I wish Brolin were here, she adds, internally. He would be entirely in his element here.
"One Samuel Bancroft - he was blackmailed into participation with evidence against his father for some grave crime he committed. I have no details, but if you could arrange for sparing the old man the executioner's blade, I am certain the son would cooperate."
Túrion thinks back to everything that took place, going through memories methodically: "One more thing: During our ruse at the warehouse, when we departed hastily with the ship, I told them to redirect any further deliveries to a drop-off point of my choosing. There were few people that came to mind except the proprietor of a bookshop, Alexander Mumblethunder - who happened to be censored for selling material considered subversive - and wants to clear his good name by assisting the crown in this. I had no prior chance to arrange details with him, so I hope things worked out, but he should hold on to part of the treasure - but the situation may cause him to be distressed despite his patriotism, so whoever picks it up should handle the situation carefully."
For a while, Túrion had pondered not mentioning the alternate Drop-Off, and arrange for the treasure to be distributed to truly subversive elements - internal instability would be beneficial in delaying any wars or war preparations - but some people would have made drop-offs there, and during interrogations the location would be named - he was almost certain of that. And in that case, he would have caused a lot of trouble for an innocent bookkeeper - which, to be honest, he probably did anyway, but at least with a play at removing the censure and getting his shop whitelisted again...
Kazador listened to Turion speak and was filled with naught but admiration. He was truly glad that the elf and his silver tongue were with him. The elf was not just good to have around for his arcane might, but for his planning as well.
Fyrtor was content to let Turion handle the long term plan and explain the details of the plot. He knew he wasn't dumb, but the details of the operation and implications were far easier for the elf's incredible mind to grasp. Better to let him deal with the intrigue and help as called upon.
Hal, sporting at least 3 scratches, nods emphatically.
"Long time since I've 'ad a day like this. Cat's trapped in the galley, if I c'n get some rest I've a trick that'l let us talk to it." he considers "Might be a plan to keep a watch? I c'n take first shift. Not sure I'll find sleepin' easy tonight."
"Furl the sails!" she calls to the invisible crew. With the sails dutifully furled, she adds "Let go the anchor! We'll pause here for the night and continue come morning."
With the ship secured for the evening, she prepares a quick meal of some of the rations from the galley.
"Hal," she asks over dinner. "During the fight earlier, I noticed your staff. The two snakes wrapping around it -- black and white. I didn't recognize the imagery. What was that about?"
Hal tenses as Melia starts talking over dinner, and startles at the end of her question.
"That's what you want ta talk about?" he shakes his head "One of the Old tales. Duality o' life and death. Snakes 're older'n I am, handed down ta me by another Hedge. Let's a Hedge carry a weapon folk don' expect."
He takes a sip "I thought ya were gonna ask why I was so bad in a fight. I said 'afore, when I was interrogated, I wasn't a killer, but I guess e'ryone says that, hey. Worked for 'em, sure, but... I wasn't ready ta..." he trails off "Your mob, though..." he makes an indrawn whistle "right for it, weren't they. I was worried how many killin's there be. Ta think I was worried ya'd be too soft for a fight with the Reaps..." Hal trails off.
"I don't much like that myself," she says. "Since all this madness began I have killed, several times. But I try not to. I had my bow enchanted to spare my targets, whenever I can. Death is so ... final. It precludes the possibility of future growth and change. It cuts off a life. For better or worse, that soul will do no more good or ill in the world."
"I ... when I was younger, I told myself that I would rather die than kill. Sometimes I would imagine what it would be like. Lywelas would come under attack by someone -- I was never terribly clear on who -- and I would die nobly, without taking another's life, preferably in some way that stopped the invaders somehow. My friends and family would mourn me and admire my resolve. In death I would be a heroine." Her lips twist bitterly.
"But then the orcs came to Brookside, and showed me those fantasies for what they were: an exercise in vanity. When it came to it, I discovered I was not ready to die to spare my attacker's life. Particularly since it wouldn't actually do any good. My death wouldn't have slowed them down more than a moment at best, and no one would have remembered my sacrifice. I would have been just one more corpse."
"So I have killed, several times now. I do not like it. I never will. But I do not want to add my soul to the Balance of Seasons until it is well and truly time."
Her gaze had grown distant; now she returns it to Hal. "So don't reproach yourself for a reluctance to kill. As far as I'm concerned, that's a recommendation, not a detriment."
"Have ta say, it's a nice change to work with people who see killin' as a bad thing. I din't realise your bow was enspelled such - I thought it chance the men you shot weren't injured worse. I've got a trick that..." Hal trails off for a moment.
"I like to play close to the vest with my tricks. Been too many times a secret trick has been the ace in the hole that saved me." he sighs "But I'm thinkin' I might have to share 'em with you if I'm goin' to help you. Appreciate it if you kept 'em to y'rself."
Turick nods as he listens and dispatches more men to Mumblethunder's bookstore to collect the treasure deposited there. "Bring this Bancroft to me and I will decide how to deal with him." He paces back and forth for a few minutes, thoughtfully considering his next course of action. But he is interrupted by a guard who comes up to the receiving room and explains something to him in low tones.
"Excellent!" Turick responds. He turns to the lot of you. "Rollinsby has given up the location of the other Reapers involved in this treasonous theft. I estimate we have less than twenty-four hours to strike their location but fear they will see my men coming and flee, destroy evidence, or kill themselves before capture. The Handle of the Reaper contains more than its fair share of fanatics."
He looks apologetic "But I've no end of spells to bring luck, hide, twist... that sort of thing. Y've said not to cast without tellin' ya, and fair 'nuff. A couple that might be useful though... I've a spell ta ward you fr'm damage - though I s'pect your better armored th'n ya look. I've another to lend my knowledge ta ya for a while. My specialty though is divination. I've any number of ways to open y'r perceptions and augment your senses - though I gather y'r sixth sense is well developed already."
"If y' c'n tell me what we'll be facin' in the mornin', or what ya need, I can go through what I'm preparin' for the day." He looks wry "I figured I'd be most useful f'r me contacts in the city, but looks like I'll haf'ta find somethin' else!" he adds, looking meaningfully over the waves.
She thinks of Perrin, swearing passionately to her that what Brookside needed, more than anything, was Haagenti. I wish I knew where he went, and if he ... or maybe I don't wish that. Maybe it's better not to know.
She shakes her head to clear it. "As for my 'sixth sense', well ... of late, Ostara has seen fit to send me short visions, sometimes. Tiny fragments of sight and sound to answer a question I've asked. But ... Hal, the invisible crew that you conjured. Do they speak? Because when I gave the order to drop anchor, I quite definitely heard someone say 'Aye aye, captain!' before it dropped. It didn't feel like it does when Ostara sends things. It was just like hearing anyone else speak, only I couldn't see them, so I thought maybe ..." she trails off.
Looking at both Kaz and Fyrtor, after a pause Túrion decides neither is likely to answer, and speaks up instead: "I can think of worse outcomes than having them kill themselves to evade capture...but I see that more evidence would be desirable. I understand by what you just said and your expectant look, you hope that we may assist in this? We will have to consult some allies of ours not currently present before we can plan something like that. It has been a long day already, let us discuss our next steps at first light tomorrow. With the harbor locked down and guards patrolling, they will be on edge right now and expecting trouble...if nobody raids them now, they may feel safe, let their guard down after a few hours."
Kazador nodded at this. ”Aye. A word only means something if it can be kept, and if once given it can’t be broken.” The man struck him as a good one, but he didn’t know their agenda and Kazador didn’t truly know his either. Some caution seemed to be the wisest move.
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Hal snorts. "Y'c'n thank wizards for that." His voice loses his accent and becomes formal, upper class and arrogant "Oh, it appears we have stumbled onto a force that transcends classification. Come my brothers, let us force it into a classification system anyway!"
His voice drops back "Magic's not some... rules in a book. Y're right - it wants somethin'. Sometimes it doesn't do much ta get it, sometimes it does. Damn wizards break it up into 'tiers' and 'schools' and 'classes'. Use etymology like it was entomology. Anythin' they can't pin into place like a butterfly in one of their damn bug collections they call 'wild' or 'fluke' - or at best 'divine', throw it out."
"My lot do it different. We see somethin', we remember it. Look at how ta get it ta happen more'n once. Most often that's workin' out what it wants." he considers "Plus most'o us get into the trade 'cos we have a gift. I've the sight m'self."
He gives the woman across from him a keen look. "Sounds like you're gettin' a gift as well. Could be Ostara sendin' 'em, could be she " he makes a popping noise reminiscent of a cork being removed from a bottle "some block ya had and now ya got it."
He sighs "Not comfortable, gettin' a gift. 'Spite what they say, ya can put it back, least at the start. Useful, though - and ya don't seem someone scared easy like."
"Which is not ta say never scared's a good thing. Some o' the stuff our there's stuff ya should be scared of. Most isn't though - least if you treat it with respect. Difference between dangerous and a threat, y'know?"
He hesitates for a second "Back where I grew up there's a bug Firebit. Bit like a bee, but big as y'r thumb, hives of a dozen, the honey tastes like sh... bad, 'n they explode. You piss off one of these guys, it'll land on ya, start glowin, get hot and get ready ta explode. Thing is each one only gets ta explode once. They land on ya, ya hold still, they calm down and take off. Gives you a bit of blister 'n' maybe leaves a mark, but everyone goes home."
He stares into Mel's eyes, "Ya run, or fight, or whatever, it pops. Covers you in this liquid burns under water. Firebit dies, you might too."
"I used ta have a hive. I'd bring 'em honey every spring. Every winter the old ones'd die, they'd be under the hive, y'cn pick em up and bottle 'em. Alchemists'll pay a crown for the juice inside - though I only ever saw a penny profit. Never got burned, 'cos I respected 'em. Learned what I had ta do ta get along, did that."
"Seems ta me if y'r gettin' a gift ya should find out what ya can. Any strings attached - well, ya just need ta know what they are." He fishes around in his pack, finally pulling out a small box, wrapped in ribbons sealed with wax. He unwraps the ribbons and from the sponge insides pulls a tiny lead-stoppered glass vial. "Nightmare tears. Sales pater'll te ya it's distilled tears from the Night Hag mixed with belladonna and arsenic, but in truth it's just water from a spring up in the mountains - mixed with belladonna and arsenic."
He smiles "Now, ya want visions? This'll give 'em ta ya. See through damn near any glamour, see spirits, top-notch instant visions, on demand. The price though? About a third o' people that take it go blind, or mad, or both. I keep this one f'r me. I've used it twice, 'n' got lucky both times. I know what the strings on this are, I respect it, 'n' I use it."
"Now, could be luck, chance, or divine intervention - but y'v managed ta get a man who makes visions his livelihood owin' ya his life, so if ya want somethin', just ask. I c'n help ya explore ya gift, if ya want. I reckon it might be a good idea, too." he sighs apologetically "'Cos while those sailors of ours can talk - though they almost never do - Not one person in a thousand c'n hear 'em.'
She finishes eating and scrapes her dishes. "I don't feel so tired any more," she says. "Or maybe I just don't feel like sleeping. If it's all the same to you, I'll take first watch. You get some rest. I'll wake you when it's your turn."
But she doesn't wake him. The night passes, the great panorama of the heavens wheeling slowly over the still ship in the empty darkness of the sea as Mel leans on the railings, staring out into the darkness and listening to the night noises: water slapping against the hull of the ship, ropes creaking, and the ever-present susurrous of the breeze wending its way through the rigging.
Turick jots down some instructions and hands them to another guard. "I've sent a formal request looking into the case of Bancroft's father. As for Mumblethunder, he will be treated according to his behavior. If he acts like a true citizen of Iustia, he will be treated accordingly." He nods thoughtfully to the discussion of the strike on the Reapers. "Yes we must have more information. I understand that the Reapers are powerful and a treasury clerk was corrupted. But I sense a higher level of organization within this plan, someone capable for pulling levers at a high level of our government." He rubs his forehead. "Gods forbid it."
He leans over a map of Bannerhold and points out the location to you. "The hideout is hidden under the floor of a sailmaker's near the Docks. Rollinsby isn't sure how to get inside since he was always blindfolded and he isn't sure how large it is."
You sail smoothly through the night with the unseen crew manning the ship and Mel at the helm. She is somewhat fatigued the next morning as you arrive in Catlinshead around sunrise. However, she sniffs something on the air as you pull into port.
Having resumed her guise as Melia before getting within visual range of Catlinshead, Melia's pert nose wrinkles. What an odd scent, she thinks, but can't place it.
Shrugging, she calls out to the unseen crew: "Furl sails and launch the ship's boat, we're kedging in." The ship grows slowly stiller as the sails are pulled in and its momentum wears off. The ship's boat lowers itself to the water and draws ahead of the Clydesdale, oars pulling smooth in unseen hands. It carries the starboard fore-anchor up ahead of the ship, rope coiling out behind it as they get further ahead.
Once they've gone far enough, invisible hands hoist the anchor up and overboard. It sinks into the water. Back on the Clydesdale a capstan begins to turn, pushed by no hands, and pulls the ship forward towards the anchor. The ship's boat makes its way back to the port side to collect the port anchor for the next stage.
And thus the ship kedges itself in to port, one anchor at a time, until it draws close to the dock. A group of ground crew stand there, ropes in hand, looking confusedly for someone aboard ship to throw their lines to.
"Go on and throw 'em," Mel yells to the ground crew, then calls out to the empty deck "Make ready to snug us up to our berth!"
Shrugging, the ground crew throws their lines up and over the ship's railing. Gasps pass through them as the lines apparently pick themselves up and begin tying themselves off. One burly sailor goes pale and makes the spiral symbol of Pharasma, while another turns and pelts off towards the dockmaster's office.
Melia fastens the rudder and wheel down and makes her way down to the deck. The gang plank lifts itself up and clatters down to the dock. "Good work, crew," she says to no one in particular, and stands by the plank beaming down at the wide-eyed ground crew.
The ground crew are surprised indeed and one returns with the dockmaster in tow. He holds a board with a parchment nailed to it. "What's this now? Something about a magical disturbance in the port?"
There are some legitimate goods, linens, well-made carpentry, and a few novelties, aboard you could sell. Given that you aren't taking a lot of time to find a buyer and there isn't already a buyer arranged in Catlinshead, you won't get full price.
Hal groaned. His eyes felt glued together, his sinuses were pounding a beat that he felt all through his head, and the entire room seemed to sway gently from side to side...
Rolling over quickly he managed to get the last of the 'medicine' he'd drunk last to help him get to sleep. He'd lain there for an hour, the battle ticking over and over in his head, and in the end it'd taken a bottle of transmuted seawater to help him sleep.
He headed to the stairs to take his turn, only to turn back when the sunlight cut through his dark-sensitive eyes like a knife. 'Miss Mel must've let me sleep through the whole night!'
Pushing through so he can discuss what plans they need to make, he is startled to discover they are docked!
A surprisingly short amount of time an old sailor - who looks suspiciously like Hal - limps out to talk to the Captain.
"Wizard's sleepin' it off, ma'am." he reports "Reckon as long as we don't disturb him he'll stay that way. We were, uh, goin' to have a chat?"
"Have no worries on that point," she goes on. "Everything is under control."
"Now! We have some ... business to conduct. We have some goods to sell off, and I think the time has come for a, hmm, change of registry. Also probably a new figurehead and perhaps some paint here and there. I want this ship to look like a whole new vessel. If you catch my meaning." Melia waggles her eyebrows during this last bit.
"Yes, crewman," she says to Hal. "We'll need to, err, check the manifest before offloading."
Hal nods an apology to the Dockmaster "Long story, sir. Happy ta tell it to ya, but in a more private setting. Don't want more rumours gettin' spread - bad for business. Have no fear, we're on the right side of the law, and can cover the dock fees." he gives the man a meaningful look as he says this.
"We'll need a few hours ta get everything shipshape for inspection - been a hell of a trip. Might I suggest ya come aboard at lunchtime, and we work out what the appropriate fees'd be for the ship 'n' inventory?"
"Y'can rest assured we'll not leave the ship until we've your approval."
The dockmaster nods his understanding. "Let me just do an inspection now." He waves off the rest of the ground crew and comes aboard, with your permission. It's not difficult to make your arrangements with him. This is typical in Catlinshead.
"We probably should set someone to watching the place to see if we can get a sense of how many people we may be dealing with and possibly the entrance. I don't think anyone who would have seen us has evaded capture so far. Our identifies will get out soon, but we should have a little while yet.
"He didn't know how to get inside, but he does know some of the layout inside? Maybe let him draw a map of what he remembers - I may be able to get us in based on that."
Túrion comments on the new information, then adds:"Regarding someone high up pulling some strings - I had hoped that either one of the bosses would give out the name, or the ships registry and ownership of the dockside locations would do so. I understand they are probably not ran by someone directly, but at that level it would be almost impossible to cover all traces of association."
Inside the cabin Hal casts 2 spells he prepared yesterday.
"If you can see the dockmaster aboard, Captain, I'll be back in a jiff."
Saying this, Hal makes his way back to the captain's cabin with alacrity.
Once inside he casts his eye around, grabbing a set of mugs and a half-empty bottle. Quickly he tops it up with water, stuffs in a few odds and sods including a grape and a piece of his belt, and shakes it rapidly.
He then barks out a rapid-fire series of utterances that only an experienced disciple of the Ursine Agaithon of Mead might recognise as the three page Exhortation delivered in a blistering ten seconds.
The liquid in the bottle fizzes, and Hal waits impatiently as it turned a murky golden brown. Quickly taking a swig the 'Sailor' stepped out with mugs and bottle.
"Mead, dockmaster, Captain?" he asks politely as he emerges from the cabin.
Hal knows that changing the figurehead, name, and papers makes it very hard for anyone to tell what ship this is, especially given the quantity of shipping on Iustia's northern coast. If a piece of the ship was retained, a track ship spell would still register the Clydesdale no matter what name it had. Unless, of course, the piece of the ship was from the figurehead.
He knows the total cost of refitting the Clydesdale to another ship is likely to run at 500 gp, including a nice bribe for the dockmaster. Catlinshead has a reputation for two things: Coffee and suspicious shipping activity. So re-registering a ship here is not out of the ordinary.
The Reaps may or may not know the Clydesdale is missing and/or where it went. It wouldn't surprise you if they had obtained a part of the ship as a precaution, for the track ship purposes above. At the very least, they could obtain it from a merchant who retained the ship fragment. Regardless, you're pretty confident the Reaps already or will very soon know your current disguises/aliases. Plenty of dockworkers saw you come in and disrupt operations then were allowed to leave the warehouse and the Reaps would question them once anything alerted them to odd happenings at the docks. It is very likely the Reaps would very much like to question the lot of you, now.
Turick nods. "A discreet watch would be wise." Turick nods to Janus and orders a guard to take a parchment and charcoal to Rollinsby. "I also hope that the evidence or bosses present in the hideout will help us determine who is behind this."
"None for me, thank you," Mel yawns. "It always makes me tired, and I am sleepy enough as it is."
She accompanies the dockmaster on his inspection, murmuring with Hal now and again as they attempt to quietly assess the value of the goods they're discovering more or less simultaneously with the dockmaster.
"So yes, I think 'The Siren' will do fine. I do hope you have a figurehead of a mermaid or some other aquatic woman ready to go. We've got places to go, and things to do. And yes, we'd be happy to sell off these goods to that buyer you mentioned. How quickly can we get everything wrapped up so we can be on our way?"
"Ya sure, captain? 'S got some stuff in it'll give you a kick in the pants."
Waiting for a moment when the Dockmaster appeared more interested in inspecting cargo than the pair of would-be-pirates Hal whispered a desperate plea.
"What's the plan? Lure in our 'friends'? Sell it quick? Sail away?"
When 'the Captain' decides on a figurehead Hal is quick to interject. "Hey now, captain! I'm the carpenter, I can carve a figurehead while we sail. Wouldn't want to risk 'em stickin' us with somethin' from an Albatros!' he nods to the Dockmaster "No offence, sir."
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You make your arrangements with the dock master, selling the goods and getting the changes begun on your ship. It will take a couple of hours, at least, to get everything in order.
The moment the dockmaster has left the 'sailor' turns on Mel. "No disrespect meant, Miss, but what's the plan 'ere? Reaps've pro'lly got a sample o' the ship for scryin', but they'll have Eyes and Ears out 'ere as well. Should we be tryin' to stop the scryin'? You tryin' to bait 'em into comin' after us? Settin' a trap?" Hal smiles suddenly "Ah! You tryin' to turn the Reaps on the Throne?" he nods "Yeah, I c'n see that. If we c'n make 'em think the Throne is movin' on 'em they'd maybe try to kill the King..."
"As for them scrying on the ship, there's nothing I can do about that. If you have countermeasures for that sort of thing, by all means, use them. I am not eager for the two of us to get jumped by a bunch of dangerous criminals. Particularly without the rest of our allies around."
He shakes his head "Nothin' I can think of doesn't make things worse, or cost more'n ship's worth. There're those who can do it, I don't doubt, but you'd need more'n a poor Hedge for that."
He sighs and continues "Worse; if we take it back, odds're someone'll recognise it straight off."
"You're right that gi'en some wood and paint and new sails we could change her look, but that takes time. Best might be to hire some folk, leave 'er 'ere and head back? In a week or two we can come back, see what happened?"
"Otherwise, ya might be better off sellin' it and puttin' the money towards another ship. Or sendin' it far enough away " he coughs meaningfully "for long enough people forget."
"What kind of friend would I be, allowing ye to die all noblelike without me there? Aye. I'll go watch the place with ye. We can keep each other out of trouble." The dwarf said.
Hal scratches his beard "Still, guess we could get started on it now. I can knock up a figurehead now, 'n you can paint the sides. We c'n do it while we sail, might even be able ta get the crew ta help. Hmmmm...." he appears thoughtful.
"There are spells that'll glammer the ship. As I said, I don't have 'em, but we might be able ta hire one who does. I might even - might - be able ta call one of the Folk to do it, if we pay enough and there's one close enough and bored enough."
"I've heard o' spells that'd hide the ship from scryin', but... it's not my thing. Most I can do is a wagon. Still, the spells to track a ship aren't easy either, which means that'll take time for 'em ta arrange, which means we've time ta find someone ta ward us. Or..." he looks thoughtful "Spells like that, they keep a small part o' the ship, use it ta find the ship. I guess ya could do it in reverse. Use the ship as a link to the sliver."
Hal shrugs "All this costs though."
He looks around at the docks, then turns back to Mel "Alright, I've used up a trick or two already today 'n' I'm feelin' my age. What else are we doin' 'fore we turn in for the night?"
"You do that. I will check on Nelly and...some other loose ends."
A guard gives you Rollinsby's hastily drawn map and description. He was blindfolded, heard a creaking noise, then lead down some steps. He walked for a few disorienting steps then his blindfold was removed in a small room, approximately 10 ft x 5 ft, with a dirt floor and wooden walls. He was seated in a small wooden chair at a wooden table. There he spoke to a short man with a graying mustache.
Kazador nodded. "Aye, makes sense." With his armor glammered to look like plain clothing, complete with cloak and hood, he hoped to blend into the crowd as much as possible. "Best to get proper intel before we commit to anything."
You head down to the docks district and get within a couple of blocks of the sailmaker's that is a front for the headquarters. It's getting late in the evening but there's still a fair amount of foot traffic at the docks.