"Viscount Turick will have been here five years ago. Also, we have other sources as well."
Melia pulls out the book Count Aral gave them and quickly scribes a summary of the information they retrieved from the reaps, ending with a general query for any insight he may have on the situation.
Kazador listened to the talk and felt a small twinge of anxiety in his chest. Raiding a lair of criminals and murderers? That was fine and good. But directly crossing the nobility? He had seen in his own home how much power a noble name could carry. The fact that he had one was enough for first hand experience in that matter. And from what he had seen, humans took the power and danger of nobility and turned it up to its full potential, without tradition and honor to hold it in check.
”Before we directly act against any noble houses, let’s report back first. We should have the backing of our patron, lest we get involved in a matter that could turn everyone against us. Noble houses tend to have Byzantine alliances, that stretch into matters beyond what we are in. Even if we act with honor and justice, that won’t save us from hanging if we anger the wrong people.” He cautioned.
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After a few hours, Count Aral writes back, clarifying some manners brought up by Kazador and Turion.
First, he clarifies the interpretation of what Turion knows, that Turick wasn't in power 5 years ago. Thus, it is unlikely that Turick has a large, treasonous secret from before he had much power with which to commit treason.
Second, Count Aral assures you legal protection if you locate the guilty noble. Protection from assassins is another matter. But he will play his last favor with King Stephen to get the noble's closet searched on short notice. Of course, it would be disastrous for Count Aral if the contraband was not found in the basement or if the crime scene was somehow compromised.
As to the Royal Council, it's members in order of rank are:
Duke Roger Beaumont
Count Brendan Harcourt
Viscount Alain Turick
Baron Jonathan Cust
Having a high title is not necessary for being on the Council but does help. Iustia only has a few Counts and Roger Beaumont is the first to be elevated to the title of Duke in a long time as the title has typically been held in reserve throughout Iustian history.
Once Melia has sent the message, Harold yawns.
"Gentlefolk, I woke up this mornin' in a different city. It's been a long, loooong day. Great ta be sure, life changin' even, but I'm just too tired to puzzle this out."
He looks around "Now, normally after somethin' like this I'd head out ta the middle a nowhere, dig a hole, get in, and then pull the openin' in after me 'fore I dare close my eyes."
"Normally, though, I ain't got people I can trust to watch me back. So, are we takin' turns keepin' watch and sleepin', or are we all crawlin' off to our own hideyholes and meetin' up again tomorrow?"
"Speakin' of tomorrow... I might have a useful source. One of my people from the old days tried ta go - well, not straight, but less bent. Moved into brokerin' and blackmail. If we can work out the questions we want ta ask, might be she has answers - or at least an idea of where ta start diggin'."
"I agree," Melia says wearily. "It would not be wise to split up just now. Let us post watches and stay here." She gestures around at the townhouse.
"I don't know that I'm good for a watch myself," she adds. "I didn't actually sleep last night. I got a nap this morning, but I'm fading fast even so."
"There aren't enough beds for everyone, but we have plenty of bedrolls."
She stands and stretches. "I'm keeping my room to myself, though," she adds. "You lot can bunk where you please. I'm not sure which of the three of you it is that snores so loud, but I got an earful on the trip here, and I'm going to take the quiet while I can get it!"
So saying, she bids them good night and ascends to the second floor to sleep.
In the privacy of her room, Mel drops the disguise of Melia, ruefully reflecting that the bubbly personality had proven rather difficult to keep up for long periods of time. It is deeply relaxing -- like undoing her hair from a tight braid at the end of a long day.
"Next time I have to invent an identity, I'm going to be quieter," she mutters to herself.
She changes into a night gown and listlessly tries to update her journal; but she is tired to focus on it. She sets the journal on the table by the bed, not bothering even to close it, and kneels by the bed, her hands loosely clasped before her. She closes her eyes and bites her lip, because the quiet of the room is not quiet at all, at all.
A woman's voice: ... a little to the left ...
A man's voice: ... ouch!
A child's voice: No, Momma, I didn't break that.
All of this she hears, along with so much more: weeping, cries of passion, yawns. So many voices, everywhere.
Her hands clench tightly. "Ai, Ostara..." she whimpers a quiet prayer. "Mitä minulle tapahtuu?"
She takes a deep, ragged breath and begins to recite quietly:
Pimeä on talvi, kylmä hallitsee nummia.
Vihreän tulee olla alapuolella oleva nurmi.
Pian lumikellot työntyvät pakkasen läpi;
Etsikää kukkia, te eksyneet.
Vaikka on jäässä, kevät on edessä.
Kukat ja pellot nousevat sängystä.
Vaikka olen yksinäinen, vaikka minulla on kylmä --
Pian tulee lämpöä kevään ennustuksen myötä.
Green shall be sward that lies underneath.
Soon shall the snowdrops push through the frost;
Look for the blossoms, you who are lost.
Though it is frozen, spring lies ahead.
Flowers and fields shall rise from their bed.
Though I am lonely, though I am cold --
Soon shall come warmth with springtime foretold.
Calmer now, she crawls into bed and falls swiftly into a deep, dreamless sleep.
A soft breeze rises, ruffling the pages of her open journal, back to an earlier entry:
"And on the other hand, it seems ... a decidedly uncomfortable existence, sharing your head with other people from other times who have agendas of their own. It's ... a risky path, despite the great rewards."
"I wonder if there might be some other way to get the same information, though? Brolin said that there are fragments of memory all over: drifting through the air, ingrained into objects. I wonder if anyone else could learn to draw on that knowledge."
A tiny gold mote forms on the page. It hisses slightly as it slides along, leaving a golden line under the last phrase: learn to draw on that knowledge.
From nowhere, a flower falls gently onto the book: a snowdrop, out of season, but flawless.
Mel sighs in her sleep. The corner of her mouth turns up into a smile; and she settles into the deepest, most peaceful sleep of her life.
"You lot can bunk where you please. I'm not sure which of the three of you it is that snores so loud, but I got an earful on the trip here, and I'm going to take the quiet while I can get it!"
Hal's smile at the quip dissolves into uncertainty. "I... I don't know. I've not had anyone to tell me. Maybe I do?"
"I concur. We want to learn more about that treacherous secret if at all possible. The drugs may not be sufficient to bring about the downfall of a noble. The stealing from the treasury may be linked to a noble, but may be deflected in all kind of legal manners - claiming they were framed, or not directly responsible, or that it all was part of a larger plan - whatever. But this secret has to be watertight if it is used against said noble in this manner. It might be the most simple thing to make the Reapers believe the Noble is moving against them, having sent agents to retrieve the proof, and cause them to release the secret in retaliation. It seems that would resolve most of our problems without requiring us to move in the spotlight of political stages.", Túrion muses.
He and Nelly take a small room to themselves. For about an hour after they retreat, Fenniths cheerful and bell-like voice can be heared, along with laughter, some childrens songs, and whispered talking. Then there is silence.
Seeing that everyone is going to different rooms, Hal sighs.
He excuses himself, retires to the bathroom for... some time and emerges looking eerily like Melia - at least to casual observation. He then steps out into the back yard and looks around.
At the far end of the hall she finds an exit, leading to a tiny back yard, currently overrun with weeds. She notes some slugs oozing their way through the greenery. Fences separate this yard from the neighbors; and there is a gate at the back opening into an alley.
Grumbling a little he crouches low, head over to the fence and pulls an instrument something like a crowbar. Quickly he wrenches up some of the weeds, wipes crushed slug from his hands onto his filthy robes, plants his boots on the exposed dirt, and vanishes.
Kazador grumbled a goodnight as he made his way to his room. The others all had professional identities. Elaborate backstories, mannerisms, looks…but his was just Kaz. Because he didn’t see any reason to go any further. Who knew him here? As in, the real Kazador? Certainly there were those who knew a Kazador who slept on the streets, covered in old beer and vomit. But would any recognize him now? And for those who would knew him as he currently was, there was only one dwarf left alive. Algric. The name was a stab to the heart.
The dwarf closed the door and took off his helmet. The Helm of the Defending Warden. A relic that was only supposed to be worn by the greatest of heroes. He sighed as he put it back on. It was too bad that none were still alive. But he supposed that he would have to do. The dwarf spoke the words to change the appearance of his armor to be that of clothes more suitable for sleeping. The enchantments made it feel like no more than regular clothing, but he found that the look was required to really sell it to his mind. Wearily he crawled into bed. The door was locked, and even asleep he was fully armored and armed. But even so he found sleep elusive, for they had just raided the hideout of thieves and assassins. He could not shake the feeling that they had not gone far enough away to escape reprisal.
You awake with a start to a scraping sound in the alley next to the safehouse.
You heard a bit more than just the scraping sound. A dog chased a cat through the alley and they knocked over a rusty old shovel that had been left leaning against the wall. You recall seeing exactly that shovel previously and are confident the sound was no indication of trouble.
Exhausted, Hal slept the sleep of the dead.
At the sound of scraping from the alley, Mel springs from bed and peers out the window, hand already reaching for her bow.
But it proves to be nothing more threatening than a shovel, toppled over by a dog chasing a cat.
She gives a gusty sigh of relief, and turns to go back to bed.
Her eye falls on the snowdrop resting on her open journal, its petals lambent in moonlight from the window.
Crossing swiftly to it, she gently picks up the flower, a wondering smile spreading across her face. After a moment she looks down and sees a passage underlined in glowing gold in her journal.
Placing the flower back on the bedside table, she takes her journal to the window and reads by the light of the moon.
"Oh," she finally says. "Oh! I understand. I understand now! I'm hearing bits of memory."
She hugs her journal to her, gazing up through the window at the night sky. "Kiitos, jumalatar," she whispers.
After marveling a few minutes longer, she returns to bed with a buoyant heart, and sleeps soundly thereafter.
Kazador slept soundly threw the night, confident that his armor would protect him. For what assassin would stop to consider that his clothing was in actuality plate armor?
Túrion sleeps soundly as well, not waking up about anything.
Nelly, however, jumps awake as she hears a sound outside - growling and waking Túrion.
Túrion trusts Nelly too much to dismiss her as being 'nervous' about something irrelevant, and gets up, opting to see if anybody else is awake - or waking them, otherwise.
Hearing motion from downstairs, Mel steps out to the hallway. Leaning over the banister slightly, she calls softly -- "Nothing to worry about -- a shovel got knocked over by a dog chasing a cat in the alley."
"Thank you for clarifying. I believe we may all be a bit on edge after the past days.", Túrion responds, before moving back to his room with Nelly.
The rest of the night passes uneventfully and you wake in the morning, restored.
You head toward Turick's residence and are ushered in to meet him without delay. He looks tired as if he spent most of the night working. "Well done. I cannot believe you took those agents alive. I almost wish you hadn't. I've had a devil of a time arranging a secure way to hold that mage but, with some trusted consultants, I worked it out. It's not yet safe for me to allow him to speak to answer questions but I'm arranging for some non-verbal answers before his swift and unavoidable execution.
I intended to debrief you as well last night but could not contact you. What else can you tell me?"
Melia pulls back her hood. "Good morning, Lord Turick. We haven't met, I think. I'm Melia! Melia Elman." Lacking the skirts for a curtsy, she opts to bow instead.
"The boys were pretty beat up after the fight, and needed to recuperate. But don't worry, I got them all patched up!" She beams at him.
"We also went through a bunch of papers we retrieved from the Reaps. Here they are," and she gestures at the person carrying the papers.
"The gist of it is that someone in the Council has been very naughty indeed. It seems they're working with the Reaps to import drugs of some sort, and storing them at their personal estate. The Reaps may be blackmailing them; but it's hard to feel bad for them, since the noble in question apparently has some sort of five-year-old secret that would be considered treason to the Crown if it came out. We are not sure precisely who the noble in question is. Perhaps you may have some ideas once you've had a chance to look through the papers."
Turick nods to Melia. "Pleased to meet you. They seem significantly refreshed. I greatly appreciate the work you all have done here. Would you be willing to continue assisting me? I can reward your service to the crown, as I will demonstrate given your work of last night."
He gestures to five pouches of coin on his large, wooden desk.
He additionally gestures to five sealed letters on his desk. "If you are willing to continue assisting me, I can provide you with these. They bear my seal and authorize your investigations on my behalf, up to the point of arresting a a non-noble citizen and holding them for 24 hours." He sighs and pushes his hair back, clearly stressed and fatigued. "Whoever this traitor is, he will be watching me closely. It is no secret that I am investigating the thefts from the Treasury. But you are unknowns who seem able to operate with anonymity and discretion."
He eyes all of you a little longer, then asks "I would, however, be most keen on knowing more of your motives and goals."
Hal spends a little too long thinking about his new identity, and decides on James Haroldson, Don of a tiny 'exclusive' academy destroyed in a border skirmish.
Changing his clothes takes moments, styling his hair minutes, and practicing his dictation a good - and irritating - half hour.
'Don Haroldson' bows.
"Pleased to meet you my Lord. James Haroldson, scholar of the Arcane."
"I must confess I am gladdened to hear my Lord understands the dangers and difficulties involved in dealing with such a man. If your consultants are recommending using one of the few spells that can be used to drag answers directly from the villian's mind I commend them. While questioning in such a fashion may I request that my Lord also ask about any escape or post-death plans that have been implemented? A man with Magic - and morals - such as this may well have made plans to return from the dead through some dark pact or power."
"As for my goals, my Lord, I am a man who believes in keeping his word, following through on his deals, and paying his debts. I have few debts, but two are relevant here. First, a debt of gratitude to my companions who recently rescued me from great peril, and the second a debt of vengeance against the scoundrels who put me in such peril in the first place. The same scoundrels, my Lord, that you hunt now. I confess to no great ambition other than that and to retire to my comfort, my house, and my family."
]"I would, however, be most keen on knowing more of your motives and goals."
Mel takes a seat at a chair by the table. "As it happens, I was wondering the same of you, Lord Turick. I find you puzzling."
"To name one example, you have been diligently pursuing the perpetrators of the treasury theft, suggesting a certain respect for law and order. On the other, you occasionally attend underground fighting clubs, which argues rather the other direction."
"For another, you have argued in favor of an alliance between Iustia and Avinoax. It seems a curious position to take, given your well-known dislike of elvenkind."
"These things puzzle me, and I would be most interested to hear more about them. But trust is a two-way street, they say. So let me start. We may be unfamiliar to you, but we are working with a player you know well: Count Aral. He is concerned that King Stephen has been unduly influenced by corrupt advisors. But he is out of favor at court, and cannot act openly. Hence a need for ..." she gestures generally at herself and the others "... fresh faces."
To Don, Viscount Turick nods. "I will ensure they ask such questions. And I am glad to hear of your honorable motives."
Turick looks grave. "I am not surprised to learn of Count Aral's opinion of the council members but keeping such opinions quiet would be wise. Members of the council, such as myself, do not take kindly to such accusations."
He sighs heavily. "I am surprised, however, that the old man found such capable employees in his dotage. For the time being, we can work together. And you have my word that I will inform you with sufficient notice before our cooperation is to cease. As to my own motives, there is a world of difference between an occasional underground fight and treason to the Crown. Regarding Avinoax, while I distrust elves, Avinoax has shown itself less scheming and power-hungry than its larger neighbor for years. I believe they would uphold their end of the bargain and provide us with a great deal of assistance versus the Concordat."
A fierce loyalty burns in Turick's eyes when he speaks of the Crown. This fits well with his lifelong friendship with King Stephen.
"I believe ye." Kazador said, speaking for the first time. Looking to his companions he said "Can see it in his eyes. I may not know human customs, or nobility, but I know that look. He has the eyes of a man loyal to the crown. I can't speak for the affairs of state, but I can speak on that." He kept it to himself that this came from his own experience as being a member of nobility. There were many types of people. The loyal. The ambitious. The cowardly. The pious. Everyone had their motives, and he was convinced that Turick acted in what was, at least in his own eyes, the best interest of the King.
Melia nods. "As do I," she says.
"And as for Count Aral's dotage, well ... sometimes it pays to be underestimated."
"So. The matter at hand, then, is to identify who on the Council is working with the Reaps. We believe that the same person is behind the Treasury heist and this drug scheme. Please, take a look through these documents -- you have much greater familiarity with the Council members than we do. Perhaps you can see a clue that meant nothing to us."
She sighs. "It's also worth noting that there may be more than one in on it. The Reap documents don't preclude other conspirators."
Turick's smile wavers a little when Melia mentions underestimating Count Aral. It seems this up and coming young nobleman, on a council of young noblemen, does not love the idea that the old Count still has more wisdom than the young have guessed.
Turick looks through the documents and furrows his brow. "Even with your notes on the code, this will take me some time. Would you be so kind as to spend the morning with me? I'll have tea and biscuits brought round."
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"We do have some additional information" Don Haroldson clarifies. "We know this: The person in question is on the council. The person has a residence, presumably within the city. The residence has a floor with a cupboard or closet. The person has done something - presumably ordering an assassination - five years ago."
The don stands, pontificating "It was my intent to chase down a list of obituaries from five years ago, and look for someone who might have been a candidate for an assassination. I also intended to see if I could find out the address and rough floorplan of the various villas etcetera - it seems possible the area might be warded, but such wards can themselves be indicators, should we be lucky enough that the wards were placed by the mage you hold."
"Unfortunately it seems likely that there are still members of this villainous organisation at large, and presumably they may take steps to move said drugs. They will certainly take steps to" he coughs " uh, 'Go to ground'. Pleasant as your company is, my Lord, given the urgency perhaps you might spare some of us to chase other leads?"
Fyrtor maintains his guise of Garick Fyrman but like Melia wears his cloak obscuring his face as much as possible.
"I'll sit with you, I may not have as keen a mind and some, but I think I followed along well enough. Will all the prisoners be hanged? Maybe one or two would be willing to turn on the others if offered mercy, and protection. You'd have to be careful who could be offered such a deal, but the right man, reformed, could be a great friend. Also, just so you know we had the guards let the apprentice boys go. It was pretty clear they we nonawares of the doings there aside from their craft. Didn't want them getting mixed up any more then they already were. I hope we didn't do wrong." Fyrtor for his part believed Turick was an honest man, at least mostly. It pained him to hear that the men would all be hanged, but he understood the reasons. Still he did what he could to let the Dawnflower's mercy be shared where he could.
"Among those who were captured, one was a dwarf. While he certainly deserves to hang for his crimes, among the condemned it is most likely that an oath would be followed by him. Back home, if any acted as he did death would be certain. Leniency in the form of exile in exchange for information might be enough to bind him, should the oath take the right format. Me people can be a very religious lot. An oath made in our tongue, before our God, would bind any but the most vile." He said. Even when he had fallen on the worst of times, and had committed both violence and crimes for gold, he wouldn't have committed such a sin. "Given that they are all criminals, I wouldn't trust the words of any, even with leniency offered. At least with him, there are uncounted years of culture and tradition behind it."
Túrion joins the others in visiting the Viscount, but remains silent unless addressed directly. The others seemed to place a lot of trust in the young noble.
But while his views on Avinoax were secretly appreciated, his reaction on learning about Count Arals involvement was...expected. And not in a good way. Young ones tended to rush into action, to disregard the wisdom of their elders, to prove themselves and leave their mark on the world. Even those loyal to others, and humans had so precious little time for all that.
The elf was amazed at the amount of information Melia seemed willing to share, and hoped that they would not come to regret it later - in case the rising star of the court that will have unveiled the conspiracy didn't want any capable agents in the employee of his elders.
When given an opportunity to leave, he takes it. The streets were hardly considered safe these days, but he had an errand all the same. It had been some days since he had visited the brothel.
And there was a good chance they could have a lead on which noble house might be involved with drug use, or at least voice a suspicion. He also still had the book he wanted to teach Isabella to read with, and after Mel refused his invitation, he intended to take the child to dinner and theater instead, to show her there was more waiting for her in that world than selling her body to customers.
The viscount replies to Fyrman and Kazador "They will be hanged, indeed. Cremated afterward and ashes scattered, given the nature of their connections. That doesn't guarantee anything but it is one measure." He listens with some interest when Kazador voices an alternate possibility for the dwarf.
Turick studies the papers for a while and, with help, eventually catches up to what you've deciphered from the papers. He taps his chin thoughtfully. "This does not sound like Roger Beaumont, to me. He brooks no opposition and it is difficult to imagine him cooperating with the Reapers while they threatened him. That leaves Count Harcourt and Baron Cust for the focus of your investigation." He rubs his temples, obviously tired, and keeps musing. "Treason five years ago? That's a very suggestive time. There is no more obvious suspicion than that it involved the Lakefire Rebellion."
"I'll accept your assessment of Duke Beaumont's character, m'lord," Melia says. "But we should not let that blind us to potential evidence that might turn up. Sometimes people can at times act out of character when they are under threat of blackmail. Let us consider him a less likely suspect, but not entirely above suspicion."
She sits back from the table where they've been poring over documents. "Count Harcourt seems the most obvious candidate for Reap blackmail," she says. "He has been known to manipulate investments in his own favor in past -- sometimes to the edge of the law. If he slipped on a transaction and crossed a line into actual crime, that would provide leverage the Reaps could use against him. Even if that's not what they're holding against him right now, such a thing could have been the initial nudge onto a darker path that led to actual treason later."
"Also, Count Harcourt desperately wants to incorporate the Bishopric of Helm into Iustia. So Count Aral told us, anyway. He was unable to tell us any particular reason why he might want that so badly."
Viscount Turick smiles wrily. "Count Harcourt would be chagrined to hear that his advisements in council are known so broadly. It appears Count Aral has kept you well-informed." Then he returns to more serious business. "How do you intend to proceed next? Perhaps a covert investigation?"
"That would make sense," Melia concurs. "Before we leap into planning such a thing, let me give you a brief run-down of our capabilities as a team."
"Fyrman here," she nods at him, "Is an accomplished duelist, a devotee of Sarenrae, and a practitioner of the druidic arts. He has particular facility with spells that conjure clouds of mist or ash. His main weakness, in my opinion, is his steadfast refusal to add sweetener to the possets he makes. I mean honestly, Fyrman. I don't mind that they're crunchy, but could you at least add some honey? That's natural, right?"
"Janus is a classically trained arcanist. He is particularly skilled with enchantments and illusions. His hound, Nelly, is mostly wolf, and rigorously trained to guard him. A wise precaution given that he himself has invested little time in learning swordplay. I believe he made an initial contact with Harcourt by entering Nelly in a haring that the Count ran recently."
"Don Haroldson, too, is a skilled magician, though of a very different tradition than Janus. I gather he has a knack for divinations, though since he is here himself he can surely tell you better than I."
"And as for myself -- I am light of foot and keen of eye. I can move in near silence, even at speed. I am a fair shot with a bow. I know a little bit about a great many topics. And given a few moments to work, I can take a gravely wounded man and restore him to fighting trim."
"If we're investigating Harcourt, then I have many questions." She takes out a piece of paper and begins jotting notes on it as she goes.
"What is the layout of his estate like? It would be too much to hope for a map of the place, but perhaps you have visited on a social occasion?"
"Does he currently have any openings for staff? We might well be able to get useful information by taking a job there. Perhaps Fyrman could be a gardener, or I could get a job as a maid. Either Janus or Don Haroldson could act as teachers for his children, if he has any. Khaz would make a fine house guard, or weapons instructor. Getting even one of us in there would likely yield useful information: a better idea of where to look for evidence, or gossip amongst the servants about Harcourt's doings."
"How are his businesses doing? Are there records we could examine -- tax rolls, and so forth? It's possible there may be some clue in his business transactions; and if so, that is information we may be able to get with little risk of exposure."
Turick nods in acceptance as Mel lists the abilities of her companions. He looks slightly confused by her descriptions at a couple points but shrugs a little and keeps listening.
In response to Melia's questions, he explains "Count Harcourt comes from a family of shipping magnates. His services to the Crown were invaluable during the Lakefire Rebellion, though he did make quite a profit."
"I have, of course, visited his Bannerhold estate. I entered through the main entrance at the front of the ground floor but there is a servant's entrance around back as well. The ground floor has a sitting room, a wash room, the kitchens, and the hall. There is a basement but I have not been down there. Upstairs is Count Harcourt's study, the bed chambers of himself, his wife, and his children, and the nursery."
"I imagine he has openings in his staff. The Count pays well but has high expectations and a short temper. He is usually looking for more staff, as a result."
"There will be more information in the tax records on Count Harcourt than on most as imports and exports are taxed with more regularity than most other goods."
Haroldson, who had co-opted a side tale and been quietly leafing through some books scribbling notes madly onto slips of paper, coughs.
"If I may? My Lord's reasoning is sound. I had assumed assassination given the nature of the Reapers, but the Lakefire Rebellion would make sense. Treason - even by association - makes for excellent blackmail. One would not need to be found guilty in a court of law, as even halfway credible evidence could lead to expulsion from the council."
"I have heard that the Reapers are peripherally involved in smuggling. As such they may well have had interactions with someone from a family of 'shipping magnates' previously. Many a legitimate merchant has moved the occasional questionable merchandise and is on a first name basis with a smuggler or two."
"As to my skills - indeed I am accounted somewhat of a skilled diviner. As such a number of spells may help us gather information, depending on what precautions have been taken. As for infiltration, well - I could definitely teach, of course - but I would need to go incognito in order to avoid suspicion."
"In addition to infiltration... The two day timeframe is suspicious. I wonder if the Count is hosting any gatherings in the near future."
"Forgive me my Lord - were we to infiltrate the Count's house - indeed either house - and discover the drugs, then what? Evidence is useless unless presented to His Majesty. At that point it would, essentially, become your word against his. Staring down the barrel of exile or execution, it seems possible there could be blood in the streets."
Don Haroldson shakes his head sadly "I am all too aware of the subtleties involved. Do you have a plan to proceed should we be find what we seek? Indeed, it seems to me the best evidence to find is not the drugs, but the blackmail itself. If the Reapers found it, then could we? if it was supplying arms to a rebellion, well... I know officially all involved were executed, but if someone who might know where the merchandise was acquired was still alive..." he sighs "Indeed, though I am no necromancer, it is possible that I might be able to deduce a mechanism to contact them even if not alive - if we knew where they lay."
Pulling out a sheet of paper, the Don writes some notes and shows to the others.
Order of likelihood, Harcourt, Cust, Beaumont.
Tasks:
1 Find drugs
1B Seek out job openings
1C Hosting events?
2 Look for Blackmail evidence
2A Acquire tax records - where are they
2B look through records for irregularities
2C Question rebel survivors who know who supplied weapons
2D Question rebel non-survivors who know who supplied weapons
"What am I missing?"
"Such evidence would be useful, aye. What worries me is that this feels like this be like following the roots of a plant. Who knows how deep it goes or how connected this may be?" Kazador wished that he could be more useful. He was fairly proficient in bashing people over the head, but the cloak and dagger of human politics felt like it was over his head. He was truly glad that Turion, Mel and Haroldson were keeping clear heads about this.
Melia looks at Hal's list, and taps #2A, "Acquire tax records - where are they."
"I imagine his grace may be able to assist with that." She nods towards Turick. "As a member of the Council, and the one heading the investigation into the recent robbery, he no doubt has access to the records."
"I don't think we need to do this sequentially. If one or two of us infiltrate Harcourt's estate, that leaves the others free to check out records or pursue other leads."
Donaldson nods. "Absolutely. Though I suspect infiltration will require acquiring the list of staff desired, which may require contacting the agencies through which he hires - unless he hires those who ask at his door, of course."
Turick nods to Harold "Indeed, guilt by association could remove one from the Council whereas actual, proven, treason would most likely result in execution. No nobles have been executed since the rebellion but I do not think Stephen would hesitate. While I do not know of any large events Harcourt is holding soon, he will doubtless be at Duke Beaumont's upcoming dinner. Everyone important will be."
He considers further and adds "Yes I can grant a writ of access for tax records without difficulty. As to evidence, if you were sure of its location, I could arrange for a surprise investigation if I urged Stephen to do me the favor. He would, of course, understand once the evidence was found. It would need to be clear and compelling..."
Turick loos over Kazador, the openly un-sneaky, and comments "I believe some brute force may also prove useful. There is a more minor Reaper hideout that my men reported here in the hill district. They may have further evidence in connection with the noble in question."
"Well then," Melia says, "I think perhaps we can take multiple approaches. Janus would be ideal for conducting archival research. I believe Don Haroldson and I can try to infiltrate Harcourt's estate; and Khaz and Fyrman should be more than capable of assaulting a small Reap base. Though I'm sure they would appreciate any further details you can give them about the area so they can lay plans rather than going in completely blind."
Fyrtor nods. "I agree. Any information you can give us would be helpful, but if we need to gather our own intel we can."
Turick nods. "Of course, I will help how I can. Regarding the smaller Reaper installation, my sources tell me it is located in an inn for lesser nobles. Apparently granted the Handle of the Reaper has gained a great many minor pieces of useful information by eavesdropping on the clientele. Due to the crowded buildings, the inn only has one obvious entrance but I imagine there is a secret exit somewhere. Further, I wouldn't put it past Reaper agents to jump through the second story casement so you will want to surprise them and quickly. That will also make it harder for them to destroy any evidence that may be present."
Melia is aware that nobles prefer staff that come with letters of recommendation from previous employers. Knocking on the door looking for employment would be non-suspicious, especially if there a plausible reason was given for knocking on that specific noble's door such as "I heard you need help."