Braddon's easy smile vanishes.
"Are you spying on me?"
Gristav dutiably approaches an imagined circle between the two men, stopping at the tangent to speak directly, "Sir. Please allow me to introduce Mister Tendal Deverin, of the Deverin Trading House, Magnimar. Oh, and... I am Gristav."
Your interlocutor appears to be of what is known in Taldor as "the bearded": the wealthy and well-connected upper class. As such, it's quite unusual to run across him in Riddleport's harbor, even in a ship a cut above the pirate haven's usual standard.
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.
"Well, it ought to be trim," he replies, with a touch of vexation in his voice, "considering the amount of time and coin it's spent in the hands of the local shipwright. We were caught in the tidal surge, you see, and sustained some minor damage. Played the very devil with our schedule." He offers his right hand. "Vereiven Steen, at your service, though I am neither captain nor mate of this fine ship, I must admit."
"Even so, Mister Steen, your manner is that of a man of the mind, as like to have the answers we seek as any other. And bravo, on your imposture. Quick, and correct thinking."
Braddon's smile eases back.
"The Goblin's always closed between Sundays. It'll open again. Want to get something to eat?"
"Gristav does himself disservice by introducing himself thus. To be fair, he is as facile with magic as he is with weaving words." Tendal says, nodding at his companion. Then after taking and giving the man's hand a firm shake of greeting, he continues.
"It is our pleasure to meet you Mr. Steen. If you are neither Captain or mate, then, I must assume, you are likely the owner, and if so, we may discourse with you about possibilities and opportunities." Tendal says, happy for such a fortuitous meeting.
"Gristav ...is as facile with magic as he is with weaving words." Tendal says, nodding at his companion.
"Leaving me, still some paces behind Tendal.", The half-elf interjects, returning the complement.
"It is our pleasure to meet you Mr. Steen. If you are neither Captain or mate, then, I must assume, you are likely the owner, and if so, we may discourse with you about possibilities and opportunities." Tendal says, happy for such a fortuitous meeting.
Well, if Tendal's gone straight to the top... maybe I might manage the same?
Gristav looks about for an officer, and then permission to scale on the simpler ascents...
"Want to get something to eat?"
"Sure," she agrees readily, "but we'll have to go to Free-Coin for it. This side of the Velashu's closed for the night."
The only other visible occupants of the Wayfinder's deck are a few sailors and swabs, who appear busy about their duties.
"It is our pleasure to meet you Mr. Steen. If you are neither Captain or mate, then, I must assume, you are likely the owner, and if so, we may discourse with you about possibilities and opportunities."
"I have not the pleasure of being the owner," Steen replies pleasantly. "I have merely chartered this fine vessel. On matters of seamanship and navigation, every man's word on this ship trumps mine; the only authority I carry is to tell them where I wish them to take me."
This wing is dark and windowless; you take the time to conjure dancing lights to guide your way. From the open room where patrons queue up to exchange their coin for chips through barred windows, Bojasc directs you through the door opposite the dwarf's office. Beyond is a bare room containing only a wooden table and two chairs. The door beyond that leads into the cashiers' cage, where you can look back out into the queueing area from the other side of the barred windows. Behind the cashiers' stools is a wall that separates their office from another room with a desk and a chest; open bins of chips of various colors and denominations are on the shelves that line the walls.
Another door here leads into the counting room, which is filled with a wooden table and stools, slates and chalk lying at the ready for summing up the day's take. In the northern wall, a thick steel door, seven keyholes on its face, stands open in the stone wall. Past that is a room whose relatively small size bespeaks the thickness of the walls that surround it on each side. Shelves run around the interior of the vault; a few open chests remain, but apart from that the vault is empty.
"Sure," she agrees readily, "but we'll have to go to Free-Coin for it. This side of the Velashu's closed for the night."
Braddon rolls his eyes. "Talk about a captive market. Where do you want to go? We made a bit of gold on that last run, so anywhere is fine. And I still don't know all these flashy places yet. Anywhere we won't get ganked by our bosses' enemies?"
He grins again, obviously unconcerned, and holds the door politely.
"I have not the pleasure of being the owner," Steen replies pleasantly. "I have merely chartered this fine vessel. On matters of seamanship and navigation, every man's word on this ship trumps mine; the only authority I carry is to tell them where I wish them to take me."
"Then, may I ask, when you think that you will likely be ready to return to the open ocean? A general estimate might help Gristav and I make a better determination if we should take more of your time." Tendal asks.
"Anywhere we won't get ganked by our bosses' enemies?"
Lexy takes your question at face value. "Oh, Free Coin is supposed to be a neutral zone," she assures you, picking up a light wrap to throw around her shoulders. "Everyone leaves their differences on the other side of the Velashu, and there's a bunch of Gendarmes there to make sure they do it. Of course, that's where Orik Vankaskerkin knifed Falk Zincher, so I guess it doesn't always work out that way. But Free Coin is probably the safest place in Riddleport, except for the temple, and maybe the Publican House." She carefully locks the door behind her and takes your arm for the walk to the ferry dock.
"Then, may I ask, when you think that you will likely be ready to return to the open ocean? A general estimate might help Gristav and I make a better determination if we should take more of your time." Tendal asks.
"I do hope to be underway by Moonday," Steen replies, "but we're still waiting on a part from the shipwright. He claims to have his crew working as fast as they can, but to tell you the truth, I'm not entirely convinced he's not merely looking to extract more coin to grease his palm. Are you at all acquainted with Mr. Cazynsik and his establishment?"
"Then, may I ask, when you think that you will likely be ready to return to the open ocean? A general estimate might help Gristav and I make a better determination if we should take more of your time." Tendal asks."I do hope to be underway by Moonday," Steen replies, "but we're still waiting on a part from the shipwright. He claims to have his crew working as fast as they can, but to tell you the truth, I'm not entirely convinced he's not merely looking to extract more coin to grease his palm. Are you at all acquainted with Mr. Cazynsik and his establishment?"
Gristav begins toward Tendal, "Let's hope enough time is indicated for the swarm your bellow beckoned to fade to a few fools - few enough that a glare and glower might spare them the shock and surety of our coruscating clashing colors...", Gristav says absently, pondering the rise of the ratlines, drifting idling toward the crossed taut lines of one such target, distracting himself for much of Steen's response. "Might I climb this?", he asks of no one in particular, as an incongruous butterfly begins to lead the way.
"What's that? Cazynsik? He wants something of me. Well, of others. But from me. In fact, getting closer to all of that brought us here." Pointing out the butterfly, Gristav grinned. "The wings, you see, they take me where they want me to be... or seem to do. Such a fool, I, chance be oft wiser..." Watching the lepidopteran lower and level into the space between them, Gristav took a pace, then another, back to a breath's length from Steen, and hushed:
"He seeks a vessel, Flying Cloud, some secret, he thinks, of her construction. It might do to lament missing a planned rendesvous-", Gristav plots, but then his brow furrows, "-or he might delay you more, to bring her into port. Sorry, subterfuge is like dance; I've seen so very much of it, I'd think to be better at it by now. I suppose, like dance, it's the qualities of one's partner that provide inspiration toward greatness." As if hearing something from the flittering flutterbye, Gristav looked suddenly at it, asking "What? ... quite."
"To answer the question you asked", Gris returns his attention to Steen, "Yes. I've been his guest at ale, and his shop owes other work to a concern managed by Mr. Deverin. The great mysterious wave... shifted some duties and timings. To answer your unvoiced question, again, yes, we might, together, or singly, or serially, incent Cazynsik toward your needs, or at least, away from our own. That would happen more strongly, if we might speak with the Cloud, first. We were here looking for her, in fact..."
Braddon looks over Lexy appreciatively.
"Though, she'd probably have you kill me."
Braddon kisses her thoughtfully.
"At least I'd get to see you one last time."
"I, uh...." Steen struggles to follow Gristav's cryptic response. "The Flying Cloud, you say? I don't believe I've had the pleasure. We were under repair alongside the Fearful Jewel several days ago," he offers as a consolation.
The two of you traverse the largely-deserted streets of Leeward District. At this time of night, there is no wait for the ferry, and you quickly cross the waters of the Velashu and find yourselves standing on the busy, lamp-lit cobblestones of Free-Coin.
Braddon scratches his head and looks carefully about for a restaurant.
"Hey, do the two of you ever work together? I mean, could we...? Well, are we...? I mean, you and I... umm... Would you...? ahhh... yeah."
"Of course," Lexy replies with mild surprise. "I mean, it costs extra. And it would have to be at the temple. Anya's not in the habit of giving out freebies; she's very career-driven. But, sure, we work together sometimes. What are you in the mood for?" she changes the subject bewilderingly. "The Lone Hippocampus is known for its seafood," she points to a café not far from the ferry with tables scattered outside on the pavement, a sea-green creature like an aquatic horse depicted on its placard, "or there's the Cabin Boy up that way toward the Dragon's Hoard," she points northward toward the more crowded heart of the district. "They serve foreign food."
Braddon's swagger returns almost immediately.
"Anya doesn't give out freebies, hey? Well, aren't I the lucky one. Don't worry, I won't cross her. I like you too much."
"I'm in the mood for something a little spicy," he smirks. "And I grew up in a port, so fish is rarely my first choice."
"I, uh...." Steen struggles to follow Gristav's cryptic response. "The Flying Cloud, you say? I don't believe I've had the pleasure. We were under repair alongside the Fearful Jewel several days ago," he offers as a consolation.
"Teach's vessel", Gristav says in way of confirmation, not looking to Tendal, not wanting to be heard as discouraging elaboration, only as not providing it.
And then, having established his seamanship - hadn't he known the captain of a randomly-mentioned vessel? - Gristav plotted a path of ascent, and began to climb.
"Aye, Teach, that's the name," Steen agrees. "Heard it from a halfling at the shipwright's."
You make your way up the ratlines into the rigging, if not quite passing for a sailor, at least betraying no tendency to fall into the harbor. Once you get past the first few dozen feet, the light from the lanterns near the deck fades, leaving you forced to ascend any further by feel rather than by sight. At this height, already, the breeze is brisker and more refreshing, and the stench of the river dies away; over the dark rooftops of Riddleport, Free-Coin District is a constellation of lights.
"Fearful Jewel was captained by a man named Teach?" Tendal asks, pensively.
"I doubt that anyone would use that name without some purpose, as it does carry a certain cache in these waters. That halfling was either trying to impress you, a fool, or both."
It might be best to not suggest that Teach is a pirate...fear may close this avenue.
"Do you know if the Flying Cloud is still in port?" Tendal asks, curious if Steen knows more.
You make your way up the ratlines into the rigging, if not quite passing for a sailor, at least betraying no tendency to fall into the harbor. Once you get past the first few dozen feet, the light from the lanterns near the deck fades, leaving you forced to ascend any further by feel rather than by sight. At this height, already, the breeze is brisker and more refreshing, and the stench of the river dies away; over the dark rooftops of Riddleport, Free-Coin District is a constellation of lights.
"Lovely up here.", Gristav observes to his fluttering companion. "Sorry for all that I'll make you wallow in my world. Do whatever you need with your freedom, of course. And please, always imagine that you have it."
Hoping for the advantage of height, Gristav surveys along the dock, firstly for any taking interest in him or Tendal, and then for anything his unpracticed eye would think to be the Flying Cloud, even going so far as to look seaward... whichever way that is?
"What do _you_ sense, I wonder? Have you ears, to hear? Do you see at a scale to serve a search? We're looking for the Cloud, and, in Riddleport, for any who'd be hunting us..."
"Do you know if the Flying Cloud is still in port?" Tendal asks, curious if Steen knows more.
"I'm afraid I've no idea," Steen answers politely. "Have you asked at the harbormaster's office? I believe all the comings and goings of ships are logged there."
"I am sorry, I misspoke. Since you were aware of the Fearful Jewel, I was wondering if you knew about it."
"Ah, the Jewel!" Steen replies. "Apparently they have more pull with the shipwright than we do ... or, as Mr. Cazynsik would have it, 'their ship sustained less damage in the surge.' No, I believe they weighed anchor several days ago. Of course, they fly Gaston Cromarckey's flag; it wouldn't surprise me to find that those ships which work for the Overlord legally take priority over outsiders." He offers a worldweary smile.
Then he picks up the robe, sliding it onto his body and surreptitiously patting it down to confirm it's free of contents or otherwise. Tying the waistband with a quick release bow on his left hip he then plasters a wry smirk on his lips and looks about for his attending attendant.
The strawberry-blonde is waiting innocently at her station.
Each of the dishes on offer attests an exotic origin, from blackened tenderloin of auroch from the Storval Plateau, to reindeer meatballs as served in the halls of the Linnorm Kings, to Galtan goose-liver paste on toast. The decorations on the walls hail, one presumes, from similarly various provenances. If nothing else, they provoke conversation while the diners wait for their meals to be prepared.
Braddon's voice trails off and he studies at bowl that has been carved to resemble a skull.
Gristav returns to Steen and Tendal, presenting a patient pensivity, silently standing by, appreciating the stars surrounding his fluttering friend.