He never sees Braddon coming but is taken completely by surprise as the half-elf rushes in and grasps him firmly by the upper arm, pulling the key away from the door. "Ow! Get off me!" he squeals.
Gristav comes running around the corner of the woodpile to see Braddon grappling with a gangly, fair-haired boy in clothes too short in the limbs and too wide in the body. The delicate pointed ears protruding through the flaxen hair, combined with the fine-boned frame, identify the child as a full-blooded elf, probably wearing clothing cut for a human boy. He has a key in his hand.
"How about you tell us what you're doing so we don't have to hurt you?" Braddon growls quietly.
Seeing the Elven lad, Gristav calculates, and is just drawing breath to suggest, "A message from a captured Daynadrian?", when the lad replies to Braddon, pre-empting with his explanation.
Braddon grabs the elf's other arm and pulls them both firmly behind him, leaving the boy helpless. He kicks his legs impotently as he is practically lifted off the ground. "Let me go! Let me go!" he pants. As he squirms and flails, he turns himself around in Braddon's grip to a position where he can see Gristav watching from the alley. "Gristav!" he calls. "Help me! I... wait." The boy scowls and stops fighting as he twists his head around and upward to catch a glimpse of his captor. "Braddon!" he squeals in outrage. "Let me go!"
Braddon does not loosen his grip, but tries not to hurt the boy either.
"How about you start telling us what's going on first. Then maybe I'll let you go. Wouldn't want you running off before you've delivered all your messages."
Mental gears grinding, Gristav nods. "Ah. That makes more sense. But while I'd accept it, I am a fool. Convince Braddon. Tell him what he had for breakfast, yesterday. Braddon, let's all go in, the diminutive Dayn can explain, inside."
Snake finishes his jog around the building, slowing cautiously on approach to the back porch, where he finds Braddon securely holding a blond elf boy.
Taking in the scene before him as he approaches, "Well that was easy. You get him to talk?"
"Not needed, he's Daynadrian", Gristav says levelly. "Let's go inside."
Snake looks curiously at Gristav. "The one supposedly doing the 'brothel research'? Why all the sneaking around then?" He looks over at the elf as he asks, curious of his response if any.
"Isn't it obvious?", Gris hisses conspiratorially, grinning. "He's underage!"
"Not. Funny," the boy seethes, kicking his heels in the air. "Braddon, let me go. He's right. We met at the Publican House last Sunday; that Ghoulette girl Liry came in with horns and a tail, and Fancy-Pants picked a fight with me over her; you and Malkith were chatting up Samaritha over porridge; Lil was at the table in the corner."
You can see the similarities: the hair is paler, the skin smoother, but he has the same long nose, albeit looking unfinished in the young face.
Snake looks to them all a moment, his eyes narrowed in complete confusion. "Yeah. Obvious," he says with no conviction.
Somewhat sheepishly now himself Phillip attempts to both assuage Ethel's disappointment as well as provide a sense of hope "Aye... well that's the problem with being a deceitful shyster... sometimes you have off days." patting her linked hand for comfort "But no matter, we shall not waste the coin nor cloth, there are parts enough within the Hoard where we might find engagement?"
Ethel manages a smile at Phillip's unvarnished description of himself. "Ye-es," she sighs. "The Hoard is ... all right." She lets Phil lead her out from under the portico back into the bright moonlight and southwest toward the tall and imposing Dragon's Hoard casino.
Phillip half opens his mouth and mind to reply... but does not follow through with it. The couple walk in relatively awkward silence to the Hoard.
You can see the similarities: the hair is paler, the skin smoother, but he has the same long nose, albeit looking unfinished in the young face.
Braddon suddenly releases Dayn, not so much in recognition, but in surprise at his condition.
"It was the ghost of Captain Cully, wasn't it? He did curse you!"Braddon takes a wary step back.
"No," he sighs, straightening his ill-fitting clothing, "it was that crazy b$*@& Shorafa. Can we go inside? And," he hesitates, "can we not involve Thuvalia?"
Braddon hesitates.
"Umm... I'm kinda supposed to be on a date."
He peers at Daynadrian suspiciously.
"Is it gonna wear off like that green glow? Or not? You could ask Sam. By the way, she's been accepted at the Cyphergate."
Braddon smiles encouragingly.
"Not. Funny," the boy seethes...
"It's a little bit funny..." Gristav jokes gently, seemingly able to pause, but not to stop, commenting while Dayn recounts his bona fides to Braddon. "Maybe it'll grow on you?", he asks at one point, joking and rhetorically. "Whores actually took his manhood...", Gris observes to himself, with false wonder and no real concern.
Braddon hesitates.
"Umm... I'm kinda supposed to be on a date."
He peers at Daynadrian suspiciously.
"Is it gonna wear off like that green glow? Or not? You could ask Sam. By the way, she's been accepted at the Cyphergate."
Braddon smiles encouragingly.
"It will wear off", Gristav says, as if predicting rain. "To avoid 'Valia, go directly to your room. If you've lost that key, take mine, to my room. Thuvalia is likely at the upstairs table; it's just been revealed Sam might not be present for the coming show, and I can't imagine Thu not lingering over that martyrdom."
Gristav unlocks and opens the kitchen door, standing and ushering the rest through, with his own room key held in offer to Dayn, should it be needed. "We'll come to you, or send for you."
Daynadrian glares at Gristav while snatching the room key from his hand. "Fine. Have Samaritha come take a look and see what she thinks. Better her than the Dandy." He edges up the corridor and peers around the corner to make sure the kitchen is empty before he crosses it.
Still unable to take it all in, "Gotta say, don't know of any magic that ages a guy backwards." Guess I can add that to my list. Unless I really don't know of a magic that does that.
The couple walk in relatively awkward silence to the Hoard.
The Dragon's Hoard is only a short stroll across the cobblestones from the House of Nabin, but it is miles away in ambiance, all crowd and glitter where the House is dim and exclusive. Laughter and chatter spill down the front steps through the doors where patrons walk in and out freely in the blazing light of the many oil lamps that shine of the white and gold exterior of the vault-like structure. Inside, the casino is even more crowded than it was Wealday night. The bounder, pontoon, war, and Crown and Anchor tables are all well-trafficked, and Liry Parmenter's Ghoulette table is locatable only by the sound of her voice and the whirring wheel past a wall of onlookers; the tables upstairs presumably still offer hands of golem to card players, and several people are taking a breather at the bar along the western wall.
Left with a small pang of disappointment... not so much at his own failing, as he was well used to knowing that his luck rode like waves breaking upon the shore... but at the fact that Ethel had perhaps now seen that the pedestal she had placed him upon was less stable and grand than she had thought. Phillip did not seek to lead her one way nor another, instead providing space and the option to lead to his paramour.
Hesitantly again he ventured "Shall we upstairs where the air is less dense? Or ply the floor?"
Still unable to take it all in, "Gotta say, don't know of any magic that ages a guy backwards." Guess I can add that to my list. Unless I really don't know of a magic that does that.
"Didn't we see similar this morning? With the alchemist? You know, she spoke of it to you? A suspicious mind might doubt your weal, or your well-being. I hope you find yourself, perhaps we might look where you were lost? Someday, soon?"
"No shortage of causes, have we...", Gristav states.
Braddon snickers at Gristav's speech, then stops guiltily when he sees Dayn's reaction.
"Is that the time? Gotta go. Get better."
He smiles, waves and hurries off back towards the ferry.
One advantage to carrying a staff, is that one then has a staff. A half-dozen feet of ashwood, in Gristav's case, with which to pose, or to interpose.
So Braddon found some feet of staff held high, on his path, but not in his path, while Gristav cautioned him, "Hold a heartbeat, Braddon, then be off. Consider: If Shorafa has opened a war against us, you and your... rendezvous, might be better- safer, here. Now, gods' speed, and Desna's own luck. I know that look, and envy you your evening. I'll be... babysitting.", Gris grinned.
With Braddon's departure, Gris found himself alone with Snake. "How would a child escape, unless he were meant to? And if meant to, one purpose could be, to follow him. Perhaps our sharpest eye ought find a window?"
"I'll be upstairs, as briefly as I can manage", the half-elf says, and begins climbing, as if to a gallows, at first, but quickening, as duty demanded.
In the dining room, he met Saul's eye. "A word in private, Mister Vankaskerkin? I am sorry to interrupt the meal and mindful communality, but, although the delivery was without incident, another matter has arisen."
"Shall we upstairs where the air is less dense? Or ply the floor?"
"Mm," Ethel shrugs noncommittally. "Let's get a drink first, shall we?" She leads him toward the bar.
At long last, Braddon is rid of his companions and free of any responsibilities hanging over his head. His step light and conscience unburdened, he returns to the dock of the Velashu ferry, less crowded now that the night is further advanced and most of the people going to spend their evening in Free-Coin have already crossed. He files onto the next flatboat after waiting somewhat impatiently for its homegoing passengers to disembark.
Before the punter can push off, however, there's a call from downriver. "Ho, Velashu ferry! Clear the river! Craft from Maskyr's Island on the Overlord's business!" Their lantern no longer shrouded, the Gendarmes in the rowboat have eschewed both stealth and disguise now that they've secured their prisoner.
The passengers on the ferry fall into two groups: One rushes to the railing on the river side with curiosity, eager for a snippet of rumor to share; the other studiously turns their heads toward the east bank, not wanting to be seen to take an interest in matters above their station.
Braddon sighs, sinks into the latter group and taps his foot impatiently.
Braddon turns away from the official Gendarme boat as it steadily shoulders its way upstream. Once it has passed, there's a murmur of relief from the riverbank side of the flatboat as the ferryman finally begins the crossing. As the two groups of passengers begin to mingle once more, those who were rubbernecking are chatting quietly.
"Did you see the bundle in the floor of the boat? What do you think it was?"
"Looked like a body. Think they pulled it out of the harbor?"
"Pssh. What would the Overlord want with a dead sailor?"
"Who says it's a sailor? Maybe someone swept into the harbor with the wave the other day."
"Still, what does the Overlord want with a corpse?"
"Heard the Gendarmes were poking along the cliff below Windward the other day. Maybe someone rich fell."
"Or jumped."
"Or was pushed."
"How much you think a rich man would pay someone who had him raised?"
"Pssh. How much you think his heir would pay to keep him dead?"
The flatboat bumps against the Free-Coin dock on the west bank, and the ferryman quickly throws a loop of rope around the piling before the current can pull them back downstream. A larger crowd than usual is waiting due to the official delay, and they are impatient for the new arrivals to clear the ferry so they can get on for the return trip.
"Didn't we see similar this morning? With the alchemist? You know, she spoke of it to you? A suspicious mind might doubt your weal, or your well-being. I hope you find yourself, perhaps we might look where you were lost? Someday, soon?"
"No shortage of causes, have we...", Gristav states.
"The alchemist. That's right. I had forgotten about that." Shaking his head in frustration, he rubs the back of it mindlessly. "Yeah. Someday."
With Braddon's departure, Gris found himself alone with Snake. "How would a child escape, unless he were meant to? And if meant to, one purpose could be, to follow him. Perhaps our sharpest eye ought find a window?"
"Yeah, probably a good idea," he simply responds. After Gristav takes his leave, Snake just shakes his head. "Just not a good one for me. I got better things to do than stare into the dark, bub." He then decides to make his way to pay a visit to Daynadrian.
Following after Ethel he allows her to order her own beverage before adding "Port" and letting the bartender discern what variety he should be gifted with.
Snake follows Daynadrian through the kitchen and across the darkened casino floor. The boy elf pauses at the unused reception counter in front of the marble-floored lobby and gestures to Snake. "Go stand in front of Thuvalia's door while I slip past. She's got ears like a cat, that one."
Gristav climbs the stairs back to the owner's suite, where he finds Saul, Bojasc, Tendal, Thuvalia, and Samaritha still at table.
In the dining room, he met Saul's eye. "A word in private, Mister Vankaskerkin? I am sorry to interrupt the meal and mindful communality, but, although the delivery was without incident, another matter has arisen."
"Hm?" Saul frowns. "Something to do with the Harrower's disappearance? Come along to my office." He gets to his feet to lead the way, tossing Malkith's letter down on the table, and Bojasc follows.
"Is Braddon back as well?" Samaritha asks Gristav, half-rising.
"Is Braddon back as well?" Samaritha asks Gristav, half-rising.
"I'm sorry", Gristav says sincerely, raising a halting hand. "He had a pre-existing commitment, and rushed about the delivery, and then, away." Poor girl, a triumph, and none she can share it with. Well, none she _would_...
The burden of the thought sobered him. Which suited, he supposed, calling the chief behind closed doors.
Sparing a glance over his shoulder as the door closed behind him, Gristav turned and began without preamble. "He wants to hide it from Thu", Gristav says, drawing closer to Saul or Bojasc, or both, as positioning offered, and his lowering voice required, "But Dayn has returned, in borrowed clothes some sizes too large. He's been un-aged, back to his youth, by - his words - 'that crazy b&++% Shorafa'." Gristav paused an instant at this presumed high point of the report. "He's requested Samaritha's insight, and disdained Tendal's. And, as I said, he'd like to hide the matter from Thuvalia. If I went to my room, you might ask Sam to fetch me shortly after..?"
Snake follows Daynadrian through the kitchen and across the darkened casino floor. The boy elf pauses at the unused reception counter in front of the marble-floored lobby and gestures to Snake. "Go stand in front of Thuvalia's door while I slip past. She's got ears like a cat, that one."
He looks to the young Dayn curiously. Shrugging, "I think you're making too much out of this, bub," he tells him as he goes to stand in front of Thuvalia's door out of pity for the pathetic elf.
Daynadrian slips down the corridor and turns the key in the lock at Gristav's door.
Sparing a glance over his shoulder as the door closed behind him, Gristav turned and began without preamble. "He wants to hide it from Thu", Gristav says, drawing closer to Saul or Bojasc, or both, as positioning offered, and his lowering voice required, "But Dayn has returned, in borrowed clothes some sizes too large. He's been un-aged, back to his youth, by - his words - 'that crazy b&**% Shorafa'." Gristav paused an instant at this presumed high point of the report. "He's requested Samaritha's insight, and disdained Tendal's. And, as I said, he'd like to hide the matter from Thuvalia. If I went to my room, you might ask Sam to fetch me shortly after..?"
"Damn it!" Saul slaps the top of his desk in frustration. "Shorafa's attention is exactly what we didn't want. Why did she do it? Was it personal, or are all of us on her list?"
"Knowing Gristav, more than you can imagine. And yeah you're probably right about her looking at you all strange-like. So how the heck did you end up like this?"
"Damn it!" Saul slaps the top of his desk in frustration. "Shorafa's attention is exactly what we didn't want. Why did she do it? Was it personal, or are all of us on her list?"
"I have no idea of her purpose. If I knew it were personal, I wouldn't have interrupted you. If I knew, it were all of us, I wouldn't have honored Dayn's desire for discretion. I'll volunteer, to go ask her, if you like. I had half a mind to do that, anyway, offering her... caution, as a... citizen. If the tools of her House's purpose are being misused, she has a right to know. I owe her no ill will, and if she has any for me, it must spring from a misunderstanding. I believe we can clear that up."
"And worst case, since the level of her wroth appears to be marked by Dayn... well, I was a very handsome youth. And youth is fleeting."
"But that would be after, you question Dayn. I propose, I return to my room, and then, shortly, you 'go to the vault', and ask Samaritha to gather me from my room, and meet you in the vault. But we all actually meet in my room."
Braddon jostles his way off the ferry, returning the impatient looks of those awaiting his disembarkation.
He keeps one hand on his coin and another on his dagger as he pushes past the crowd, and almost starts to jog back to the publican.
"One night," he mutters grimly to himself.
"Sunday was opening night, Moonday night chasing leads at the Publican, Toilday night staking out Lil's, Wealday night chasing her scribe, Oathday night at the General's behest, and tonight... sheesh."
Phil and Ethel weave their way through the crowd inside the Dragon's Hoard toward the bar. The counter is higher than their heads; it will be necessary to perch on a stool to get the staff's attention. They watch the seats carefully and react quickly when one is vacated, climbing up the rails and spindles like the rungs of a ladder. When Ethel reaches the top, she is rewarded with a cheerful hail from one of the busy bartenders.
"It's the little lady back again! And dressed to the nines! What'll it be, ducks?"
"Oh, um, Vern!" Ethel smiles. "Can you make me another like you did Wealday night?"
"Aw, can't be that bad, can it, ducks?" he asks sympathetically, as he sets about himself with bottles and syrups. "Not looking as elegant as you do tonight?" He pours Phil's port almost an afterthought.
"So how the heck did you end up like this?"
"I put a couple of street rats in the way of some coin last Sunday night," the boy answers bitterly, "and Shorafa took exception. I'm not sure how she figured out who I was. Suppose it doesn't take much for the local Calistrian priestess to find out who's who and what's what in her parish. Anyway, I went back to see Rose -- she's the one who helped me find Lil's hidden sanctum -- and found Shorafa waiting for me. I told her I didn't intend to put the boy in harm's way; told her I'd have jumped at the chance of some spare coin and a little excitement as a boy myself. She said Riddleport wasn't some bucolic elven village in a frolicsome forest; that it's a rough city in the 'real world,' as she termed it, where the small and weak are easily victimized. Well, I took exception to that, I don't mind telling you, as I grew up in an armed encampment in what was basically an active war zone, and I told her she wasn't doing her children any favors by sheltering them. So she said if I thought being a boy on the streets of Riddleport was such a lark, I could try it for myself. The next thing I know ... this." He spreads his arms with a look of disgust.
Scuttling up into elevated safety and furnished with his port as an afterthought, Phillip's mood is none improved... but he sits at the cloying liquid all the same, letting it coat and warm his mouth before swallowing. Musing he remains relatively quiescent, observing the interaction of Vern with his ducks.
" I'll volunteer, to go ask her, if you like. I had half a mind to do that, anyway, offering her... caution, as a... citizen. If the tools of her House's purpose are being misused, she has a right to know. I owe her no ill will, and if she has any for me, it must spring from a misunderstanding. I believe we can clear that up."
"" Saul responds immediately, in no uncertain terms. "The less contact we have with Shorafa, the better. Trying to reason with her is like trying to reason with an owlbear. Play dead, and hopefully she'll get bored and go find someone else's life to toy with. Our best bet is to avoid her altogether."
He sighs. "Aye, fine, I'll send the redhead down to check up on him. Lucky for him she's still here. Starting tomorrow, Mr. Deverin will be our only resident wizard."
"Aw, can't be that bad, can it, ducks?" he asks sympathetically, as he sets about himself with bottles and syrups. "Not looking as elegant as you do tonight?"
"Oh, nothing like that," she says hurriedly. "This is Phillip, by the way." She emphasizes the introduction slightly and gives Phil a lingering sidelong glance before looking back at the barkeep.