Fredrik recoils from the slap then blinks several times as he head lolls around freely. Slowly his half glazed smile slides back into place and he laughs weakly. "The rich broad- hehe. That was a good job. Smooth and easy. The wren gets some good jobs, but man he is a dumb bastard. Always overpays." He pats a fat beltpouch fairly bulging with coin.
When Kayluss raises his fist he looks entranced and reaches out to touch it, "Don't know his real name. Not that kind of work, you know? I just pass 'em along to Pildapush in the Pits."
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“So this ‘Wren’ paid you – overpaid you – to snatch Salhar, and you delivered her to Pildapush at the Pits?” Aldred tries to make sure he – and Fredrick – have the facts straight.
“So you don’t know the Wren’s name – how can we find him, or contact him? How about Pildapush, where is he now and how do we recognise him?”
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Letting the other do the taking Kayluss keeps his grip on the man’s collar. As Fredrick reaches up to touch his fist the fighter snarls and punches the man in the face, making sure to pull the punch so as to not knock the man out.
“So this ‘Wren’ paid you – overpaid you"
Right, easy enough to fix. Drawing his dagger Kayluss cuts the purse off the man’s belt and tosses it to Aldred.
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"Stop it, Kayless, don't hurt him. He's trying to help us...in his own way!" Alie turns to the doper. "Now Frederik, I am doing my best to keep him off you, but you've got to help me. Give us information we can use. Make it specific, and make it quick. We'll be out of your hair, give you back your purse, and you can get back to the grit. Help us and you'll soon forget you've ever met us."
Diplomacy
Misery Row is self-policed by the slavers who work there. The Token Guard of the Coins and District Council members do not enter so as not to be seen actively supporting slavery for political reasons. However, it is an open secret that the Captain of the Guard and the district council receive a percentage of every slave sold which has a little something to do with the vigilant guard posts they man at every steep stairway leading to Misery Row who ensure those who enter do so for legitimate business. Additionally, it is illegal to use magic to interfere with business in Misery Row. The law was created by Lord Gyr, first spell lord and Primarch of Absalom (chair of the high Council of Absalom) and he is apparently quite serious about it. At the same time, it is also true that money is the only true authority in the district and when they say you can buy anything in the Coins that includes a willingness to look the other way from the Token Guard.
The Coins itself, where Misery Row is located, is a twenty-four hour Grand Bazaar where taverns never close and the streets never go dark. The shouting and haggling goes on all night among the pavilions, tents, makeshift stages, and merchant wagons all tangled together in an ever shifting maze.
After the punch in the face blood flowing from his nose joins the frothy mix on his chin and mouth, "Hey man! I don't find Wren. He just leaves word for me at the Second Chance from time to time. We meet up when he has a job for the details and payout.
Go talk to Pildapush if you want something. You can't miss him the fat greasy Vudrani bastard. Hehe. I just drop by his office on Misery Row, Pildapush Chattel. Absalom's Finest he calls it. Hahah"
Aldred
Alie
Fog
Kayluss
Sek
Wadi
Something Else
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“What he says about Pildapush and the Pits seems accurate,” Aldred says. He quickly shares what he knows on the subjects , barely able to keep the disgust out of his voice.
“I think as a priority we need to head to the pits and try to get the ambassador’s wife back before she is on-sold; we can attempt to track down this ‘Wren’ later.”
To Fredrick he says, “I don’t know if there’s any hope for you – this ‘grit’ crap will kill you sooner or later, maybe it’s already too late for you ... but there’s every chance that someone else looking for Lady Salhar will kill you first. If you’ve got any sense left in you at all you will get yourself to a temple or a hospice and hope that someone can help you go clean, so that you can keep your wits sharp.”
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Taking a deep breath Kayluss gives Wadi a week smile. Lowering his voice he converses with the sorcerer quietly.
Thank you friend. You know as well as me the horrors of slavery coming from where we do. Anyone who would steal another human being from their home and family and sell them off to the gods know where seem more a monster than most things we've encountered. Having Ali talk to him like a poor wounded... rabbit or something, instead of the black hearted devil he is does not sit well with me. I can tell you another thing too, he can have his purse back but I be dammed if he lays a finger on that money again.
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Fog has been stood just outside the doorway to this little hovel, looking as inconspicuous as possible,a nd generally not paying anyone much attention. But making sure his companions are not disturbed. He has no love for the slaving toad, but also has reason to want to keep fromt he interrogation.
Anyone walking past would hear a man quietly reciting prayers to Sarenrae.
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"Yes, Kayluss, you can correct the whole issue of slavery by taking a few coins from this miserable wretch of a man. I am sure this drug addled moron's word carries so much sway that when he tells the story, entire nations will cease the practice," Alie huffs at the warrior. "Let's make sure he cooperates, so we can save one of the slaves. Then if you want to come back and punch his face in, that's fine!"
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“No one’s suggesting that this drug addled idiot is a slaving kingpin,” soothes Aldred, “but he is a confessed kidnapper, and there is no reason he should profit from his crime, or be led to believe that he will. If you’re not Andoran it’s difficult to understand how much most of us despise slavery, and it rankles all the worse when we find one of our own involved in the trade, even as a bit player. Anyway, we have the information we need ... I suggest we make for the Pits with haste.”
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Placing his hand on Wadi's shoulder he offers a more relaxed smile, takes another deep breath and nods.
Turning back towards Alie and Fredrick he finds himself set upon by the gnome. His face twisted with confusion and rage, Kayluss can only stutter half formed words at the sorceress as his whole body trembles. As Aldred steps in to defuse the situation the warrior tries to slow his breathing and regain his composure, but as he speaks the edge in his voice does little to hide his seething anger.
I am not naive. Even if I this man was the most notorious slaver of the InnerSea it wouldn't end slavery. I know that as long as there is a profit to be made in the selling of flesh there will always be more like this wretch who will to step up and take his place. And yeah maybe my anger has gotten the better of me, maybe these past few years of living in a city were men, women, and children are bought and sold as easily as loaf of bread are starting to wear on me, and maybe I'm a little frustrated that the society I work for is willing to buy another human being, drag them out into the middle some hellish jungle to die of starvation, disease, or from being torn apart my beast all in the name of discovery. So, maybe I am a little irrational at the moment but you'll just have to forgive me if I see a bloody nose and few less coins as a less than suitable punishment for someone who has ruined a countless number lives all so he can get one more fix!
His jaw clenched tight the warrior stares at the women before him.
When Sek specks up, Kayluss whips his head over to look at the man, thinking for a moment that the Alchemist is going to take sides in the argument. His poignant remark causes the anger burning in Kaylusses eye's falters for moment though and as he quietly looking back at the junkie the soft murmuring of Fog's prayer trickle into the room. The look of disgust melts away to one of sorrow and pain.
Without looking back at the rest of the party Kayluss nods.
We got what we came for, there isn't any more we can do here.
Aldred knows the city well enough to point out that it will take around an hour and a half by foot to get from the Puddles to Misery Row. If you catch one of the camel drawn bench wagons, maybe an hour.
The wall dividing The Coins and the Merchant's District looms high over the Grand Bazaar. Every few hundred feet steep stairwells lead up to the walkway at the top where prospective buyers wander among the pits inspecting merchandise. Each stairwell is flanked by four or so members of the Coin District Guard idly watching the foot traffic in the Bazaar and chatting among themselves.
the primarch. For most offenses, the Token Guard simply arrests everyone in sight and holds them for disturbing the peace. This requires someone to post bail for the incarcerated (at a cost of 1 cp per arrest), which results in their headquarters being called the Bail House. Magic used to free slaves is an exception to their leniency by direct command of Primarch Lord Gyr.
From the state of his bloody cough, you'd think Fredrik doesn't have more than a week left to live in any case.
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“Phew ... you’re away for a few months and you forget just how big this city is,” comments Aldred, taking a moment to adjust his hair and straighten his clothes after the long walk.
“Well,” he continues, pointing ahead. “There lies our destination, the aptly named Misery Row, also known as the Slave Pits of Absalom. Now, we’ll need to get past the Token Guard. They’ll be guarding each of these stairs, and though I’ve never tried to venture up there myself, from what I’ve heard they’re very vigilant – I fear we’ll have little luck sneaking past them. They’ll only let those on legitimate business pass ... or, I hear, those willing to pay an appropriate bribe, though I can’t say what ‘appropriate’ entails in this case.
“I’d suggest that our best bets would be to either try to bluff our way past – after all, we now know the name of a slaver and his business, but in that case it might be best that none of us Andoran’s do the talking ... or we see if they’re amenable to a bribe.
“Once we get up the top ... well, from what I’ve heard the guard takes a very lenient view of most crimes, stirring themselves only when paid to do so by private concerns or because a situation threatens to draw the attention of the primarch. For most offenses, the Token Guard simply arrests everyone in sight and holds them for disturbing the peace. Magic used to free slaves is an exception to their leniency by direct command of Primarch Lord Gyr – they’ll come down on us hard in that case, so I’d say we’d be best not using magic while we’re here if possible.”
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Wadi decides to take the lead in the 'negotiations.' He walks up to the lead guard and says, "Excuse me, my companions and I need to see Pildapush. It is a matter of some urgency. Fredrik has a message for him...feel free to check it if you wish." He slides a pouch with 5 gp over to the guard's palm.
The guard feels the weight of the pouch then loosens the strings to check the currency. "Welcome to the Row gentlemen, lady. You'll find Pildapush's office about a hundred yards or so that way. Pleasue doing business with you." He points to the north and the other members of the Coin Guard step aside to allow access to the stairs.
From atop the wide platform the view of Absalom is spectacular. The sparkling sea of the harbor lies to the south. The massive two hundred foot tall white stone gladiatorial arena known as the Irorium dominates a hilltop in the Foreign Quarter and nearby the central tower of Skyreach at the Grand Lodge stretches even higher. In the distance to the northwest you can just make out the Cathedral of the Starstone perched on the pillar of rock at the center of the bottomless pit surrounding it and beyond that Azlanti Keep, the enormous fortress stretching across an entire district that has defended the city from centuries of overland invasions.
The view of the platform however is another thing entirely. People of all nationalities and ethnicities wander among wide pits sunken into the platform and secured with iron bars. Some pits are equipped with a crank mechanism designed to raise the cages to platform level while others have ladders that can be lowered for individual slaves to climb up for inspection. Potential buyers haggle with handlers about the quality and value of the merchandise in a mix of languages from around the Inner Sea. Private mercenaries hired by individual slaving outfits comprise the security on Misery Row and wander their appointed territory keeping an eye on the crowds.
As you head through the crowds northward looking for Pildapush's pits a short fellow comes running alongside you. "Sirs- madame- If I may, what type of product might you be looking for today?" The gnome is a spry fellow with a Asmodean mustache and goatee and shoulder pads that extend out from his burgundy jacket fluting up into a curl that matches his fantastically long waxed eyebrows. "At the Devil's Advocate we offer the finest selections of domestic assistants for whatever niche your household needs filled- whether that be security, skilled labor, or erotic pleasure. If cost of maintenance and upkeep are an issue we offer a full selection of slips* able to fill any role. Think of their cost now as an investment, easily offset by reduced upkeep in meals and clothing over the lifetime of your purchase..." He gestures to the right beckoning you to follow him.
"Ah- problem purchase... well it sounds like you know who to talk to miss, but next time remember us over at the Devil's Advocate. No one ensures compliance like a Chelish dealer."
Farther on Aldred spots the office you are looking for. A squat rust colored stone building topped with a greenish onion dome in the style of the far south east sits amid a field of barred pits. To the side of the high arch above a normal sized door is an ornately painted wooden sign. A Eastern inspired golden bull reclines under a tree. Printed along its body are the words "Pildapush Chattel: Absalom's Finest."
On the door a small painted plaque hangs by a string reading, "CLOSED."
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“That may depend on whether or not the door is locked,” says Aldred. “But I agree,” he continues. “This slave dealer may have realised that his latest acquisition has attracted some unwanted attention. Let’s be ready for trouble. But remember, no magic if we can possibly avoid it, that will attract the wrath of the Guards like nothing else will.”
Though some can't be bothered, several of the nearby pedestrians stop to hear Wadi's spontaneous sonnet. Sekhemre takes advantage of the distraction and with cover from the others makes short work of the lock. The door swings open slowly.
The sound of a burbling fountain and the heavy mix of sandalwood incense and perfumed tobacco drift through the cracked door. You can see the edge of a Katapeshi rug laid out on the stone floor and a rhythmic clacking sound comes to an abrupt halt when the door creaks. A heavily accented Vudrani voice calls out, "We are closed. I thought I had already locked up, but I assure you we are closed for the day. Tomorrow friends."
*bump*
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Looking at his companions and seeing them at a loss for words sighs and moves forward, murmuring to himself Looks like we'll be doing it my way.
The fighter pushes through the door and into Pildapush's office. As he makes his way in Kayluss makes sure to move his cloak aside so that Ixthalos is both easily accessible and clearly visible.
We're here for Lady Salhar! Cooperate and you might still be in business tomorrow!
Inside the office, a large Katapeshi rug covers the majority of the stone floor and water trickles down a decorative mosaic fountain depicting an Eastern palace. Simple but elegant rosewood chairs surround a round table through which the shiny brass top of a hookah pokes, one braided and ebony tipped smoking arm per chair.
Beyond that stands a large ornate mahogany desk flanked by two man-sized oval cages bolted to the stone floor behind the desk. An overweight middle aged Vudrani man with a terrible comb-over is seated at the desk going through a sheaf of papers with one hand on an abacus. A bowl of figs sits to one side. In each cage behind him a woman is slumped on the ground. A redhead in a plain sack-like tunic clutches her knees, head down on the left and on the right a slight woman from the far east sits in a silken robe-like dress. Both look up listlessly as you call out.
Pardu's hand hovers briefly above the abacus before he stops to smooth his mustache and smile, "Well- I suppose it was only a matter of time. You are correct." He sighs and gestures for you to pull up chairs, "I did purchase one Lady Salhar some days back, but I truly had no idea who she was at the time. I swear it by the thousand gods of the Vudrani. There is no reason I would choose to bring such trouble down on my head willingly. I had already sold her before the rumors made their way back to me. It was that damn spy! This is Renmil's mess, not mine!"
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Sekhemre arches an eyebrow as he takes in the room's decorations, but refrains from commenting.
"Very well. I won't blame a businessman for a... poor... decision. Does this Renmil have a last name?"
He then sighs.
"From what you have said, I take it that she is no longer in your possession? To whom has she been transferred, and where can we find her?"
"Renmil? He typically goes by Wren during his business from what I hear, but he signed the log. A moment please." Pardu pulls open a drawer on his desk and lifts a false bottom panel to produce a slim leather bound volume. He opens it and scans through the last pages, "Ah here we are. Renmil Emprey. Turned up in the middle of the night with that grit junky pet of his, the one-eyed wretch. Not someone I typically deal with, but it was a good deal and she was an imminently salable specimen. I suppose it was too good to be true in the end, no? Too hard to determine what his agenda is for me to deal with him in ever again. Slippery eel. Used me like a pawn in his patron's games.