"Do not think that yours is the only blood that is tainted by prejudice," Malkith meets Shorafa's gaze, refusing to yield to the woman, "It is an unfortunate coincidence that Herr Vankaskerkin's woes seem to be consistently entangled with the actions of, as you put it, those touched by the lower planes. I go where the Fates take me; they have brought us before you by the actions and motivations of those in your employ - not because of their bloodlines."
Malkith pauses a moment for his words to settle over the room.
"Volo, the man who attempted to rob the Golden Goblin received the job from a woman matching Lil Scarlet's description; all accounts say he was love-struck by this woman. Considering the history between her and the Vankaskerkins, you should be able to understand our interest in Lil Scarlet."
(blocks of italics)
Larur frowns. "I'd not heard that Zincher had asserted control even over the couriers. If he has his way, there won't be a man in town who's not crawling to him for a job and paying for the privilege. If you want to work in this town again, you should make sure my name doesn't come up, lad ... but it galls me to think of you agreeing to his terms."
"Anyone grudging you, I would not agree to their terms. Unless I saw a sting, a trap for them. When I know more, I might shake his hand, if I had a dark plan for my free hand. Tomorrow, I expect to be refusing to enter his service. And I won't mention you. But I am known to some as your contact, perhaps your border?"
"Anyway, I let my old place go -- no sense in paying rent on a flat when I own a building -- but this place used to be an inn and still has a hall of bedrooms. They're a mite dusty, though you're used to the conditions I batch it in, so you may not notice the difference," he jokes, taking a key out of the cabinet on the wall. "You can stay the night, and welcome. There'll even be breakfast on offer in the morning. Saul's filled the other rooms with new hires."
He pauses a moment in thought before dropping the room key into your hand."If you're serious about staying in town a while, I could offer you the same terms Saul offered the rest of the lot: free room and board, and 10 gold coins a week for looking after the Goblin's interests. I'd not tie you down; I know you're a traveling man, and you'd be free to go any time you wished. But it would give you a stipend to live on without having to come to an agreement with Zincher."
"If you would trust it... trust me, I suppose... If you would trust me, to look after those interests, I'd be honored to accept. And I do. But here's why I spoke of trust; it might seem otherwise. We might might even find it useful to pretend it otherwise, and have you throw me out of here, or never have invited me to stay. I know subterfuge is not a dwarven trait, and more honor to your people for it, so I'll put it simply: You are my friend, Larur. I will defend your interests, I would without any promise of gold. All that said, should I seek other lodgings, to better pretend at our not being friends?"
"Where would you stay if not here, though? It's not safe to flop in the Wharves, unless you're itching for a new career as a pressed sailor. The Mystery of the Gate is safe enough, though they'll charge you an arm and a leg for a closet with a cot. Or maybe Arnando Rolf at the Publican House might know someone who could put you up for the night," Larur suggests. "He's a good sort, known to help a body out without asking too many questions."
"I understand any and all interest in Lil," Shorafa retorts, "except that which seeks to blame her for actions taken by her admirers." She relents a little. "If you wish to question Lil about this Volo, I have no objection," she shrugs. "But unless she has recently returned, she's not in the temple now."
The door behind her desk opens again, and the halfling enters with a boy of about 12, a rather wholesome-looking tyke save for the small pair of horns showing through his tousled hair. He looks at the three visitors with unabashed curiosity. "Thank you, Pip. Wait here and you can take him back up to the dormitory in a moment; this should't take long. By the way, has Lil come back yet?"
"Don't believe so, Shorafa," the halfling answers a little nervously. "You want me to send someone out to look for her?"
The priestess frowns, a bit of worry evident on her face. "Not tonight," she decides, "but if she hasn't turned up by noon tomorrow...." As she turns toward the child, her expression smoothens and she speaks to him liltingly. "Finian, do you recognize any of these men?" He stares at each face and shakes his head nonchalantly. "Then none of these is the man who offered you money to break curfew last night?" Her voice has grown a little sterner.
The boy's face twists in outrage. "Oliver told!" he wails. "That lying rat-bastard! He said he wouldn't tell!"
"Watch your language, young man," Shorafa replies mildly. "What were you to do in exchange for the coin offered by ... an elf, was it?"
"Hide in the alley and watch," the boy scowls. "Run tell him if I saw any of Zincher's boys ... or any of yours. Only Oliver saw me before I could run."
Shorafa turns back toward her visitors coldly. "So who is this elf whom Saul is employing to endanger children by placing them in the middle of a gang war?"
Phillip feels her quiver at his touch and is close enough to hear her sharp intake of breath as she anticipates what he will do next. But what he does next is ... nothing. After a moment, she opens half-closed eyes to search his face and sees the expectation on it. She blushes a little and gives a sideways glance to the crowded room. He can see the interior battle with her Erastilian upbringing: nice girls may get kissed, but they don't kiss a strange man themselves -- and certainly not in public. The struggle lasts only a few seconds; then she takes a ragged breath, closes her eyes, and leans forward, not entirely sure what to do with her lips but game for trying.
Braddon looks across to the boy.
"Finian. Did you tell the elf you were already working with Shorafa? Did you try and send him to someone else? Did you tell him all the kids work for Shorafa? Or did you just grin and take his money?"
Braddon leans forward and smiles quickly. "You told the truth about Oliver. Now what did you tell the elf?"
The dwarf frowns as you, at least temporarily, refuse to accept the key. "That's a stratagem Saul would come up with, and no mistake. There are those in Riddleport who know of our association, but they'd be at the Forges or the Publican House; don't know if word would have filtered up to Zincher. Think his capp's new since you were here last: Old Korvosa oughtn't to know you from Aroden's off ox."
"Where would you stay if not here, though? It's not safe to flop in the Wharves, unless you're itching for a new career as a pressed sailor. The Mystery of the Gate is safe enough, though they'll charge you an arm and a leg for a closet with a cot. Or maybe Arnando Rolf at the Publican House might know someone who could put you up for the night," Larur suggests. "He's a good sort, known to help a body out without asking too many questions."
"One or two questions might actually help our cause. Now... I was never here, not inside. A knock at the great doors was ignored, and I went away, you might not even know it was me. I'll find lodgings through the Publican, tonight, and tomorrow seek out this Zincher. I've an order to deliver, after all, and I'll stay to my understanding that the return is to be by me, as well. And I'll see how that goes."
Phillip takes in Ethel's hesitation and lets her work herself into the embrace. The kiss is returned gently as Phil's hand leaves her face to rest upon her shoulder. When the embrace is broken Phil shimmies up to sit beside her, arm around her waist and resting comfortably against her side. Looking out he flags down a waitress to refill their goblets and rests in easy silence for a short time.
Now, this...this is interesting. There might be an opportunity here if the rival factions go to war...
"The children do not work for me," Shorafa retorts disdainfully, her gaze so icy it nearly crackles. "This is their home. They learn to read and to write. They play. I won't allow anyone to involve them in Riddleport politics."
Finian pays no attention to the priestess's ire. "Didn't tell him nothing," he shrugs. "All the kids aren't here. Thomas lives over a shop with parents. He was scared to get caught out after dark last night."
"Not brave like you," Braddon smirks.
He sits back and turns to Shorafa.
"The kid was offered work and instead of saying you won't let him, he took the cash. Our elf has done nothing wrong. How much protection the kids want is between you and them. We've told the elf they're yours, he'll avoid them. He seemed genuinely sorry and can probably come round and apologise in person, if you want. It's not like he drugged, kidnapped and molested a kid or organised a raid on your place of work. What action are you gonna take against Bott?"
"Very well, lad," the dwarf sighs, "but you've a room here whenever you want it. At least get yourself a bite to eat before you go; it's the least I can offer you."
Ethel sips her wine but seems restless. "Phil?" she murmurs after a while. "Will you walk me home tonight, or are you planning on sending me away early again and knocking over the Watercress?"
Phil assuages Ethel's concern "The only work I have for the evening is to exchange a few words with Marce..." patting her hip to soothe her nervousness "Fear not I've no intent of departing here without you by my side tonight. Would you soon for leaving or would you prefer to stay a while longer?"
Seemingly satisfied, she shrugs indolently, leaning her head against his shoulder. "As long as we don't leave with the rest of them. Don't want to walk back with the whole crowd -- or get stuck keeping Maddy company so Almah and Win can be alone," she adds resentfully.
"But of course... and if you wish milady you could always walk me home." pausing for a few moments before abruptly changing the subject "So have you resolved to cast off Betta's yoke?"
Phil also looks out into the crowd to see if he can spy if Marce is still at skiffs or has finished for the night.
Malkith looks as if about to speak when the halfling and youth enter. He closes his mouth without sound, acknowledging that the topic of Lil Scarlet is at an end - at least for the moment. He unconsciously takes a step back, as if removing himself from the new line of inquiries and allowing his companions to take over.
"Very well, lad," the dwarf sighs, "but you've a room here whenever you want it. At least get yourself a bite to eat before you go; it's the least I can offer you."
"And I'll not offer the shame of my refusal, but I'll take just a crumb. The Publican Priest and his Hobbit Hostess serve us best if they remember me hungry. And I am; naught but trail fare since dawn."
"It's past your bedtime, Finian," Shorafa tells the boy, momentarily ignoring Braddon's question. "Thank you, Pip; deliver him back upstairs, and that will be all."
Once the two have left the room, she turns back to the half-elf. "What becomes of Oliver doesn't appear to me to be any of your concern. To the extent that he's offended against anyone, it seems to me that only General Mescher and his daughter have any claim to vengeance, and Oliver's role in her misadventure seems to be limited to an unfortunate misunderstanding, much as your elf 'meant no harm' by employing one of my children as a spy. If the general wishes the temple's assistance in locating the persons who drugged his daughter and robbed his house, that is between me and him."
"As for the incident at the Gold Goblin," she gets to her feet, "Oliver had nothing to do with it, by your own words. It was this Volo, instigated (you claim) by Lil Scarlet. If you wish to question Lil, I have no objection, and should you find any actual evidence linking her to the robbery -- not speculation and racial bias -- I will hear your claim then."
She turns to follow the halfling and child out the door but then pauses and turns back. "I will tell you this," she admits. "Lil wished to pursue vengeance against Saul Vankaskerkin in his son's stead after Falk Zincher's death, and I refused her. I did not consider the claim legitimate, on the grounds that Saul was not responsible for the actions of his grown son. She is ... passionate in pursuit of her desires."
"I'm sure General Mescher will understand that Oliver's role was just 'an unfortunate misunderstanding'," Braddon waggles his hands in front of him, "even though Oliver knew the girls that handed Ananda over to him. We'll be glad to tell the General what we saw since Oliver was doing his business at the Goblin. In future, he can do his work elsewhere."
Ethel makes no immediate response to Phillip's invitation, but his question startles her into replying, pushing away just far enough to turn and look him in the face. "But ... what would I do all day? And how would I pay my share of the rent?"
Out on the casino floor, Phil can see that Marce is still at the lake, along with Maddy and Ewart.
You walk over the gritty and uneven stone, tiny patches of red carpeting still clinging to it in places, to the swinging doors that lead to the kitchen. You push through to a room of order and light, in contrast to the disorder and gloom of the renovations. A tea kettle is whistling on the stove under the supervision of the Varisian half-elf. Its tune is merry, but her countenance is severe. "I'm a wizard, not a cook," she informs him, "or a maid, or a whatever you took me for. I can just manage tea, but there's no stew." Her expression softens as she pushes your gold coin back across the table at you. "There's meat and bread upstairs, if you're hungry, and wine." She shakes her head in exasperation, setting out a cup and saucer for you. "Are half-elves supposed to prefer ale to wine, or is it just men?"
Tendal politely stands as the lady gets up to leave, but his mind is on less polite thoughts. Lil must be the exception that proves the rule then. I don't see her rising above her heritage anytime soon...in fact she seems to wallow in it. We may need to find a solution before she ruins Saul...I doubt she will simply stop because we ask."
"Good evening." he says, as Shorafa makes her exit.
"Well, that was illuminating." Tendal says to Braddon and Malakith.
Malkith nods at Tendal, "Quite illuminating. If we're done with Herr Bott, then I would suggest we track down Lil Scarlet."
"I'm a wizard, not a cook," she informs him, "or a maid, or a whatever you took me for. I can just manage tea, but there's no stew." Her expression softens as she pushes your gold coin back across the table at you. "There's meat and bread upstairs, if you're hungry, and wine." She shakes her head in exasperation, setting out a cup and saucer for you. "Are half-elves supposed to prefer ale to wine, or is it just men?"
"I think elves are supposed to prefer mead, owing to the honey, or of course wine. Half-elves seem to prefer whatever they've made a habit of, like most peoples, I would guess. I'm no sort of authority on half-elves, no more than any other people. As for men, I don't speak for the entire gender, only for myself, in saying that while you're clearly smart enough to be a wizard, perhaps even a cook-", Gristav smiled wryly, "You're also pretty enough to be a maid, or a whatever. If I mistook you, well, I knocked at a door, and a voice answered. I was thought a thief or a bandit, she was thought a maid or a... whatever. I hope we might both be forgiven?", Gristav asked, smiling gently.
Sliding from his back an odd double bag, Gristav opened one large pocket, saying "Here, in partial amends, let me offer and ask of a fellow magician..." But he was already back through the door to the casino-in-propgress.
By the time she had joined him, he had the book open, and settled it into her hands, facing her. "This bit, here...", he said, pointing to the page, then turned, and incanted clearly, not the usual muttering.
At the end of a line from one gesturing finger of the stranger's hand, words in Varisi script appeared in the dust and dirt of the rough floor, a crisp cut of cleanness.
Gristav laughed, banishing the remaining unwanted matter in that small area with a gesture.
Facing the lady, Gristav slowly closed the book, then placed it back in her hands. "I'll return for this tomorrow, will that be alright? I'm Gristav."
Gristav smiles. "Oh, no. I'm sure I don't. I had hoped to leave it with a friend. But a stranger would do, if it's what's on offer. A confession: I'm going out to pretender at impoverishment, and while I'll risk my person, I can think of no better keeper for these secrets than someone who might put them to use, who understands their importance to me. Do me the great favor, of putting the book to good use, or safely away, as suits you. Return it with commentary, if you've time and inclination. I believe I'll return tomorrow, perhaps later. Larur will speak to my bona fides, and that he followed you to a door speaks to yours. Yes?", he asks, though yes to what, might be unclear.
"No such loss need be eternal. Perhaps we can transcribe each other's works, and be security, each to the other. A poor deal for a wizard thought a maid, against a magus thought a bandit; which the worst risk, eh? I suppose I'll have to find more with which to fluff your pillow." Gristav's smirk spreads faster than his turning from her could hide it. But maybe that was intentional.
"Browse, cast, copy...", he said expansively on his way to, and from just beyond the kitchen door, before catching it to hold it open for her, or maybe just to say, "Some things are greatest when shared."
Malkith nods at Tendal, "Quite illuminating. If we're done with Herr Bott, then I would suggest we track down Lil Scarlet."
"I'm not done with Bott, but he can wait. Maybe Mescher will pay me to kill him?" Braddon seems genuinely warmed at the thought. He turns to the others. "Do you have any idea where to find Lil? Or should we start asking at The Publican?"
Gristav had finally got beyond the lure and draw of those eyes.
He set himself a course toward the Publican House, around the worst of the risk-filled neighborhoods. Prepared, as he was not, at the moment, he cautioned himself... Prepared, he might someday indulge the sharper edge of the brighter side of his mind, a walking trap for those unwise, woefully willful of unweal... But not tonight. Tonight, he was spent of greater magics, which, he was honest with himself, weren't all that great. Oh, there was potential, but it hadn't quite manifested. Further study was needed.
They really were, very lovely eyes.
Enough of that. He corrected his mental course, checked his physical one, and cast again the simple twist of the weft of the world, laying out the details of the standing field of focused substance, to the deft digits of dweomer, and... Done. Dutifully dismal.
He didn't favor it, but it served better the story of the rider-just-in, if he were trail-worn when he arrived at the Publican. So he was.
Next stop, the Publican.
Amazing eyes.
Alighting at the dock just across from the southern tip of Maskyr's Island, you separate from the crowds heading north to the casinos and take the road in the opposite direction. You know that many of the abandoned and boarded-up buildings of the River District house squatters and worse, but the west bank both boasts more businesses still in operation and is more separated by the river from the lawlessness overflowing from the Wharf District than the east; as such, you walk with wariness, holding your staff in a way that emphasizes to any onlookers that it is a weapon rather than a walking stick, but without undue trepidation.
Among the dark and empty buildings, the lighted windows of the Publican House are a welcome sight as you approach. The front door is propped open to catch any whisper of breeze that might pass by, and the sound of laughter and conversation spills out on the boardwalk over the river. The clapboard-and-shingle building isn't large in comparison to the casinos up north, but every square inch seems to be in use. The tables and the bar are full, and beyond them, you can see the open door to the 'morning room,' the smaller bar you are used to frequenting with Larur and the night-shift dwarves in the off-hours; tonight, the crowd has already spilled in there. Behind the long counter, beneath the emphatically-painted words No Cyphermages, you see Arnando Rolf, the bartender and cleric of Cayden, holding court, dispensing ales and engaging in conversation; his blonde halfling barmaid, Lalie Makeckney, is crossing the wooden floor with a tray of emptied mugs, expertly weaving among the tables and chairs and the legs of the taller customers.
Braddon, Malkith, and Tendal retrace their steps out of the office, down the bare corridor, and back into the plush and elegant decor of the lobby. The woman who escorted them back there in the first place looks up at them curiously, perhaps a little disappointed that they seem to be departing their audience with Shorafa none the worse for wear. "Anything else I can do for you gentlemen?" she asks.
Properly abashed at his road-worn state, Gristav weaves apologetically through the room, not on the most direct path, but on the path that inflicts him least on those he passes. Expecting his worn appearance to catch Arnando's eye, Gristav simply arranges to be near enough, when whatever conversation Arnando is having winds down.
"Sorry.", Gristav begins earnestly, gesturing open-handed to his attire. "I won't linger. I'm hoping you can recommend an inn or similar; my usual... I don't know just what happened. But I can't go there tonight. I'm sorry, I know this isn't the fellowship and celebration that's the purpose of this house, but I'll return after I've met with a tureen of hot water, and honor your Master in His way. By my word."
Braddon, Malkith, and Tendal retrace their steps out of the office, down the bare corridor, and back into the plush and elegant decor of the lobby. The woman who escorted them back there in the first place looks up at them curiously, perhaps a little disappointed that they seem to be departing their audience with Shorafa none the worse for wear. "Anything else I can do for you gentlemen?" she asks.
Braddon grins. "Well, I w..." His brain kicks in before he can say anything further.
"Not today, thanks. Sorry, what was your name?""Thanks very much for your time."
Braddon grins and makes his way out into the street with the others.
"Well, that didn't go very well. Did it?"
"Not today, thanks. Sorry, what was your name?"
"Rosamond," she replies with a slight smile. "Feel free to ask for me."
"I'm really very appreciative...", Gristav says, trying to keep ahead of the tray's edge. Did she actually sharpen that thing? He worked to suppress a smile at the ridiculousness of the scene, being in complete agreement with the onlookers who took to chuckling at the spectacle. Couldn't smile; he was supposed to be embarrassed, not triumphant. But he had come to be seen...
Tendal grins at Braddon.
"Well I guess it depends on what your goals for the evening were. Personally, I think that went quite well." he says with an airy wave.
"I don't think that we should discuss it out here however...I believe that there is some brandy waiting for us back at the Goblin. Shall we go see if we can reduce the level of the bottle?"
"I'm really very appreciative...", Gristav says, trying to keep ahead of the tray's edge. Did she actually sharpen that thing? He worked to suppress a smile at the ridiculousness of the scene, being in complete agreement with the onlookers who took to chuckling at the spectacle. Couldn't smile; he was supposed to be embarrassed, not triumphant. But he had come to be seen...
"Tch," Lalie clucks dismissively. "I'd toss you in the Velashu, but you'd just come out dirtier." Giving Gris a final shove into a small kitchen, she follows him in, dumps the used mugs into a battered tin tub below a pump, and goes to check a kettle on the stove. "I try to keep it warm in case I need a cuppa," she explains. "Here now, prove you're not a waste of height and pull down a basin out of that cabinet up there," she directs him.
As he complies, she examines him for a moment in the light from the oil lamp. "I've seen you in here before, haven't I? Something to do with the Gas Forges?" She pours the hot water into the basin, then goes to refill it at the pump and sets the kettle back on the stove.