Gristav drops neatly to the ground, having limited the danger to his ankles if not to his reputation as a derring-doer. Graves strides in, takes in the scene, and wrinkles his nose at the corpses. "They're not going anywhere on their own," he judges, "but in this heat, I'm glad I'm not taking the boat upriver with them. The Velashu smells bad enough. All right, men, let's tear this place apart if we have to. Find those fugitives!"
"That does indeed sound interesting. The River District available to those with the vision to turn it into something other than it is, turn it into a...destination. Waterside property could be very attractive. Besides the cost of purchasing the property, why isn't this property developed?"
Tendal shrugs. "I can only tell you what I've heard, as the story predates my arrival in Riddleport. There was once a boss in River District, a man by the name of Job Trelawney who owned several warehouses. It was bruited about that he was plotting to overthrow Overlord Cromarcky, although Mr. Vankaskerkin suspects that he was probably merely jockeying with Avery Slyeg over warehousing fees and that Cromarcky was looking for a reason to move against him for the real estate that became Free-Coin District. At any rate, Cromarcky mobilized the Gendarmes and the other bosses against him."
"With Trelawney out of the way, the Overlord could lay claim to the land across the Velashu from Maskyr's Island and begin building his casinos; Avery Slyeg seized the warehouses along the wharves to expand his own sphere of influence. Most of the men in River District who had been loyal to Trelawney fled or were put out of business, and their properties have sat empty, save for rats, vermin, and squatters."
"Real estate law in Riddleport is ticklish," Tendal frowns. "Even with a written deed in hand, the officials on Maskyr's Island can make it difficult to obtain the proper licenses and permissions to build or renovate. Most of River District is in legal limbo at the moment, the deeds to the buildings lost or absent. But Mr. Felden and Mr. Vankaskerkin have managed to open the Gold Goblin, the first new enterprise in River District since Arnando Rolf established the Publican House. If we can demonstrate stability and success, Mr. Vankaskerkin feels that will encourage other businesses to hatch under our wings, as it were, which will enhance both our profit and our influence."
"It's already been looted.", Gristav says to no one in particular, as if continuing a conversation, "If only you saw the reward in leaving the place habitable. I saw the results of a search of the General's daughter's home... and then, found things you'd missed. Already shared with the General, which is why I was welcome here. Well, sent. I don't imagine I'm welcome. Should I share my methods and insights? It's more about duty and diligence, than... loutish license."
"I think I'll hang around then. That'll give me time to sit back and not have to listen to Gristav ramble on about whatever." He raises his tankard in a mock toast before taking another drink.
"So Slyeg owns much of the property in the River District at the moment? Or is he a proxy for Cromarcky? It sounds as though Cromarcky is the boss of bosses in Riddleport. Anything that is done is done with his blessing or he makes it hard to do business."
Tendal shrugs. "I can only tell you what I've heard, as the story predates my arrival in Riddleport. There was once a boss in River District, a man by the name of Job Trelawney who owned several warehouses. It was bruited about that he was plotting to overthrow Overlord Cromarcky, although Mr. Vankaskerkin suspects that he was probably merely jockeying with Avery Slyeg over warehousing fees and that Cromarcky was looking for a reason to move against him for the real estate that became Free-Coin District. At any rate, Cromarcky mobilized the Gendarmes and the other bosses against him."
"With Trelawney out of the way, the Overlord could lay claim to the land across the Velashu from Maskyr's Island and begin building his casinos; Avery Slyeg seized the warehouses along the wharves to expand his own sphere of influence. Most of the men in River District who had been loyal to Trelawney fled or were put out of business, and their properties have sat empty, save for rats, vermin, and squatters."
"Real estate law in Riddleport is ticklish," Tendal frowns. "Even with a written deed in hand, the officials on Maskyr's Island can make it difficult to obtain the proper licenses and permissions to build or renovate. Most of River District is in legal limbo at the moment, the deeds to the buildings lost or absent. But Mr. Felden and Mr. Vankaskerkin have managed to open the Gold Goblin, the first new enterprise in River District since Arnando Rolf established the Publican House. If we can demonstrate stability and success, Mr. Vankaskerkin feels that will encourage other businesses to hatch under our wings, as it were, which will enhance...
"If you don't have a better idea, you could at least try your father's. There's little to shop for here unless you're after a box of spiders. Or some flayleaf. Or one of Shorafa's... And a village would have handmade goods, and crafts, and the college and the manor house. If you didn't like it you could always come back. Just give us... it a few months, maybe six, until we... you've seen if you like it or not."
Braddon nods and smiles gently.
"It'll be fun."
The general beams.
-------------------------
"It's already been looted.", Gristav says to no one in particular, as if continuing a conversation, "If only you saw the reward in leaving the place habitable. I saw the results of a search of the General's daughter's home... and then, found things you'd missed. Already shared with the General, which is why I was welcome here. Well, sent. I don't imagine I'm welcome. Should I share my methods and insights? It's more about duty and diligence, than... loutish license."
Graves smirks and nudges a fellow Gendarme in a manner that conveys the meaning, 'Oh, a college boy, eh?' "Heard there was a hound involved. Are you going to put your nose to the ground to follow their trail?"
"So Slyeg owns much of the property in the River District at the moment? Or is he a proxy for Cromarcky? It sounds as though Cromarcky is the boss of bosses in Riddleport. Anything that is done is done with his blessing or he makes it hard to do business."
"Slyeg took the warehouses along the wharves," Tendal replies, "but he had no interest in the ones upriver. At present, unless someone turns up and presents a deed, no one 'owns' them. They're fallow ground, as it were, producing nothing of value to anyone. But if enterprising gentlemen were to evict the vermin and turn the properties into viable businesses, well, the Overlord would want to collect taxes from them; taxes are only collectible from the legal owner, so Maskyr's Island would be motivated to issue new deeds to the proprietors, rendering them legal possession. You see?"
"As to Gaston Cromarcky, you've the right of it: There are six bosses in Riddleport at the moment who have a seat on the council, but Cromarcky's the Overlord. As I understand it, the number of bosses waxes and wanes with their fortunes, and the one who can consolidate the most power lays claim to the head of city government and the benefits that accrue thereto. In theory, it's a dictatorship, although in practice, the Overlord needs the support of the others; if all five united against him, it would be touch and go, even with the walls of Maskyr's Island to protect him. Still, he's managed to hold on to power for more than twenty years while other bosses have risen and fallen, so he must be a man of considerable force of character."
Avery Slyeg was Cromarcky's first mate in his pirating days. He is now the Overlord's 'capp,' or right-hand man, in addition to being in charge of the Wharf District and the harbor. His area of concern is shipping, and his capp is John Depuy, the harbormaster.
The other current bosses of Riddleport are Boss Croat, the leader of the local half-orcs and provider of 'protection' to property owners in Leeward District; Cleg Zincher, Saul's former capp who now organizes labor in town, as well as running the local bloodsports arena; Elias Tammerhawk, head of the Cypherlodge, the local mage's guild; and Shorafa Pamodae, high priestess of Calistria, who runs the hospitality industry.
In theory, all the bosses support Cromarcky's leadership, although it is rumored that Tammerhawk has his eye on the Overlord's title himself, resenting the fact that a simple uncouth pirate can claim a superior position to his own. Despite the arcane power at his disposal as the leader of the mage's guild, however, he has not publicly moved against Cromarcky, a fact which only heightens Cromarcky's reputation as a dangerous man.
No one you've spoken to in Leeward District has ever actually seen Cromarcky or been inside the complex on Maskyr's Island, although Slyeg is occasionally seen at the wharves, a crusty old sailor with a limp and straggly gray locks. It is said that the Overlord himself is somewhat younger than his capp.
"What of you Tendal? Tell me about yourself. What are your ambitions? Why are you working for Saul? Or are you working for Saul? If you aren't, I don't mean to offend. Saul seems like a very nice man, but it's hard to imagine a wizard taking employment from a gaming house owner. Are you looking to open your own business? Is that why you're interested in the unused property along the River? It does sound like a profitable proposition. I do like to play games like the one being played in Riddleport. This whole city has the look of pieces on a very valuable board."
"Slyeg took the warehouses along the wharves," Tendal replies, "but he had no interest in the ones upriver. At present, unless someone turns up and presents a deed, no one 'owns' them. They're fallow ground, as it were, producing nothing of value to anyone. But if enterprising gentlemen were to evict the vermin and turn the properties into viable businesses, well, the Overlord would want to collect taxes from them; taxes are only collectible from the legal owner, so Maskyr's Island would be motivated to issue new deeds to the proprietors, rendering them legal possession. You see?"
"As to Gaston Cromarcky, you've the right of it: There are six bosses in Riddleport at the moment who have a seat on the council, but Cromarcky's the Overlord. As I understand it, the number of bosses waxes and wanes with their fortunes, and the one who can consolidate the most power lays claim to the head of city government and the benefits that accrue thereto. In theory, it's a dictatorship, although in practice, the Overlord needs the support of the others; if all five united against him, it would be touch and go, even with the walls of Maskyr's Island to protect him. Still, he's managed to hold on to power for more than twenty years while other bosses have risen and fallen, so he must be a man of considerable force of character."
** spoiler omitted **...
..."Should I share my methods and insights? It's more about duty and diligence, than... loutish license."Graves smirks and nudges a fellow Gendarme in a manner that conveys the meaning, 'Oh, a college boy, eh?' "Heard there was a hound involved. Are you going to put your nose to the ground to follow their trail?"
"No, but I also won't smash my way about the house, driving the quarry to desperate defense. There are innocents at risk, though that may mean little. There's also poison about, or there was. Were you counting on luck, numbers, or bullish strength? Or would you indulge me in gentle caution?"
-----------------------
Graves waves to his men derisively. "Watch the exits, men. The dandy's going to show us how to do our job." He leans against the trunk of the tree, ostentatiously folding his arms.
"What of you Tendal? Tell me about yourself. What are your ambitions? Why are you working for Saul? Or are you working for Saul? If you aren't, I don't mean to offend. Saul seems like a very nice man, but it's hard to imagine a wizard taking employment from a gaming house owner. Are you looking to open your own business? Is that why you're interested in the unused property along the River? It does sound like a profitable proposition. I do like to play games like the one being played in Riddleport. This whole city has the look of pieces on a very valuable board."
"Not much to tell, really," Tendal replies with faux modesty. "Youngest son of the Magnimar Deverins; had an tutor from Absalom, after which merely keeping books for the family business simply couldn't keep my interest. Decided to try my hand in politics in apprenticeship to the mayor of Sandpoint, my aunt, but the scope of possibilities in a small town were again far too limiting. However, while in Sandpoint, I made the acquaintance of Orik Vankaskerkin, a successful small businessman, who supplied me with a letter of introduction to his father, Mr. Vankaskerkin, Senior. For the moment, between business, politics, and a somewhat wider horizon than Sandpoint could offer, I've found enough challenge to keep me interested."
He stretches his mouth into a sardonic moue. "Mr. Vankaskerkin asked me a similar question when I arrived: wondered at a trained wizard engaging in gritty commerce rather than abstract experimentation up at the Cypherlodge." He nods at the heights of Windward District, visible west of the Cyphergate, across the river toward the harbor. "Personally, I like a little practical in my magic; I like to think I'm accomplishing something more than leaving behind another dusty monograph on underwater prestidigitation that students of the future will be bored by their tutors with. Besides," he grimaces, "from what I've heard of Elias Tammerhawk, he's not the sort of man with whom I would care for the family name to be associated."
Graves waves to his men derisively. "Watch the exits, men. The dandy's going to show us how to do our job." He leans against the trunk of the tree, ostentatiously folding his arms.
"Dandy, really? I suppose. There's a path to that tree you're under, you might find them on your shoulders. And the roof just there, is a fair exit from the aviary. I'd ask you to wish me luck, but... I'm not that hopeful."
Gristav goes into the house, calling for the expected residents. "Neenah? Cassey? Micah? Padraig?"
"Elias Tammerhawk sounds like a king moving pieces. An evil king we'll have to keep track of, at least until he can be removed from the board. That may take a while."
Piccolo smiles, "Idle talk from a new player not yet aware of everything on the board, but learning. I must be watchful for opportunities. Does Saul have a particular opportunity in mind? Or you for that matter Tendal? I'm eager to hear."
"Not much to tell, really," Tendal replies with faux modesty. "Youngest son of the Magnimar Deverins; had an tutor from Absalom, after which merely keeping books for the family business simply couldn't keep my interest. Decided to try my hand in politics in apprenticeship to the mayor of Sandpoint, my aunt, but the scope of possibilities in a small town were again far too limiting. However, while in Sandpoint, I made the acquaintance of Orik Vankaskerkin, a successful small businessman, who supplied me with a letter of introduction to his father, Mr. Vankaskerkin, Senior. For the moment, between business, politics, and a somewhat wider horizon than Sandpoint could offer, I've found enough challenge to keep me interested."
He stretches his mouth into a sardonic moue. "Mr. Vankaskerkin asked me a similar question when I arrived: wondered at a trained wizard engaging in gritty commerce rather than abstract experimentation up at the Cypherlodge." He nods at the heights of Windward District, visible west of the Cyphergate, across the river toward the harbor. "Personally, I like a little practical in my magic; I like to think I'm accomplishing something more than leaving behind another dusty monograph on underwater prestidigitation that students of the future will be bored by their tutors with. Besides," he grimaces, "from what I've heard of Elias Tammerhawk,...
Gristav goes into the house, calling for the expected residents. "Neenah? Cassey? Micah? Padraig?"
There is no immediate answer to Gristav's call, at least the ground floor of the structure seemingly abandoned. He doesn't notice anything in the main lobby which seems out of place from the last time he saw it....
He takes his time eating, partially because he's so full and partially because he's enjoying the meal. "There was nothing like this on that stupid ship for all that time. That was only last week, but it feels like years. Since then I've been..."
Braddon turns to the General.
"Excuse me. What do you know about the ghost in the Boneyard?"
Piccolo smiles, "Idle talk from a new player not yet aware of everything on the board, but learning. I must be watchful for opportunities. Does Saul have a particular opportunity in mind? Or you for that matter Tendal? I'm eager to hear."
Tendal glances around the courtyard as if to make sure no one is eavesdropping and lowers his voice. "As a matter of fact, there's more to the Gold Goblin than meets the eye. The original owner had a fighting pit built in the sub-basement: an intimate space, obviously meant for an elite clientele. The space was walled over at some point; Mr. Vankaskerkin and Mr. Felden only discovered it after they'd taken possession and were carrying out renovations. Mr. Vankaskerkin and I have been discussing the possibility of opening it as an illicit gentlemen's club for the respectable men of Leeward District. As long as we only sell drinks and not food, we'll be steering clear of the Overlord's decree. Of course, we'd be stepping on the toes of Cleg Zincher; he runs the city arena, you know."
Gristav goes into the house, calling for the expected residents. "Neenah? Cassey? Micah? Padraig?"There is no immediate answer to Gristav's call, at least the ground floor of the structure seemingly abandoned. He doesn't notice anything in the main lobby which seems out of place from the last time he saw it....
Waving carelessly back at whatever guardsman might be watching, Gristav didn't watch for confirmation, but instead headed for the stairs, caution in his step, but, he hoped, absent from his voice.
"MICAH! I'll just leave this in the kitchen, then?", Gristav asked, not speaking a moment, while he presumably did so. He continued to approach the stairs, sharp eyes and pointed ears directed upward.
Gristav climbs the staircase, stepping around the drying bloodstain on the bottom steps. Like the ground floor, the hallway upstairs seems unchanged from when he last saw it, a hint of a hot breeze breathing in through the shattered window. As he stops to listen, he hears a faint, ragged whimpering from the room where he last saw Micah, Cassey, and Finnie.
------------------------
Snake nurses his tankard of ale while the working men around him finish their sandwiches and meat pies and begin to leave the tavern. When only a few are left, the halfling man calls toward the kitchen, "Lalie? You need me to stick around a while?"
Gristav climbs the staircase, stepping around the drying bloodstain on the bottom steps. Like the ground floor, the hallway upstairs seems unchanged from when he last saw it, a hint of a hot breeze breathing in through the shattered window. As he stops to listen, he hears a faint, ragged whimpering from the room where he last saw Micah, Cassey, and Finnie.
"Just going to check on Padraig. Look, I don't have long, you can unpack the kitchen goods, yes?", Gris calls casually, not making for Padraig at all, but rather, toward the whimpering, his staff held in the loose firmness that promised striking speed...
"Most witnesses only report seeing or hearing something frightening and running away. Why do you ask? Had a dare to spend the night out there, have you?"
"Done that already. Got attacked by it and it made me glow green. Something about joining its crew. But I don't feel cursed. Unless you count all the shh...tuff," he remembers the presence of Ananda, "that's been happening to me this week."
Piccolo runs a his left index finger across his chin, then rests his hand on his left knee, "I assume Cleg Zincher means to hold his monopoly on fighting games with the use of force. If he is a aficionado of fighting games, I believe he would abide by the aphorism 'To the victor, go the spoils.' He will not mind some competition. In fact, he will relish it. I'm in, Tendal. It sounds like a fun game."
Tendal glances around the courtyard as if to make sure no one is eavesdropping and lowers his voice. "As a matter of fact, there's more to the Gold Goblin than meets the eye. The original owner had a fighting pit built in the sub-basement: an intimate space, obviously meant for an elite clientele. The space was walled over at some point; Mr. Vankaskerkin and Mr. Felden only discovered it after they'd taken possession and were carrying out renovations. Mr. Vankaskerkin and I have been discussing the possibility of opening it as an illicit gentlemen's club for the respectable men of Leeward District. As long as we only sell drinks and not food, we'll be steering clear of the Overlord's decree. Of course, we'd be stepping on the toes of Cleg Zincher; he runs the city arena, you know."
Gristav approaches the closed door, his staff at the ready. He lays his hand on the latch, but the door is locked; at the telltale rattle, the whimpering inside turns to moaning.
"Go away!" a voice calls from down the hall, coming from behind the door at the top of the stairs. "No vacancies!" It sounds like Cassey.
Snake nurses his tankard of ale while the working men around him finish their sandwiches and meat pies and begin to leave the tavern. When only a few are left, the halfling man calls toward the kitchen, "Lalie? You need me to stick around a while?"
"Can you?" she answers, coming out of the kitchen, wiping down a clean tankard. "I'm not sure if Arnando's staying or going. Do you know?" she turns to Snake and asks bluntly.
"Did the apparition deliver an economic treatise on the benefits of collectivism?"
"Kind of. It said we had to pay a toll and it'd make me part of its crew. My father's a sailor. I'm not. We raced into a magic fog that appeared from nowhere but it cursed me with a green glow that lasted until we got back to town. It said it would send its crew after me, which seemed pretty dumb since I was there and it let us go. Or couldn't stop us. Or something."
Piccolo runs a his left index finger across his chin, then rests his hand on his left knee, "I assume Cleg Zincher means to hold his monopoly on fighting games with the use of force. If he is a aficionado of fighting games, I believe he would abide by the aphorism 'To the victor, go the spoils.' He will not mind some competition. In fact, he will relish it. I'm in, Tendal. It sounds like a fun game."
Tendal grimaces. "Let's hope you're right. Personally, I wouldn't put any great stock in the man's commitment to fair play. Still, he's loath to confront us openly, lest he make himself look weak by taking notice of a man who is supposed to be a has-been -- or worse, lest he be seen to lose! I would expect further subtle sabotage taken under a mantle of plausible deniability. You heard about the spiders in the wine shipment, I suppose?"
"Fair is a relative term, meaningful only to the individual that has defined that word in his own mind according to standards only a thought-sifter might learn. I'm not interested in sifting Cleg's thoughts. Given the man's nature, his thoughts would petty, stupid, and violent with a touch of cunning. Besides, we don't want to let Cleg have all the fun do we."
Piccolo pats Tendal on the arm, "Where does Cleg reside? What are his main businesses? Do you happen to know? Or to put it to the point, where do I start?"
Tendal grimaces. "Let's hope you're right. Personally, I wouldn't put any great stock in the man's commitment to fair play. Still, he's loath to confront us openly, lest he make himself look weak by taking notice of a man who is supposed to be a has-been -- or worse, lest he be seen to lose! I would expect further subtle sabotage taken under a mantle of plausible deniability. You heard about the spiders in the wine shipment, I suppose?"
The general quirks an eyebrow at the report. "Similar to other witness statements. The apparition seems more intent on frightening its victims than harming them -- for which we can be grateful, I suppose. Perhaps it's merely a poltergeist. Did it throw anything at you?"
Braddon furrows his brow.
"No, come to think of it. And it didn't frighten me either. I was gonna take my sword to it but the others ran off so I took off after them to keep them safe. I'm glad to hear it hasn't killed anyone yet."He shrugs and goes back to finishing his lunch.
"Can you?" she answers, coming out of the kitchen, wiping down a clean tankard. "I'm not sure if Arnando's staying or going. Do you know?" she turns to Snake and asks bluntly.
"I'm suppose to let him know they're ready for him to make his way over whenever he is. But take your time, I'm in no hurry to get back. This is the most peaceful time I've had since..." he ponders it a moment before, "well, since never." He takes another drink.
Gristav approaches the closed door, his staff at the ready. He lays his hand on the latch, but the door is locked; at the telltale rattle, the whimpering inside turns to moaning.
"Go away!" a voice calls from down the hall, coming from behind the door at the top of the stairs. "No vacancies!" It sounds like Cassey.
"You would have the child speak for you?", Gristav says in notes of annoyance, his face darkening at dire deductions. "I know you're still here. You were supposed to have left, when you woke up, by the tree. You'll have to hurry now, to get out before the guard arrives. They're sweeping up the glass, out front. I'd say the tree, is your best way out. I won't stop you from getting to it, but you don't have long."
You finish the lunch, easily the most elegant meal you've had since ... well, since leaving Ostenso certainly. The Three-Billed Duck serves a good bill of fare but nothing this delicate and intricately seasoned. Mescher announces the end of the meal by laying his linen napkin on the table and rising to his feet. "Thank you, Mr. Heart, for joining us," he says with a slight bow in your direction. "Your company was most welcome."
"You would have the child speak for you?", Gristav says in notes of annoyance, his face darkening at dire deductions. "I know you're still here. You were supposed to have left, when you woke up, by the tree. You'll have to hurry now, to get out before the guard arrives. They're sweeping up the glass, out front. I'd say the tree, is your best way out. I won't stop you from getting to it, but you don't have long."
There is a quiet scuffling from behind the door but no answer.
"Where does Cleg reside? What are his main businesses? Do you happen to know? Or to put it to the point, where do I start?"
"He's based in a tenement just east of Leeward Common," Tendal replies, "but it's heavily guarded by his thugs. He owns the arena and the training facility and dormitory across the street from it, though I don't know how much time he spends there." He glances up at the position of the sun in the sky. "It's Fireday, so there will be fighting there this afternoon; he's likely to be in the owner's box. Apart from that, he has his fingers in the pies of most businesses in town; if an enterprise has more than a handful of employees, he's probably organized them and is taking a cut of their pay in return for negotiating their contracts. Even the workers in Free-Coin, although I'm sure Overlord Cromarcky received a preferential deal." He glances at Piccolo sharply. "And the Gas Forges, of course. You're aware of Mr. Felden's ... situation?"
"Mr. Felden has not yet made me aware of his situation. If it is not a secret that would threaten a treasured confidence, I would welcome the information. I believe I will pay a visit to Cleg's arena. I like to watch a good fight. Perhaps I can enter Braddon as a contestant. He seems to like to fight."
"He's based in a tenement just east of Leeward Common," Tendal replies, "but it's heavily guarded by his thugs. He owns the arena and the training facility and dormitory across the street from it, though I don't know how much time he spends there." He glances up at the position of the sun in the sky. "It's Fireday, so there will be fighting there this afternoon; he's likely to be in the owner's box. Apart from that, he has his fingers in the pies of most businesses in town; if an enterprise has more than a handful of employees, he's probably organized them and is taking a cut of their pay in return for negotiating their contracts. Even the workers in Free-Coin, although I'm sure Overlord Cromarcky received a preferential deal." He glances at Piccolo sharply. "And the Gas Forges, of course. You're aware of Mr. Felden's ... situation?"
Tendal purses his lips. "I believe he would approve of your being apprised by someone other than himself. He's not looking for sympathy, you understand. Like most dwarves in Riddleport, Mr. Felden moved here to work for the Gas Forges. The carbauxine gas they use in forging skymetals occurs naturally beneath the bedrock of the city ... but it can also cause a chronic and incurable disease known as acid lung. Historically, the death rate for laborers in the Gas Forges has been high, but the wages are commensurate with the risk. Many dwarves from Janderhoff have come here to work the mines for a period of years; those who survive go home wealthy, while the others at least have the prospect of providing for their families."
"Well, when Cleg Zincher approached the labor force at the Gas Forges about adopting his representation, the dwarves had little interest in accepting the expertise of a human ... until he demonstrated a device which he claimed would filter the carbauxine out of the air they breathed and said he'd get the management to provide each of them with a free mask."
"Unfortunately, as it turned out, the masks he made such great claims for didn't do a thing. Mr. Felden became ill despite it, and when he confronted Zincher and the management, they offered him 100 gold on top of the pay he'd earned to go home to spend his last days with his family without telling his fellow workers. To his credit, he refused and decided to spend his accumulated earnings on an independent gambling hall, not beholden to Zincher or any boss. Mr. Vankaskerkin had a similar grudge against Zincher and a similar desire to publicly defy him, so they went into business together."
He frowns. "I won't deny there have been some unpleasant issues trying to staff this place, including half our opening night employees being brigands in disguise, and we've ended up with a rather unconventional set of personnel. Still, one can't can't complain of being bored."
Braddon awkwardly returns the General's bow then turns to Ananda.
"I..."
"You..."
"I'm really sorry about Gr... Mistress Vishki. Take care."
"If you'll step back to my office a moment, Mr. Heart?" Mescher invites cordially. He opens the door and allows you to enter first before stepping in behind you. Closing the door, he turns to you with the first truly enthusiastic smile you've ever seen on his face and clasps your hand in his, shaking it delightedly. "Excellently done!" he beams. "I had no idea what you were on about when you started making such ridiculous suggestions, but you are a clever one, aren't you? You knew how to make her see reason, when she had been dead set against going to the country. I can't thank you enough!"
"You would have the child speak for you?", Gristav says in notes of annoyance, his face darkening at dire deductions. "I know you're still here. You were supposed to have left, when you woke up, by the tree. You'll have to hurry now, to get out before the guard arrives. They're sweeping up the glass, out front. I'd say the tree, is your best way out. I won't stop you from getting to it, but you don't have long."There is a quiet scuffling from behind the door but no answer.
"Come ON, you know I'm a wizard; I've already seen through the window. Will you just get gone from here, already? Oh, and I can lapse that chill, if you hurry. I don't want my story to clash with your story...", Gristav says, as he goes to inspect Padraig's room and rooftop.
Gristav walks down the hall to Padraig's room and tries the door. Finding it unlocked, he walks in gently to find the old man sleeping on his cot, wheezing contentedly through his open mouth. The crates which had made up the desk are turned over and restacked haphazardly.
"That is an interesting tale. I'm assuming the dwarves have little love for Cleg Zincher, perhaps a bit of hate for him. Does he truly take care of the labor or does he pretend to do so? Do the laborers like Cleg or is it a 'we have no one else' relationship?"
Tendal purses his lips. "I believe he would approve of your being apprised by someone other than himself. He's not looking for sympathy, you understand. Like most dwarves in Riddleport, Mr. Felden moved here to work for the Gas Forges. The carbauxine gas they use in forging skymetals occurs naturally beneath the bedrock of the city ... but it can also cause a chronic and incurable disease known as acid lung. Historically, the death rate for laborers in the Gas Forges has been high, but the wages are commensurate with the risk. Many dwarves from Janderhoff have come here to work the mines for a period of years; those who survive go home wealthy, while the others at least have the prospect of providing for their families."
"Well, when Cleg Zincher approached the labor force at the Gas Forges about adopting his representation, the dwarves had little interest in accepting the expertise of a human ... until he demonstrated a device which he claimed would filter the carbauxine out of the air they breathed and said he'd get the management to provide each of them with a free mask."
"Unfortunately, as it turned out, the masks he made such great claims for didn't do a thing. Mr. Felden became ill despite it, and when he confronted Zincher and the management, they offered him 100 gold on top of the pay he'd earned to go home to spend his last days with his family without telling his fellow workers. To his credit, he refused and decided to spend his accumulated earnings on an independent gambling hall, not beholden to Zincher or any boss. Mr. Vankaskerkin had a similar grudge against Zincher and a similar desire to publicly defy him, so they went into business together."
He frowns. "I won't deny there have been some unpleasant issues trying to staff this place, including half our opening night employees being brigands in disguise, and we've ended up with a rather unconventional set of personnel. Still, one can't can't complain of being bored."
Gristav walks down the hall to Padraig's room and tries the door. Finding it unlocked, he walks in gently to find the old man sleeping on his cot, wheezing contentedly through his open mouth. The crates which had made up the desk are turned over and restacked haphazardly.
Returning to the hall, Gristav raises his voice again. "We're running out of time for you to make any exit at all.", he says in more annoyed notes, "If they get up here before you go, they'll break down that door and put you pain, and in irons. I'd rather you go down the tree, now. If you don't, don't expect me to help you; I'll be the dutiful citizen...", he says, the last notes mocking the duty he'd declared.
"My umm... pleasure," Braddon replies in a miserable voice that is utterly devoid of any pleasure.
"Do you mind if I stay till the priest gets back? I'd like to hear what Gramma has to say."
Returning to the hall, Gristav raises his voice again. "We're running out of time for you to make any exit at all.", he says in more annoyed notes, "If they get up here before you go, they'll break down that door and put you pain, and in irons. I'd rather you go down the tree, now. If you don't, don't expect me to help you; I'll be the dutiful citizen...", he says, the last notes mocking the duty he'd declared.
He can hear some frantic whispering behind the door; then it bursts open, and Finnie runs out and down the stairs, dragging Cassey behind her, wailing, "No! The tall man said this was my house now!"
As they disappear from Gristav's view and reach the first floor, the harsh voice of a Gendarme cries out, "Ho, ho! What have we here?" and Finnie screams, while Cassey's moaning protest continues, "He said I was in charge! It's my house!"
"That is an interesting tale. I'm assuming the dwarves have little love for Cleg Zincher, perhaps a bit of hate for him. Does he truly take care of the labor or does he pretend to do so? Do the laborers like Cleg or is it a 'we have no one else' relationship?"
"Some of them," Tendal replies, considering his words carefully, "those who knew Mr. Felden personally, in particular, are probably less than sanguine about their agreement. But you know dwarves, once they've given their word about something. Unless it could be proved that Zincher lied about the device, they won't break their contract. And I believe he's had it given out that Mr. Felden contracted the disease before he began using the mask, or that he was careless about pumping the air. They want very badly to believe that the mask works, you see, just as a soldier would want to believe that his armor was impervious when he is marching into battle."
"Apart from the dwarves, unfortunately, I don't know of anyone with a complaint against his representation. The half-orc, Boss Croat, is something of a rival; he maintains a stable of gladiators that fight against Zincher's men. Ostensibly, it's all in a spirit of friendly competition, but they bet good money on the outcome of the matches. If there's anyone who might relish seeing Cleg Zincher taken down a peg, it might be Croat."
"And Shorafa Pamodae, of course," he frowns. "Neither of them will own up to it, but the scuttlebutt is that there's still bad blood between the two of them over the ... unfortunate incident involving Orik Vankaskerkin, Falk Zincher, and Lil Scarlet. You know about that?"