Braddon's contribution to the conversation consists of occasional interjections and nods and hums of agreement around a mouthful of breakfast washed down with some coffee.
"Mmm, good coffee today." He nods at Larur, then seems confused by the dwarf's poor reaction so pays attention to what Saul is saying.
Saul frowns. "Galen Krump's household? We don't need to make any unnecessary enemies in Windward. I suppose it's worth questioning her, but don't bring her back here to do it or mention that you're working for the Goblin, if you can help it."
"Don't let on I'm a Goblin- right."
"She was part of Shorafa's flock for years," the dwarf rasps stubbornly. "Nothing to say she's not still under her thumb if Shorafa called in a favor. Or Lil or Bott, for that matter. They all ran together."
"Ah hah! A connection. Bott is obviously making a play to depose Shorafa. She better reward us for this."
"Larur," he goes on breezily, "can you go by the locksmith and have some extra keys made today?"
"Ah yes, a key! Apparently I'll be making frequent use of one." He pokes his tongue out at Samaritha and is quite taken aback as she rushes downstairs at the mention of the new arrival.
He looks quizzically at Malkith. "Gristav?"
"Will you be arranging with Cas Cazynsik to acquire the furniture?... I've a few requests to make. It would be nice to have a few articles within my chamber more advantageously sized to my person. The butchered Northern beasts I find quaint and would like to keep, but it is a chore to need a stepladder to get into bed. Might you countenance some accompaniment on that particular errand?"
The dwarf considers a moment and then gives a resigned grunt, unable to argue with the inconvenience Phillip must be facing. "Aye, all right," he agrees. "Suppose you'd know better than I would what you'd be wanting. I'll probably head down that way after the carpeters arrive and I see them well underway. Don't suppose it would do to saw the legs off short on the bed you've got? Make it a little closer to the floor?"
Following Samaritha's directions, Gristav goes up the stairs, which turn and then turn again to deposit him on the upper floor facing a bare wall across a narrow corridor. Only one way to go from here: a cross-corridor, a window in the eastern wall spilling in the morning sun, a large, bare room with a few mismatched chairs, what looks to be an oversized closet with racks of clothing, and at the western end, an open door with a brass plate inscribed "Owner." The sound of voices through the door. A rather nice waiting room with stuffed couches, and an open door to the south.
Through it walks a man with elven blood who has nonetheless managed to grow a rather neat beard. At the far end of the table, he sees his friend Larur in conversation with a moustachioed halfling over a scrap of paper. The other chairs at the table are filled with an athletic-looking half-elf, a well-dressed human, and a man in traditional Varisian garb. Another familiar face, that of the large and glowering axe-wielder who answered the door the previous night. At the near end of the table, a full-blooded elf stands next to a man who can only be "Old Stumpy," Saul Vankaskerkin. Gristav has heard of the man but never before laid eyes on him. Short, stout, middle-aged with a receding hairline, his most distinguishing characteristic is the prosthetic key fixed at the end of his left wrist, in place of the hand he lost in payment for certain sins years ago, from what Gris has heard.
With a smirk Phillip nods assent "While sawing the legs will solve the height issue... it is a little bit crowded in width when shared with another." pausing momentarily to allow the thought process to flow where he expects it to "...after the carpeters it is." before pausing as the newcomer arrives and readjusting his position to sink back into his bolstered chair and take a sup from his mug of Red.
The tall athletic looking half-elf gazes at Gristav out of a boyish face with intense green eyes, messy deep black hair and a curious smirk. His crumpled cream shirt appears too big and his smooth brown pants appear too small. His gaze shifts past Gristav and his brow furrows.
"Where's Samaritha?"
"Don't let on I'm a Goblin- right."
Malkith can't help but grin at Braddon's choice of words. "The Publican first," he reminds him, "We don't know how late Scarlet will be hanging around there this morning. We also wanted to talk to the ferryman."
He looks quizzically at Malkith. "Gristav?"
Malkith just shrugs. When Gristav finally enters the room, however, the Varisian hides his expression behind a long sip of tea.
"Where's Samaritha?"
Gristav chuckles at the athlete's question, "I'm a poor trade for her, I'll agree. I expect she'll be along. I hope she'll be along. I gave her some... paperwork, of a sort. Really unfair of me, but fairer than not, to one fairer than most." A scent stopped him, and a deep savoring draw of breath changed his subject. "Is that Sargavan Red? A good bean. Not your usual, Larur. Making allowances for the untdwarrowen, at last?" Gristav chuckled again, recalling for the room, "You know, the first time Larur shared coffee with me, I was in mortal terror... for the tin cup! Had to drink it fast, before it could eat through." Aware of the potential for hurt, Gris sallied on, "But then, as now, I thanked you." He nodded fondly to Larur, and again addressed the room. "Larur is a true friend. Fair, but no more than, in business. And kind, but no fool, beyond that. He's a good man. But you all already know that."
"Who am I, will be someone's next question. Gristav, currently a courier, mindful of most more-mobile mercantile wares and wyrds, and words, of course, as can be kenned. Larur offered the option of board in your barrow, but last night I left, to better bluff the dour dwarf driving desk at the Gas Forges, and to set myself aside from Larur and you sirs, in case such shadowing should superiorly serve some subterfuge. Larur said such thought was worthy of you, sir-", Gristav nodded to Saul, "-which I find heartening."
"I had hoped to upbraid Zincher himself, but only met his capp, a former Korvosan officer by name of Braddikar Faje, a man who believes in things done now. Which served me well, in trading a rhyme and a scrawl for a pot-metal badge, which served me well, in finally delivering the commission which brought me from Nybor. We- if I should use the 'we', will know soon enough how seriously this badging business is to be handled, as my signature on their papers should be fading, just about now." Gristav smirks, and points to a plattered breadstuff, asking Saul, "May I?"
"He's always like that," Larur mutters to Phillip. "Elf blood. Just try to pick up every third or fourth word, and you can generally keep up. Don't need any encomiums now, or eulogies," he bats aside Gristav's testimonial. "I'm not retiring or...." He waves his hand dismissively.
"May I?"
"Indeed," the man answers quickly. "Have a plate and a seat and a cup." The elf quickly claims a chair, and the place next to the Varisian harrower still holds a freshly-poured and steaming cup of tea so is apparently taken, but there is one unoccupied seat remaining for the newcomer. "So... are you, in fact, looking for a job, Mr. Gristav? If Larur's speaking on your behalf, I don't see how we could possibly turn you down; he's certainly not known for wasting compliments where they aren't more than due."
"Am I looking for a job? Perpetually, sir." Gristav set to breaking a muffin into mouthfuls, but left them on his plate, as apparently outgoing traffic had right of way. "I will ally, subscribe, partner, or serve with you in order to serve Larur. I'm convinced he's been done unfairly. I suspect he's been done criminally. I've seen with my own eyes Zincher's barracks where a storefront would serve, met the men he chooses for his doormen, and I don't doubt the path to his ire leads over the moral high ground. My only question is are your interests served better by a declared public addition of myself to your resources, or by my appearance as an independant, or even as their servant or ally? No... I've two other questions. But the muffin calls..."
"Wow. And people say I talk too much..."
Braddon leans over to Malkith.
"Did he just say 'yes'?"
Tendal almost smiles at Gristav's speech...almost.
"Sir, I don't think that our immediate interests are served with stirring up the various power-groups of the city. It appears that Mr. Gristav has not formally entered into hire with Zincher, therefore there should be no issues with taking him into your employ. I would however council against him acting as agent. While I have no knowledge to say that Mr. Gristav would not perform admirably in that capacity, I cannot see that there would be any benefit for our endeavors."
"Mr. Gristav, good morning, I am Mr. Deverin, late of Magnimar." he introduces himself with an idle wave of the coffee cup. "I may be inferring incorrectly, but from your discussion of employ with Zincher, am I correct in assuming that you have some martial capabilities?" Tendal asks in his usual languid manner.
"That would be a fair statement, Mr. Deverin. I'm by no measure a warrior, but I've bested swords by staff, and hunted potmeat by bow. Last night I defended the deck of the Flying Cloud. Your question leads to one of mine in reserve, though I can guess based upon Larur, best to ask, perhaps even advise... Bloodthirst. I am devoid of it, save perhaps if enraged. Is that a disappointment, or a reassurance, to you all?"
"I've no desire to be known as the head of a band of ruthless killers," Saul replies. "Killing other men's people tends to lead to retaliation. We've a business to run here. If we're attacked, we'll do what we have to defend ourselves and our interests, of course, but I would prefer that our methods remain nonlethal as much as possible."
Phillip follows the conversation... at least he hazards a guess that he manages to distill the gist of most of what the newcomer states. He also notes once more Saul's predisposition away from red-handed solutions.
Without introduction Phillip poses a hanging query "Much has been said of what you would do... but what is it that you actually want to do? Thus far I have seen that you have a predisposition to eloquence that tends towards grandness rather than concise... and you hint at a muted ability for armed conflict before shying away from a desire to use it."
"What work do you seek?"
"You shall have my entire cooperation in that regard. My magicks, as well, offer little threat of indeliberate death."
"Much has been said of what you would do... but what is it that you actually want to do? Thus far I have seen that you have a predisposition to eloquence that tends towards grandness rather than concise... and you hint at a muted ability for armed conflict before shying away from a desire to use it."
"What work do you seek?"
"Larur is a friend. I seek to support him. That is the extent of my will in this employ. As partner to Saul, Larur brings me to your efforts. I think you will find I might acquit myself."
"As for the perhaps intended question of how I might serve, I am the equal of many when using the staff in a street-fight. I am as learned as some wizards, though I admit some gaps in my training. Aside from fighting and magic, I've an eye for value and where I saw what and who last. I suppose all Larur might vouch for is that I am decent. For all the rest, please, do test me. You ought to know what your tools are capable of."
"Aye, what do the lot of you do," the dwarf glowers, "other than take my coin and enjoy my hospitality? Saul hired you all on a whim; well, Gris'll answer to me. He's a man I trust who isn't beholden to anyone else, and that's scarcer in Riddleport than worms' teeth."
"Now, Larur," Saul soothes, "no one's insulting your friend here. We're just interested in his areas of expertise, that's all. We don't want to hire a master chef and set him to sweeping the floor. Magicks, you say?" he turns back to Gristav with interest. "Mr. Deverin is quite an accomplished wizard himself, had a private tutor. I'll ask you what I asked him: Why work for us rather than sign on with Elias Tammerhawk and the Cypherlodge? That's what the pretty redhead's aiming for."
He seems an honest sort... which is both encouraging and a disappointment both. Seems lacking in ambition though, unless there are desires hidden and unspoken. At Gristav's last words though, Phillip cannot help himself but smile and decide to take him at his word. The last couple of days in Riddleport had been kind to the Calistrian devotee, so his mood was elevated and his words less guarded than most days.
Phillip reaches within his jacket and fishes out a golden coin, showing it briefly to Gristav before speaking as he sets it dancing across his knuckles "Well I suppose Larur and I could use the company as we make to speak of wood and the working of it. See if your eye for value is as keen as you say... in my experience gold and copper are easily mistaken" and in a trice the coin that was dancing across his knuckles is flipped into the air and caught in an open palm. The coin that lands is not gold, but copper - and Phillip pauses a moment to make sure that Gristav sees the change before tucking the coin back into his jacket.
"I am Phillip" said plainly.
Larur's umbrage is met with a shrug "I do only what I agreed to and less and more beside. The emptiness of your cup already betrays that I've had a positive impact no?" giving Larur an impish wink.
"Aye, what do the lot of you do," the dwarf glowers, "other than take my coin and enjoy my hospitality? Saul hired you all on a whim; well, Gris'll answer to me. He's a man I trust who isn't beholden to anyone else, and that's scarcer in Riddleport than worms' teeth."
Braddon coughs indignantly.
"I spotted the thieves before they struck, mentioned them to you, took down two of them on my own, helped chase their leader through the dark, quietly returned the Mescher girl (and without letting her know she was here) and now we have solid leads on who brought her here. Not bad for a dozen gold and a few pastries, even if I say so myself."Braddon picks up a pastry and bites into it meaningfully.
"And I've only been here two days."
"I'm Braddon," he mutters somewhat sulkily to Gristav and glances past him again, but not before his eyes briefly meet Phillip's.
"I favor her odds above mine. My beard won't hide my ears, but her smile and eyes might hold an eye, and so blind sight of hers. I wish her the best, and admittance on her own terms, and no other's. It's similar terms that have me at large as a courier. I was offered comfort for obediance and moral nearsightedness; I refused. I've made my way about much of this land, and some of this world, without comfort, often, but by my own compass, and over moral high ground. If you know of a master magus with space for a long-winded apprentice with such a predisposition, I might well serve him. But I would still be Larur's friend. And from that, at your service, as well."
"As to expertise... I'm a fair rider over open road, atop a phantom in shape of a horse, riding at a pace to make a horse a phantom. That's what I've been making a living at. I've an eye for value; I do a bit of merchanting at opportunity. I'm of course literate, and could scribe or keep books. I speak and read Elven, Sylvan, Tien, and Varisian, though I'm told my Varisi has a Caravari taint, and that my Tien brushwork 'betrays your mastery of the staff', whatever that may mean. I suspect it is not laudatory.", Gristav says with a wry smile.
"For magic, your magi are welcome to a full accounting of what I might prepare with some little notice, but I doubt such would mean too much to others. I do welcome dweomercrafter's discourse. Such is in short supply, to road-dusted irregulars."
"If you're about to be away, it will be away from me. I've used my magics for phantom horses, to get here at last sunset. And left my spellbook in Samaritha's care, while I went about beggar's business until returning here only just now. So I'm some hours from feeling prepared. If you're after furnishing, for finish and strength, near the end of Water street, there's a craftsman who might serve well."
"I spotted the thieves before they struck, mentioned them to you, took down two of them on my own, helped chase their leader through the dark, quietly returned the Mescher girl (and without letting her know she was here) and now we have solid leads on who brought her here. Not bad for a dozen gold and a few pastries, even if I say so myself."
Braddon picks up a pastry and bites into it meaningfully.
"And I've only been here two days."
"I'm Braddon," he mutters somewhat sulkily to Gristav and glances past him again, but not before his eyes briefly meet Phillip's.
"Good to know you, Braddon. And I thought my night was eventful. You know, Larur, if it's always such like, I may need rooms elsewhere...", Gristav teases, counting beats until the expected harumph.
Braddon's observance of Phillip's ruse elicits a small nod of congratulation.
"If you're about to be away, it will be away from me. I've used my magics for phantom horses, to get here at last sunset. And left my spellbook in Samaritha's care, while I went about beggar's business until returning here only just now. So I'm some hours from feeling prepared."
Phillip chuckles before spreading his hands in resignation though a smallish challenging air to his eyes "As you see fit Gristav... how long exactly should we notify you in future if we are to wish for you to render aid? If preparation for a stroll across town requires several hours, why I shudder to think how long you'll need to prepare for Varisian Caravan night..." playfully said without malice.
"I see your testing continues. Don't mistake me, I'm willing to fail your tests. How much notice should you give, you ask? How little notice should I expect, of urgent shopping? Ought I keep a bonnet and list in a basket by the door?", Gristav answered dryly. "Delay, if you need me, or need to test me. What matter, some hours, or a day, in the commission of furniture?" Gristav takes the last of his coffee in one long draw. "I'll go be about my preparations, and you may determine and declare the need for my presence by selecting the time of your departure."
Gristav rises, with a questioning look to Larur and Saul. "Were we done?", he asks.
Phillip chuckles and files a note or two for remembrance "You would be surprised dear Gristav, how much the smallest of things makes the largest of difference... and whether you passed or failed depends upon what the test was now does it not?" pausing a moment before continuing with an overt glance to an empty chair "Though fret not, I am sure that alternative company will prove more... invigorating than Larur and I."
Gristav rises, with a questioning look to Larur and Saul. "Were we done?", he asks.
"Aye, lad, we're done here." Larur stands, pauses, and refills his cup with coffee with a stern glance at Phillip as if daring him to comment. "I need to be opening up the main doors for the carpeters, and I'll see you set up with what you need to get settled." He picks up his full mug and heads for the door, gesturing to Gristav to follow.
Saul gets to his feet as Larur and the new arrival prepare to leave and offers his extant hand to Gristav to shake. "Well met, and welcome aboard," he bids him cordially. "I trust Larur will fill you in on what you need to know around here; if you've any further questions I can answer, I plan to be up here in my office most of the day. We'll be having some visitors," he glances at Tendal, "but we should be able to fit you in." Gris is struck by what a short and broad man Saul is: barely taller than the dwarf and as stocky, although his breadth speaks of a more leisurely life than one at the forge.
Phillip inwardly smiles at Larur's glare, but doesn't comment. Knowing that it will take Larur a few minutes to be ready to depart anyway, he settles in to listen while he finishes his muffin.
Gristav nimbles his staff to free a matching hand to Saul's, and takes the offered hand and welcome. "Well met, Mr. Vankaskerkin. Your tale had preceded you. I feel sure the larger part of it is yet unwrit. Surely, if it's now to include my floridities." Gris smiles.
Putting some of the pieces together, Gristav stops at the door, letting Larur gain a pace or two (it was easily made up, after all) before hushing out, "Phillip. Good bean."
Braddon leans over to Malkith.
"Did he just say 'yes'?"
Malkith shrugs his shoulders again and continues to enjoy his tea. As the long winded conversation whirls about the room, he focuses on his pastries, even going so far as to help himself to a second serving of bread and tea.
As the party starts to show signs of breaking up, Malkith quickly rises to his feet. Not wanting to appear too hasty, he pauses to address Saul, "I should probably be crossing the river soon. We don't know how long Scarlet will linger at the Publican - if she's there." He starts to walk away from the table, but stops to look at Braddon, "Coming?"
"Of course.
Braddon stuffs the last of the pastry in his mouth, empties his coffee after it and, unable to speak through his full mouth, nods farewell to everyone before grabbing another pastry and following Malkith from the room.
Phillip watches as most of the others file out for one reason or another and allowing a brief chortle as Gristav proved that his mind was sharp enough after all. Quiescent still he does cast Saul a glance that invites instruction if he were inclined to proffer any.
Larur grumbles his way down the staircase, Gristav in tow. "Don't let the halfling rile you -- and I mean, don't. He's a Calistrian, and the last thing you want is to find yourself on the bad side of one of them. I told you last night about our business venture, but I didn't get a chance to tell you we've already opened one night and had half our staff turn out to be bandits who tried to rob the customers. That's what the rest of them are on about. There was supposedly a woman who put some would-be Sczarni onto the job, and now there's worries it was Lil Scarlet." Gristav has heard of Lil Scarlet, the prize prostitute of the Calistrian temple. "And General Mescher's daughter ended up almost having her not-wedding night in one of our rooms with a tiefling and former pirate, so we're worried about getting on the wrong side of what passes for law and order in this town as well." Anton Mescher is the head of the Gendarmes, the rather lax police force; their only real loyalty is to the Overlord.
Returning through the disordered casino to his office, Larur selects a key from the cabinet on his wall and hands it to Gristav. "There's a room you can make use of. Hope it's quiet enough for your...," he waves his hand half-heartedly in the manner he refers to matters of the arcane. "The floor'll be louder and messier before it's quieter and tidier. New carpet being laid today before we can put the place back together; our bandits bled pretty good on the old one. They ought to be here soon; give me a hand taking the bar off the front door, and then you can go ... meditate or whatever it is you do."
As Braddon and Malkith get up to leave the room, Daynadrian says, "Wait!" Picking up the handkerchief he dropped on the table, he draws his dagger and uses it to rip the fabric down the middle. "Here," he says, handing one half to Braddon. "If you're looking for Lil, take this with you. If you can match this scent to her perfume, it's evidence to prove she had contact with Volo and his gang. Wait a minute." He turns to Tendal, his eyes narrowed. "Fancypants here got pretty intimate with Lil at the Publican the other day. This smell familiar to you?" He hands the other half of the handkerchief to Tendal.
"That's a part of it. But the book is with Samaritha, I'll need that. The book, I mean. I mean, not that... feh. You know what I mean. The magics in that book might have cleaned your carpet still in place. But, hindsight. With the study done, I'll make myself useful after. What do you know of the carpetiers? Will you have a watch on them? If so, especially if not, I volunteer."
Gristav helps Larur lift down the heavy bar and lean it against the wall, and the oversized doors swing open rather easily without the carpet to drag against. "Aye, not a bad idea," the dwarf replies, "especially if I'm to be out pricing furniture for halflings. The carpet layers could stand a gimlet eye on them, even if they've nothing more sinister on their minds than lazing about and taking too many breaks without someone breathing down their necks. I'll be back by lunchtime, so you won't have to spend your whole day at it." Larur takes a step out onto the veranda and attempts to take a deep breath of morning air but then almost collapses in coughs, catching at the doorjamb to steady himself. He waves off any attention from Gris. "I'm fine," he insists when he can speak again. "Bit of fiber from the torn-up carpet in my throat. Go see about your studies."
Gristav helps Larur lift down the heavy bar and lean it against the wall, and the oversized doors swing open rather easily without the carpet to drag against. "Aye, not a bad idea," the dwarf replies, "especially if I'm to be out pricing furniture for halflings. The carpet layers could stand a gimlet eye on them, even if they've nothing more sinister on their minds than lazing about and taking too many breaks without someone breathing down their necks. I'll be back by lunchtime, so you won't have to spend your whole day at it."
"I doubt I've your natural talent for glower...", Gristav began, grinning, but the mirth vanished with Larur's cough.
Larur takes a step out onto the veranda and attempts to take a deep breath of morning air but then almost collapses in coughs, catching at the doorjamb to steady himself. He waves off any attention from Gris. "I'm fine," he insists when he can speak again. "Bit of fiber from the torn-up carpet in my throat. Go see about your studies."
"Don't imagine you aren't part of them...", Gristav retorts as he retreats, to search the lower level for Samaritha.
Gristav takes his key in hand and moves past the stacked chairs and tables in the atrium, just noticing what seems to be a marble statue of Desna in the center of the room, a seeming prisoner of the misplaced furniture. Walking down the hall of what was once the guest wing of the former inn and now houses the staff of the Gold Goblin, he tries it in a few of the doors. He has just turned it in the keyhole of the second door on the left with a satisfying click when the next door down the hall opens and Samaritha steps out. "Oh!" she cries, startled, as she almost bumps into him. "I was just ... your spellbook," she manages, holding the tome out to him with a blush.
"Yes", Gristav confirms. "You were just. And that is my spellbook." He reached to take it, but as though through aspic, slowed. "Your blush... deprives me of reason. If I were not so practiced, I would be without speech, as well." Damnably too fast, too soon, his hand had clasped the book. And she was releasing it.
"Was it useful to you? Did you wish to discuss it?" He was already turning to stand beside her, where both might share a page. Where he might not fall into those eyes. Practiced, his nimble fingers split the pages at the spell he intended to prepare. "You're welcome to..."
Spellcraft seems a safe subject, and she leaps into it eagerly. "I've never had the chance to read anyone else's spellbook before, except my teacher's, of course. The notation's very unlike what I'm used to, very ... emphatic. Some of these spells I have in my own spellbook, but they look different in your hand. And some of them," she turns a few pages and looks up at him questioningly, "I've never seen."
Spellcraft seems a safe subject, and she leaps into it eagerly. "I've never had the chance to read anyone else's spellbook before, except my teacher's, of course. The notation's very unlike what I'm used to, very ... emphatic. Some of these spells I have in my own spellbook, but they look different in your hand. And some of them," she turns a few pages and looks up at him questioningly, "I've never seen."
"Most develop their own notations. The Cypherlogium would be an extreme example of an efficienced exponentiation..." He stopped as she stepped closer, to turn the pages of the book he held open, and her warmth came to his senses. What had she said? Ah, she'd turned to the Sinstain Brand discussion and formulae.
"Ah. That's a curse. It was developed to mark criminals, but parts of the formulation are missing. It's still a functional weapon, of a sort, and it still marks, but it fades over time. It was intended to be used only for sins, and while the magic doesn't seem to care, at least in this instantiation, I do limit myself to such, in the hope of perhaps realizing or intuiting some of what's been lost." He had been tracing the sections he was citing with a mote of light, but let it fade now. "It's trivially retained. I have it prepared now. Actually used it last night." {After the dream...}, he thought. And of course, she'd turned toward him, those intelligent eyes...
"Sin magic?" she asks with interest. "Like the ancient Thassilonians used? Sin and virtue magic, I should say, but all anyone ever remembers are the sins." She tries to trace the flow of the spell across the page with her finger but gets lost. "I can't follow it; it's like it isn't arcane magic at all," she frowns.
"Well, not only arcane. There's an element of agency involved. I can't speak for or against any Thassilonian derivation, and I don't think it's a sin or a virtue magic... But it's surely not a wizard's spell; it's a curse. Like the other you had trouble with." Gristav worries at her frown. "I'm not the usual wizard, you see? My fundamentals included curses."
"Where did you train?" she asks. "Or were you privately tutored, like Mr. Deverin?"
"That would be closer to the truth. It was very private.", Gristav seems burdened. "You deserve a fuller answer. I don't mean to... Could we get out of the hallway?"
"I--" She glances up and down the hallway. "There's a sitting room next to the kitchen," she offers. "We could go in there, if you like."
"The Gold Room? No door... Yes, that's proper. And deep enough a hushed tone can't escape. And here..." Gunser re-locked the door he hadn't yet opened, then gave Samaritha the key. "I've been hired and welcomed, but I'll recognize you've a right to speak against, though you were not at the... Why were you not at the meeting? You were expected, I could tell. I hope I... didn't trouble you. If you'd prefer me across the hall, or across the town, you can have that."
"No!" she protests, pressing the key back into his hand as they cross the dismantled casino floor. "Look, you don't know me, but I'm the last person to put someone out of a paid position; I'm far too familiar with needing one. And I really haven't any say in Mr. Vankaskerkin's and Mr. Felden's business decisions, even if I had a reason to speak against you. This job is only temporary for me; Mr. Vankaskerkin is very kind to let me stay on from day to day when I haven't been willing to commit to him long term, but I'll be leaving as soon as I can get taken on at the Cypherlodge. Although," she sighs with a rueful smile, "as long as I've been waiting already, I might retire here." Lifting the hem of her robes slightly, she hops over a pile of sloughed carpeting in the doorway of the gold sitting room and perches on the edge of the couch, looking up at Gristav inquiringly.
Sitting opposite Samaritha, Gristav lamented, "I really should not be sitting; I've told Larur I would glower at the carpetiers, in his stead. And I ought, truly ought never not, prepare my spells. I've found the physical to be like such, in that a capacity met daily, grows. I suppose meeting you daily, will surely have some effect.", he smiled, his brow set archly.
"So in brevity, then, so none will ever believe I said it...", Gristav laughed aloud. Then sobered, sombered, and whispered, "A child, taken from his home, perhaps by force, or with bloodshed, he never knows, he doesn't even think of such horrors, until... later. He only knows he is not home. The creature that would be his mother, that was, in many ways, to be, his mother, teaches darkness, dweomer, and deliberate diction. She is not uncaring. But she is... lamentable. Detestable. At length, unwilling to be part of her plots, he leaves. Flees. Hides. Caravari. Stowaway. He travels, travel as flight, distance as concealment." Gristav scowls. So much for brevity.
"A changecoated changeling mendicant mercenary wayward witch-prince, at large and alone. I knocked on a door, and you answered. And, an old friend has need of me. I'd stay for Larur. I'd go for you. Your blush robs me of reason, that's reason enough, to grant any distance you'd desire. Or any closeness. But I cannot trust my reading of your writ, I know my heart lies to my mind, of what my eye sees. And that I am a great fool."
Gristav set the key on the table between them. "So I'll leave here that key. If you leave it, I'll use it. If another key, then that room. And if no key, I'll do my studies, take my watch, and find accomodation in the afternoon. I will still serve Larur, and the Goblin, but be as little a neighbor and nuisance as that 'No' might mandate."