Targ works diligently at the chest and is rewarded when he hears a faint click; an indication that the trap has been disarmed!
As you open the chest, you spy the map of the Salhar burial vaults and a wand.
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"An extra key?" Crar muses as he begins to look around. "I'll have another look, perhaps we missed something." He also starts to feel as though they are being watched. Is it just because they were just talking about it? Perhaps the master of the house spying on them? Or is it merely the spirits of this place watching them?
The map does indeed appear to be a map to the burial vaults of the Salhar family. As Lillia turns the key in the lock of the door, it clicks open and the door swings outward.
"Excellent," the servant says, motioning for you all to exit. As you pass by him, he seems to inspect you all closely before nodding in some kind of silent assessment.
"If you would be as kind to leave any keys you may have about your person," he says, holding out his hand. "You may keep the map of the burial vaults and the magic item." He looks at you all expectantly.
You head to Latharel's recommended eatery in order to refresh yourselves. Suitably full, you head on towards the docks for your final task.
You find yourself at the door of the Pickled Imp and nudge your way in.
This creepy shop contains myriad odds and ends, most bereft of any discernible use. A number of malformed creatures and creature parts bob in jars on a long, prominent shelf, a tiny fetal devil centered in this macabre lineup. The shopkeeper, a greasy-haired Varisian with a thin mustache, shouts from behind the cluttered counter:
"Ah yes, I see the Pathfinders have arrived. I'm glad Ambrus was able to lend a few of his new recruits to help me. Please come in and let me tell you what I need."
Looking around as if to be absolutely certain no customers are browsing the aisles of knock-off Thuvian burial urns or supposed Azlanti porcelain, he begins again.
"Well met. I am Guaril Karela. A friend of mine has a warehouse near here and he received a parcel on behalf of me and some of my associates, but there's a problem. See, Master Gelbane had to leave town in a hurry and our shipment is still waiting at his warehouse. Rumor is he ended up in trouble with the law and the place was seized. I heard tell from someone down at the docks that some creep was snooping around his warehouse just the other night, so I want to make sure nothing of mine was taken. He keeps all kinds of things, from beer to nails, in that old pelican, but every now and then he stores something really special. This is one of those cases," Guaril pauses for breath.
"There's a big crate marked with three crows arranged in a triangle. Inside that crate is a smaller container with a few books and papers in it. That's the only parcel I'm interested in, and as far as I'm concerned, you can help yourself to the rest of the crate. Honestly, anything else you want in the place too. I'm sure that once things get sorted out, the city will seize most everything anyway. My associates and I often work with the Pathfinders when it comes to special relics and documents, getting them in and out of ports and across borders where the authorities ask too many questions. Most people don't realize what they have and frankly many don't deserve to have it, so sometimes we help take the goods off their hands. If things work out well and you get this done, I'd be glad to talk with you more and help you out with any future endeavors, as long as you help me out too. I'm good at returning favors, trust me."
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"We're glad to lend you the assistance of the Pathfinder Society, of course," Lillia says to the Varisian merchant, "but we don't want to cause any tensions between our organisation and city officials... politics is a funny business, and offending the wrong people can cause trouble down the line.
"Now, you say the place was seized due to some legal trouble; just how closely guarded is it?"
Guaril waves his hand around dismissively at Kernsten's inferring that what they would be doing was illegal.
"Guards? There are none! The city doesn't really care about what's in the pelican now that they've got Master Gelbane. No, you needn't worry about such silly things as documentation. Master Gelbane let his customers come and go as they please!"
"Now are there any details you'd like, or shall you be on your way? I am a busy man, you know."
"Dangers? You're Pathfinders! If you're not capable of cleaning up a couple of rats, perhaps I should find someone who can! I'm sure Ambrus would like to know his new recruits are afraid of some vermin!" Guaril shakes his head, and motions towards the door.
"IF there are any vermin there, I'm sure you'll be adequately prepared to handle them," he says, as he shuts the door with a click.
As you troop out of the Pickled Imp, Guaril locks the door behind you. You quickly make your way down to the Docks District.
Perched on the end of a long pier fifteen feet above the water, the warehouse appears to struggle against its own roof, threatening to sag into the bay below. No light shines from the building's windows and only the movement of gulls and pelicans stirs the scene.
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"You make a good point," Lillia says in reply to Kernsten, "passers-by who might see us are less likely to question our presence if we approach openly, rather than try sneaking around as though we have something to hide... but if this cover won't raise any suspicions on it's own, it can hardly hurt."
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The half-elf shaman listens to the others and nods respectfully to Kernsten and Latharel. "Alright. Somehow I can't imagine it would be so easy to just go in and take this crate, otherwise someone else would have already done so. If there's anyone else around, it might be useful to have the element of surprise."
Targ hears nothing as he listens at the door. It is just at the cusp of dusk. Light enough that you can still see, but dark enough to provide some shadows.
Little is to be said of the small bot that bobs merrily in the water. It clearly hasn't seen use for some time but seems servicable enough.
After some wrestling with the locking mechanism on the warehouse door, it pops open with a click and swings open internally.
Darkness fills the warehouse, the ambient light from outside blocked by a filthy, oily film on the structure's few windows. Darting illumination comes from light reflecting off the water through a splintered hole in the floor. Throughout the warehouse, crates, boxes and barrels lean against each other in vaguel sorted stacks. A lingering smell indicates some of the contents are certainly spoiled.