'Trust?" Bloom says dismissively, 'What do you know of trust? Maybe when you see your friends caught and taken away, men you've known your whole life turn traitor, families used to bait traps, then maybe we can talk about trust." The man snorts, 'Untilt hen, i withhold my judgement."
He turns to Sirel, 'I'll work with you, but don't expect me to trust her." He pauses then adds, 'Or anyone else for that matter."
Sirel sighs and then goes on, "We need to work together. I think Rylka could be a big asset. You and I both know we are short on trained, smart people." Marc smiles then grows visibly saddened.
'Anyway, I have a few plans cooking and I know you do too."
Bloom is guarded but does relent enough to say, "Tikal is still in jail, I've been working on a way to get him out."
'And?" Sirel prompts and Bloom relents.
"And, the Blood jackets have changed the passwords again. My latest informant was transferred so we need to get those codes."
Bloom grunts to hides his openness and shoots back, 'And you, Sirel?"
The halfling spreads his hands wide, 'We need more and better safe houses. I was hoping she might be able to come up with something."
Then Sirel adds, 'Is there something else Rylka, something we are missing?"
Rylka fixes her gaze on Bloom. "I trust Milani and few others. But I can understand your issues. Maybe one day I can earn your trust. Until then, common courtesy is all I ask."
She shakes her head, "Jailbreaks are risky, what can you tell me about the prison here?"
"I'd offer to join up to get those Blood Jacket passwords, but I doubt they'll take a halfling into their ranks. I might be able to do something else though. Can you explain more about their organization?"
Rylka grins, "As for safe houses, I know a place in Bis the just got foreclosed, how much do you think it'd take to buy it?"
Bloom grunts and says, 'Kaer Maga had no jails before the Occupation. If you broke the law you paid or got away with it. But now..."
Marc adds, speaking for the first time. His voice is clipped with an exotic accent, "The Chelish have run up a bunch of new jails,a ll over the city. Mostly old warehouses and the like, but I know a temple or two has been defiled. The one Tikal is stuck in, that was the one on Old Crumble Street?" Bloom nods his head, "It is in Cavalcade, built in an old armory."
Sirel breaks in, 'The Blood Jackets love halfling recruits. They make them do the dirty work, patrolling the sewers, beating other halflings up, hazing them. But the only ones who do that are forced to. I doubt you could pull it off. We were thinking of just stealing them from some office?"
Bloom perks up at the last remark, "What place in Bis? We don't have much a foothold there, the Ardoc's run it."
Rylka considers. "An armory, they chose well. Though usually those are built to keep folks from getting in, not out. We might be able to work with that."
She shudders, "You're right, I don't think I can get away with that. We'd either have to find a way to steal them, or find a way to turn a new informant."
Rylka finally smiles, "Last night I helped two men escape from the ropeworks. Our route was supposed to lead us through a home in Bis. However, the occupants had been evicted about a week ago." She frowns, "If we could get our hands on that location, it might work as a safehouse."
'Bis?" Bloom says, turning to Sirel.
Sirel nods, "The Paddle family. They were helpers, good ones. Rulka said they vanished. I'll look into them and the house."
Bloom shrugs, eyeing Rylka closely. "You ever break anyone out of prison before?"
Rylka notes Marc leans in a bit too, obviously curious for her response.
"I hope they're well. Let me know what you find." Rylka turns back to Bloom.
"I've never done a proper jailbreak, but I'm better at that than trying to sneak into the Blood Jackets. I can't stand them." She stands up, hands on the table.
"Now, does anybody have a map of Old Crumble Street? What's nearby to this old armory?"
Sirel pulls out a grubby bit of parchment and proceeds to carve a little map into it.
"It is a narrow block so the back and front are just streets." He draws a square fronted and backed by alleys. 'the armory is big,and overbuilt. they used to store gunpowder and all sorts of explosive reagents there, before the Chelish turned it into a jail."
Bloom interjects, 'On one side, is a canal. Cavalcade is full of them, although this one is a bit bigger then most. Maybe 15 feet across, with stone sides." he traces in the waterway. His writing is neater then Sirel's rough scribblings.
Sirel goes on, 'On the other side, if I recall, is a blacksmith. Last I checked it was still open. Don't know the owner though."
Bloom grunts, "The jail is also a bit of a local base for the Blood Jackets to store weapons, uniforms,t hat sort of thing, so there are patrols. We'll have to watch for them."
Marc, silent so far, adds, "What do you think?"
Rylka looks over the sketch. "Do you know anything about the sewer system underneath? Or do they just dump their waste into the canal?"
Bloom frowns and Sirel says, "Not that i know of. Cavalcade is full of sub-basements and underground channels for water, but I don't know of any for that street." The others nod their heads in agreement.
Bloom adds, 'Most dump their garbage and such into the canal.'
Rylka nods, "Very well, I guess today I will be paying a visit to a blacksmith. I'll need to change into something less comfortable."
She begins to outline her plan. She will be playing the part of a house servant, sent to make an order for some decorative sconces with oil lamps for a manor being redecorated. While there, she hopes to scope out the lay or the land and see the armory for herself.
Rylka only goes a few streets into the industrial heartland of Cavalcade, but it seems to be a different city. Not only because of the many canals and small stream of water (all harnessed for mills and forges), the sound of ringing hammers or the smell of hot steel and sweating men. This part of the city is alive with work, activity, with life. Men and women of many races pass each other, busy with tasks ahead. A few street performers lurk here and there, and gangs of children roam the streets, playing and asking for handouts.
It lacks the quiet desperation of the Bottoms or the rampant poverty of the Warren.
Old Crumble Street is a bigger street, meaning two wagons can pass side by side (if scraping). The street is full of traffic, both into and out of the district. Rylka sees few Blood Jackets here, only one patrol of four leering men, armed with truncheons.
She sees the armory and the canal, just as she was told. There is no bank of the canal next to the armory, just water under the sheer, thick walls of the building. A few tiny pipes dribble out waste into the watercourse, far too small to climb into.
Next door the blacksmithy is belching smoke into the air. A stout, small structure, it is evident even from a distance is owned and run by a dwarf, and this is not surprising. Although dwarves are not that common in Kaer Maga (mostly living in Bis) they do make up a healthy part of the metalworking guilds.
A stout, middle-aged dwarf, stripped to the waist, is pounding away, sparks flying from his anvil. he ignores the traffic passing by him. Behind him a coal fired oven is burning brightly.
Seeing that the area is much busier than other districts of Kaer Maga, Rylka realizes that a ruse may be unnecessary (and unnecessary complications can frequently make things worse). So she hurries along, blending in with the crowd. A few blocks further on she crosses over room the street behind the armory and heads back the way she came. Once again studying the massive building for weaknesses.
She keeps an eye out for people who may be watching her suspiciously and will look for an appropriate shop to duck into in an attempt to lose any tail.
The building is simply, if solidly built. She sees two main doors, one for each street. Both are massive wooden doors, guarded by a pair of half-orc Blood Jackets, not Chelish troops. There are a few small windows on each side, but nothing on the first floor. Rylka thinks she sees a small door on the side facing the blacksmith, but it would be hard to get in without the door guards noticing and impossible without the blacksmith seeing. The side facing the canal has no door but a few small windows.
All windows have hasty bars thrown across them, but they aren't built into the heavy masonry of the structure. There appear to be some sort of vents or shafts on the roof, but it is hard to tell from the street.
Rylka doesn't detect anyone following her or tailing her.
Rylka approaches the blacksmith shop. Best see what I can find out about that door.
She enters and waits to the dwarf to acknowledge her. "Sir dwarf, m'lady wishes to commission ironwork sconces for her mansion." She shows the hastily scratched drawings that had been made earlier that morning.
Then as he examines them attempts to engage about the neighboring building. "You certainly are located next to a massive building, what is it? I don't think I've ever been in this area before."
"Sconces, eh?" the dwarf says, pausing his labor and moping his brow with a dirty towel. He holds the rough drawings up to the light and frowns. 'Whoever your mistress is, I'll need better drawings then this."
"You new to the city?" he asks, noting her lack of accent. It is not unusual in Kaer Maga, City of Strangers, more of a conversation then accusation it would be in many places in Golarion.
"Aye, that is the armory. Dwarf built." he says proudly, "Well, it was the armory, before it got turned into the jail." The last line is rather bitter but he brightens, "Still, she is a fine bit of work, older then me and I'm 200 years old. Not a bad view, eh?"
He grabs the paper and starts politely asking questions about the sconces including who the buyer is, exactly.
Rylka attempts to gloss over the details while fishing for more information about the armory.
"Oh, she's not very important. I couldn't even begin to tell you what she does. But she does like her ballroom well lit. You know, the twist on this piece here," She points to a spot on the drawing, "should look something like this hinge here." She walks over to the small door to the armory. "Where does this door go anyway? Does it go into that massive building? It sounds like you don't really approve of what's been done to it recently, why is that?"
The blacksmith seems a little annoyed at Rylka's vague answers about the metalworking. She has the feeling he has had to work with feckless servants before, and this is just routine.
When she heads toward the armory he rushes to block her though, standing between her and the door.
'Are you crazy? You can't just walk up to the jail like that. they'll arrest us both!" The dwarf looks quite worried, skin paling a bit despite the dark skin and heat from the forge.
He leads he back to the smithy saying, voice lower, 'Well, who does approve? I liked things well enough before, when a man was his own master. But things are as they are. wishing iron was steel won't change it, as my masters used to say. I have to keep my head down and protect me and mine, you know." he pauses, realizing he has said too much.
Rylka whispers back, "I ain't gonna tell anyone. There are plenty who agree with you though." She continues at a more normal tone, "I'll be back in a week to check up on those." With that she hurries out of the shop and loses herself in the crowd.
She takes a round-about trip back to the Bottoms to fill in Sirel. "Do you happen to have a locksmith who could help out tonight? I think I've found a back door to the armory."
The dwarf looks a bit puzzled as she vanishes into the crowd. The lasts he sees he is scratching his beard then turning back to his forge and his work.
Sirel eyes her, 'A locksmith?" A pause then, 'Tonight, you are doing it tonight?!" The halfling's face goes a bit pale and he holds onto the wall to brace himself.
'That is a bit quick of work, don't you think?"
After that he goes on, 'I might know a name or two. Do you want a locksmith or a lockpick?"
Rylka nods, "Tikal's been in there long enough, no time like the present. Unless you can get us an up to date floor plan and guard schedule, we have all the info we can get."
"A lockpick would be more useful, if you have one available."
Sirel ponders her words, and sits down. They are sitting in the small safe house below the bakery. Bloom is gone, and Marc is outside on the street keeping watch.
'I might know a guy, but I think you should make contact. Last time we worked together, he sorta vowed to never see my face again." the weary halfling holds up a hand, 'He is very good though and really hates the Chelish. You don't have to worry about him betraying you."
'His name is Paq, a ratfolk living here in the Bottoms. He was a member of some local crime guild or other but well out due to not agreeing with the boss. Paq is a independent minded guy. I'll give you the address.' Sirel names an address close to the now closed fighting school The Price of Freedom.
"Thank you. I hope I can convince him to help us." Rylka stands and clasps Sirel's hand. "Wish me luck."
Sirel nods and shakes his head as Rylka leaves.
Rylka picks her way through the Bottoms, trying to remain unnoticed. Even with the Occupation, it is still a crowded district. The poor are crammed together, and as she dives deeper into the turning, twisting streets it becomes claustrophobic in intensity. In some areas the shabby, poorly built buildings nearly block out the sun as they lean over the narrow, dirty streets.
Finally, at a corner across from smelly tannery she finds Paq's address. it is a squat brick building, much more solid then other buildings. With now windows, the only breach in the blank brick is a steel door, with no handle but an intricate lock. There is no name or marking outside, just a blank door.
Rylka looks around to make sure nobody is paying her too much attention as she walks up to the overly secure edifice. With no obvious method of opening she resorts to a classic formality.
This is definitely the right place. Hopefully he'll hear me out.
She reaches out a hand and knocks.
Leaning in towards the door she speaks clearly, "Master Paq, I would like to discuss the possibility of engaging your services."
The voice inside is muffled but squeaky. 'Go away. No one named Paq has ever lived here, no matter what anyone told you." There is some rustling inside, as if the door is being barricaded with furniture.
"I think I heard he was moving to Magnimar. He didn't leave any money. Go away."
Rylka sighs, "I have money, I was hoping to give him some. But I can't take the time to travel to Magnimar. Perhaps you'll have the skills I'm looking for. I'd appreciate coming inside to discuss it. There are things the are unfit for Chelish ears, or Blood Jacketed ears for that matter."
She takes a quick look over her shoulder as she speaks. "And I'm feeling quite exposed out here."
A moment of silence makes Rylka worry then, she sees more scraping and moving within. 'Money you say?"
The voice grows a bit louder and more confident, 'Who are you with?"A pause then, 'There are some people who are not Chelish who would like to get in here."
Rylka leans close to the door, "I work for the Everbloom. Any more and I seek a trip to the old armory."
Silence stretches then the intricate lock buzzes, whirrs and clicks. After several moments of this the door opens slightly, pushed out by a thin furry arm.
'Come in, then."
Stepping in, Rylka enters a workshop crossed with an explosion. The room is lit by magical lamps, that provide a dim reddish tinted light. The entire space is filled with tables overflowing with gears, grease, machine parts, lockpicks, locks in varied states of disrepair, magical alchemical agents, and half-eaten rotten food. The stench is terrible.
In front of her stands a pale looking ratfolk, tail nervously flicking back and forth on the dirty floor. His fur is patchy, eyes gleaming brightly in the light, his hands fidgeting.
'Say your piece so I can tell you to leave." he says, voice squeaky.
Rylka takes a deep breath, "I'm in town on the request of the Everbloom. Things around here need to change. These new rulers don't belong in Varisia. It is time to shake things up. I've started here in the Bottoms, trying to rebuild the Freemen. Turns out some of them are still around, but the blood jackets have a few."
"One of them is in the old armory over in Cavalcade, on Old Crumble Street. I intend to get him out. I've found a back door, but I need someone who can handle a lock."
"Your name came up, highly recommended."
She looks him in the eyes, "What do you say. Willing to help me out?"
The ratfolk ponders her carefully. When he speaks, she can see his sharp yellowed teeth. 'And what do I get out of it? Other then hanging from a Chelish rope, or worse, used in some diabolic rite?" he shudders, his greasy fur rippling.