"Fair enough, I think. To the cargo, then, Captain?" Vim gestures towards the holds, with a look up at Connor for approval.
<Nothing we can't show her now, is there? If she likes what she sees, we can take it from there and book lodging and so on, with the advantage of it being easier to read her reaction to the goods if it's just her and us and not the whole lot of them...>
Nothing in the hold but the gears in crates, the lockbox has about half the gems, and the smuggling bins are empty and nailed shut. Connor assured Vim over Flann's network.
"Certainly." Connor replied vocally. "If your...hover machine doesn't, ah, expand, you can take it directly down the hold doors. But if it...needs maneuvering room, we can walk down the main stairs." Connor took a step towards the hold panels, half-flexing his wings. At least it's better than magic. Connor thought to himself.
Flann can't help but snort at the mention of dwarves and ores. ~Sorry, she was talking about getting ores from dwarves as a main advantage Iska has over Altalantia when it comes to firearm manufacture.~
To the concerns about the hold, Flann adds, ~All my contraband is well hidden.~
She nods. "I'll be fine." She reaches back to touch a lever, and the wings fold up neatly and slide into her pack. The bits on her wrists and arms similarly fold into anklets and bracelets, and within a few moments, she looks like she couldn't fly if you dropped her over the ocean. "Now then, shall we?"
"Lovely; yes let's," Vim says, leading the way to the holds.
<That miniaturization technology is impressive. Perhaps we could negotiate for a closer look at it as well? It could be tactically useful for certain devices. The flying machine in general could allow us to field our wingless in real combat as well.>
Telv continues to be excited about a new city, where he will likely get to meet new people!
<I would not want those spinning blades anywhere near congested areas with normal wings!> Connor protested over the network. <Mistrada and Minala Clans may be able to use them, but what about those of us with feathers, like McIntyre, Mintakia, and Celestrada?> He followed Vim and the smaller Selvi Gearloose to the doorway.
<Irrational. Same protocols against midair collisions would apply.>
<So long as nobody flies at unsafe distances to another citizen, collisions will be avoided, and hardly more deadly when they do occur.>
<Unlikely to matter for a while, regardless; Selvi seems to understand the value quite well. I doubt they'll be sharing that technology for anything less than a kingdom...>
One of our old crew had similar wings. What was his name again boss? Oh well no matter.
Leading Selvi down into the hold, You lead her to the gears and clockwork. Selvi nods, and reaches into her pocket and pulls out a dozen small insect-like devices. They begin to make whirring and clicking sounds, and then fly up to zoom overhead. Then each produces a dazzling bright white light in the dimly lit hold, flying in a large circular pattern around Selvi, providing near noon day levels of light.
"Hmm, not bad craftsmanship. It's difficult to get gears in that size nowdays. We've about stopped using them, but there's old equipment that requires large replacement gears, as well as the occasional project that needs large wheels, like a powered damn, or a windmill." She takes a small metal tuning fork out of her pocket, that looks brass, and begins tapping the large brass gears. The tuning fork makes varied, but similar, tones with each tap. "Good metal content, and no filler, so not forgeries." She sounds pleased about that. Then she takes out a steel tuning fork, and begins to tap each of the smaller (but still big) steel gears. That fork makes a tune as well, although there's more variation in it's tune. "Hmm, mix of excellent and mediocre metal quality in the steel gears. I'm guessing you sourced them from a second hand shop, given the wide variation in manufacturing levels and steel quality." She then finally takes a small jewelers glass out of the pocket, returning the tuning forks to it first, and begins to examine the smaller gears. She doesn't look at all of them, but does look at about one in ten. "Same mix of quality and mediocrity. Next time you go to your source, if you stop by, I can send a journeyman metallurgist with you, to go over the stuff before you buy it. Say for 10 percent of the cargo, provided you fill up your hold next time."
She nods. "I'll take all of it, and melt the inferior ones down and recycle them. I'll give you 6,000 gold for the lot. If the steel had been uniformly as good as the brass, I'd have made it 7,500."
Sting, and Elohir, and I will never forget. Connor said wistfully.
-----------------------------
Remind me to purchase some of those lights, that's as good as crystal light. Connor opined over the network.
"Deep storage, actually. As for availability, I look forward to discussing long-term negotiations." Connor told the smaller woman, with an eye towards Vim.
That's seventeen and two-thirds percent profit. Connor said silently, with a head nod towards Vim for him to continue. Now for the engines.
The woman raises an eyebrow. "Deep storage? We don't buy stolen goods, Mr. McIntyre. Can you show me a bill of sale?"
The woman suddenly seems very suspicious of Connor and his crew, and may be reconsidering her offer.
~I would avoid colorful vagaries around someone trained to vet tradespeople.~ Flann's never looked more serious.
"Pardon the captain's penchant for irony. By deep he meant it was under other salvage. Gravity tends to make us cautious about disposing of anything, but new works tend to be indelicate about making room for themselves."
Now what did he say? Connor wondered. "Insofar as they came out of a junkyard, I purchased them legitimately. I would offer a ride back to the islands, but we came to discuss new engines?" Connor added after Flann's explanation.
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The woman looks Flann and Connor over, carefully. "I would avoid such talk around here, Mr. McIntyre. Saying you found it in a cave, or stored in a well, or deep underground, or any of those types of statements is a wink wink nudge nudge way of saying it was stolen from the Dwarves, or a Dwarven Burial Chamber. Needless to say, that would be contraindictive of having peaceful relations with said Dwarves." She taps her clipboard. "I'll put it down to a difference in culture this time. Please be more careful of your phrasing in the future." She looks around the ship. "I'll need to put a couple of engineers on your ship to study your existing engines, and we'll need to wait for Altina to return, so she can do the final estimates. She's the head of research into mechanical engines." She tilts her head. "If I may suggest, you can leave a skeleton crew on the ship, nobody will bother it while it's tethered. I can suggest several inns in the meantime, if you like. If you want to see some examples of Mechwerx Engineering, I can suggest a ride on the Train. I think you'll find it indicative of the high quality of work we do." She gives an impish grin. "That way when we give you the estimate you won't think we're reaching down your throat and tearing out your bladder in exchange for a chicken coop." She turns to Vim. "Mr. tel'Gossamer, I assume you and I can make the arrangements for the engineers to come aboard? Should I also give you the information on the local inns you can stay at and not be robbed?"
Vim maintains a stoic, unflinching face while Selvi runs the game of emotions, before seeming to accept Flann & Connor's explanations. Letting the issue die, but with a mental note to proactively proffer such documentation on their next transaction, Vim agrees to Selvi's offer.
"Yes, please. That'll do nicely...Er, I must ask, however: when you say 'robbed', may I presume you speak of an exorbitant rate at the inn, or do you mean yourself literally that there are truly bandits in your backyard?"
The gnomish woman shrugs. "This is a city, Mr. tel'Gossamer. There is a criminal underground. The most likely target of crime is people from outside of town, as they are usually not able to stick around for trials. The less unsavory types merely charge exhorbitant rates, the more unsavory types coordinate with burglars. There are, of course, a majority of the innkeepers who are honest, and I can point you toward a few of those, as well as point out areas of the city that are safer than others."
<Somewhere close to here, and one of these 'trains'. It sounds like a horseless clockwork carriage similar to the one at Masiaarin. I wouldn't mind having some peace and quiet with room to craft as well.> Connor suggested.
<And hopefully not too cramped. I expect that they rarely think of people with wings when they design furniture and doors.> adds Ishthraxa.
<I'm inclined to agree, it may be an uncomfortable stay. Particularly if the accommodations and transportation are all designed for those of gnomish stature as well as the wingless.>
As Flann holds his tongue on the size conversation, a gentle brass instrumental can be heard over his network.
With a silent nod to his companions, Vim addresses the issue of housing.
"I see. Your candor is appreciated. Somewhere on the middle then, I'm sure we'll find a happy medium. We're obviously not here for leisure, but not do we wish to lay in waste, as it were; a reasonably 'accessible' accommodation will do nicely, even if it lacks some trappings... I'm sure the Captain can sort something out if we need extra sets of eyes on our downtime. Plenty of crew, and little sailing to do, you know."
"I'll have a half-dozen places listed up and some introductory letters sent to your ship then." She makes a few notes on the clipboard. "We expect Altina back within 3 to 5 days. I assume you'd like to stay on your ship until then? Perhaps it might be easier if you use one of the lakes nearby to anchor in until then? There are several lakes north of the city, about a half-day's ride, that would work well for your ship to anchor in. It would give us time to work up the designs for a drydock for your ship as well." She raises an eyebrow. "I assume you can give me the specific dimensions of the ship's hull? Beam? Berth? Draft? Curvature?"
"That would be my responsibility." Connor rumbled vocally. "Since you mentioned lakes, do any have tasty fish swimming in them? I haven't had the opportunity to fish off the railing in a while." He smiled at the memory.
She laughs. "I believe they have fish, but don't expect anything as big as what you find in the ocean. You'd need to head up into the swamps to get anything that big is my understanding."
"A few days relaxing and fishing. Sounds like a nice little vacation boss."
"Let's not call it a vacation. I still have crew to pay." Connor replied to Adran. Turning back to Selvi, Connor said "Let's go back on the deck, so I can tell you those measurements, and you can tell us which lake won't get us a gnomish welcoming committee yelling about 'private property'." He raised an arm back to the stairs.
"Certainly, I'll have someone return with the information. Given your wings, I'm assuming you don't mind a few miles of flight to get to town."
About an hour after she leaves, a young male gnome with a similar flight suit flies up to the ship. He gives the crew a map of town. Marked on it is the Mechwerx , and a dozen inns in the Ruthor district, with star/moon ratings from 2 to 4, more stars is better, moons are worth half a star. The river to the north of town is not useful for your ship (it's about 50 to 150 ft wide, but only 10 to 15 ft deep at it's deepest, all attempts to dredge it out end up with the river filling the dredged out parts back in, meaning you'd bottom out).
Roughly 2 miles south of town, following the river, you find a series of several lakes. It was suggested that rather than use the larger lake where the river is, that you instead use one of the other smaller lakes to the east of the river, as they are not as used as the main lake, which has a lot of fishergnomes.
The ship is easily landed, and anchored in one of the smaller lakes. The lake is big enough that the ship can anchor in the center, and have a hundred feet or more of water between it and land on all sides.
Also in the stack of papers are letters of introduction for the innkeepers.
Connor thanked the second gnome for delivering the map, flipping a gold piece to the messenger. Hopefully Flann thinks that's enough... he thought to himself.
"First Mate Baden! Follow this young lady's directions to unload our cargo! Individual carry! Step lively!" Connor ordered.
Calling out to the Second Mate , Connor allowed anyone to join them in the Map Room, where he put down the small map on a sanded table. "Too much silt from the mountains - can't use the river to the North." Connor declared. "South it is." He looked expectantly at the Second Mate to start estimating a good lake to touchdown at.
-----------------
"Vim, Kotsi, Flann - you are best to decide on the inn for us." Connor declared in the Map room a second time, without the Second Mate. "We've got 3 to 5 days before Altina Gearloose comes back and the drydock is complete. Check out the inns before then, please. Friendly to Atalantians might mean countrymen here on the Surface. Or finding the gang giving our weapons to the gnomes." he requested.
"Ishthraxa, Telv, Adran - Selvi Gearloose mentioned horseless carriages, or 'trains', at 'border towns'. Find them, see how often they run, if some towns cater to Elves or Dwarves, the like. Don't spend too much time in Isksara yet."
"If we're leaving a skeleton crew onboard, that means I need to draw up a leave plan with the Mates. So I'll be busy too." Connor told them. His thoughts drifted to the fishing kit he had just acquired at the Crooked House.
"We received nine hundred gold profit from the gears, that's 128.57 pieces each." Connor told his fellow adventurers, doing the math in his head. "More than enough for train fare, checking out the inns, etc. We're more than a mile from the city, so make it back by dusk each day. I can make astral pigeons if anyone needs them."
Adran heads out to scout the area at the boss's orders.
"Be back soon. I will take the west."
"Aye-aye Captain," Vim says half-jokingly, his earnestness showing through at the excitement of finding their quarters.
"And I must say, I pity the bandits trying to shake down this group, but I almost wish that they'd try. Might send a nice message, you know?"
"Don't get me started - we've been scammed before, hard, I'm embarrassed to say. I still owe somebody from Anshrin a beating." Connor growled back.
"I think I'll start depth testing by measured weights now. Keep the Ables and Ordinaries on their wingtips." Connor told no one in particular.
** spoiler omitted **
"Indeed. Quality lodgings for the whole crew would blow our budget quickly."
The next week is busy for the crew. It turns out that getting hotel (what they call inns locally) rooms is both easier, and much more complicated. The local inns are 4 to 5 stories tall, and look like someone built them based off of bricks. They are functional, but not stylish. Each floor is divided into dozens of small rooms, with communal bathrooms on each floor.
The hallways are cramped (for a species with wings anyway). The halvavians are ok, but the humavians, stryx, and elvavians need to stoop over and keep their wings tucked in tight. The rooms are also a bit claustrophobic, as none of them have balconies, and most don't have windows that open. The local air quality is such that those with white wings (such as Connor!) have dingy gray ones after an hour or two of flying through the sooty air that chokes the city. It appears that every block has a foundry on it, and even most private homes have a small smelter or two, and all those fires send up clouds of smoke constantly.
The recommended hotels charge 2 coppers per room per night, single occupancy, plus 1 copper per person after. No food included, check out time is noon.
However, if you want to rent a floor or two, for a long period of time, they can work out a deal with you.
Flann approaches Kotsi and Vim in the mess. "At these rates, we'll spend more feeding the crew than lodging them; although, with the air here, we may not have long to worry about either." Flann laughs like he knows it wasn't a great joke, but it was the only one he could think of on the walk from his hammock. "Seriously, though I don't want to see any of you outside without at least a damp cloth over your nose an mouth. Smoke is a known carcinogen from any source, and there's no telling what these folk consider fit fuel." There's a pause as Flann recalls what the conversation is about. "Twenty five gold should get us all housed anywhere in the city... technically." Flann drops a handful of paper on the table. "The way I see it, we could build our own inn, a proper-looking place, market it as a luxury spa, and make our money back and then some before we leave. We just need, like, two thousand gold." Flann looks up at Vim as if there were any question what the answer would be.
"Maybe we should determine whether or not the smoke and all that here actually is a carcinogen before setting up the Spa," Vim says with a devilish smile, even as he brushes off some soot that had settled onto his jacket.
"Not a bad idea, though. Especially if trade traffic starts to pick up in the near future."
'Gotten a lot of good intel from, and through, places like that over the years, too...' he added over the Network. 'Could be convenient, if they let us build it, that is. Probably not anytime soon, but it's a fine idea all the same.'
"Why don't we just look at buying a large house?"
"A place to call our own huh, could sell it back when we leave too. All of it sounds pretty good. Long as I got a place to sleep."
"Not a bad idea." Connor opined, walking up. "That smoke and soot is something else. Well, we know it will hinder any other countrymen here. A mansion rental, on the outskirts of town, where the air is cleaner would be better than choking every morning and evening."