"Who else is missing?"
"The Harrower." Saul is the one directly to answer Braddon, grimly displaying the note to which Tendal is referring rather grimly. "Off on some wild hair about finding Lil Scarlet. Did he tell anyone anything about this?" He looks around the room expectantly.
In the meantime, Gristav makes his solitary way downstairs. The dusty menagerie in the subbasement is pungent with its fresh inhabitancy. By the faint glimmer of his prestidigitated candlelight, the man in the cage is indistinguishable in the gloom. After the half-elf has stepped back, there is a moment of silence before a voice answers slowly from the darkness.
"Choices?" it asks sardonically. "Is that what this is? To eat, or not to eat: Is that the question? Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer pangs of hunger or take up a spoon and end them? To live up to your own rhetoric, you ought at least to offer me a menu," he ends sulkily.
"Choices?" it asks sardonically. "Is that what this is? To eat, or not to eat: Is that the question? Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer pangs of hunger or take up a spoon and end them? To live up to your own rhetoric, you ought at least to offer me a menu," he ends sulkily.
"You're as little prince, as this is the March of the Danes. Your menu, any of: a bowl full of stew and faith, both, or a half a bowl, and less faith, but perhaps fresher, or no bowl at all. I'd be happy to have it all myself; I've yet to eat, though my fast is not so long as yours. Yours being longer, I thought you might eat first."
"I doubt any other has come to you, and I wonder at your wounds and wellness. You're leaving, I told you, and I'd have you arrive sharp of eye and mind, ahead of whatever burdens might be put upon you there, of which burdens I confess ignorance, but no lack of worry. Your own part in this drama I think is largely known to me, but my thinking will not largely guide your future. Your own thinking, might, however slightly. And I would have you nourished. Watered. Primped, to the limits of my magicks and the time available to us."
"When there is only little, it must be shared. I find myself with very few choices, so I've brought you one. If you would refuse it, do it swiftly, please. I have other useless things I might be doing."
"Okay, so Malkith's working and will be back later. Dayn is probably around and, as an adult going about his business, we'll assume he's still being useful," Braddon glares at Tendal.
"I spoke to the halfling this afternoon and he was umm... spying on Zincher at the arena." He nods.
Braddon turns to Samaritha.
"And you're going to the Cyphermages."
Braddon forces a huge smile.
"Congratulations. I knew you'd do it. You're too smart to fail."
He gives her a big hug, folding her gently between his strong arms, before turning back to Snake.
"Time's wasting. Let's go."
"The Harrower." Saul is the one directly to answer Braddon, grimly displaying the note to which Tendal is referring rather grimly. "Off on some wild hair about finding Lil Scarlet. Did he tell anyone anything about this?" He looks around the room expectantly.
Snake shrugs, "I never even spoke to him. You got me."
He gives her a big hug, folding her gently between his strong arms, before turning back to Snake.
"Time's wasting. Let's go."
"That's kinda what I was thinking."
"Did he tell anyone anything about this?" He looks around the room expectantly.
"I-- no," Samaritha stammers. "I only found the note when I went to his room to look for him."
"I knew nothing about it, sir," Tendal answers, "and I'm quite sure Miss Beldusc didn't, either. Her surprise seemed quite genuine."
Saul looks displeased but stops Braddon and Snake as they start to leave the room. "Wait! You're going to need the key from Bojasc to get our guest out of here. Bojasc, go downstairs with them and give them any help they need to get Weatherby safely off the premises. Remember, gentlemen, we don't want him to know where he's been. Don't mention the Gold Goblin or Larur's or my name."
Bojasc gets heavily to his feet and follows Snake and Braddon downstairs.
"Hm," the captive scribe scoffs, carefully reaching out between the bars of the cage to pull the bowl closer. "At least it's warm. Better than bread and cold meat or the leavings of some street vendor selling rancid meat pies."
Braddon, Snake, and Bojasc pick up a lamp as they pass through the kitchen and down the steps to the long, narrow basement corridor. Passing two doors on the right, they turn left and head down a second set of stairs, deeper into the darkness. At the foot of the steps, a glimmer of candlelight immediately draws their attention to where Gristav is standing, faintly illuminated, in an open doorway.
Languidly stretching as he regards passers by Phillip answers "Just as a Varisi scarf has many colours, there are many ways that you could ingratiate yourself in our work. But the first might be the most and least important of all - on Sunday the Goblin will hold a Varisian Caravan night. Be there beside me with ears open to listen, eyes to watch and voice to entertain... and from there we will see what opens to us."
"Ears, eyes, and a voice," she teases, her eyes twinkling. "Is that all of me you're interested in?"
Ethel's teasing is cut short by the arrival of a waiter with a selection of berry tarts for dessert.
Aware of the approaching lamplight before the lamplit lads can ken his candle, Gristav is looking at the three as they approach. "Do let him finish the stew.", Gris says evenly. "No names, no places, please. I don't imagine I can restrain your more violent instincts, so I'll... go get myself some stew. He has a bowl and a spoon; try to keep... everything, unbroken."
Warm impish smile spreading Phillip answers "For business for now... for more for pleasure for later" sealing the thought with a wink. The berry tarts are waved away from himself, though Phil seeks a replenishment of his glass of port. To center himself somewhat he draws a copper coin and sets it dancing first across one set of knuckles and then the other.
Braddon looks over to Gristav.
"Can't you zap him or something. We need him unconscious. I'm in a rush."
Braddon looks over to Gristav.
"Can't you zap him or something. We need him unconscious. I'm in a rush."
"No. Agreed. Irrelevant.", Gristav replies, silent a long moment, before grinning broadly. "You expected me to wax loquacious, didn't you? I could make him unconscious, but it would not last through being carried, surely not if your haste is more cared for than his comfort. You'll have to cosh him out, but have a care: that stew could revisit, especially if he's inverted. Delivering him pneumoniaic is likely more unfavored than delivering him a bit late. Also, it would have been better to have a plan, before you came into his presence, than to cosh him out, then improvise."
"I have a plan. I just figured you'd interfere."
Braddon drops his weapons outside, out of reach, heads in and smashes the scribe across the face.
Snake simply stands there and waits for the others to retrieve the man. As Braddon walks in and bashes the man into oblivion, he looks on as if disinterested. "Well thought out plan, bub," he comments dryly.
"Oh?", Gristav asks, dubiously. "Right, then", he says, while Braddon disarms. "I should stop doing that."
When the pummeling begins, Gristav leaves.
Taking the key Bojasc offers, Braddon enters the room and unlocks the cage holding the scribe. Curtly commanding him out, the half-elf waits for the man to crawl out, then backhands him across the face as he attempts to get to his feet.
Weatherby collapses onto the straw-strewn stone.
-----------------------
On the other bank of the Velashu, Phillip and Ethel finish their meal and take their leave from the Lone Hippocampus, heading north into the heart of Free-Coin. It's a warm summer Fireday night, the streets well-lit by both the street lamps and the full moon above, and the district is teeming with cheerful patrons who are utterly unconcerned by the starless patch of sky to the south beyond the Cyphergate.
The halflings pass by the unassuming Watercress and the tall and glittering Dragon's Hoard on their way to the shadowy open-air rotunda which marks the entrance to the mysterious House of Nabin. Splotches of lamplight barely penetrate the edges of the circular portico, leaving most of the journey to the front doors dimly lit; as they approach the large uniformed men on either side of the doors, they can hear more than see the people using the privacy for whispered conversations or romantic assignations. Ethel surreptitiously squeezes Phil's arm and takes a shaky breath to steady her nerves as the doormen leer down at them.
Phillip returns Ethel's squeezing to calm her as he assesses the demeanor of the doormen...
Before they drew too near to the House, but still while they had decent vantage upon the door, Phillip drew Ethel from the lit path. In quiet voice he explained "We watch others enter... learn the etiquette of the doormen and that way know what to expect. Should we pause, move past, is the rigour upon entrants applied within..." wafting his free hand to suggest a run on of what information might be garnered. The pause also revealed an opportunity for Phillip to pull his paramour closer into embrace and feel the race of her pulse.
"Thanks, Bee," Braddon nods to Bojasc, returning the key.
"Done. You can come back," he calls up the stairs.
Braddon reweapons himself then throws a sack over Weatherby's head and carries him upstairs.
"Let's get a cart and get going. Where was it again?" he looks to Snake and Gristav.
(!)
"Do you NEED ME? Whatever FOR?"
Heading down the narrow stairs, Gristav turns around again and heads back up, as he meets the climbing party, clearly enough, not needing him.
"Let's get a cart and get going. Where was it again?" he looks to Snake and Gristav.
"The cart? Presumably with all the other things we might have planned on. Or do you mean the rendezvous? Nearby to Caszynik's, as I recall. Though there's still the matter of the cart. Well, I'd guess you're strong enough."
Gristav, on reaching the kitchen, continues toward the upstairs.
Bojasc grunts with grudging respect for Braddon's quick and brutally effective strike as he repockets the key.
"Lots of handcarts around the wharves for deliveries," he advises them in his thickly-accented Taldane. "Should be able to 'borrow' one, no problem."
Phil and Ethel take advantage of one of the stone columns holding up the roof of the portico from which Phil can maintain a view of the front doors, lit on either side by an oil lamp in a sconce. Ethel proves adept at projecting the cover of a woman involved in a passionate tryst, but not so much so that Phil doesn't feel justified in giving her more practice, just to be on the safe side. By the time he has watched a few parties gain entry to the casino, he has hopefully taken the edge off her anxiety or at least given her heart a different reason to race.
The first patrons to approach the doors are a group, talking and laughing as they trail their leader like a tail after a comet. The doormen seem to know the man at the front by sight, giving him a respectful nod as they open the doors for him and his entourage to enter.
The second group is a knot of three men who don't draw the immediate deference the previous patron did; the doormen glare at the trio suspiciously until one of them produces something from his purse. Phil squints to try to make out the tiny item the man is holding up between his fingers. It's small and round but doesn't glint in the lamplight as would a coin. Then he remembers the chips from the Watercress and the Dragon's Hoard with their distinguishing brands; he infers that this must be a chip from the House of Nabin, demonstrating that the man has presumably gained entry on a previous occasion. One of the doormen examines the token closely, shoots a sidelong glance at his partner for approval, then shrugs and allows the three to pass into the casino.
After a moment, a solitary man approaches the doorway and quickly produces a chip. After displaying it for a brief moment, he begins to stuff it back into his pocket and advance toward the doors, but the doormen stop him. "Let's have a closer look at that."
Somewhat sheepishly, he slowly pulls the chip back out and holds it out flat on his palm. "Come on, mates, be a chum," he urges them in a low voice, glancing around him. "I can cover any losses and, uh, a couple of drinks for you and your friends when you're off duty. What do you say?" With his other hand, he extracts a few items from his purse with a soft clinking, and this time, Phil makes out the muted glimmer of gold between his fingers.
The doormen give each other appraising glances; then one shrugs. "Aye, now that I see it in the light, that's one of ours," the first says, leaning over the chip on the man's left palm while holding his own hand under his right to catch the coins that fall into it. "Enjoy your evening, mate."
It would seem that there are at least three modes of entry available to the halflings: first, to attach themselves to the tail end of a group gaining entry and pass themselves off as part of the entourage; second, to obtain a chip from the House of Nabin, perhaps from one of the patrons taking the air on the portico; or third, to bribe their way in. All of the clientele seems to be dressed in a similar fashion to Phil and Ethel's evening finery, so once they're inside, they shouldn't look out of place.
Bojasc grunts with grudging respect for Braddon's quick and brutally effective strike as he repockets the key.
"Lots of handcarts around the wharves for deliveries," he advises them in his thickly-accented Taldane. "Should be able to 'borrow' one, no problem."
"And here, I'd thought you a mute. I suppose, compared to some. So, some one... will get a cart? Or would you carry him slung over, and risk the stew? And if you're getting a cart, I'll have time for stew myself..."
"Carrying him will attract the kind of attention we don't want. With all that was happening last Sunday, surely there's a cart nearby. Wouldn't the stupid brains people need one for this Sunday?"
Braddon glares at Gristav."Where's Caszynik's? You were only too happy to help with the gnome and his dog, and questioning Gramma, and setting up a church, and telling me to help the General's daughter. I just need you to help drop this guy off. It's not gonna take long at all. Especially if we do it right now."
Braddon thinks a moment.
"Saul said you had to help." He nods.
"Didn't he," Braddon looks to Snake for confirmation.
Snake looks to Braddon slightly annoyed before turning his attention to Gristav and reluctantly having to nod in agreement. "And I'll go get the cart."
"Carrying him will attract the kind of attention we don't want. With all that was happening last Sunday, surely there's a cart nearby. Wouldn't the stupid brains people need one for this Sunday?"
"The brains people?", Gristav echoes, failing to parse.
Braddon glares at Gristav."Where's Caszynik's? You were only too happy to help with the gnome and his dog, and questioning Gramma, and setting up a church, and telling me to help the General's daughter. I just need you to help drop this guy off. It's not gonna take long at all. Especially if we do it right now."
"Caszynik is our neighbour. Leave the kitchen, and go south to the end of our compound. South-west to the river. South along the river, to the first dock. I could shoot it with an arrow, from here."
Braddon thinks a moment.
"Saul said you had to help." He nods.
"Didn't he," Braddon looks to Snake for confirmation.
Snake looks to Braddon slightly annoyed before turning his attention to Gristav and reluctantly having to nod in agreement. "And I'll go get the cart."
"Grand! I'll surely help. I just don't want to interfere. And if you might guess at how long you'll be gathering the cart, I'm still trying to find Braddon's kitten, loose in the house...?"
"Grand! I'll surely help. I just don't want to interfere. And if you might guess at how long you'll be gathering the cart, I'm still trying to find Braddon's kitten, loose in the house...?"
"No idea," he answers as he continues his way upstairs and out the door.
Once he makes his way outside, he takes a deep breath. "Ah pollution, you can't beat it. Luck!" he calls out to his companion. The mongoose slowly makes his way out and onto his shoulder, yawning, his sharp little teeth showing in all their glory. "Are you serious? You know, for someone who hates being in that sack, you sure don't have a problem wasting the day back there, do you?" He shakes his head at his tiny friend. "Run around, find something to eat, go to the bathroom, go do something besides sleep." As the mongoose finds a comfortable place upon Snake's shoulder, "Enough of that you little bum." He then picks him off his shoulder and places him on the ground. "C'mon, I got a job to do and you can actually walk with me." He grins at the little creature as he creates several lights for himself as he heads out.
Snake heads up the stairs after Bojasc, leaving Braddon and Gristav with the candlelight to maneuver their way out of the basement. At the kitchen, they part, Bojasc continuing upstairs and Snake heading for the back door. As he lets himself out, it occurs to him that he still doesn't have a key to get back in, and he grimly hopes that the others will be waiting for him when he returns with the cart.
Without any clear idea where he is headed, he turns his ferret loose and takes the narrow road behind the Gold Goblin south toward the wharves, conjuring dancing lights with which to light the nooks and crannies without venturing into the dark alleyways himself. A few blocks away, his globes of light illuminate an overturned handcart sitting between a stack of decrepit crates and a pile of trash near the padlocked back door of a dark warehouse. He can hear shouts and snatches of song from the waterfront taverns, but no one seems to be watching this dark alley.
"Works for me." Snake glances around one more time for good measure and then removes the cart as quietly as possible.
"I have a kitten?"
Braddon shrugs and heads off to manacle and drag with little care the body of Nathaniel Weatherby out the back of the Gold Goblin.
"I have a kitten?"
Braddon shrugs and heads off to manacle and drag with little care the body of Nathaniel Weatherby out the back of the Gold Goblin.
"It wasn't you?", Gristav asks rhetorically, mental clockwork spinning and shifting. "Malkith, perhaps..." Remembering an unread note, Gristav nods. "Surely.", he says, and smiles warmly. "Very fitting. Well done, sir.", he says to the absent Harrower, and goes again in search of the kitten...
Pursing his lips, Phillip runs through the three options seemingly available to them and commentates "Not tonight would I seek to ride another's coat-tails... so I wouldn't seek entry in the shadow of another. Asking one of the others in shadow for a chit to bluster entry with would also seem in poorish taste... and likely costly as well."
Sighing "Which leaves the fourth and us potentially made poorer by the start of the night... which would be unfortunate but seems simplest." catching eye contact with Ethel and raising an eyebrow "Though there is a fourth, I can try to talk my way past them..." taking a deep breath and turning to face the doorman that he picks out as senior over the other. Narrowing his eyes he studies what he can see of him... seeking a thread to tug...
Having manacled Weatherby's unresisting wrists together, Braddon seizes him beneath the arms and drags him backward up the two sets of stairs, letting his heels bump freely on the steps; when he wakes up, he'll find bruises on the backs of his calves, but by then he won't be Braddon's problem anymore.
Pulling him through the warmly-lit kitchen, he props the scribe in the corner as he opens the back door.
------------------------
Snake carefully creeps down the alley toward the handcart among the trash and detritus, Lucky trailing much more quietly without even trying. Just as he is maneuvering between a pile of refuse on one side of the alley and a stack of crates on the other to pull out the cart, there is a sudden rustle from the rubbish at his feet; a verminous beetle the size of a small dog had been concealed there and lunges for the mongoose. Snake feels the wave of alarm from Lucky at the same time that he hears the squeak of pain.
Snake
Lucky
The roach, coming away with a tuft of fur in its mandibles, seems to like the taste of fresh meat better than rotting trash and snatches at the mongoose once more, but in its hunger misses the tiny creature entirely.
------------------------
"Asking one of the others in shadow for a chit to bluster entry with would also seem in poorish taste... and likely costly as well."
Eyes going wide, "No! Back away, Luck!" Snake yells as he pulls out the newly acquired morningstar and swings it toward the nasty bug with as much force as he can muster.
"Why would I have a kitten?" Braddon wonders. "And what will Samaritha do with hers if she leaves?"
Braddon checks the woodpile outside seeking an area to wait obscured from the outside world, and also searching for crates, sacks, sheets or tarpaulins to wrap the body in. If he's unable to find anything useful lying around or in a storage shed then he throws a sack from his own backpack over the unfortunate man's head and wraps him in his winter blanket which never quite smelled right after being flooded in the harbourmaster's office.
It's simple enough for Braddon to find a discarded sack around the kitchen, one which presumably held potatoes or fruit (the burlap is breathable to prevent spoilage, which is a nice perk for Weatherby), but the half-elf locates nothing large to wrap the rest of the scribe. The musty blanket must needs be sacrificed. Braddon comforts himself for the loss by calculating the number of replacement blankets he'll be able to buy with his share of the Rag's End loot.
------------------------
A few blocks south, Badeye's erstwhile morningstar smashes through the vermin's tough carapace, revealing the milky, white viscera beneath.
Giving Ethel a last squeeze and adding "Just keep calm and stay with me" Phillip leads them out of the alcove which they had sequestered themselves and towards the guarded front door. The demeanour that he allows to fall unto his features is one of casual confidence. With measured pace he strides close enough to the doormen to speak without raising his voice - but not so close as to need to crane his head up painfully to draw into eye contact.
In genial tones he begins "Hail my good man, would I be correct in understanding that this is the entry to the House of Nabin?" raising an eyebrow slightly to question.
Only as Gristav begins slowly to patrol the ground floor does he realize how many dimly-lit furnishings there are that a kitten might hide in, or under, or atop ... and that's presuming that he is still on the ground floor and hasn't discovered the staircases up or down. Food might have drawn him out, if he hadn't already been well fed on scraps. Gris comes to the conclusion that finding a cat who doesn't want to be found will take a great deal of time, a organized search party, or another stroke of luck like Thuvalia stumbling upon him in the first place. Perhaps by morning he'll be hungry again....
------------------------
"Hail my good man, would I be correct in understanding that this is the entry to the House of Nabin?"
The doorman looks down at the pair of halflings dubiously. "Aye, that it is," he answers.
Lucky moves away from the creature, attempting to escape.
Singlemindedly, the oversized insect scuttles after the mongoose.
Phillip pauses for a few moments erstwhile and pleasant before starting almost apologetically "Oh yes, sorry... I am Phillip Hargreaves, recently of Magnimar and in town on business." making a point of introducing himself, though placing no importance upon his name, instead saving a slight lilt for the name in his next phrase "I was at Whitelips' a moon past and the consensus was that if one was to risk one's coin in Riddleport, then the House was the only place it would be worthwhile." finishing with a slight smile before frowning and adding as a halting query and gesture towards the door"May we then?... or is there an issue?" a slight cloud of confusion settling upon his countenance.
Only as Gristav begins slowly to patrol the ground floor does he realize how many dimly-lit furnishings there are that a kitten might hide in, or under, or atop ... and that's presuming that he is still on the ground floor and hasn't discovered the staircases up or down. Food might have drawn him out, if he hadn't already been well fed on scraps. Gris comes to the conclusion that finding a cat who doesn't want to be found will take a great deal of time, a organized search party, or another stroke of luck like Thuvalia stumbling upon him in the first place. Perhaps by morning he'll be hungry again....
"To a mage, nothing is impossible", Gristav grumbles, very nearly beginning the faint fingerings of the weft of the world, to conjure a scent, some false but fishlike fumes... But no, he'd spent long enough, likely the cart would appear too soon, and they'd expect him ready on the instant.
Sighing, Gristav went upstairs, to caution the gathered company, of the kitten at large.