Any city of size has its seedy side, and Absalom is no exception. The Watch does a good enough job for most cases, but there's always someone they missed, and sometimes there's good money to be made filling in those gaps. Some might call it a good cause, too, but things are never so black-and-white in the shadows.
It was an evening much like any other. Bellis was sprawled comfortably on the floor in front of an open book, reading a story about a Sargavan salvager, ignoring Zota for the time being.
Then there was a knock on the door. Without looking up from his book, Bellis unhelpfully shouts, "Someone at the door."
Zota looks up from his tangle of pale yarn, eyes squinting. The fetchling looks slightly annoyed at being bothered and says, 'Why don't you change into something with hands and answer it?"
Bellis sighs, stretches, and finally gets to his feet. "Just don't blame me if whoever it is screams," he calls back over his shoulder as he saunters towards the door.
As he walks, he swells up to jaguar size, though he still looks like a black housecat... a black housecat with hands for its front paws. He is, admittedly, now 'something with hands'.
Zota rolls his eyes, "You'll scare the client out of their skin. I was thinking more of a monkey or a raccoon." Quickly the fetchling jumps up and reaches the stout blackwood door before Bellis has a chance to terrify the other person. He waves at him, 'Go, back to your book. I find a reading cat impresses most of the people."
With a flourish Zota opens the door, curious who it is.
Bellis flashes Zota a triumphant grin as he bounds back to his book, shrinking back to his normal size and shape as he does. Usually he's more helpful than this--he must really be enjoying that book. Not that he's going to get much reading in while Zota talks--the cat will no doubt pretend disinterest, but he'll be ready with some sarcastic comment as soon as the door shuts.
Zota opens the door to reveal a half-orc woman. She's dressed in worn work clothes, with calloused hands and a weathered face, though she's probably not more than middle-aged. The scent of fish that seems to hang about her suggests strongly that she is a fisherwoman.
Her brow is creased with worry as she looks Zota up and down. "You... you are Zota, yes? The one who finds missing people?"
Ah. Well that narrows where she's heard of Zota from down to two or three cases.
"It's... it's my husband, sir," she continues, without waiting for a response. Subconsciously she starts bunching up the edges of her apron with her hands. "Haven't seen him in four days."
Zota bows, "I am Zota Greyblood, yes." he usher the half-orc woman into the shadowy home and urges her to sit into a chair. 'Easy now, I will get to the bottom of this, don't fear."
He takes his own seat, stretches out his lean legs, and fixes the nervous woman with, what he hopes, is a calming look.
"Now, tell me everything."
She follows Zota, though she casts a wondering glance at Bellis. He's back at his book, but his ears are perked up, listening in on their every word.
The half-orc seems to calm just a bit at Zota's words. "Everything, right... last saw him four days ago, after we brought the boat back in. We work together, you see--I work the ropes, he takes the tiller, and we both haul the catch."
She pauses a moment, realizing she's missed something. "He's human, you see. I've more strength than he. But we always do the same in the evenings. Bring in the boat, cart the catch to the house, then I start cleaning the catch while he goes and get an ale for him and me both. Only one we get in a day! Only one we can afford. If it's a good catch, a course."
By now, she's built a fine momentum in her rambling. "He always goes the same way, down the street, round the corner, to the Three-Headed Marlin. He drinks his pint there, then brings one back to me. Good for washing the sea-salt out of a throat, their ale is. But that day... he never came back."
Coming back to the point of her telling stops her cold, and she grips the edge of her apron tightly again. After a moment, she adds, "Went and asked my Andra's drinking friends if they'd seen him. Said he'd come in and drank his pint like always, got my pint and left the same as always, but... he never came home."
She peters out at this point, looking glumly down into her lap.
'Hmm." Zota murmers, leaning back in his chair. Idly, like they have a life of their own, his long pale fingers pick up the yarn and start twisting it.
"Your husband, what was his name? Did he have any enemies, anyone who would want to hurt him? Anything unusual in the days before?" Even as he asks he ponders the streets around the Three-dead Marlin.
"His name's Andra," the woman answers, frowning in thought as she thinks over the other questions. "Don't know of anyone that'd hurt him, and the days before seemed like any others."
Zota leans back, pondering.
"Interesting...nothing odd caught in the nets, no strange visitors? No trace of a motive?" Despite his inquisitive nature, he also feels a quiver go through him for this poor woman, suddenly alone for no reason. It pulls at the fetchling's heart. So much loss, everyday....
'Any family?"
She shakes her head. "He left his back in Andoran, and mine, well..." she shrugs. "I was a memory she was glad to forget, I think."
"I didn't see anything strange, nobody visited. He hadn't even had to go out late recently."
The fetchling ponders this mind whirling with ideas.
The simplest of course was a mugging gone wrong and a body dumped. All too common in the city. Still, this was unlikely. A poor fisherman was no target and beside,s he was a regular there, knew the dangers was a know sight. Even muggers respect locals.
The second idea was he simply fled an unwelcome marriage. It happened often enough. Yet, the wife's devotion seemed to indicate otherwise.
Still, it was a good case, and would obviously help this poor woman.
Zota leans forward, "I will take this case, my good woman. I do not promise success but I promise to do all I can. Is there anything else you need to tell me?"
"You will?" The relief in her voice is palpable. "The Watch... I talked to them, and they just said he'd probably just up and left, but he wouldn't do that! Not my Andra! Thank you! Thank you!"
It pains Zota to know the woman has few other options. The Watch generally tried to do the right thing, but they were undermanned, over-worked and mostly concerned with keeping the peace.
He nods to the woman, "And your name? I will keep in touch as best I can. I will begin tonight." he smiles, "I work best at night."
Unseen to the half-orc, Zota's shadow seems to swirl and flex of its own accord behind him.
"My name's Merori, sir," the half-orc replies, giving... was that an attempt at a curtsy? "I can't thank you enough! I'll... well, what should I do? Can I help any way?"
Zota places a thin, pale hand on hers. "Just keep your life as normal as you can. Don't go investigating on your own or anything like that. I may stop by if I have more questions or any answers."
The fetchling pauses then adds, 'Did Andra have any friends at that tavern, people who knew him rather well?"
"Oh, lots. About all the regulars know him," Merori replies. "At least, the evening regulars. He never stayed late enough for the night ones. Good thing, too. Rough crowd, that, they say."
He nods his head, knowing a few taverns in that area are quite 'rough' indeed. Gently Zota escorts her out of the little subterranean 'hideout' and returns to his chair, thinking. After a moment he says to Bellis, 'What do you think?"
Bellis looks over his shoulder at Zota. "I think it's a long shot," he says, with a lackadaisical wave of one paw. "There are a lot of ways to disappear on the docks, and a lot of them don't leave much in the way of evidence. If there's any left after four days, though, it'll be near the tavern, I'd guess."
'Perhaps it is not the lead to the Pearl, but it is obviously important to this lady. Besides, a simple case would be nice after that incident with the hag."
Zota idly leafs through a book about Literary Criticism and waits for nightfall.
Bellis shrugged and turned back to his book. "I should be done with this by nightfall, anyway," he commented.
"Oh, is this enough to draw you out of the house?" Zota remarks as dusk descends outside. As it does the fetchling takes a deep breath, enjoying it. Despite his feelings on the Shadow Plane he did admit, he still preferred the gentle twilight of night, the interplay of light and shadow, the hidden depths provided by darkness.
"Let's go Bellis and see what we can make of things. To the Three-Headed Marlin!" With that Zota heads toward the tavern, not taking any speical effort to hide or anything.
Bellis stretches languidly, closes his book, and follows Zota out into the night. "I suppose so. I was to the denouement, anyway."
The Docks are rowdy far into the night, for many sailors and longshoremen work until dark. Zota leads the way to the Three-Headed Marlin--which, it turns out, has just such a creature nailed to its sign in place of paint. It's fairly clearly a piece of rogue taxidermy rather than an actual creature, the seams where the two extra heads were sewn onto the body rather visible.
Zota sniffs at the poorly made marlin. They could at least have used magic to hide the seams.
Before entering, the fetchling circles the building looking for obvious clues but mostly other exits and such. He wants to fully know the exterior of this tavern.
The Three-Headed Marlin is, like many of the inns and taverns of the Docks, crammed in between and behind the numerous warehouses where goods are stored on their way to and from all corners of Golarion, intermingled with the occasional shipping company office in a converted warehouse (the poor ones--the ones that are doing well have their offices somewhere pleasant). The cobblestone streets are washed only by the rain here, leaving them grimy and unpleasant on days when they're dry (like today).
Zota doesn't note anything out of the ordinary about the warehouses around the tavern. There is one office around the back side, though the faded, unreadable sign and dilapidated condition of the building suggest the company has folded. No doubt the building will soon be converted back to a warehouse.
The Three-Headed Marlin has one main entrance, left open so that the sounds of laughter can advertise its location. Several windows glow with the firelight within, but they're so filthy and their glass so low-quality Zota can see nothing more than blurs through them. One other door is likely a kitchen entrance, opening on an alley along the side of the building.
To Bellis, Zota notes, 'Why can't anyone disappear in a palace or on a luxury yacht?"
Pullign his dark clothes around him, the summoner plunges into the active and warm interior of the tavern, quickly putting his back to a wall and not the door.
The cat's soft chuckle is almost lost in the cacophony inside the tavern.
Zota's entrance earns barely a glance from the patrons, and why should it? This is Absalom, and here within these walls are sailors and dockworkers of all colors and shapes, from burly half-orcs to down-on-their-luck Taldanes, Osiriani men and even a few tengu. A dozen conversations intermingle at once, but the fetchling can't pick out anything interesting from any of them.
Looking around, Zota sees that the room is just what he would expect--grimy in spite of attempts to clean it, poorly lit in spite of the lanterns hanging here and there from the ceiling, and crammed with men and women getting drunk after a hard day's work on the docks. Way on the other side of the room is the bar, but Zota can't even see the barkeep past the line of sailors drinking and singing along it.
The only person who seems to be giving him more than a casual glance is a weathered old barmaid who wends her way through the crowd. "We're full up, sir," she says, her voice rough and impatient despite the polite phrasing, "But if you want to stand I can bring you an ale."
Zota takes in the busy tavern, packed wall to wall with dirty, thirsty bodies. The fetchling sighs, knowing this makes him job easier but much less pleasant. Zota has never enjoyed crowded, loud spaces.
Shaking his head, he flips a silver coin to the barmaid, to make her pause. "I'm here looking for a friend. Andra, a human fisherman. I hear he stops in most nights?"
The barmaid catches the silver and raises an eyebrow. "Are you, now? He never mentioned you. 'Course, he hasn't been around here for a few nights."
Zota smiles and says, 'Sorta my point. I didn't know him but his wife is getting worried, hasn't be home in awhile. Anyone here who might have a clue where he is?" He then adds, honestly, 'Merori's is worried sick."
The barmaid shrugs. "I dunno. People've talked about him missing, nobody's said they know anything. He usually sits over there."
She nods at a group of tables near one of the other walls of the common room.
'Thank you." Zota says, nodding his head. Leaving the busy woman to her work, the fetchling heads towards those tables, looking to see if anyone seems talkative and an established regular.
Quite a few people are talking, and Zota picks up on some snatches of conversation as he weaves through the crowd.
"...quit working for Captain Aksa, it just wasn't worth it..."
"...Two of them crow-folk over at the Yawning Wyrm, buying rounds of drinks for everyone like it was Firstbloom or something..."
"...looked at me funny, so I punched him in the face. Now he just looks funny!"
Looking over the tables indicated, most of the group seems pretty animated and talkative. They seem to all know each other well.
Zota looks for an empty seat, Bellis trailing behind him. With a smile he says, 'Any room here?" then he says what he hopes are the magic words, 'I'll buy a round for the table, if that helps."
The group looks at him rather suspiciously, but several of them brighten at Zota's last words.
"For another round, I'd give you my seat!" one of the men, a grizzled old fisherman by his appearance, exclaims, but that proves to not be necessary. There's some good-natured grumbling as they crowd together a bit more, and someone sticks a stool in the spot they've opened up.
Nodding his thanks, Zota pulls the stool next to the older fisherman. he sticks out a long, pale hand. 'Name's Zota. Nice to meet you and thanks for the seat. Is it always this crowded?"
One of the men laughs. "You new on the Docks, darkling?"
"Every tavern's this full this time of night," another adds in agreement.
"Hells, you could just have a barrel of grog in the street and you'd have a crowd," a third jokes. The group laughs raucously, and Zota gets the feeling this isn't the first time they've laughed at this joke.
Zota nod saying over the laughter, 'I'll have to try that sometime." To the other thing he says, 'No, but I've never been to this one before, new to me. Usually go for a quieter crowd."
Seeking to get some answers before everyone gets totally smashed Zota goes on, 'Truth be told, I'm here for a friend. Anywhere here know Andra? Fisherman down at the docks? His wife is worried about him, hasn't been home lately. Figured I'd start here..." he lets it hang, wanting to see the mood.
Smiles die on faces all around Zota, and many of the men look down or away.
"Terrible thing, that," one of them says. "Not like him to vanish."
"I always warned him taking that back way home would get him killed," one of the other men interjects. "Sorry to see I was right. Somebody probably knifed him for a few coppers and tossed him off a dock."
The one who spoke first shakes his head. "No, that don't make sense. You can't just throw a body in the harbor, it'll float there until somebody finds it. And nobody's seen a body out there recently, that I've heard."
Sensing the darkening mood Zota says, 'Sorry, friends for darkening your talk. I don't mean to but...his wife is worried at home. I'm making it my mission to find news of him." he lets that hang in the air for a moment then says, "Any ideas what happened to him other then meeting the wrong mugger? That doesn't seem to add up for me either..."
There's a lot of head-shaking, shrugging, and other expressions of uncertainty.
"If any of us knew anything, you can bet we'd 'ave told the Watch," one of them says. The others nod in agreement.
"People disappear all the the time on the Docks," one of the others laments. "The Watch don't care much unless it's someone with money."
There's a grumble of agreement around the table.
Zota leans back, disappointed. He had hoped to gain some clue here...something.
"Nothing at all?" The fecthling presses, 'He hadn't been acting unusual, no new stories? No one else has vanished?"
Heads shake around the table, until one man frowns in thought.
"You know..." he slowly says, "Heard yesterday the Watch's been in one 'f the warehouses nearby. Don't know what it'd have t' do with Andra, though."
Zota perks up his ears, 'Was it anywhere near where Andra walked? Would he go near this warehouse? Anyone know what was stored there, who owned it?" Then the fetchling smiles and says, 'Sorry to trouble you with so many questions. But when I get a problem, I'm like a fish caught on a hook, can't help myself, you know?"
The man who spoke shrugs. "Don't know anything 'bout it. Not good t' ask too much about the Watch, y' see. Just heard somebody sayin' that."
Zota nods, adding, "Is there a Watch quarters near by where I can ask? Perhaps they found something connected to Andra's disappearance." The fecthling does raise his hands, 'Don't worry, I won't mention any of you. Don't need the eyes of the Watch on you nice fellows."
There's a bit of uneasiness among Zota's table-mates, but one of them does answer, "There's one down th' street, to the left a ways, near the big merchant office there... don't remember whatsitsname..."
"Don't go there," one of the others interjects. "Sergeant on watch there's got th' manners of a wild hippocampus, with half the sense. It's a longer walk, but if you go down most 'f the way to th' Beast, take a right by th' clock tower, 'nd go down a bit, there's a watch station there tha's not so bad."
Another man nods and adds, "Busy all day, mind you, but they'll at least be polite about telling you to shove off there."
The summoner stands up, not wishing to overstay his welcome. "Thank you, all of you. Another round of drinks for your trouble. Toast Andra and his good health."
As he leaves the tables he turns and says, "I'll come back and tell the tale if I find news of him." With that he leaves the crowded and smoky tavern
"Hear or see anything I didn't Bellis?" The fecthling asks the cat.