Filled with as much curiosity as Tendal ever has, he follows Saul with moderate trepidation down into the subterranean environs. He notes the kegs of wine and spirits with interest, promising himself a discrete visit at some time in the near future. As they continue to descend and the passageways become much less frequented and the dust becomes thicker, Tendal starts to shy away from the walls in a valiant attempt to keep mold and dust smudges off of his clothing.
As they pass the stairs leading down, Tendal smirks a bit. Stairs down to a hidden waterway perhaps? Well, well, we may have to look into doing a bit of smuggling. Not drugs or anything, but valuables and other highly taxed items.
Stepping into the hidden lounge, Tendal grins for a bare moment. "Ah, this is exactly what I was talking about. Now we have some potential. An exclusive club, a hint of danger, a bit of skullduggery. Wonderful."
"I don't know about the red though...seems a bit much if you ask me." he says, with a faint bit of disdain.
As they pass into the pit room, Tendal grimaces a bit, his imagination filling in some of the gruesome history of the pit. "Mr. Vankaskerkin, I will say that I do think that we have great potential here. We definitely need to keep the entrance from the Gold Goblin as secret as possible though. Judging by the facade on the secret door, I imagine that the patrons of the Red Room had no knowledge of the connection to the Gold Goblin. There must be an alternate entrance somewhere that is more easily accessed...I am guessing the stairwell that leads up from the bar area?" Tendal asks.
"I am a bit curious as well about the stairwell that continued downwards."
Malkith is about to repeat his inquiry when Braddon begins to explain the situation. The harrower's expression darkens slightly as the half-elf lays out his intentions. As Braddon pauses to drink from his mug, Malkith offers his thoughts, "I agree that Bott's presence and Scarlet's heist seem too coincidental, but why not simply approach the maid and verbally persuade her to give up the information you need? Kidnapping seems excessively risky at this juncture." Malkith takes up his own mug as he lets his words settle on Braddon.
"Hmm. About that-", Gristav begins, but stops to acknowledge the cringe.
Gristav responded to her smirk with a smile and nod, warmer and brighter than his thoughts. When Thuvalia had passed from sight into the East end of the bar-room, he waved the chef des carpetiers back.
"In the dwarf's absence, I stand in his place.", Gristav began. "While I'm talking to you, you needn't run from anyone. I've more questions. If you need to go help your men, go, but when you've time, let us have words. I'll be in this room often enough."
Letting the crew boss return to his men, Gristav mentally organized his questions. How long had he known his men? Had there been any odd interest in the work for the Goblin? Where was this third roll of carpet, with what security? Could a crew from the Goblin pick it up earlier? Could an impostor crew? Would iced tea be preferred to iced water, or perhaps an ale, with lunch?
Mentally turning that page, confident he could return to it, Gristav set again to whatever cleaning might be helpful in this short term, or at least not wasted in the long term.
He took time to find a muffin tin in the kitchen and fill it with water from the pump. Some cantrips later, six ice ingots were ejected from the metal mold by intrinsic increase, landing in a wooden bowl. Taking due care the metal left his hand as dry as it came to it, and perhaps even cleaner, he left the kitchen as he'd found it, save for the offering of ice.
He settled at the hexagonal table, his spellbook before him, surveying for any notes or inclusions, savoring the sense of that sharing.
"I agree that Bott's presence and Scarlet's heist seem too coincidental, but why not simply approach the maid and verbally persuade her to give up the information you need? Kidnapping seems excessively risky at this juncture." Malkith takes up his own mug as he lets his words settle on Braddon.
"Approach and persuade?" Braddon blinks twice and stares at Malkith over the ale.
"Why would she help? Unless you have some ability. She's involved in it, even if she's just a courier. If she's a loyal maid, she won't be selling out her bosses for a few kind words and some silver. It's not kidnapping. She'll just be delayed."Braddon shrugs. "I guess. I'm new here. Okay, what's your plan? I'll back you up."
Braddon leans forward attentively.
"I have no specific powers of persuasion," Malkith confesses, " beyond what my profession allows me. Still, some subtle or blatant verbal threats may be enough to challenge her loyalties without the commotion of physically delaying her."
Malkith sits back in his chair, his hands wrapped around the mug sitting before him, "Herr Bott's intent against Saul is still questionable. My primary goal at the moment is locating Scarlet and settling her dispute with our employer. Since you've been gracious enough to accompany me on that endeavor, I'm willing to assist you in yours. I don't presume to have a plan; I was simply offering what I thought might be a simpler alternative. If you still think a snatch and grab is the best approach, I'll do what I can to aid you."
"Mostly repairs," he shrugs, displaying no surprise that the strange halfling knows Marce; perhaps he simply assumes all halflings know each other. "We've only the one drydock. You want a ship built from the ground up, it's generally done in Roderic's Cove; their harbor's not as busy so they've more space. Of course, a simple rowboat or the like we can build here, but I wouldn't take on the task of constructing anything ocean-worthy."
Making conversation while awaiting Marce's assessment "It's a pity that... from the fine work I've seen even on the stroll it looks like you've definitely got the skill for something finer... a ship on the waves flying your colors." allowing a faux pang of nostalgia to cross his face "Like... what's his name.. with the Flying Clod is it? Met a man who just left his berth on it this very morning... seemed quite taken with the lady of the waves..." bait hooked, Phil awaits to see if interest is piqued... if not he might have to rely purely on bartering rather than the bait and switch.
Bluff: Hopefully I've made it look like I've got half a clue of what I'm talking about... unfortunately everything here just looks like wood to me.
"I have no specific powers of persuasion," Malkith confesses, " beyond what my profession allows me. Still, some subtle or blatant verbal threats may be enough to challenge her loyalties without the commotion of physically delaying her."
"Threats don't carry as well when in public, but I realise there are other methods of persuasion. Okay, we'll play it nice. We'll still follow her, find a quiet spot and have a civil conversation with her. You'll have to do the talking; my manners aren't the best (Dad was a sailor). I can look threatening on cue, though. If that fails we can still grab her later, though she'll be wary the first few days. But if we can find Ananda's governess alive, there's sure to be a huge reward."
Braddon drains the last of his drink."To the tanner's place?"
Stepping into the hidden lounge, Tendal grins for a bare moment. "Ah, this is exactly what I was talking about. Now we have some potential. An exclusive club, a hint of danger, a bit of skullduggery. Wonderful."
"I don't know about the red though...seems a bit much if you ask me." he says, with a faint bit of disdain.
As they pass into the pit room, Tendal grimaces a bit, his imagination filling in some of the gruesome history of the pit. "Mr. Vankaskerkin, I will say that I do think that we have great potential here. We definitely need to keep the entrance from the Gold Goblin as secret as possible though. Judging by the facade on the secret door, I imagine that the patrons of the Red Room had no knowledge of the connection to the Gold Goblin. There must be an alternate entrance somewhere that is more easily accessed...I am guessing the stairwell that leads up from the bar area?" Tendal asks.
"Aye, well, we can always repaint," Saul replies. "Would have to, anyway; it's peeling rather badly in places due to age and moisture. I'd imagine it was a reference to the bloodsports on view in the pit."
"The stairs actually lead up to a room off the main floor in the Goblin. Here, come and see." Saul hurries back through the red room to the stairs, motioning Bojasc to follow. Climbing the staircase, the trio come up in a narrow, bare room thick with dust and cobwebs, some recent footprints evident on the floor; dim daylight filters through a grimy floor-to-ceiling window. "We figured out this fits between the gold sitting room and the room La Barabbio's goons broke the window out of the other night. This door," he turns to a wooden door in the eastern wall, "it's papered over on the other side, probably at the same time they walled up the hallway in the basement. What if we turned this window into a secret door, had a separate entrance from the alley for our privileged guests?"
"I am a bit curious as well about the stairwell that continued downwards."
"Come on down and have a look around, if you like," Saul invites, redescending into the basement. "It's where we stowed our lovely Chelish actress until her tongue loosened." He lets Bojasc lead the way down the dark stone steps with his lantern. The air is notably mustier and damper down here, and the walls of the narrow corridor are hung with rusty and rotting weapons, as well as chains, harnesses, leashes and spiked collars for use with animals of various sizes. "This in here," Bojasc wordlessly holds his lantern at arm's-length through the first doorway, revealing a dank room with rotting wooden cabinets and a table marked with old bloodstains, "was probably the infirmary, where wounds were treated, and down here," the trio moves on to the next door, "was where they kept their combatants." Bojasc opens the door to reveal a room whose perimeter is stacked with cages of various sizes; manacles and iron rings are attached to the walls and floor in various places for tethering purposes. "And around the corner here," the lantern leads into a labyrinthine area, "is the fighting floor." The floor beneath their feet is gritty with sand and old straw as Saul walks to the center of the arena and looks up. "Hold the lantern as high as you can, Bojasc. There: You can see where the ceiling's cut out for the audience to watch." Indeed, high above his head, Tendal can just make out in where a stone ceiling gives way to air blackness and knows he is standing in the pit around which the benches are arrayed upstairs.
"It's a pity that... from the fine work I've seen even on the stroll it looks like you've definitely got the skill for something finer... a ship on the waves flying your colors." allowing a faux pang of nostalgia to cross his face "Like... what's his name.. with the Flying Clod is it? Met a man who just left his berth on it this very morning... seemed quite taken with the lady of the waves..."
The shipwright's interest appears piqued. "The Flying Cloud? One of Josper Creesy's men's left his crew? I hadn't heard...."
-------------
On the far bank of the Velashu, Malkith and Braddon finish their ales, bid Arnando and Lalie a good day, and start the climb up the steep road to Windward. It is Malkith's first visit to the district, but Braddon is familiar with the journey from escorting Ananda Mescher home. As they reach the fresh sea air at the summit of the ridge, they glance around the tall and elegant buildings, wondering which one might house the Krump family and their maid.
On the east, Braddon sees the long rowhouse he returned Ananda to yesterday and picks out her door out of the line of similar ones. The grass and flowers on either side of the footpath look even more trodden today: no doubt her father's investigators' work. As he gazes at the doorway, he suddenly remembers where he has smelled the perfume on the handkerchief before....
-------------
Back at the Gold Goblin, the carpeting job continues. It occurs to Gristav that watching carpet being laid is a bit like watching paint dry. It's a slow and tedious process, the upside of which is that he has plenty of time to ask the supervisor his questions and get them answered as the floor covering is slowly unrolled from one wall to the other and back.
How long had he known his men? "Well, since they were boys, most of them. Served their apprenticeship with me. You may think there's nothing to laying a carpet, but if you want it to stay flat and not trip people up, there's an art to it. Can't be done by just some day laborer off Zincher's front stoop."
Had there been any odd interest in the work for the Goblin? "No interest at all, odd or otherwise, that I'm aware of."
Where was this third roll of carpet, with what security? " Back at the warehouse behind the shop. Never thought to setting a guard on a roll of woolen. It's not the kind of item a thief might palm and put in his pocket; takes two men to carry through the streets."
Could a crew from the Goblin pick it up earlier? "Well, aye, I suppose so. Wouldn't argue too strenuously against someone wanting to do our work for us."
Could an impostor crew? "I... I never thought of anyone trying. Like I said, a roll of carpet's not the kind of thing you could fence on a street corner."
Would iced tea be preferred to iced water, or perhaps an ale, with lunch? "Tea's for the ladies," with a chuckle. "Wouldn't expect a one of us to say no to a good ale, if it was in the offing."
Tendal stands in the fighter's pit radiating disappointment.
"Well. I was hoping that this would lead somewhere a bit more useful, like a secret smuggler's entrance. Ah well, I guess I got carried away by all the secret doors and whatnot. Intrigue, faugh!" Tendal says, tapping his cane on the floor, causing the clicks to echo through the stone lined room.
"Gentleman's club it is then. If we are going to keep this secret, we will need to keep knowledge of these entrances to a minimum. We may want to put some sort of spell across the back of the club as well...like an obscuring fog or a bit of magical darkness."
Then, as a thought occurs to him he frowns, "There are not that many of us working here...and I am not certain how many of the others you trust fully....How would one do the renovations and maintain the facility while still keeping a modicum of secrecy?"
On the far bank of the Velashu, Malkith and Braddon finish their ales, bid Arnando and Lalie a good day, and start the climb up the steep road to Windward. It is Malkith's first visit to the district, but Braddon is familiar with the journey from escorting Ananda Mescher home. As they reach the fresh sea air at the summit of the ridge, they glance around the tall and elegant buildings, wondering which one might house the Krump family and their maid.
On the east, Braddon sees the long rowhouse he returned Ananda to yesterday and picks out her door out of the line of similar ones. The grass and flowers on either side of the footpath look even more trodden today: no doubt her father's investigators' work. As he gazes at the doorway, he suddenly remembers where he has smelled the perfume on the handkerchief before....
"So, the tanner's house should be up here somewhere. I'll just knock on one of the more expensive doors and tell them I have a delivery for the Krufts. Hopefully they'll direct me to the right place. I know it's not that one there..." Braddon points out Ananda's door.
"That's where the girl lived with her governess. Look's like it's been thoroughly investigated. The governess seemed normal at lunch, but answered the door at some point in the afternoon and was replaced by an impostor. But Ananda didn't hear anything unusual and there was no sign of a struggle. And that doorway isn't the best place to ambush someone. Maybe the governess was attacked by magic. The impostor must have had help as there's no sign of the governess' body. The impostor then took tea up to Ananda, who smelled something funny. I caught a whiff of it too. Perfume, like Lil Scarlet's. Then Ananda drank the drugged tea and remembers the impostor taking her out and handing her over to the maids who palmed her off on Bott."
Braddon stops and thinks over what he said.
"Lil Scarlet... perfume..." Braddon rushes towards the door.
He turns to Malkith.
"Have a sniff in there. Especially the room to the right, which was the governess' room."
Braddon pulls out the handkerchief he holds and takes another smell before offering it to Malkith.
"It would seem Lil Scarlet is our kidnapper. I wonder if Anton Mescher is one of her clients. I wonder if he ever promised her a beautiful necklace, then gave it to his daughter instead."
"I... I never thought of anyone trying. Like I said, a roll of carpet's not the kind of thing you could fence on a street corner."
"But how long would it take to replace it? The Goblin's been attacked three times; they might be tired of failing, and strike now where we aren't guarded. If I can assemble a team, we'll pre-fetch that last roll. Since you've already agreed to it."
"Tea's for the ladies," with a chuckle. "Wouldn't expect a one of us to say no to a good ale, if it was in the offing."
"I would guess it would be. It takes a desk to make a decision like that, and I only have the, uh... full support of my staff. I'll see. And don't dismiss tea, it's for ladies with tiny sandwiches, aye. But in the Tienish lands, it's for warriors, takes an hour to serve it, and they're proud of every minute. And among the Garudan, they'll give you a big glass of it, cold, against the heat. That's what I was proposing. Over chipped ice. I also think you might find the process entertaining. At least the process I intend. Think on it, while I make request on the ale and fetch-crew."
Braddon's account of the events surrounding Ananda refresh the pieces of conversation Malkith had only half listened to over the last couple of days. When the half-elf pulls out the cloth scrap and starts talking about Lil Scarlet, he's paying full attention.
Looking at the handkerchief, Malkith asks, "This belonged to Lil Scarlet?" The harrower looks up, "Where did you get this? What happen to the rest of it?" He glances up and down the street, looking for someplace that they may take refuge for a short while without drawing attention to themselves. "This might just be what we need to find her, but I need someplace to conduct a divining."
The shipwright's interest appears piqued. "The Flying Cloud? One of Josper Creesy's men's left his crew? I hadn't heard...."
Nonchalantly "Aye, just this morning... just signed on beside me working with Larur. Hows Marce getting on?" looking to the hole in the deck where word of whether carpentry could be done would come from.
As Thuvalia's voice is raised in anger, the proprietor of the Three-Billed Duck approaches the table a bit hesitantly. "Don't mean to intrude," Alex Crispin says, carrying two glasses and a rather dusty bottle to the table, "but elven wine, if it please you. We don't get much call for it. Not that there's anything wrong with it," he hastens to add, shooting an apologetic look at Dayn. "We just don't get many true connoisseurs in here."
Pulling the cork, he leaves the wine on the table. Dayn examines the label, written in Elven, and sees that it was bottled in Greengold, a vintage made for export and, as such, slightly inferior to the wines sold within Kyonin itself. The vintage is 4680 AR, a year Daynadrian remembers well; news of an earthquake in Korvosa, far to the south, had come to Crying Leaf. He is on the verge of asking Thuvalia if she remembers it when he realizes that she couldn't even have been born until several years after the event.
"No, no, my friend, please don't concern yourself at all, I'm quite sure what you've provided will be more than acceptable." Looking at the bottle as Crispin leaves, Dayn finds that his words were more true than he even realized. For although the wine was certainly not a premium vintage, it was a much better one than he had expected to find in this city. A satisfied smile on his face, he opens his mouth to comment on the interesting year it was brewed, but then closes it again with a private smirk, once again remembering to himself how much adjusting it would take being around such short-lived humanoids all the time.
Pouring a glass first for his companion, Dayn fills his own and raises it, proposing a toast "To new friends, new adventures and a new, prosperous life!" Sitting back to wait for their food, Daynadrian begins to ask interested but non-probing questions about Thuvalia's life and past, simply seeking to earnestly get to know the interesting woman in more depth. Over the meal, he happily answers any questions asked to him and continues to flirt with the pretty human girl in a mild, yet sincere fashion. When finished, he pays and leaves a generous tip, then walks arm in arm with Thuvalia back to the Gold Goblin.
Once back at his new digs, Dayn is given by Saul the simple assignment of escorting the Gnome jeweler, Ambrosia Kemplefae, back to her home in Leeward. He does so, first telling Thuvalia that he'll check in on her when he returns. Returning to the Goblin after completing his task, he knocks on the singer's door. Upon her answering, he smiles "I just wanted to say thank you for a lovely day and evening, Thuvalia, I can't remember a time I've had a better day with a prettier girl. You truly are excellent company, when you choose to be." smiling even wider to take any sting out of his words.
On his way home to the Goblin, his blood filled with wine and oysters, many scenarios, and alterations of old fantasies except now with Thuvalia's face, had flashed through his mind, heating his blood and quickening his steps. Yet now, as he stands on the threshold of possibly fulfilling some of them, he suddenly realizes that, for many reasons, a quick 'roll in the hay', is not what he needs, or wants, at the moment. So instead of asking to come in, he merely smiles tenderly, leans forward to plant a chaste, yet promising, kiss on her cheek, and says softly "Good night, dear lady. I shall see you in the morn. Sleep well." And, not waiting for a response, he turns and heads to his room for a long and well deserved rest.
Daynadrian nods with a grim satisfaction. "Think I'll pay a visit to the Calistrian temple today," he says. "Shorafa may not help us, but there's got to be someone around there who's less than fond of Lil and might give us a hint of where to find her. I'll leave that here," he nods to the scented scrap of fabric. "Right now, it's the only bit of evidence we have to tie her to the robbery; better put it someplace safe."In the quiet of the now emptied dining room, Tendal raises the handkerchief to his face, smelling the tantalizingly familiar perfume.
"Lil Scarlet. It's unmistakable." he says aloud, dropping the piece of fabric back onto the table.
Nodding his farewells to those remaining in the dining room, Dayn heads back down to his room, and gathers what he needs for the day, once again leaving his bow and backpack in his room and locking his door securely. Out his way out, he pauses briefly at Thuvalia's door, considering for a moment asking her to come with him. Almost immediately though, he smirks as he imagines how his inquiries at Shorafa's would go with the short-tempered and often caustic Varaisin singer at his side. 'Besides' he thinks to himself 'I know she likes her sleep.' Continuing on, he heads out through the back door, nodding companionably to any workers he happens to meet.
Having got a fairly thorough lay of the city during his activities with Thuvalia the day before, he has no difficulty finding the Calistrian temple. Slowing down as he approaches, he considers the best way to go about his task. Deciding some observation would be a best first bet, he looks for any appropriate tavern or restaurant where he could sit at an outside table and unobtrusively watch the temple goings on for some time. Failing that, he'll slow down and play the part of a passerby who was not particularly looking for some Calistrian company, but who is nevertheless distracted by the pretty 'priestesses' and is mildly considering parting with some coin in 'worship' to the Goddess.
Perception:
Sense Motive:
Bluff (if necessary):
Whether sitting or strolling, Dayn is looking for a particular kind of girl. He's looking for someone pretty enough to be a potential threat or challenge to Scarlet Lil, but less attractive enough than the Tiefling so as to be jealous or envious of Lil's greater beauty, favour, status and/or income. If that makes sense?
Looking at the handkerchief, Malkith asks, "This belonged to Lil Scarlet?" The harrower looks up, "Where did you get this? What happen to the rest of it?" He glances up and down the street, looking for someplace that they may take refuge for a short while without drawing attention to themselves. "This might just be what we need to find her, but I need someplace to conduct a divining."
Braddon furrows his brow for a moment.
"That elf... Daynadrian gave it to me as we were leaving. He said it was Lil's... no wait. He said it proved Lil was involved... if it smelt like her. He gave the other half to Snobby... why am I so bad with names?" (Though I don't have any problems with Samaritha's name)"Fancypants was talking to Lil when he came into the Publican. He should know if it's her. If he was paying attention. What sort of idiot takes half a handkerchief and doesn't smell it to see if they recognise it until every one is gone?" complains Braddon ignoring his identical behaviour.
"Divining? The Mescher girl's place should still be empty. It'll be a while before Daddy lets her move back in, if ever. The guards probably wouldn't even think to lock the place. If it is, we'll just break in round the back." Braddon grins as he casually mentions break and enter, then tries the door.
Daynadrian strolls through Leeward District, trying to look as if his steps aren't purposefully directed toward the House of the Silken Veil, which he and Thuvalia had passed fairly near yesterday going to and from the Three Billed Duck. The pleasant plaza to the south of the temple is peopled, as it was yesterday, with pretty girls in light, summery dresses drawing passersby into conversation and a few young men in black leather armor patrolling the area watchfully.
A nearby storefront is set up with a vending window and some mismatched chairs and stools behind a railing; despite the hour, there are several men sitting with their purchases in hand, eating very slowly as they face the plaza. Dayn steps up to the window and lays down a few coppers for a pastry, buying himself the right to occupy one of the seats until it is eaten. Joining the window shoppers, he takes a tentative bite; it's dry and stale, most likely yesterday's stock, but this place's customers are paying for the view, not the food.
He nibbles at the tasteless baked good as he watches the girls criss-crossing the plaza. He's trying to evaluate them from a practical standpoint but finds it difficult to maintain the proper emotional distance. They're all so ... human! At length, he settles on a girl with reddish-blond hair, dressed in the telltale yellow and black of the goddess; while she's no more or less pretty than some of the other women, she carries herself with an almost predatory confidence that reminds him of the proud tiefling in the Publican House. Of all the girls on display, she looks most likely to be a rival to Lil Scarlet.
Nonchalantly "Aye, just this morning... just signed on beside me working with Larur. Hows Marce getting on?" looking to the hole in the deck where word of whether carpentry could be done would come from.
The shipwright looks as if the condition of Gozreh's Blessing is the last thing on his mind at the moment, seeming far more interested in a possibly disgruntled crew member of the Flying Cloud, but the halfling himself chooses this moment to scramble spryly up the ladder from below, a lantern in hand. He looks a little startled to see Phil but gives him a sober nod of recognition before addressing himself to his employer. "Damage doesn't look that bad from the inside; think it must be mostly cosmetic. I doubt we'd have to replace the plank, maybe just apply some pitch for watertightness."
"Looks as though we'll have time to do some craftwork for you then, Larur," Cazynsik smiles, "barring a wreck or a cataclysm. Perhaps I should come by the Goblin, see the space you're talking of filling?"
"Gentleman's club it is then. If we are going to keep this secret, we will need to keep knowledge of these entrances to a minimum. We may want to put some sort of spell across the back of the club as well...like an obscuring fog or a bit of magical darkness."
Then, as a thought occurs to him he frowns, "There are not that many of us working here...and I am not certain how many of the others you trust fully....How would one do the renovations and maintain the facility while still keeping a modicum of secrecy?"
"Aye, that's a problem," Saul admits, rubbing his beard. "We might have to wait until we can expand our operations a bit -- or at least be sure who we can trust. Not to mention the difficulties of talking Larur into approving the expenditure!" he grins. "Let's get Varisian caravan night behind us and see what our balance sheet looks like. For now, we'd better get back upstairs and prepare to mete out justice for our poor victimized customers, eh?" Despite his words of sympathy, the man looks gleeful at prospect of the task ahead. The three men step back through the hidden door, and Bojasc closes it carefully behind them before they once again ascend the stairs toward Saul's office.
Even a stopped clock is right twice a day. Braddon finds that the handle turns smoothly as he takes hold of it and the door quietly unlatches and swings open on the hall with the stairway he went over so thoroughly yesterday. The two slip inside and close the door behind them, Braddon nodding Malkith to the governess's room off the corridor. Looking about, he can see the signs of the Gendarmes' search in here, too: muddy bootprints, overturned furniture, everything in disarray. He's pleased that he got to inspect the scene before the "professionals" got to it.
"Looks as though we'll have time to do some craftwork for you then, Larur," Cazynsik smiles, "barring a wreck or a cataclysm. Perhaps I should come by the Goblin, see the space you're talking of filling?"
"Er, aye, I mean, if you think it's necessary...," Larur mumbles, turning a questioning eye on Phil as the dwarf is drawn back into the negotiations.
"Tea's for the ladies," with a chuckle. "Wouldn't expect a one of us to say no to a good ale, if it was in the offing.""I would guess it would be. It takes a desk to make a decision like that, and I only have the, uh... full support of my staff. I'll see. And don't dismiss tea, it's for ladies with tiny sandwiches, aye. But in the Tienish lands, it's for warriors, takes an hour to serve it, and they're proud of every minute. And among the Garudan, they'll give you a big glass of it, cold, against the heat. That's what I was proposing. Over chipped ice. I also think you might find the process entertaining. At least the process I intend. Think on it, while I make request on the ale and fetch-crew."
Having made the proposal, Gristav starts to wonder exactly how many might be in the house to fulfill it. If Larur returns, the half-elf could go himself, but while the rolls of carpet aren't prohibitively heavy, they are long and unwieldly enough to make moving them a two-man job. Saul Vankaskerkin is upstairs but has only one hand; the forbidding-looking Varisian man who answered the door with a handaxe when he first arrived would certainly possess more than the requisite strength; he had marked the door Thuvalia entered but doesn't know how she might react to being invited to a carpet-carrying parade; he wonders where Samaritha is.
Returning Marce's nod Phil replies to Cas "When's a good time for you?... I can handle the details if Larur's a little busy?" lacing the words differently for Cas and Larur, to indicate that it would be best if Phil were to handle discussion directly with Cas when he did come along later.
Malkith gives Braddon a disapproving look and is about to request an alternative location to conduct his harrowing, but the half-elf already has the door open. With a sigh and final glance up and down the street, the Varisian follows his companion inside. "We can question the others when we return to the Goblin," Malkith says. He rights an overturned table and pulls a chair up for himself. Extracting his harrow deck, he effortlessly begins to shuffle the cards as he addresses Braddon, "This may take a few moments. If there's something more you wish to accomplish while we're here, now would be a good time."
Malkith set the deck of cards down in front of him. He closes his eyes and begins to softly repeat a soothing mantra. Next, he draws forth the handkerchief, noting its fragrance before placing it on the table as well. For several moments, he stares at the fabric, concentrating his mind on Little Scarlet. Only once his mind has become numb to the world beyond its focus does he reach for the harrow deck and begins placing cards deliberately on the table. It would be obvious to any observer that the lay of cards was different than a typical harrow reading. However, only a skilled Harrow would recognize that their orientation was specifically designed for focusing the residual energies of the handkerchief.
Returning Marce's nod Phil replies to Cas "When's a good time for you?... I can handle the details if Larur's a little busy?" lacing the words differently for Cas and Larur, to indicate that it would be best if Phil were to handle discussion directly with Cas when he did come along later.
The shipwright turns aside to Marce a moment. "You think we can have this job finished by lunchtime?" Given a nod in the affirmative, Cazynsik addresses himself to his visitors again. "Can drop by in the afternoon then, if I can settle affairs with the Blessing's captain after lunch. If that's a good time for everyone?"
Nodding similar assent "Done, I'll see you then." before taking his leave with Larur to move onwards.
"Back to the Goblin for yourself? I've a few bits and bobs to tidy up before I head back"
The dwarf nervously scoots down the gangplank and breathes out a sigh of relief when his feet are on solid ground once more. "Have to head into Leeward to the locksmith first so you lot can come and go at all hours," he states a bit fiercely. "Then back to check up on the carpeters. What did you mean going on about the Floating Cloud or whatever it's called? You talking about Gristav? He's no more a sailor than I am."
Li'l Miss, wif her muffin
To taproom'd gone huffin'
And she set, wily, whiling away
When along came Gristav, there
Spyed her there, in the far chair
And he said, "More for you,
Miss, today."
With a beckoning gesture
Clearly designed to fetch her
He returned to the great room
At once
He took ease by the door
And he waited... Some more.
Wond'ring if she'd appear
Before lunch.
Daynadrian strolls through Leeward District, trying to look as if his steps aren't purposefully directed toward the House of the Silken Veil, which he and Thuvalia had passed fairly near yesterday going to and from the Three Billed Duck. The pleasant plaza to the south of the temple is peopled, as it was yesterday, with pretty girls in light, summery dresses drawing passersby into conversation and a few young men in black leather armor patrolling the area watchfully.
A nearby storefront is set up with a vending window and some mismatched chairs and stools behind a railing; despite the hour, there are several men sitting with their purchases in hand, eating very slowly as they face the plaza. Dayn steps up to the window and lays down a few coppers for a pastry, buying himself the right to occupy one of the seats until it is eaten. Joining the window shoppers, he takes a tentative bite; it's dry and stale, most likely yesterday's stock, but this place's customers are paying for the view, not the food.
He nibbles at the tasteless baked good as he watches the girls criss-crossing the plaza. He's trying to evaluate them from a practical standpoint but finds it difficult to maintain the proper emotional distance. They're all so ... human! At length, he settles on a girl with reddish-blond hair, dressed in the telltale yellow and black of the goddess; while she's no more or less pretty than some of the other women, she carries herself with an almost predatory confidence that reminds him of the proud tiefling in the Publican House. Of all the girls on display, she looks most likely to be a rival to Lil Scarlet.
Fully enjoying his current mission, all thoughts of Thuvalia having drifted far away, a small smile sits on Dayn's lips as he narrows down his choices. Finally choosing his target, Daynadrian spends a little while longer watching her,When satisfied he leaves enough coins on the table for a small tip and then stands up. Eying things once more to make sure he has it right, he begins to amble along in a direction and angle that will seemingly 'accidentally' bring him quite near strawberry blonde on one of her circuits of the plaza. He smiles at her with genuine appreciation of her looks, but for the moment plays the shy first timer, opening his mouth to say something but then closing it with an embarrassed shrug and grin.
The Calistrian gives Daynadrian an arch look, from the tips of his ears to the toes of his boots and back. "Long way from the forest, aren't you? Take a wrong turn on your way to grandmother's house? Looking for somewhere you can feel at home?"
-------------
Up in Windward, Malkith carefully arranges his available space around the scented scrap of cloth. The first card he flips up is ominous: the Sickness, signifying disease of body or of mind. With a slight frown, he shuffles it back into the deck before dealing the nine cards of the spread.
He first turns up the cards that reveal the secrets of the past: the Queen Mother, the Juggler, and the Joke. The Queen Mother signifies knowledge gained through fealty; he wonders if the monarch represents Shorafa Pamodae, Lil Scarlet's mentor. The Juggler represents a charmed past, with fate on her side, but the Joke is misaligned: At the moment she thought she had the upper hand, her plots backfired, and the joke turned out to be on her.
Moving on the events of the present, he turns up the Peacock: a new opportunity presenting itself. The Brass Dwarf reveals that the handkerchief's owner is presently protected from harm and invulnerable to peril. The Vision confirms one of Malkith's suspicions: that, more than merely mundane machinations, there is arcane ability at work in the plot.
Finally, Malkith reveals the cards dealing with the possibilities of the future. The Rakshasa usually foretells magical compulsion, but in the top row it is misaligned; instead it holds out hope that mental shackles will be thrown off. The Betrayal warns that greed and self-interest will lead to ruin. The final card Malkith flips up is the Twin, signifying duality of purpose or identity; the owner of the handkerchief may not be acting alone, or her purposes may not be those of her allies.
Tendal follows Saul and Bojasc back upstairs, where the Varisian bodyguard disappears into his room briefly to put away the lantern. "We'll have them write out their descriptions of the missing jewelry in my office," Saul decides. "One at a time, so they can have a little privacy and not worry about a rival sneaking a peek at what they're claiming. Why don't you stay out here in the sitting room and do some visiting while they wait? Oughtn't to be any riffraff; anyone claiming stolen goods is either wealthy enough to have real jewels or influential enough to be able to fake it, and we'll need both on our side. I know I needn't tell you to be polite, but be encouraging as well. Shocked that such criminal behavior went on under our roof, and absolutely adamant that such shenanigans won't be tolerated in and around the Gold Goblin in the future." As Saul finishes his instructions, Bojasc re-enters the room. "Right, lad, here we go. Here, step in my office a moment and grab yourself a snifter for the duration."
Perhaps somewhat disappointed to find that his spellbook appears ungraffitoed by any feminine hand, Gristav dodges the furniture arranged around Desna like a cage to address a polite if insistent knock to the door through which Thuvalia earlier passed. He receives a sharp response but is able to cajole the Varisian dancer to open her door.
"I saw no one upstairs when I retrieved my breakfast," she tells him, "but I suppose I can go up and check again. Why do you want to fetch the carpet anyway? Isn't that what we're paying the workmen for? And then you're going to give them free refreshments? Sounds to me like you're working for them instead of putting them to work for you."
Nevertheless, she disappears upstairs to take a census of who might be in the building at the moment.
Tendal grins for a moment, before his usual frown reasserts itself.
"A polite facade. This shouldn't be too challenging, I have been practicing most of my life...and since nobody actually expects me to be sincere, this should be most pleasant." Tendal says to Saul, then makes his way over to the sideboard to pour himself a glass.
He then makes his way around the sitting room, adjusting the chairs so they are a bit closer together. After a few minutes of dragging the furniture around, he eyes the adjustments with a critical eye.
Nice and cozy. And focused on my chair. This should work brilliantly, Tendal thinks with his usual arrogance.
The dwarf nervously scoots down the gangplank and breathes out a sigh of relief when his feet are on solid ground once more. "Have to head into Leeward to the locksmith first so you lot can come and go at all hours," he states a bit fiercely. "Then back to check up on the carpeters. What did you mean going on about the Floating Cloud or whatever it's called? You talking about Gristav? He's no more a sailor than I am."
Following off the vessel and out of ready earshot Phil takes a moment to smooth his mustache before nodding and smiling knowingly "Aye, your friend Gristav... and I don't remember saying he was a sailor..." a devilish twinkle in his eye "Be best we agree on price before Cas finds that out eh?... I'll see you back at the Goblin for the afternoon."
Perhaps somewhat disappointed to find that his spellbook appears ungraffitoed by any feminine hand...
...so enthused had he been at the prospect of a colleague, he closed the tome with a sigh he was unaware of.
"I saw no one upstairs when I retrieved my breakfast," Thuvalia tells him, "but I suppose I can go up and check again. Why do you want to fetch the carpet anyway? Isn't that what we're paying the workmen for? And then you're going to give them free refreshments? Sounds to me like you're working for them instead of putting them to work for you."
"I want to fetch the carpet so nobody else fetches it. The delay of its loss, the time to match color, perhaps...", he smirked at a remembered joke. "Our adversaries advertised an adventurous degree of advance devotion to detail... False faces, robbery, rum-run rape and ruin under this roof... I'd rather work harder than wait for their next surprise. And for the aid and ale; one can't count coppers to gain gold. I could write my life into a ledger, but I could not live my life out of it."
Nevertheless, she disappears upstairs to take a census of who might be in the building at the moment.
Joining the carpeter chief and perhaps the others in watching Thuvalia cross the room, Gristav said softly, "There is a flaw to my plan, of course."
, came the question.
"If I go, you'll be left with her."
Following off the vessel and out of ready earshot Phil takes a moment to smooth his mustache before nodding and smiling knowingly "Aye, your friend Gristav... and I don't remember saying he was a sailor..." a devilish twinkle in his eye "Be best we agree on price before Cas finds that out eh?... I'll see you back at the Goblin for the afternoon."
The dwarf scowls. "Aye, and best you check the craftsmanship to make sure he hasn't sawed halfway through the legs of your furniture so it collapses beneath our guests if he finds out you've tricked him." He gives Phil a half-hearted wave as they part. "Try not to have an angry mob with tar and feathers congregating in the courtyard by lunchtime."
He then makes his way around the sitting room, adjusting the chairs so they are a bit closer together. After a few minutes of dragging the furniture around, he eyes the adjustments with a critical eye.
Nice and cozy. And focused on my chair. This should work brilliantly, Tendal thinks with his usual arrogance.
Tendal has just settled himself in his chair with aplomb when Thuvalia appears in the doorway and glances around the room. "Oh, it's you," she says flatly. "There's a half-elf downstairs wants someone to carry a carpet for him." She looks at him expectantly.
Just as the head carpet layer is looking like he's reconsidering his acquiescence to Gristav's plan, Larur reappears in the open double doors and stands still to survey the progress made while he was away. His grimace leaves it unclear whether he is impressed favorably or otherwise. Seeing Gristav talking with the supervisor, he strides across to join the tête-à-tête. "There a problem?" he asks.
"Three rolls needed,two fit in the cart and came this morning. We were discussing who when and how the third might be brought,and I was seeing the mischief of recent days as warning against complacent carelessness. I sent Thuvalia to see if we had men enough to get ahead of such mischief against that last roll."
"Thu-- The performer?" he asks with alarm. "Wouldn't trust her as far as I could throw her. She's a skinny thing; wouldn't trust her as far as she could throw me," he amends. "She shouldn't be wandering around the place without a keeper; wouldn't put it past her to steal the silver -- or the liquor." He scratches his beard with two fingers, looking a little worried. "You think there's some danger with the carpet?"
"Not from her, save the old joke about not matching the drapes. And I don't know there's any threat at all, but if that last roll of three went missing with two-thirds the job done, we'd be slowed, no?. The previous attacks have been elaborate; how much simpler just to take a last roll from their warehouse? How long would it take to match it, to get more? Is that risk worth our own men fetching the last roll, while these men work?"
"They work well, when not being clucked at. I'd keep an eye, even so, of the west and southwest doors, in particular. They're all long known to the crew chief, and no new men among them, but still proper form and all. I'd think we could trust Thuvalia would crack that whip, if we left, but I'd consider it an injustice to these proven workmen."
"I didn't realize she was unfavored. I did see she might be unfavorable. I suppose her involvement is my fault; the carpetiers arrived sooner than I'd thought, and I was still in my book. Samaritha kindly arranged another to keep a watch while I finished, and I'm guessing she heard too well my mention of your glower, because she selected Thuvalia. I think these gentlemen will agree, she proved... motivational, but not efficiently so. That bird is the pecking order sort; I may find I have to set one."
"Ponder on the risk, and speak with the chief. I'll take that time to get my bags and book put behind the door you gave me the key to. I actually have not yet opened that door."
Malkith set the deck of cards down in front of him. He closes his eyes and begins to softly repeat a soothing mantra.
Braddon watches with avid interest and intense fascination for seconds before growing bored and wandering off to explore the house once again. Without Ananda he follows his previous track through the house, taking time to poke at things he barely noticed before and tracking the guards swathe of destruction through the premises. Braddon notes where the guards have focused their searches and he focuses in particular on different areas. He checks inside the front and back doors for any sign that might indicate an ambush or a struggle. Eventually, he returns to Malkith and waits almost patiently, but peering out the windows searching for good observation points outside that one may use to watch Ananda's rooms.
Phillip returns Larur's half-hearted wave with one of equal fervor, before stepping out in search of a weaponsmith. Ethel's mention that the blade was hard to hide at her waist had put him to thinking that perhaps a small stiletto would be more suited than a traditional dagger... either that or some other means of defense that might be on offer.
The place of business of Quint Drovenge, the metalsmith, is on the other side of the Velashu. Phil takes the ferry and walks down the west bank of the river toward the harbor; by the time he arrives, he is within sight of the Publican House a bit further south. The smithy is divided into two parts, a long roofed yard where the forge and anvil are located, open on the sides for ventilation and comfort, and a smaller enclosed building where finished wares are sold.
Phil climbs the steps to the door and enters. The shop is utilitarian rather than welcoming; its organizing principle seems to be that people who come here already know what they're looking for and want to get in and out with it as quickly as possible. A gangly teenaged clerk with a pock-marked face jumps to attention as Phil walks in and keeps a rather aggressive eye on him nervously. The far wall is for weapons: larger and more well-crafted ones hang high for display, while smaller and more mundane items are on shelves or in bins.
Phil finds that there is not a wide selection of weapons sized for halflings: daggers, brass knives, short swords, crossbows and bolts, a small keg full of sling bullets. The daggers and knives on offer here would be newer than Ethel's brother's hand-me-down but no more easily concealed. As he browses, he considers his own daggers with the hollowed pommels: no standard off-the-shelf equipment, but he'd had a simple enough time acquiring them through his Sczarni contacts. Perhaps he might find something a little more subtle in Lubbertown -- or, remembering one of the Calistrian working girls that a lad had gotten a little too pushy with back in Magnimar and the blade she produced seemingly out of nowhere, at the House of the Silken Veil.
-------------
Braddon checks out the rest of the apartment while Malkith performs his Harrowing. He notes that all of Ananda's personal items have been removed, presumably to wherever she's staying now. The kitchen looks particularly ransacked, canisters of tea, grain, salt, and sugar upturned and broken and the floor gritty with the spillings. If there were any signs to be interpreted at the front door, they have been buried under the heavy tread of too many uniform boots passing in and out. The back door leads out to a small terrace area holding a round wrought-iron table and two chairs, overlooking the harbor; it extends virtually to the very edge of the cliff. Looking up and down the row house, he sees that each flat has an identical terrace. Winding down the edge of the cliff from the east side of the building, a switchback trail leads down to a long pier at which he can see several boats, bobbing like toys below.
From the back windows, the only observation points would be from far below in the harbor or from the neighbor's terraces; across the street out the front windows, Braddon sees what seem to be a few residences and a small tea shop.
-------------
Taking temporary leave from Larur, Gristav returns to the door in the hallway and turns the key, this time pushing the door ajar and entering. He finds his room in a tidier state than the rest of the party did two days ago, as the cleaning staff included the residential wing on Moonday. There is an upholstered chair by the door and a chest against the wall for storage. A fireplace stands empty in the summer season. The floor is covered with what looks like the skin of a great cat of some sort, and the bed is covered with a blanket of shaggy fur. A table by the bed sports a few drawers and bears a candlestick with a rather grimy candle. There is an oil lamp in a sconce on the wall.
Gristav left his staff against the corner of the room, and gathered his spellbook and saddlebags, leaving both casually in the room. Time enough later to pace the room like a new cat, for now Gris only really gave the window's width and locks a looking and thinking, before returning to Larur, his reclaimed staff in hand, and the key to the locked door in his pocket.
"Well, Larur, how do you weight the risk? Am I to be a carter for the cause?"
Tendal has just settled himself in his chair with aplomb when Thuvalia appears in the doorway and glances around the room. "Oh, it's you," she says flatly. "There's a half-elf downstairs wants someone to carry a carpet for him." She looks at him expectantly.He then makes his way around the sitting room, adjusting the chairs so they are a bit closer together. After a few minutes of dragging the furniture around, he eyes the adjustments with a critical eye.
Nice and cozy. And focused on my chair. This should work brilliantly, Tendal thinks with his usual arrogance.
Tendal raises his glass to his lips and takes a sip, pointedly ignoring Thuvalia's comment. After a carefully insulting interval, Tendal turns to Thuvalia, "Oh Mrs. Barabbio, I didn't notice that you had come in. Odd, you must be losing your touch, you usually make a memorable entrance. Is there something that I can do to assist you?" he says blandly.
"Strange half-elf downstairs. Not the one who ran Volo through with his sword. Wants someone to carry a carpet," she enunciates, as if under the impression that Tendal is both slow of intellect and hard of hearing. "Honestly, I don't care," she shrugs, entering the room and helping herself to a comfortable seat. "I've done what I was asked, which was to relay the message; I'm not responsible for what you do with it."