He then looks to Braddon, "Instead of stopping him on the road, why didn't you just keep following him to wherever he was going?" he asks, curious. "He might have led you straight to her. At least closer to her than you are now."
"We know where she is... she's on the Teeth of Araska. The scribe tried to send her a note telling her to meet him in Roderic's Cove. Dayne and I stole the note from the Harbourmaster's office before he sent it. I'll show it to you. Let's get it from Saul. Then we can take it and the other evidence to the General. Probably shouldn't turn up empty handed again."
"Let's also carry the trifles. They may support, to the General, our ending of Beltias. And we can perhaps meet Natinilinus; they're a puzzle he might enjoy."
Having decided not to go back to the General empty-handed, the group takes the road south back to the Gold Goblin. There are fewer men milling about, and the dancing floor in the courtyard looks all but finished. Thuvalia is on the wooden surface trying it out; her frown indicates she's probably looking for a reason for dissatisfaction.
Inside, the casino floor appears deserted. The door to the room with the halfling-sized table stands open, and it looks as if all the Small furniture has been successfully moved in and the Medium-sized furnishings moved out. The Norgorberite priest's trophies are in Gristav's room, and the scribe's intercepted letter was given to Tendal at breakfast for the seal to be magically mended.
"Have you seen..."
Braddon pauses and looks around.
"Never mind. I'll find him myself."
Braddon heads straight for the stairs. "What was Fancypants name again?"
Having gathered quickly the terrible trophy trifles, as they were already bundled together, Gristav stood a moment while Tendal was sought out. Then, guessing at sufficient time, he took up his spellbook, and knocked on Samaritha's door.
"It's Gristav. I've not long, we're rushing to a meeting, but wanted to direct your attention to the later pages of my magister, where you'll find... well, you'll see. I'll set it here by your door. And hope to speak on it later.", he said brightly.
Setting the field-wrapped book against the doorframe, Gristav went down the hall. To Desna at the junction, he acknowledged, "You've been very kind. Thank You."
Piccolo glances at Thuvalia, Treacherous. I must be wary of dealings with her.
Piccolo scans the quiet, empty casino floor, he says to Snake, "Seems too quiet for a gaming house. Given the affairs we are involved in, that makes me uncomfortable."
Piccolo incants a detect magic directing his palm about the room seeking active magic.
Piccolo detects no magic auras on the empty casino floor. While tables and chairs are arranged in stations around the room, no cards or dice are visible. It occurs to him that he's not sure what the Goblin's operating hours are or how Saul is working around the Overlord's strict rules against competition with his own casinos in Free-Coin district.
Gristav gathers the anonymous articles of clothing found at Rag's End, then knocks at Samaritha's door. There is no response. As a matter of fact, the whole residential wing seems deserted.
Braddon heads up the stairs to Saul's suite in search of Weatherby's intercepted note. His knock at the office door is answered by Bojasc, with his usual unwelcoming scowl; Saul and Tendal are inside.
Braddon's quest explained, Tendal removes the resealed letter from his coat pocket with a frown of annoyance. "I do hope that this puts an end to the subject of Lil Scarlet. We have a business to run without worrying about that unpleasant woman."
Gristav gathers the anonymous articles of clothing found at Rag's End, then knocks at Samaritha's door. There is no response. As a matter of fact, the whole residential wing seems deserted.
Sighing, Gristav returns the spellbook to his room, setting it beside, rather than back in, his backpack, but otherwise, like the backpack, in the habitual good order of the itinerant; ready to go.
Then he goes to the kitchen, to make a batch of ice, childishly enjoying the constrictive screak of the contracting metal loaf pans. He mocks the sound, once or twice, and chuckles when a pan ejects its contents.
He leaves the ice-loaves in a bowl, the whole wrapped in a dishtowel to remain cool.
"I do hope that this puts an end to the subject of Lil Scarlet. We have a business to run without worrying about that unpleasant woman."
"Don't worry, I'll put an end to her all right. I'll also take all the other evidence we have. Scarves and vials and stuff. That should satisfy the General. I think he'll have the letter passed on to her, have some men meet her at Roderic's Cove and then have her killed."
Braddon smiles pleasantly."Any other errands you need run?"
Piccolo glances at Thuvalia, Treacherous. I must be wary of dealings with her.
Piccolo scans the quiet, empty casino floor, he says to Snake, "Seems too quiet for a gaming house. Given the affairs we are involved in, that makes me uncomfortable."
Snake glances around the room, "It does, doesn't it? Too quiet." He narrows his eyes, wondering where anyone is. "And you'll get use to the 'uncomfortable'. If not, then try and find a way to adjust to it because it doesn't get any easier. And I've only been here a couple days," he deadpans. "So, what's your story? What wrong turn did you take to bring you to this place?"
"Don't worry, I'll put an end to her all right. I'll also take all the other evidence we have. Scarves and vials and stuff. That should satisfy the General. I think he'll have the letter passed on to her, have some men meet her at Roderic's Cove and then have her killed."
"The vials?" Tendal protests. "We've an alchemist coming here to identify what was in them in just a few hours, after lunch."
"Well, we'll be looking to sell those poison glands to him as well," Saul points out cheerfully from behind his desk. "It's not like it will be a wasted trip."
"Not much of a story. I like to wander as all my people do. This place seemed interesting. I'll stay as long as it continues to be interesting. What of you? Why are you here?"
Snake glances around the room, "It does, doesn't it? Too quiet." He narrows his eyes, wondering where anyone is. "And you'll get use to the 'uncomfortable'. If not, then try and find a way to adjust to it because it doesn't get any easier. And I've only been here a couple days," he deadpans. "So, what's your story? What wrong turn did you take to bring you to this place?"
"Well, we'll be looking to sell those poison glands to him as well," Saul points out cheerfully from behind his desk. "It's not like it will be a wasted trip."
Braddon looks briefly surprised, then grins smugly.
"Yeah. And besides, the General can pay for his own poisonologist and save us some money."Braddon nods decidedly and starts gathering up the items to leave.
Tendal mutters unhappily about his wasted time but doesn't raise any more overt objections. Braddon collects the scribe's note and the evidence taken from Lil's flat and returns back down the stairs. In the kitchen, he finds Gristav, swaddling a bowl of ice.
Faintly humming the final bars of a lullaby, Gristav leaves the kitchen with Braddon, and with just a smile and a glance at the others expected to follow, leaves the Goblin, heading for Shoreleave.
"Not much of a story. I like to wander as all my people do. This place seemed interesting. I'll stay as long as it continues to be interesting. What of you? Why are you here?"
Snake looks far off into the distance which seems to stretch farther than the wall he appears to be looking at. Finally, out of the blue after such a pause, "I guess I took a wrong turn," he simply responds.
Braddon and Gristav pass through the main room of the casino, picking up Piccolo and Snake, and head back out into the late morning. Thuvalia has one of the carpenter's men down on his knees planing down a rough patch on the dancing surface, while his colleagues snicker in the shade of the gilt-painted goblin statue.
Exiting the courtyard, the group heads north through the streets which are growing busier as the lunch hour approaches. Street vendors are beginning to push carts and carry steaming baskets through the city, trailing the aroma of hot food. The rooftop garden of the Calistrian temple is visible over the rooftops to the east. Up ahead on the left is Weatherby's building, the milliner's and cobbler's shops open for business in contrast to the empty office of the scribe.
Piccolo dabs his forehead, I may have to purchase a pony or carriage. These fellows move about far too much.
The gnome's short legs have to move half again as fast to keep up with the taller members of the party as they move through the northern blocks of Leeward District and approach the circumference of the rocky scarp in which Riddleport is nestled. Ahead, the river widens to accomodate a small island dominated by a forbidding citadel; on the west bank of the river, the newly-constructed casinos of Free-Coin are visible, abandoned except for a few maintenance workers this early in the day. On the far side of the ridge, nestled into a stony cul-de-sac, is a complex of military buildings: a stable, a barracks, a guardhouse with a uniformed man on duty. This is Devil's Fork, the headquarters of the Gendarmes, Overlord Cromarcky's own private army. Opposite the guardhouse, a dock extends into the Velashu; set behind the perimeter, farther back from the road, are a tall, spare brick house which is General Mescher's residence and command center and, to the south, the prison cruelly known as Shoreleave, a barefaced box of a building seemingly built right into the ridge itself with an iron door and a few small barred windows high on the second floor.
The Gendarme on duty scowls as the men approach. "State your business," he demands shortly.
"Good noon to you.", Gristav says tiredly. "Business with General Mescher; We are expected."
Braddon pulls out his badge and shows it to the Gendarme.
"If you want to know the General's business, you should probably ask him yourself."
Braddon grins unpleasantly.
"Braddon Hu... Heart," he adds.
The sentry looks unimpressed by Gristav's greeting, but he leaps to attention when Braddon's badge is presented. "Yes, sir. " he calls to a Gendarme near the barracks, who comes jogging over with mild interest. "Take these men in to see the General, right away."
Pem shrugs. "Follow me, mates." He escorts them across the parade ground to the brick residence Braddon, Gristav, and Snake were in last night. There are a handful of officers moving around the offices and meeting rooms on the ground floor today, and they stop what they're doing to look at the visitors curiously as Pem leads them up the stairs. The door to the private dining room is closed, but an appetizing aroma announces that a midday repast is immiment. The Gendarme knocks sharply on the door leading to Anton Mescher's private office.
"Report!" the general's voice replies sharply from the other side.
"Braddon Heart and company to see you, sir?" Pem half-asks.
"Show him in," Mescher commands, and Pem opens the door.
Behind a desk is a dark-haired, middle-aged man in an impeccable uniform who manages to look tall and imposing, even seated. He glances up, shuffling some papers on the desk. "Mr. Heart," he greets Braddon, "you've brought the note for Lil Scarlet?"
"Yup... I mean yessir!" Braddon takes out the missive and places it gingerly on the General's desk.
"That's the note Nath... Nathaniel Weatherby, her... business partner and landlord attempted to send her when we questioned him about her absence from her hideout. Also found at her abandoned hideout were these other things."
Braddon hauls out the scarf and the vials and turns to Gristav. "Was that all?"
Turning back to General Mescher, Braddon adds "We have the scribe still at the Go... base. If you'd like to question him yourself we can bring him in later."
He pauses and suddenly speaks again gesturing at Piccolo. "Oh, sorry, this is... another friend. Helping. Yes, he's helping us with our investigation."
Braddon smiles nervously.
Piccolo nods to Anton, yet remains silent.
Mescher picks up the letter and turns it over to examine the inscription and the seal. "Hmm," he frowns sharply at each of them in turn. "The message is exactly as you told me? A simple directive to meet in Roderic's Cove? No specific address or location?"
He pulls a dagger from his desk drawer. Without removing it from the scabbard, he uses the point to turn over the vials and spread out the scarf to examine the pattern before folding the whole thing together into a neat package. "We'll have that examined," he says dismissively. "You're holding the scribe? Hm, yes, it is important to keep track of him until we have the woman in custody, lest he warn her. I should feel more easy to have him in Shoreleave for the duration, however. If you're amenable, I could have him picked up and transferred this afternoon?" He waits a bit impatiently for agreement.
"Sure. I mean... we'll bring him in for you. When we come back. With the priest. We... Gristav. Gristav found someone who can talk to Gramma for you. If that's okay with you. It's the guy from the Publican. When should we bring him round? Do you want him not seen? Like is there a secret entrance we should bring them through or just show up at the gate with them?"
Braddon pauses and looks to Gristav, then back to the General.
"How's Ananda? I mean did you tell her about Mistress Vishki? Does she understand? Does she hate me?"
Waiting for Braddon and the General to exhaust the material of their matters, Gristav waits patiently.
"The tapman of the Publican House, Arnando, has confirmed the blessing of the miracle desired, and following my description of the need as one of Justice and Mercy, has agreed to pray for such miracle. I expect he's making that petition, now. We might agree to any time until later afternoon, or perhaps some several hours after that, as his service at the tap, being a part of his duty to his faith, fellow, and followers, therefore restricts somewhat his availability."
"We could, as Braddon suggests, bring him to the unfortunate Mistress Vishki this afternoon. Perhaps with the scribe? I do wonder, what impact the testimony of a dead woman might have, on the devoted detainee? That might be telling; we've heard much of Lil using magics to beguile..."
"I would recommend we have the scribe here before the arrival of Arnando, to give you time to judge whether Weatherby should or should not witness the miraculous testimony. And to spare Arnando any undue fluster during the trip, had they been brought here together."
"To the matter of Arnando's fee, I have done my best to, truthfully mind you, paint the matter as a gallant one, but I did not feel empowered, exactly, to act as your factor. I expect you'll find a figure to please you both."
"It needs to be said, Arnando was not the first priest I spoke to, this day. The first, a supposed Saranraeite, was to all appearances so worried by our investigating murder and attacks on young women, that he set his thugs and unholy powers upon us, revealing thus his true, masked face, a Norgorberite. He's dead. Braddon's sword. And, found in the mission, among the priest's effects, girlish trifles, gently kept, guessedly ungently taken, as grim trophies. We have them here; if you've any interest in their cases."
"Of more than passing interest is the gang's apparent mission, in the mission, flayleaf. The processing and sale of it. And, of particular and peculiar interest, the coops. And near the coops, the lens for writing and inscribing slips of paper, to be wound about pigeon's legs. These birds, trained, we are told by their caretaker, to return to Roderic's Cove."
"It seemed an odd coincidence, though it doesn't yet seem to be, more than coincidence."
Piccolo grimaces, Pigeons reporting to Roderic's Cove. Another layer to this mystery I have walked into.
The General muses over Braddon's and Gristav's reports. "I'd prefer Weatherby not be marched through Leeward District; a squadron of Gendarmes will attract attention, and someone's bound to recognize him as a local professional. If he's supposed to be in Roderic's Cove waiting for Lil Scarlet's arrival, we certainly don't want word getting to her that he's been seen in custody in Riddleport. Can you get him discreetly to one of the docks along the Velashu after dark? I can send a private boat to collect him."
His expression sours a little when he hears the identity of the priest engaged. "The Lucky Drunk? Well ... I suppose it's better than involving Shorafa. He needn't fret; he'll receive fair payment for his efforts and inconvenience."
He seems outraged, however, by the news of Beltias's operations. "Sons of the Mask? In Riddleport? How dare they? Where is this congregation? I'll send a troop of Gendarmes immediately to round them up. We'll see about bringing them to light in Roderic's Cove as well; I'll send a strict directive to Jess Gildersleeve along with the contingent to arrest Lil Scarlet."
"How's Ananda? I mean did you tell her about Mistress Vishki? Does she understand? Does she hate me?"
Mescher's face softens visibly at the mention of his daughter's name; he looks tired and immediately a little older. "I can set your mind at ease, Mr. Heart," he sighs. "At the moment, she's putting so much effort into hating me I very much doubt she has the emotion to spare for anyone else."
"A carriage, perhaps, could serve to deliver Weatherby? A vardo? Or as a gagged and hoodwinked hoodlum, his face covered in fabric, perhaps collected in Rags End, where you are wont to send a scouting force? Or by boat, if you insist, though we have no especial access to any dock, nor the associated expectation of discretion in such traffic."
"We're sure, the greater part of the gang, in attendance at the false church, are slain. The congregation, we're also sure, believed the church to be dedicated to Sarenrae. We don't know, I have to admit, whether any but the dark priest himself was faithful to Norgorber. And he is slain. The orphans and vagrants that composed the duped congregation expressed an interest in remaining in what had been their home, and have moved from the pews to the beds upstairs. A true Sarenraeite priest, his mind bedeviled, it seems, by long exposure to the Norgorberite's channeled madness, now hopes to restore the house to Her, his Lady... It wouldn't do, to search the place, as Ananda's apartments had been."
"But, you asked where... Rag's End, a name with distant echoes, but in this case a specific site in Riddleport. It should not be hard to locate, the steeple, the bell tower..."
"I have to preface this next with a disclaimer. I had suggested this to Mister Hart, and he... pointedly demurred, citing my... lack of parental experience. On which point, he is entirely correct. So, stating his objection, I'll now make my suggestion, leaving it to you to judge... It may serve your interests, in Roderic's Cove, Riddleport, and perhaps your household, to help secure and restore the Sarenraeite church. It's just the sort of charity a winning wife might have done as a girl, a girl might find profit in the cautions of, and a Gendarme presence in defense of either would protect both."
"I realize I speak above my place here, perhaps before, and surely now: I have dwelt in a gilded cage, and only ever, from the first shutting of the door, sought to fly. Like the pigeons, it were better the girl had someplace to fly to. Again, I apologize, to have spoken above my unpaternal place."
Braddon adds uncertainly "If you want I could talk to her. I dunno if that would make things better but it sounds unlikely I'd make things worse. She said she sometimes went to lectures in the cyphermage's lodge. If you want her to learn magic to look after herself I know a really smart, kind mage who's looking for some work while she tries to get into the lodge."
A faint smile appears on Braddon's face before he continues.
"As for the scribe, I was gonna stuff his head in a sack and hire a carriage. It worked with... ummm, before." He pauses a second. "Yeah, a boat to a Velashu dock after dark. Much better."
Braddon nods.
"Do we have anything else on the necklace yet?"
"But, you asked where... Rag's End, a name with distant echoes, but in this case a specific site in Riddleport. It should not be hard to locate, the steeple, the bell tower..."
Mescher makes a note of the location.
"I have to preface this next with a disclaimer. I had suggested this to Mister Hart, and he... pointedly demurred, citing my... lack of parental experience. On which point, he is entirely correct. So, stating his objection, I'll now make my suggestion, leaving it to you to judge... It may serve your interests, in Roderic's Cove, Riddleport, and perhaps your household, to help secure and restore the Sarenraeite church. It's just the sort of charity a winning wife might have done as a girl, a girl might find profit in the cautions of, and a Gendarme presence in defense of either would protect both."
"I have neither the authority nor the inclination to sponsor a church of any faith, sir," he replies impatiently. "If you are inclined to take up a collection for the purpose, might I suggest you approach the residents of Windward District? They are both wealthy enough and sufficiently removed from the denizens of Rotgut to be idealistic about its prospects."
"Yeah, a boat to a Velashu dock after dark. Much better."
"Excellent. We'll use one of the ones in Wharf District, the northernmost dock on the river side of Casamen Cazynsik's shipyard. Drugged and drunken men are always being loaded into dinghies there by press gangs; no one will give you a second glance. I'll have a boat waiting. My man will ask if you've 'another one for the Silver Abrogail'; flash him your badge in return, and he'll take the fellow off your hands. You'll remember the passphrase?"
"Do we have anything else on the necklace yet?"
"A dead-end, I'm afraid," he sighs. "It was simply catalogued as confiscated from a known fence and presumed stolen. We did have it appraised, but it wasn't judged to be of any remarkable value. It was held as unclaimed property for the required ten months, at which point its ownership passed legally to the Overlord and his official representatives."
"My man will ask if you've 'another one for the Silver Abrogail'; flash him your badge in return, and he'll take the fellow off your hands. You'll remember the passphrase?"
Braddon waves a hand dismissively.
"Of course I'll remember the pass phrase."
"Excellent," the general replies, standing up. "Will you inform the Caydenite priest to come this afternoon at his leisure, or ought I to send a runner to carry the message? My men will expect you to deliver the scribe shortly after sunset. Inform me at once if there is any difficulty; we cannot afford the man getting loose and contacting Lil Scarlet." He hesitates. "Mr. Heart, in regard to your offer to speak with my daughter ... might you be inclined to stay to lunch with us?"
"I'd rather have that priest try and kill me again."
Braddon smiles woodenly.
"Sure. It'll be a pleasure to... speak with Ananda again. She's very... clever. Does she know I gave you her note?"
Noticing Braddon seeming somewhat uncomfortable, "Don't worry, General, I'll inform the bartender. That way, you and 'Mr. Hart' here can get started on that lunch." He nods, the wryest of grins forming. "So, are we done here? I'll go ahead and get that taken care of if so."
"I would guess we're done here. Enjoy your lunch, Braddon. It does seem a pity we can't have Weatherby hear the testimony of your grandmother. If we could turn him against Lil... but I don't see how to make it work."
"I'll go for a second breakfast; and see if I can find someone to take an interest in these trifles. And then, back to my rooms. Snake, if you would come tell me when Arnando expects to report here, I'd like to be present. If I may, General?"
"Does she know I gave you her note?"
"Of course," he replies and then frowns. "Or, rather ... she knows I obtained it. I'm not sure your name ever came up."
"Don't worry, General, I'll inform the bartender. That way, you and 'Mr. Hart' here can get started on that lunch."
"Excellent," the general nods. "I must enjoin you not to inform him of the identity of the suspect or any of the details of the case. He's here merely as ... an interpreter, shall we say? The less he knows of the matter, the more objective he'll be."
"Snake, if you would come tell me when Arnando expects to report here, I'd like to be present. If I may, General?"
"Certainly," Mescher assents diffidently. "The more disinterested witnesses to the interrogation, the better. I presume you'll be willing to testify officially as to the dead woman's words? Oh," he pauses, "there's also the matter of the grandson's release. Have you given any thought to approaching him, or do you just want me to let him go? I imagine he'll be taking the first caravan out of Lubbertown before we change our minds about holding him."
"Snake, if you would come tell me when Arnando expects to report here, I'd like to be present. If I may, General?""Certainly," Mescher assents diffidently. "The more disinterested witnesses to the interrogation, the better. I presume you'll be willing to testify officially as to the dead woman's words? Oh," he pauses, "there's also the matter of the grandson's release. Have you given any thought to approaching him, or do you just want me to let him go? I imagine he'll be taking the first caravan out of Lubbertown before we change our minds about holding him."
"I do try to avoid official record of my presence and passage. But I am willing to fail. And provide what testimony may be needed, perhaps as a deposition?", Gristav agrees, smiling.
"If it's not desired, that the freedman flee the city, we- meaning me, I suppose, might explain to him his grandmother's care of your daughter, her sacrifice in her defense... her service? ...? I'll find the right words. That his grandmother has earned, he's nothing to fear from you. And there is his blood kin, to meet. A pleasure I've never had, but I imagine, a great one."
"Would the grandson, be a welcome witness? The other grandson, I mean?"
Mescher grimaces. "In my experience, family members being present during interrogation of a corpse is a bad idea. At best, it leads to distracting emotional outbursts; at worst, they may start demanding that their own questions be put to the body. I would prefer to keep the interview as dispassionate and unbiased as possible."
"As to the grandson's disposition, I have no objection to his leaving Riddleport and becoming the problem of some other jurisdiction. It seems unlikely that he has anything to do with the affair, having been in custody for so long. But if you think there is some value in questioning or following him, I'll have him held until you're ready for him."
"I'll go for a second breakfast; and see if I can find someone to take an interest in these trifles. And then, back to my rooms. Snake, if you would come tell me when Arnando expects to report here, I'd like to be present. If I may, General?"
"Not a problem."
"Excellent," the general nods. "I must enjoin you not to inform him of the identity of the suspect or any of the details of the case. He's here merely as ... an interpreter, shall we say? The less he knows of the matter, the more objective he'll be."
"Easy enough."
As Gristav rambles on to the general, Snake sees there's really nothing else of import to be discussed. "Will meet you all back here in a while," he says and takes his leave.
"Mr. Heart, if you'll step across the corridor, you'll find the dining room," General Mescher informs Braddon. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I'll have someone see to this evidence and inform them to set another place at the table. Gentlemen," he turns to the others, "I'll escort you downstairs. You're welcome to return with the cleric, if you care to observe the interrogation."
"Uh... thanks."
Braddon waves politely to the others and then makes his way as directed. He looks about the room, sits at the head of the table then thinks better of it and moves around to a side.
Braddon waits nervously.
General Mescher politely gestures Gristav, Piccolo, and Snake down the stairs in front of him and brings up the rear. "There's evidence upstairs that needs to be analyzed," he tells one of the Gendarmes on the first floor. "A scarf and two vials on my desk. Treat them with care, and take them across to Slyeg's man to be examined. Graves," he turns to another man, "I need a squadron to the flophouse known as Rag's End in Rotgut to pick up the losing end of a recent scuffle. Bring them in, both corpses and wounded. Better requisition a boat up the river; no point parading them through Leeward Common on a market day. Snyde, tell the cook I need another place set; there will be three for lunch. Oh, and inform the guardhouse that we'll be expecting Mr. Rolf of the Publican House sometime this afternoon; bring his party straight through, and inform me immediately when he arrives." The Gendarmes promptly disperse as he finishes issuing orders, going upstairs or out the door accordingly; there's little doubt but that Mescher runs a tight ship.
He turns back to the party. "Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen; unfortunately, few in Riddleport are as public-spirited as yourselves."
As you are looking around, the door from the hallway opens again suddenly, and Ananda walks in, looking sad and sulky. When she sees you, she jumps with surprise. "Braddon!" she gasps, looking around the room. "Where's Father?"
"Ah, hi."
Braddon picks up the chair and stands behind it.
"He's... seeing out my... friends." "Relax, idiot."
Braddon leans across the back of the chair.
"He invited me to lunch... with you... both." "Okay, don't relax."
Braddon stands awkwardly, hands at his side.
"I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"
Once outside Piccolo turns to the others, "I'm going back to The Gold Goblin. If you have need of me, feel free to call. At the moment I see no point in continuing to follow around like some pet on errands that have no business with myself or The Gold Goblin. Thank you for the tour of the city. Good day, gentlemen."
Piccolo returns to The Gold Goblin. He will ask the bartender for a cold tea and a sandwich. Once he has acquired both, he will have a relaxing lunch.