Braddon closes his fist around the coins as the apprentice reaches out.
"Where's Sam? Samaritha? Babe. Red hair. Wears green. Tattoos around the curve of her... Anyway, recently accepted. Is she okay?"
"Oh," the young wizard replies with recognition. "Her. Yeah, she's just great. Mistress Bromathan's taken her on, and her team is busy with important stuff. Too important to be put on tourist duty," he grouses. "If you think knowing her is going to get you in without paying, you're out of luck. Five silver coins, or you're leaving without seeing the Cyphergate."
The other nine would-be sightseers who have already paid dart unfriendly gazes on the half-elf who is holding the group up.
"Oh, okay then."
Braddon turns and walks out, stopping at the head of the waiting queue.
"They've got room for another one. Here's your entry fee." Braddon slides the 5 silver in to the waiting customer's hand and looks about for Gristav.
"Hey, GRISTAV!!" Braddon strides across.
"Sam's fine, let's blow off these sad losers and get out of here."
Braddon shoves his way up the down footpath, past the grumbling of the people in line, and rejoins Gristav in the act of bidding farewell to the grousing citizen who has never acknowledged his introduction.
"I held council with Marce Washburn, looking to put slips ears to any rumours pertaining to yourself Saul. I'd hope if there are whispers in Free Coin or at the docks we'll hear of them. That may help to give us direction, but Magnimar is right... sitting idle and waiting for the doom foretold is hardly planning."
"What do you have in mind?" Saul asks. "If worse comes to worst, we could barricade ourselves in the Goblin for a while, but that's not really a viable long-term plan. What we need to do is to find Bojasc and put an end to him."
Snake smirks. "That's easier said than done, bub. In case you've forgotten, the big fella is about the size of a bear. And I'd wager one mighty swing with that weapon of his could easily fell us in one blow. But you're right. If we could find a way to remove him from the picture then that would help for sure. It's just a matter of 'how' to do it without getting our head caved in," he states matter of factly.
"Do we even know if he is in the city?" Tendal asked, mulling over the problem.
"Hey, GRISTAV!!" Braddon strides across.
"Sam's fine, let's blow off these sad losers and get out of here."
"Actually, these are two of the winners. Mister Braddon Hart, may I introdu-" Gristav stops short. "I don't know your name. That can't be accidental.", he says cheerfully, then turns to face Braddon, and away from the Windward couple, a polite, "Excuse us." his goodbye.
Some steps later, Gristav celebrates, "Sam's well? The Cypherlodge suits her? Did she seem happy? Of course, she was looking at you..."
Braddon waves dismissively.
"Nah. Some little git of a wizard was showing people through. He said she was doing well. If the mages accept kids like him, I don't know why they didn't take someone like Sam immediately. Let's go kill someone."
Shrugging Phil responds "No idea Magnimar but there are a few threads in motion that could draw taut. After our visit to the baths, the Whore Queen will know we're back in town..." stretching and taking a draught of kahve.
Saul gives a slight shudder and fingers his stump idly at the mention of the Calistrian priestess. "If anyone knows where someone in Riddleport might be hiding, it's Shorafa. Unfortunately, I don't imagine I could just saunter in there and ask her where Bojasc is."
Braddon and Gristav head ...
...back to the Gold Goblin, Braddon grumbling about the need for Bojasc's head to be mounted on a spike.
...back to the Gold Goblin, Braddon grumbling about the need for Bojasc's head to be mounted on a spike.
"I feel a fae need to argue against, even as I would race you to strike the blow... The woman is known to twist minds. The brute may be wholly unworthy all in himself, even while he's undeserving of our wroth. That matter is still just too shrouded in uncertainty, for all the dwarf be shrouded in sheet." A companionable if grim silence stretched on. It was of course Gristav who broke it.
"Too many words? Here: Yes, let's kill him. But try to talk first."
The group in the kitchen of the Gold Goblin freezes momentarily as a rattling is heard at the alley door. Just as hands are going to weapons or minds to spells (and Saul is sidling nervously toward the swinging doors to the casino floor), Braddon and Gristav enter, dispelling the tension.
"We're told Sam is well. That's the lead. And, let's see... Arnando has moved the publican's charity up the hill a bit, but the raftmen are of no mind to see the _needful_ crossed, so he's... not busy. The Harbor View is busy, trading on it's name, no doubt, the manageress unavailable at her office on two separate visits. And older money closing shutters, as a result. I heard a man tell his wife, cancel their engagements, he being too good to sit across from some one who'd only parlayed their Harbor View into a dinner plate at a table closer to him. His name escaped me, and I did give chase, but he dropped his wife's and two others, Lynley Chatham, who's 'decamped to Magnimar', and Egelbert Harington, retired from the Cypherlodge. The speaker, while conversant with, is not a fan of the organization. Ah, and neither, overmuch, of his wife, 'Lanna'. At least, not that one could tell."
Saul chuckles. "Those names take me back," he comments nostalgically. "Movers and shakers in Riddleport in their day."
"I got the impression... well, that the _speaker_ had the impression, that this Chatham had recently left, and was perhaps expected to return. 'For the summer', was the wording."
Saul nods. "Married a Magnimar girl a few years back. From what I hear, she never took to Riddleport society; prefers the shopping and occasions in the big city. They summer there every year, but she spends most of the spring and fall visiting friends back home while Chatham sees to his shipping business. She's in town long enough to hostess Chatham's usual party for the Windward crowd in the off-season." He chuckles. "You might just as well say she 'winters' in Riddleport."
"So, can we go kill Bojasc now? Gristav says we should talk to him first, but I know from recent experience that we can still talk to him when he's dead."
Smirking at Braddon "By all means... if we know where he is, which is regrettably the one failing in your assassination inclination. That is, unless your journey has caused enlightenment. As to Serpe and mine - we've put the Mayor to task on slip-watch hoping for any skerricks of verse that chime with Saul's reappearance. And our most-overdue trip to the baths has no doubt alerted the whore-mistress that we are still at large. Though it reeks of lassitude, the best option may merely be to sit tight..." pausing to mull over some further thoughts before adding "Though there is some merit towards advertising that the Gold Goblin will be open for trade as usual..."
"In Saul's absence...", Gristav gave an apologetic shrugging bow toward Saul at the in-presentia absentation, then continued, "...would we? Does it fit the myth we're trying to make, that he's missing, and we know little? Or is it that questioning that might shake a peach loose of the tree? You are clever. Can we follow through on that? Aren't we as likely to hare off toward some next rumor of our rare renegade roundheel, or ruffian? But I still think it's clever."
"Though there is some merit towards advertising that the Gold Goblin will be open for trade as usual..."
Saul looks alarmed at the prospect. "Makes us a bit of a target, doesn't it? If we're to open tomorrow night, they'll be expecting people in and out all day. Open doors, plenty of foot traffic...." The mercenary side of his personality seems to take over. "Still, if Free Coin is closed, we'd be the only game in town...."
The still brined and mangy corridor's of Phillip's mind seem to not turn o'erquick of late. Dropped threads of thought not congealing to tapestry and instead merely serving to be batted about by remembrances of land-squids and man-rats. However, like a languid snake waking upon a rock to the early morning sun's embrace... the little grey cells start to churn and turn.
Narrowed eye and furrowed brow he drops the present conversation to instead time-turn back a mote to words from Gristav's lips "Lynley Chatham?" reaching within his leathers to elicit a parchment with engraved inked words holding it forth to his taller compatriots "Coincidence it cannot be. This was left amidst my towel as we bathed in steam and soap..."
Gristav blinked, speechless. It didn't last. "I can recall every word spoken, if you like..." Gris' eyes widened as if the vinculum had been drawn, a slow flap from Bolbo, where it sat on his shoulder, perhaps unconnected.
"It's conjecture. But if this person were 'decamped', that's an empty camp. And if your postman is pointing, not to the man, but the camp..."
"We need now have a heartful hearing, among ourselves: Is she to die? Or to be bound? And then, to the Gendarme? Or the Mother? Though I agree with your interpretation, Phillip: It's not a maternal need for her return there."
"Not that we're likely to be able to cause these cards to fall this way... But if we had captured her, and were bearing her to the Gendarme, when she escaped, to sanctuary with the Mother, then it might be the powers in play might all feel dutifully served, if not well-served. And it might be said with some degree of truth to each, that we'd done our best for them, if in steering for the Gendarme, we inspired the girl, to flee home, and if in accidentally losing her to her home, she was seen to be in longer and greater punishment than the Gendarme might have been budgeted, given local politics."
"Still, probably best, if she makes us kill her. Certainly simpler."
Tendal drummed his fingers on the counter idly. "I think it depends Gristav. Not so much on morality as on ease. If she is in the city, where we can make quick moves to remand her to authority, then I am for capture and placing her where death cannot. However if she is encountered in some safehold, far from the city, where she has ample time to attempt escape, then simple assassination would be the best option. Justice must be served one way or another."
Saul looks alarmed. "Justice? This is what passes for justice in Riddleport." He waves his stump. "But killing Lil? Shorafa doesn't stand for justice; she stands for revenge, and if you kill her girl, nothing will stop her coming down on you -- on all of us. Bojasc, hells, yes, no one will raise an eyebrow at killing a mate who betrayed you, but Lil...." He shakes his head. "Riddleport would be way too hot to hold any of us after that. If you've got a safe bolthole over the Crown of the World, well, that's one thing ... maybe."
"I'll kill Lil. She killed Gramma. And if Shorafa doesn't understand, I'll explain it to her."
Braddon digs something out from under his fingernails with a dagger.
"So, where is she?"
Saul still looks troubled. "If she's at Chatham's place, it's up in Windward, on the footpath to the Cypherlodge, a big place right on top of the ridge with a wall of windows looking west out of town. He had it built himself. Hell of a view."
Furrowing his brow "Well... unfortunately I'm all out of reasons for invitation, so I'm supposing we'll need to make our way in a less than straightforward manner." before blinking a few times and his visage taking on a sort of revelatory frame "Unless we we're calling on behalf of a notable Riddleportian... that might get us through the door without too much notice..." turning to Braddon "For example, if we had writ with the General's name 'pon it..."
"Keep in mind," Saul points out, "if Lil's there, Bojasc's likely skulking about as well. You're not going to fool him if he sets eyes on you."
Contemplating Saul's words, Fillif has a fleeting headache momentarily blossom from a place of previous blunt-force trauma "If we've need of a burly attendee to leer and draw blades when needed I might know a man... but he'd stick out a mite in fair company." wondering if Ranef could even be convinced to follow and fight, and whether Akron and by extension Zincher would even allow such a thing.
Snake silently listens to all that transpires as he leans against a wall with his head down and his arms crossed. Raising his head once Phillip finishes speaking, "I'm thinking Raccoon's got it right. If we're going to find this Lil gal and kill her, and Bojasc is going to be there with her, it'd be a good idea to see if we can enlist some help." He then looks over at Braddon, "You got some solid blades there, bub, but that isn't going to be enough to bring down the big guy. And this little rag tag band of ours won't be enough either. We would only do ourselves a favor if we could get reinforcements. Of course, they'd have to be willing to go up against Bojasc which might be difficult to convince... no matter how much coin we put up. And let's not forget what the fat man just said," he motions to Saul with a nod, "we kill Lil then we have this Shorafa to deal with next which is also going to put whoever we can convince - if anybody - on her hit list too simply by association. Not that I care but if you add it up, we've just gained another enemy. This is a dangerous hand we've been dealt, bubs, if we're going all in let's make sure we're at least holding the right cards."
Braddon looks somewhat indignant.
"I can take out a drunken half orc. The rest of you can take care of Lil and her..." Braddon waggles his fingers at the group.
"Lil killed the General's babysitter. He'll sanctum me. I might even get a reward. And if Phillip got that message at Shorafa's then Shorafa won't mind. And if I kill Lil then it'll be my revenge. So Shorafa still won't mind or everyone will call her a liar. So there."
Braddon nods at his solid argument.
"And if she's up in windward, we can just pretend to be a seller with bread. Or go round the back through the cliff area and I'll flash my badge at anyone too nosey."
"Or my badge. I mean, honestly, "Package for Lynley Chatham", with any old oddment in hand... or that tramsmuter's text of Tendal's? He is a wizard, after all, this Lynley. But that only gets us, and not five of us, perhaps two, past the uninformed. Bojasc knows us all. How many of us does Lil know by sight? I've never met her."
"We might perhaps hope I catch sight of Bojasc, from elsewhere in the neighborhood. I have enough wroth, the curse is ready in my mind, he would fall to ill chance within the day, harmed by my hate. She's no healer?; he'd be away in search of that help, then. Or laid course on his way, and that course waylaid."
"The note you hold, Phillip, is it from Shorafa? Is it in her hand? Have we another sample, to compare? Or even to couch shapes from? The ruse of being from Shorafa, and the truth of Shorafa's wish for Lil's return, might explain some one or two of us, perhaps the unknowns, to Lil, as Shorafa's catspaws. A twosome, that might help against a threesome, might be clung to, where a full fist of five, might be fled from."
"It seems we are in need of some nearer base of operations."
"Or my badge. I mean, honestly, "Package for Lynley Chatham", with any old oddment in hand... or that tramsmuter's text of Tendal's? "
"No, Harington was the mage," Saul corrects Gristav. "Chatham's a ship owner. News from the harbor of one of his ships might be carried to him ... if the messenger wasn't aware he was out of town."
Braddon looks somewhat indignant.
"I can take out a drunken half orc. The rest of you can take care of Lil and her..." Braddon waggles his fingers at the group.
"Lil killed the General's babysitter. He'll sanctum me. I might even get a reward. And if Phillip got that message at Shorafa's then Shorafa won't mind. And if I kill Lil then it'll be my revenge. So Shorafa still won't mind or everyone will call her a liar. So there."
Braddon nods at his solid argument.
"And if she's up in windward, we can just pretend to be a seller with bread. Or go round the back through the cliff area and I'll flash my badge at anyone too nosey."
Lifting up his hat to scratch the back of his head before placing the hat back down, "For yours and our sake, bub, I sure hope it goes as easy as you make it out to be. So this 'Lil' killed your grandmother and some general's babysitter. You probably told me before but refresh my memory because my memory is shot all to hell. Why? Why did she kill them both? And are you absolutely certain it was her? Or is that information we still don't have?" he asks as he looks to them all.
Lifting up his hat to scratch the back of his head before placing the hat back down, "For yours and our sake, bub, I sure hope it goes as easy as you make it out to be. So this 'Lil' killed your grandmother and some general's babysitter. You probably told me before but refresh my memory because my memory is shot all to hell. Why? Why did she kill them both? And are you absolutely certain it was her? Or is that information we still don't have?" he asks as he looks to them all.
Hoping to spare Braddon need to form the words, or revisit his pains, Gristav stepped up. "Lil killed the governess-housekeeper, Zaiome Vishki, Braddon's grandmother - all one and the same person - for access to the daughter, to drug her eyes purple and her mind widely opened, to send her here to find trouble and lose... an intangible inviolance. I heard Zaiome's spirit speak of the encounter, and I'm convinced."
Responding to Gristav's question "I doubt the writings match the whore-queen's scratchings... but as it was passed on in her house I'd assume she has knowledge of it and promoted its passage."
Sighing and scratching his head "At any rate, it is a shot worth taking... I'd vote for calling on Chatham in a manner that would see us welcomed into his home... but can see the merit in a more skullduggerous approach"
"Alright. Let's go kill Chatham."
Braddon heads for the door, then stops.
"Is he Lil?"
Snake takes a fairly deep breath through the nose before shaking his head incredulously. Man the bodies just keep piling up. I'm liking our odds of attracting absolutely NO attention with all this, he thinks sarcastically to himself.
"Chatham is not Lil. Chatham is not home. Lil is in Chatham's home, is our best guess. Now, how do we discretely cross the river, lay hands on her, then bring her back? And where are we taking her? The scribe's quarters, below? Larur's niche? To the Mother? To the General?"
"I know you all think I'm balmy and talk too much, but it's because I think, I think, sometimes not enough. I've learned to regret that, and walk many paths in my mind before tripping down one, in life."
"If some men, either the group known to her, or not known to her, or those best for resisting any mind-bending magics... If some men got to her, and said Mother'd sent them, just ahead of others, that the first would warn of, and claim the second were working for the General... She might go with the first, to avoid the second."
Braddon frowns, then smiles unpleasantly.
"Well, if Chatham isn't there, we'll bust in, kill Lil, loot the place for clues, sell her body to the highest bidder, and no one will ever know we've been there."
He nods.
"Phil can improve on my plan on the way. He's kinda smart."
Tendal is silent during this exchange, his face reverted to its normal stony mein.
"There is something to be said for a disappearance rather than a capture or even outright murder."
"The most likely way for us to survive this, is for us to not even be suspected, either through the application of machination or misdirection. I feel that we could add layers of complexity to our plans, such as opening the Gold Goblin, make our presence felt then skulk off to a rendezvous. Or simply we take advantage of the confusion in the city, and simply go to the mansion. In either regard I feel that we will need a cart, and instruments of an arsonist. The cart will be for the removal of a corpse to such location that it can be disposed of such that it will never be raised and none can ask questions of it. The additional materials are to reduce the mansion such that the corpse will not be found in the ashes. Confusion and flame can be our allies in escape as well." Tendal finishes, his voice flat and calculating, eyes hard.
Snake perks up at Tendal's idea. "Now we're talking. I'm all for a plan that involves us NOT being suspects."
Smirking slightly at Tendal's words Phil adds "Wagon and fuel could be sourced from those of gypsy mein without too much trouble.
"The divine, can... divine. And need not prove to any but themselves, guilt to be avenged at leisure. Add that some of us have proved loose of mind or tongue, and I think we'd just be choosing an amortized risk against an immediate one. But I've done that before, I'll not demur."
"That said, the River and I have an understanding: She won't drown me, so Her current might keep the beasts of the flow from me while I sank a burden, perhaps, if She forgives the trespass on Her grace. We might explore the waters under the Goblin, perhaps find a place, rather than any place, to store or secrete a corpse. We might also find whatever the wave might have washed from walks, or wharves, or workplace, while we were at it."
"And we could, all go, on that waterlogged walkabout. I would only perhaps recommend the reach of spears. The aquatic races favor such; the battle with the land-squids showed us why."
"I don't mind a warm fire. And feeding her to land squids seems like a great idea."
"I don't favor arson. She's known to favor drugs, as tools; there could be innocents in the building. And arson is an assault on the neighborhood; it would draw questions, and paying the ferrymen enough for silence will have those near them talking, when they spend it. Trail back to them, is trail back to us. We'd have to multiply the murder. Sometimes, it's as indiscriminate a tool as fire."
"But we're using it regularly, it seems." Gristav was silent a long moment.
"I can get us across the river and then dry again, all of us, any of us. But not a cart, nor horses. Can we source such in proximity, or do we need to plan also for the ferrying of the cart?"