is not where we're going, Captain. Only close enough. It's like a koan; the point of the journey, is the journey itself." Gristav smiles at the skipper a beat, then answers more directly, "Nothing unpleasant."
Braddon studies the cliff from below, shading his eyes. He points at a section when Snake speaks.
"Do you reckon that part of the cliff is closest to the apartments? The murderer would head for the closest bit. The body would crumple and bounce. Possibly into those nooks over there. Maybe on that boulder over there."
Braddon waves an arm ineffectually.
"I didn't see anything when looking over the edge the other day. Do you think from that point there she might have been able to swing the body out into the water?"
Braddon looks around to Gristav. "Hey, does this thing go as far as Lubbertown? That's where Gramma came from."
"I'd guess it goes close enough. And the Captain happy to be rid of us before Maskyr's Island. I'll go ask."
---
"Forgive the intrusion, Captain. How close might you take us, to Lubbertown?"
Despite the keen senses employed by the party, the distance up the cliffs is simply too far to be sure of anything. There's a dark spot on one crag that might be blood ... or might simply be a dark deposit in the stone itself.
"Do you reckon that part of the cliff is closest to the apartments? The murderer would head for the closest bit. The body would crumple and bounce. Possibly into those nooks over there. Maybe on that boulder over there."
Natinilinus is along the port railing gazing up at the cliffs with the rest of the passengers. He nods at Braddon's reconstruction of the body's putative fall. "Could be, could be. Still, hard to tell which way something will bounce unless you've seen it. We ought to get several bodies, drop them off the terrace and observe them. Wherever most of them come to rest would be the obvious place to begin our search."
"Forgive the intrusion, Captain. How close might you take us, to Lubbertown?"
The sea breeze seems to have carried a few scraps of the conversation to the captain's ears; he is watching the passengers a little queasily as they discuss murder and the disposal of bodies, but pastes on a polite smile as Gristav addresses him. "No docks in Lubbertown, sir; closest I could take you on that side of the river is Devil's Fork."
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Phillip contents himself with a restful lean against the stoop and amuses himself as he waits through hummed verse
"Time, you old sczarni man; Will you not stay,
Put up your caravan; Just for one day?
All things I'll give you; Will you be my guest,
Bells for your jennet; Of silver the best,
Goldsmiths shall beat you; A great golden ring,
Peacocks shall bow to you; Little boys sing,
Oh, and sweet girls will; Festoon you with may.
Time, you old sczarni; Why hasten away?"
"Forgive the intrusion, Captain. How close might you take us, to Lubbertown?"The sea breeze seems to have carried a few scraps of the conversation to the captain's ears; he is watching the passengers a little queasily as they discuss murder and the disposal of bodies, but pastes on a polite smile as Gristav addresses him. "No docks in Lubbertown, sir; closest I could take you on that side of the river is Devil's Fork."
"Be at ease, Captain. The gnome may be mad, and the half-elf unwise, the giant unpolished, but the hound is well-mannered, and I feel I can vouch for each of them. And I trust I have given no offense?"
"Devil's Fork, indeed. We'd have to charge tine and a half...", Gristav puns, grinning. "Which raises the question: Are you empowered to take payment, in the event our plans change, and we do not return directly to the dispatcher? Because the script the scrip concealed, was for a view of the cliff walls, and another, on return to dispatch." Leaning conspiratorially, Gristav asides, "We have no intention of landing on Maskyr's Island; this was all about viewing the cliffs. You see, it's feared a body was disposed from the top, a crime we're all lending an eye toward. Well, the dog, mostly the nose, and the half-elf, most of his heart. The victim, his grand-dame." Gristav muses sorrowfully a long moment, straightening from his leaning-in, and when he next speaks, his tone is more normal. "Might I impose, Captain, on your experience of these waters? He's too young to have such a burden, not knowing... What would you think, would become of a body? Any hope for recovery?"
Snake just shakes his head at the gnome's idea of throwing bodies off the terrace. Nut job. Plain as day.