Tendal sniffs the air, as he enters the room, following Brandon and Gristav. "I think, from discussions with our employer, that he was motivated to win. To show the town and all the naysayers that he still had "it". I do not think that he would be abandoning his project so quickly. If I were to lay a bet, he went to either pay a debt, to make some deal or to stake a wage of some sort. If he were able, he would likely be here. If he was planning to close, he would have sold every scrap and fragment, every stitch in the chair cushions, right down to the nails in the floorboards." Tendal observes, absently tapping his cane against the floorboards.
Snake notes from the faintly-perceptible layer of dust which coats the floor and the stale quality of the air that no one appears to have entered this room in at least two or three days. Whoever last departed it -- Saul, presumably -- appears to have done so in no particular haste nor perturbation of mind: the bed is neatly made and personal belongings in no state of disarray. In addition, the bedsheets and coverlet are neatly turned down and the pillow plumped and turned to its fresh side, surely not a level of care a man would take if he expected not to sleep in this particular bed again.
Lucky leaps into one particular drawer as it is pulled out and turns sinuously in figure eights. There is a particular hollow, echoing sound to the scrabble of the ferret's claws on the wood, as if there may be a false bottom to the compartment.
Phillip examines less traditional modes of access than the door which Gristav just unlocked. The western window offers only a sheer drop, straight down the outer wall of the Gold Goblin to the alley below, but the two windows facing south sport a nearer surface in the roof of the southern wing which houses the vault and Larur's office. The easternmost of the two windows, in particular, is not far from the spine of the lower level's roof; Phil judges it would be an easy drop down, and the raised ridgepole would even offer a bit of cover for a person to tiptoe between it and the wall that rises up to the bronze dome until reaching the southern wall, covered with ivy, that would be a simple climb down to the ground. Easy and simple for him, anyway; between Saul's age, his avoirdupois, and his missing hand, he judges it would be a more strenuous endeavor for the casino owner, unless he is lighter on his feet than he has heretofore appeared to be.
The only other possible egress would be by the chimney, but that would be an even more difficult route safely to ground. In addition, if this chimney is like the others in the Goblin, it will have a metal grate at the top, such as the one that prevented the spider's escape.
"Clever creature", Gristav praises, seeing if the drawer removes to the carpeted floor. "There's a hollow to your wallow..." Probing at the inside corners of the hollowed panel, and then at the mid-sides and mid-ends, Gris wants aloud, "Let's hope your secrets help us find you, Saul. Even if only for Larur."
Tendal sniffs the air, as he enters the room, following Brandon and Gristav. "I think, from discussions with our employer, that he was motivated to win. To show the town and all the naysayers that he still had "it". I do not think that he would be abandoning his project so quickly. If I were to lay a bet, he went to either pay a debt, to make some deal or to stake a wage of some sort. If he were able, he would likely be here. If he was planning to close, he would have sold every scrap and fragment, every stitch in the chair cushions, right down to the nails in the floorboards." Tendal observes, absently tapping his cane against the floorboards.
Shaking his head, "He hasn't been in here for a few days now, bub. I don't know, I'd probably take you up on that bet because I'm not sold he's coming back. It just doesn't add up. Where does a one-handed, squat little fat man go without his muscle? Especially in Riddleport? He'd have to be crazy to go out by himself ... or desperate. Maybe this room is setup to make us think he's coming back. But then that just leads to another question: Why?"
With the false bottom removed, the drawer reveals a narrow niche which contains three small bundles of yellowing parchments tied with ribbons, what looks like a scrap of sail cloth or canvas for a wagon cover rolled up and likewise secured with a ribbon, and two portrait miniatures painted on copper.
Braddon peers over and around shoulders at the contents, but doesn't touch.
"Well, it's undeniably trespass. Do we all want to know, everything that's here? It certainly wasn't left by a man, leaving forever. But we're agreed, it has been too long? Are these portraits, the son, either of them? Let's have paper, and sketches or magicked mimics of whatever we find, in case we prefer to put them back."
"I'll take care with the knotting, to be able to replace, unless anyone claims a particular degree of skill?"
Gristav first peers into the rolled canvas tube, weighing if the ribbon might be slipped endwise without untying, or magicked loose and remain re-emplaceable. He is gentle and cautious throughout, a conservator's care more than criminal caution, but aware of each.
He unrolls the canvas by finger's breadths, laying his ashen staff lightly across as if it were why the staff had been carried so long.
The canvas, unrolled, reveals a likeness of a lovely young Varisian woman, rendered in charcoal and touched with paint. The artist had raw talent but clearly negligible training and appears to have created his work on what could be readily spared in a traveling caravan: scraps of a torn wagon covering. From the yellowing of the canvas and some light flaking of the paint, it appears that this portrait was drawn many years ago.
Tendal, the only man there who has seen Orik, examines the pair of miniatures. One is a portrait of a rather stout-looking woman, no longer young, dressed in a style that may have been fashionable and imposing ten years ago in Magnimar; if one assumes the portrait was done in Riddleport, it may be of somewhat more recent vintage. It seems unlikely to be the same woman as the earlier canvas portrait, as this woman appears to be of Chelaxian heritage.
The other miniature is a family portait. Saul is easily picked out, sporting more hair and less weight, as well as both hands. He grins expansively alongside a handsome young woman, two small boys, one of whom bears a strong resemblance to the man Orik, and a thin and gangly adolescent girl who shows clear Varisian blood. The woman in this picture is neither the young Varisian of the canvas likeness nor the well-preserved matron of the solo sitting.
"To look back over time, and, mistily, into unfilled past. Art and the unknown, invite the mind to paint with colors from the heart. Can either trust the other?", Gristav asks, almost of himself, meeting the eyes of each of the strangers before him.
"Let's learn these faces. Better to know them, if they're met."
Leaving the images displayed, Gristav turns his attention to the handiest of the parchment bundles, happy to have Bolbo's presence and interest, and the reminder of infinitesimal gentleness.
"If these are letters, best to leave them as old news. Agreed?"
"So the fat man had a wife and two kids ... and two hands. Wonder what happened to them all. Probably not anything good if he's trading out his family for this place." Looking at the other two paintings, "My guess is the older one might be his mother and the good looking one... maybe a lover. Obviously more than a one night stand seeing how he had a drawing of her. Either he traveled with her for a time - seeing how the drawing was done on wagon covering - or maybe she was simply in between stops from one town to the next and they hooked up." He studies the drawing through narrowed eyes once more before suggesting, "Or maybe it's his sister," and shrugs.
Phillip shrugs, somewhat disinterested to find that the secret compartment holds only sentimental value. Sighing he speaks "Well... answers not within, answers may be without... I need a bath."
"A wife, two sons and a daughter. If Orik just turned up from the dead, maybe Saul went looking for the others. Or heard something?"
Braddon turns to Tendal.
"Are they all dead?"
Phillip shrugs, somewhat disinterested to find that the secret compartment holds only sentimental value. Sighing he speaks "Well... answers not within, answers may be without... I need a bath."
"And pack for a sea voyage", Gristav says, raising his voice a bit if Phillip's leaving the room.
"A wife, two sons and a daughter. If Orik just turned up from the dead, maybe Saul went looking for the others. Or heard something?"
Braddon turns to Tendal.
"Are they all dead?"
"Orik's not dead; he'd fled the town after the death of Zincher's brother... Falk? Fled, I say, despite rumors he'd been killed, because Zincher's wroth remains at a level to make gifts of spiders and such."
"If the word arrived, say, with the baker's boy, of a location and threat to Orik, and Saul found it credible...?" Gesturing at the collected memorabilia, Gristav asks, "Does anyone doubt, Saul's sentimentality?"
"If we'd been here, he may have confided in us, relied upon us. But we weren't. If we'd been here, he may not have received the word, if it was intended to lure him."
"Do we follow him, now? Away from the missing of Larur, the pursuit of Lil, for her mistress, the General, and Braddon's gram? Or do all those things lead after the fat man? I say, if Luck, in name, if not in embodiment, leads us here - leads us there... but where, is there?"
Shaking his head, "The fat man confides in nobody, bub. Especially in a bunch of hired hands. He didn't tell his own muscle where he was going, the guy specifically hired to protect him, what makes you think he would tell us anything? And I'm not chasing after him. I've done enough chasing. And seeing how it looks like we've pretty much found nothing except these drawings, I think I'm gonna call it a night."
Braddon nods in agreement.
"Maybe he'll come back tonight and hasn't been torn to shreds by those things that killed the Halfling."
Braddon shrugs.
"Ah well, at least we have a place to stay. If you need me I'll be in my room."
Braddon heads towards his quarters pulling a stuffed toy out of his backpack as he does.
"Orik did mention that he had a brother, but not in the past tense. Nothing more than that though, which makes me wonder about bad blood between brothers bringing blight on the family. Or not." Tendal says, then points the cane at the portraits.
"Those were hidden with care. Those portraits are precious to Saul, and knowing how much the lack of his family pains him, I can't imagine that he would be somewhere, of his own volition, without them. Which, while not proving my earlier supposition, does provide weighty evidence in its favor."
"As for how to proceed...could we ask around to see if anyone saw him leave, or where he went? The street children or working folk in the area?"
"If Saul crossed the river," Tendal continues, absently picking at the lace on his cuff as he thinks, "I imagine that he would have used the same person that he always does, someone that he trusts to cross. That individual might be discreetly questioned. I am loathe to ask too many about Saul's whereabouts, now that I think on it further. Our questioning would stir the pot, and summon the vultures to dismember the Gold Goblin, unless we are very quick about it." Tendal continues, musing aloud.
"Seeing that our collegues have taken to bed, Mr. Hargreaves, Gristav, I suggest that we all go abed, and then re-attack this particular problem tomorrow morning."
Tendal makes for his room, to ensure that nothing has been disturbed, and then to clean up before sleeping.
"I'll be going out. I've a duty that would keep me awake. The witch we met, she's the same that enchanted the deck crew of the Cloud, just before an attempted boarding. But Luck and my own folly had me aboard, to thwart the boarding, and break her spell. And now I've two puzzles, and I know me, I'll not sleep until they're worn down."
"The first, is that witch and her vessel, their presence in the Cove the same day Phillip snatches the tools to support a better boarding action. I feel a duty to warn the Cloud, or her officers, of both the certainty of the witch's identity, and the possibility the potions were a part of whatever plot continues."
"The second, is the relative race of Gether's cart against Araska's Teeth. I've failed to factor, this whole day, and I know me, I'd fail, all through the night. So I'll take these puzzles to those more informed. And maybe, become more informed myself."
"I'd welcome, whatever company. I won't feel alone, in any case." Gristav smiles as the butterfly lights on his shoulder.
Phil takes his leave with a relatively firm commitment for "I'll be back in the morning... maybe", intending his path to lend itself towards Ethel first.
After a few moments in his room, reassuring himself that nothing is awry, Tendal drops his packs off, replenishes his reagents, changes shirts and then goes to rejoin Gristav.
"It actually makes more sense to dispense with our goods and gains while we might. So if you will assist me in dealing with this task, I will accompany you as you go about yours." he says to Gristav.
After a few moments in his room, reassuring himself that nothing is awry, Tendal drops his packs off, replenishes his reagents, changes shirts and then goes to rejoin Gristav.
"It actually makes more sense to dispense with our goods and gains while we might. So if you will assist me in dealing with this task, I will accompany you as you go about yours." he says to Gristav.
"Done. But might mine be first? Not to claim primacy, only efficiency, as part of what we'd sell, we might sell those I seek."
Braddon emerges from his room and spies Gristav and Tendal.
"Gris. Could you? It... needs help."
Braddon holds up the stuffed toy, looking a little worse for wear after its intrepid journey.
Braddon turns to Tendal. "I need something... better. To wear. Can I use the clothes upstairs? Sir?"
Braddon seems to have decided the Gold Goblin is now the purview of Tendal.
"Of course", Gristav agrees cheerily. "I can clean and freshen, but any repairs are under Tendal's vinculum. I think I was bowhunting or something as a lad, and missed some important lesson; I've never been able to learn that magic."
At reference to 'clothes upstairs', Gristav meets Tendal's eye a moment, offering diplomatically, "Do you mean the theatrical clothing, costumes for servers and such? Not Sauls? Not until we know... whatever there is to know. We might shine you as princely as this poppet, though, in clothes already fitting well?"
As if in demonstration, Gristav restores the toy to newness, even nobility, nodding at the nearby nymphalid as if accepting some suggestion.
"If you find something you require Mr. Hurst, then utilize it as your needs require. As I do not know what your plans are this evening, do take care not to destroy them. Magic can only restore so much, and with the gods blessings we will return to business when the present uncertainty is rectified." Tendal says with a nod to the half-elf.
"I can most assuredly accompany you to your business first Gristav. Shall we be about it then?"
Barely remembering to say thank you, Braddon makes his way upstairs, finds some less salty clothes and is soon on his way to visit Leeward District.
"Yes, let's be about it. My path is toward the docks, hoping to recognize the Flying Cloud, meet with her officers, and enlist their advice or aid on the question of whether Saul has taken ship. The quality cutlass of recent capture, and some charts I took as share earlier, might change hands. I'd welcome that. And you, setting the price."
"But foremost is to warn them, to share what's new-known of previous actions against the vessel, and suspicions of ongoing intrigues. Because if I didn't, and another attack came... I already feel I've failed a friend, and I'd rather not add them to that list."
Gristav and Tendal have a short but unwelcoming route from the Gold Goblin to the docks, the reek of the Velashu River freshly acrid in their nostrils after their time away from Riddleport. The Wharf District never sleeps, as ships must be laden and unladen before morning tide; while the boardwalk is not as crowded as it is during the day, stevedores and trundle carts are still coming and going. Both men stand out a bit sartorially from the dirty and unshaven men whom they are passing, and the pair draw glances both curious and unfriendly.
Braddon makes his way straight towards Anya and Lexy's flat, but with a wistful glance at the Mystery of the Gate as he passes. He checks that his stuffed animal is well secured as he walks briskly on.
Gristav and Tendal... ...stand out a bit sartorially from the dirty and unshaven men whom they are passing, and the pair draw glances both curious and unfriendly.
...
"Moving like a catfish, from sworl to hollow to haven to shadow to leap, seems the mode against this stream.", Gristav says to Tendal, an observation as much as a suggestion. "Do our best to be out the way, on our way, not in the way..." Gristav rushes across an open space just ahead of a handcart of barreled goods, gaining some distance along the wharf before pausing to be sure he'd not lost Tendal, in the bargain. As the merchant rejoined him, he reclarified, "Fits and starts, cover to cover. Leaves time between to earn our stripe as Lookie-Lous. Your eye, to the ships; we seek the fastest, not for today's travel, but against future needs. A merchant, ought to know his ships, eh? And, those of others?"
"Gristav, while I believe that you mean the best, I do not, and perhaps will never, have the ability to blend with a crowd such as this." he said with a slight smile, the sound of his boots and cane tapping against the boardwalk lost in the hubbub and bustle.
"And as you imply, yes, I do know enough to differentiate between what a sailor would designate as a tub rather than a fleet ship. There is a set to the line of the ship, the amount of freeboard and the amount of spars available for sail." Tendal says, to nobody in particular as Gristav darted away to avoid a collision with a group of crate-laden stevedores.
Tendal continues forward at his own pace, relying as always, on attitude and quality of clothes to ensure his forward progress is unimpeded. Every so often he moves aside and takes a few moments to inspect the ships along the warf, looking for both the Cloud and any other fast ships.
"Just so. But I do not impugn your understanding, only to suggest that if questioned idly, we're seeking a fast ship, for a future purpose, not any particular one, for matters more urgent. That makes us out more as idlers, but you might be forgiven that, and me with you..."
Tendal simply nodded his understanding to Gristav, and continued perusing the ships, looking for one that had the appropriately rakish look.
[dice=Profession, merchant..."I hear you want a fast ship"]1d20+6[/dice]
It is difficult to judge by the flaring light of the oil lamps swaying from the various riggings, scattering reeling shadows as the ships rise and fall on the harbor's swell, but most of the craft in port tonight appear to be nothing impressive, certainly not to Tendal's cosmopolitan eye: jury-rigged boats for short jaunts, decrepti with age, filthy, and appallingly maintained, certainly nothing that his family would do business with in Magnimar. The one exception is a larger ship which appears to be of recent build and whose appearance indicates that its crew takes some pride in her -- or is browbeaten by their captain to do so. It bobs incongruously among its wharfmates, the name painted on its side Gozreh's Wayfinder.
Instead he reversed path and makes for the whore-baths, intending to return much later... thinking the heat for awakening would be less than the heat of delaying information. He takes a sniff of his clothes and shrugs, murmuring "Don't cut the best impression of the moment at the least..."
I am wondering if many of these...boats are simply awaiting their turn at the breakers. I don't think I would ship feathers on most of these...much less people or heavier goods. Tendal thinks, a frown tightening his lips.
Then, spying the Gozreh's Wayfinder, he looks a bit less grim.
"Gristav." Tendal calls, "I may actually be able to accomplish the charge that you placed upon me." Then, as Gristav joined Tendal at the edge of the warf near the ship, "While I cannot be certain as to the quality of the crew, it can be said that the captain does keep a trim ship. I do not believe that my family would hesitate to hire this ship to carry goods." he said.
Gristav chuckles, not unkindly, at Tendal's election. "Indeed. One would never have guessed. If this vessel were a man, it'd be dressed almost as well as you. And if you were a boat, the converse, I expect. Each speaks well of the other. There's a value there, but remember, however finely feathered are however many birds, that hawks - raptors - are most often simply brown."
"If it would serve your familiar duties, going aboard would elevate us, and aid our overall search...?"
"Braddon!" Lexy cries. "I thought you'd left town. I haven't seen you all week."
"I did. I came back." He deposits her carefully before rummaging in his backpack.
"I got you this." He grins.
"How have you been? Can I take you out? Or would you rather I take you inside?" He winks.
Braddon brushes Lexy's cheek gently.
"I missed you."
With a wry smile, Tendal straightens his cravat, tufts out the lace at the end of his sleeves and makes his way over to the gangplank, his cane tapping on the pier audibly.
"Ahoy, the Wayfinder! Permission to come aboard and talk to the mate or Captain?" he calls out to the ship.
As Tendal and Gristav have walked the wharf, they have picked up a trailing entourage of curious and mostly drunken onlookers. As Tendal adjusts his lace and taps his cane, they burst out into raucous guffaws.
"Catch an eyeful of him!" a sailor exclaims, tugging at his own unlaced shirt and filthy cuffs in mockery. "'Ahoy, the Effeminate Prat! Permission to come aboard and bugger the purser?'"
"One of Slyeg's boys, he is," another man laughs. "Looking to rise from cabin boy to quartermaster in a single voyage."
"Fellow with that much lace on his clothes," a more threatening voice arises from within the crowd, "stands to have at least as much coin in his purse. Be a shame if he were to fall in the drink with too much ballast. We'd be doing him a favor to lighten his pockets and drink to his health from the proceeds."
Just as the situation starts to turn precarious, another voice rings down from the deck of Gozreh's Wayfinder. "Here now, you ruffians, heave to! Why, if you were aboard my ship, I'd have you dancing at a rope's end for such incivility! Haven't your superiors given you anything better to do than to harass innocent bystanders, hey?" The voice loses its hectoring tone as the man directs his attention to Tendal and Gristav. "Come aboard, come aboard, sirs, and quickly," he urges them quietly, "before they decide I've no authority to do a thing to them." The speaker is a human male, something past his youth, dressed, like Tendal, in clothes a little too courtly for Riddleport society. A slight paunch and a tendency to jowliness beneath his well-trimmed bread add to the impression that this is no career sailor.
Annie ... Anakinyi, the Mwangi prostitute you have seen before below in the baths appears to have greeting duties this evening; she inclines her head to you in welcome, with a glimmer of recognition in her eyes.
"Just up the Cove. Still looking for Lil."
He peers around a little more slowly.
"Why would I be working for someone else?"
"Why would I be working for someone else?"
"I heard that -- oh, but never mind. You know how people talk. Probably just a wild rumor."
A carefully aimed blast of magic would stun the lot of them...but probably start a general brawl. Discretion is the better part of valor as they say... Tendal thinks, eyeing the crowd as a butcher might eye a side of beef, cold, clinical and calculating.
Tendal carefully makes his way up on the boat, then sketches a short bow to the man who called to them.
"Thank you good sir. I appreciate the quick invitation." Tendal begins. "I do say though, you keep a very trim vessel. I haven't seen a boat this well tended since I left Magnimar harbor. My complements to the captain and crew." he says honestly.
Always complement a sailor on his boat, Father once said. Its nice that I can actually mean what I say this time, rather than being...diplomatic.