Smirking as he comes into the Goblin proper, Phil exaggerates his gait and makes his wounds seem a little worse than they are. "Met with a short delay on the way... terribly sorry." Drawing attention by running a hand through his hair and wincing as the fingers draw near the lump and blood once more... this time not needing to fake the pain and discomfiting feelings.
Giving a moment for notice but not verbal reaction Phil limps forward and asks "So what's been decided for the public, before I ask about the private?"
Caz Cazynsik nods politely, but the dwarf looks alarmed at Phil's debilitated state. "Er, trestle tables and benches are cheapest," he stammers, distracted. "The fewer pieces, the quicker they're made at a lower cost, and benches can pack tight with a crowd instead of people going looking for chairs."
"Then you have nothing to fear from us," Malkith explains, remaining as calm and friendly as possible, "Why did Mistress Vishki deliver Herr Mescher's daughter to you? Why did you hand her off to Herr Bott? Tell us what happened," Malkith's tone suddenly becomes much more dire, "and I will see to it that the kin of Mistress Vishki do not seek retribution from you for any misfortune that may have befallen her. You would do well to remember that, although she may not have had family, Varisians are a kindred people...even with the despised Sczarni."
Phillip nods along "Aye, bench and trestle would be fine... had you a wood in mind? Something earthy would be best... mahogany or walnut perhaps?"
"Then you have nothing to fear from us," Malkith explains, remaining as calm and friendly as possible, "Why did Mistress Vishki deliver Herr Mescher's daughter to you? Why did you hand her off to Herr Bott? Tell us what happened," Malkith's tone suddenly becomes much more dire, "and I will see to it that the kin of Mistress Vishki do not seek retribution from you for any misfortune that may have befallen her. You would do well to remember that, although she may not have had family, Varisians are a kindred people...even with the despised Sczarni."
Finding herself trapped between the dark intimations of the Varisian and the more visceral threat of the half-elf, Nora stammers out, "The General's daughter? I had no idea. We thought she was someone's girl on the side. If we'd known who she was...." She gathers her thoughts and begins her account.
"We were heading down to the Publican like we do every Sunday evening, when we saw the scarf-- the Varisian lady with the little girl who hides out in that flat over the harbor. We were just going to walk on by, but the woman -- Mistress Vishki? -- called out to us. Said it was the girl's birthday and she was going to take her out for a treat but she'd probably enjoy her evening more with girls closer to her own age. Said she had money in her pouch to pay for everything." She shrugs. "We weren't going to turn down a free night out, and the girl -- Ananda, she said her name was -- seemed happy about it. I felt kind of sorry for her; it's got to get old sitting around that flat staring out the window with only a Varisian servant to keep her company, and, well, we thought the old man was her, uh, benefactor, if you know what I mean. I thought they must have already starting tying one on before heading out; Mistress Vishki seemed fine, but Ananda acted like she was already a few sheets to the wind, you know? Happy, though; laughed a lot; seemed like a sweet kid."
"So Mistress Vishki, she turned around and headed back up the hill toward Windward, and we took Ananda with us to the Publican House. Had quite a few drinks on her tab. Or, well, we did," she admits. "Ananda just sipped at her drink, never finished it. Like I said, we thought she was pretty far gone already. Anyway, after a while we heard some people talking about Old Stumpy's grand opening. We hardly ever get to go to Free-Coin -- they don't like giving us nights off when there's actually somewhere to go -- so we decided to cross the river and head over there. We played some ghoulette, watched a few sets of bounder. We were about to head back home when we saw Oliver."
She flushes miserably. "Like I said, we thought she was some old man's piece on the side. Thought if she was giving it up to some guy more than twice her age, there wouldn't be any harm in her taking a tumble with Oliver; at least she'd enjoy it for a change. So we gave him what was left of the coins in her pouch and told him it was her birthday, to show her a good time." She looks from Malkith to Braddon pleadingly. "Please don't tell General Mescher. If the Gendarmes come crawling around here, I'll lose my position. If the young Misters Krump even knew I knew Oliver...."
------------------
Phillip nods along "Aye, bench and trestle would be fine... had you a wood in mind? Something earthy would be best... mahogany or walnut perhaps?"
"Mahogany?" the Varisian laughs and shakes his head. "You'd find some ships out of the Shackles made of it; it doesn't grow this far north. Walnut could be done, but pine or cedar would be cheaper. They're both native trees, and we keep a sizeable stock on hand for ship repairs."
Malkith listens to the girls words carefully, watching for some indication that she might be fabricating her story. "The old man, tell us about him. he asks pointedly.
Gristav finds that he rushes too much, or perhaps Samaritha's pace is too slow and thoughtful; he has her green-clad figure in sight before she's halfway up the slope to Windward. He contrives to slow down and keep his distance, readying to slide into a door or hop down an alley if she glances over her shoulder, but she appears singularly uninterested in her surroundings this afternoon, seeming not even to notice as she climbs high enough to where the sea breeze begins to reduce the afternoon from oppressively hot to merely somewhat overwarm.
Second thoughts. Third thoughts. Seeing her subdued, het set himself to answer for that subdual. {Fool, you.}, he chided himself, in tone if not voice of the harrassing hag of the house of his youth. {Graceless.}, his own tone agreed. She'd gone to present; if he'd torn her down... he grumbled prejudicially against himself.
As she reaches the ridge line, she leaves the residential street to take the private road which leads to the Cypherlodge proper, perched at the highest point of the city. Here there is little traffic, and she is more likely to take note of those around her, looking for a likely mentor. Gris loiters on the main road, putting more space between them. He knows where she is going, after all; the road ends at the Cypherlodge. A knot of Gendarmes snarls the street up ahead, and he watches them idly for a time.
Did he have the right to follow her? No, not 'right'; he had as much right as she had to go up that hill. But to follow her? Did he have enough wrong to follow her? He judged he did.
Finally deciding that enough time has passed, he begins to stroll up the road to the Cypherlodge, keeping his eyes peeled for her apple-green robes. As he nears the sprawling building, a veritable hodgepodge of wings and additions to the original home of the hermit mage who began systematized study of the Cyphergate, he spies her in the lane out front, speaking earnestly with an older woman in robes of darker green, her dark hair streaked with gray.
He approached obliquely, keeping his eye well away, trying to read in their postures the mood of their meeting. Two people talking face-to-face left little arc not under eye, but the elder woman would be slower to notice him, so he set a course more behind Samaritha, and, too far to really listen, tried to watch.
She eyes him appraisingly. "Two gold," she proposes. "You, me, and a private room. We'll start with 'what big ears you have' and see how far we get, hm?"
If Dayn agrees, she'll give one of the black-armored security men a nod and lead the elf through the diaphanous curtain into the temple itself, through the well-appointed lobby and down a hallway until she opens a door on a private room. A round bed with a yellow canopy is the main feature; the room also contains a chaise longue and a mirrored dressing table with a cushioned stool.
Dayn spends a few more seconds looking her up and down appraisingly and then nods with a small smile and follows her silently though into the bed with the round room. Once inside, he looks around approvingly and comments "Nice. Is this yours, then?"
Not waiting for an answer, he looks around for something to drink and, if finding something, pours two cups, one for her and one for himself. Walking them over and handing her one, he then gestures to the chaise lounge, asking "Do you mind if we chat for a bit first? And I suppose I should know how much time do have exactly? We Elves do like to take our time, or haven't you heard?"
Malkith listens to the girls words carefully, watching for some indication that she might be fabricating her story. "The old man, tell us about him. he asks pointedly.
"I... I don't know," she protests. "I've never seen him; just heard of him showing up from the girls who work at the houses on the main road. A man our fathers' age dressed in a hat and coat like he doesn't want to be recognized; always shows up alone and is the only person besides deliveries who ever visits."
------------------
There are some sparse shrubberies and stunted trees along the ridge line, far from a lush landscape but enough to provide some half-hearted concealment for a half-elf. Of necessity, Gris can't see Samaritha's face, but he tries to read her posture: demure, eager, hopeful? Dutiful and decent, surely. He sets himself to study the older woman's face. Human, lined but not yet wrinkled, a slight squint to the eyes that bespeaks too many years poring over spidery texts. A careful face, a bit stern and spinsterish, but not an unkind one.
As he watches, the conversation seems to come to an end. The older woman starts to move away, a hint of apology in her eyes; Samaritha's shoulders droop slightly, but she nods deferentially. The elder mage turns and heads for the main door of the Cypherlodge.
"Mahogany?" the Varisian laughs and shakes his head. "You'd find some ships out of the Shackles made of it; it doesn't grow this far north. Walnut could be done, but pine or cedar would be cheaper. They're both native trees, and we keep a sizeable stock on hand for ship repairs."
Phillip smiles, but shakes his head "No, pine or cedar would not do. Both are woods of the water, and are too light. The table needs be dark, earthy and remind those that drink upon it of a farm and a hearth rather than a ship and a hammock." glancing at Larur before beckoning to Cas "Come, I will show you what is needed for my chambers and then we talk of price."
As he watches, the conversation seems to come to an end. The older woman starts to move away, a hint of apology in her eyes; Samaritha's shoulders droop slightly, but she nods deferentially. The elder mage turns and heads for the main door of the Cypherlodge.
"Samaritha!", he scolded in a shout, striding angrily toward the young half-elf, sparing only a butt-out glance for the older woman. "So this is it? This is how you 'prentice? My book not enough, you come here? Waste your time, here? Waste my time, here? Here?! I tol' you, Cyphermages, closed door. Humans, only. Men, only. Only way in is to be in alrea'y. An' you come sneakin' out here, behin' my back? How many times?" He stopped to breathe and growl, and added, [b]"Don't matter!"
Seeming to spy the elder lady of the pair, the uncultured castigating caster turned to her. "You still here? You can go back to your kitchen. No! You tell her, tell her, no elf blood in the Lodge. No women in the Lodge. Can't get in 'less you jus' come out. Tell her!"
But he didn't leave time for it, rounding again on Samaritha, drawing on anger that predated her to fill his voice, words he'd never said to the creature that deserved them. "I am DONE with YOU!", he growled, but she was so... so her, so undeserving of them, he struggled to keep an edge. "I don't care how smart you are!", he spat. Pointing at the elder, he echoed, "THEY don't care how smart you are!"
Trembling as though in restrained violence, knuckles white on his staff, the interloper began to walk away, turning once to glare at Samaritha, and to look past her to the elder. "Tell her!"
"Done with you...", he muttered, distance fading the words.
Dayn spends a few more seconds looking her up and down appraisingly and then nods with a small smile and follows her silently though into the bed with the round room. Once inside, he looks around approvingly and comments "Nice. Is this yours, then?"
Not waiting for an answer, he looks around for something to drink and, if finding something, pours two cups, one for her and one for himself. Walking them over and handing her one, he then gestures to the chaise lounge, asking "Do you mind if we chat for a bit first? And I suppose I should know how much time do have exactly? We Elves do like to take our time, or haven't you heard?"
She shrugs. "You're the one paying, so for now it's yours." Daynadrian finds a carafe of pedestrian wine and a pair of goblets. As he pours, he glances around and comes to the conclusion that the room does not look like it's anyone's personal living space, merely a temple room for public use. She accepts both the glass and the seat on the chaise. "I wouldn't worry about the time; we have plenty. I've heard that elven women tend to be a little slow to warm up. I think you'll find my blood's a little hotter than you're used to." She pats the cushion next to her invitingly as she takes a sip of the wine.
------------------
Phillip smiles, but shakes his head "No, pine or cedar would not do. Both are woods of the water, and are too light. The table needs be dark, earthy and remind those that drink upon it of a farm and a hearth rather than a ship and a hammock." glancing at Larur before beckoning to Cas "Come, I will show you what is needed for my chambers and then we talk of price."
The shipwright shoots a questioning look toward Larur before shrugging and following Phil toward the marble atrium off which his room opens. Enough of the displaced furniture has begun to migrate back toward its rightful home on the casino floor that they aren't too inconvenienced in the passage. Phil unlocks his door and shows the carpenter in.
Upon the walk, Phillip makes smalltalk "I am sorry for being late... but as I said... some harsh questions and protective folk not wanting their secrets shared eh?" allowing and hoping that the shipwright's mind will prove more active and connect dots that don't exist. Opening his door he fills the man in on what he'd prefer within.
"New bed, halfling length but wide enough for two; coffee table; nightstand; writing desk; couple of chairs; and a work desk for that corner. I'm happy with pine if you can put a darker stain to it... oh and some shelves for the walls and a chest of drawers." letting the man make note, measure and discuss the banalities of the request to get a proper reckoning upon it.
"So what's the damage, and when would it be done?"
"You're back sir. Settled what you'd forgot?"
"I've either warmed a dish, or burned it."
Nodding in what he thought was understanding, the ferryman asked, "Is that what you'd forgot, then? Left it on the fire?"
"Yes.", Gristav agreed, soberly.
"So you're headed back there, now?"
"I hope so."
"New bed, halfling length but wide enough for two; coffee table; nightstand; writing desk; couple of chairs; and a work desk for that corner. I'm happy with pine if you can put a darker stain to it... oh and some shelves for the walls and a chest of drawers." letting the man make note, measure and discuss the banalities of the request to get a proper reckoning upon it.
"So what's the damage, and when would it be done?"
The carpenter eyes the room, pulling a length of string out of his pocket to measure the available dimensions. "Larur's said he'd like the table and benches for the public room by Sunday. Ought to be able to make tide on that, although there'll be a delay while we pull together enough walnut. Suppose we could start on some of your personal furnishings in the meantime and see how far we get. Adding the stain will take some additional time ... and expense," he adds, giving Phil a sidelong glance. "The walnut's pricier, and a chest of drawers, if you want them to slide right, takes a bit more craftsmanship and attention to detail than attaching legs to tables. Everything, with the walnut and the stain ... say, fifty gold's a nice round number. The public furniture done by Sunday along with a portion of your personal effects, the rest to follow within a week, barring any major shipwork arising." He glances back at Phil casually. "Your new man ought to be able to tell you that shipwork takes priority in Riddleport. A man can get by without a desk, but a ship stuck in drydock bleeds coin. Not that I've worked on the Cloud recently. Been wondering if Creesy might have been taking his business to Roderic's Cove."
Pursing his lips to measure the response, Phil sees that Cas has given a reasonably fair price given the wood requested and additional requests for his own room. Headache not yet fled from his head he briefly mulls forgoing the bargaining to allow for rest... but he did talk himself into a position that backing away from would bring a question on his skill.
Smoothing out his mustache and flicking away an errant few grains of sand that were still lodged there. He ventures "A fair price for the work, and I understand that wetwork outweighs the dry... you wouldn't want to be known to turn aught away, not even the small or they wouldn't come to see you for the big." making a play of looking conflicted before adding "But the thing is I'm freshly hired here and I kind of laid out a marker that I'd get a good deal for the works. The knock on the bonce scrambled my thinking a bit and I don't think I'm up for the dance... how's about we dispense with the usual back and forth and do each other a favor?"
Licking his lips before siding a little closer and adopting a conspiratorial tone "You give me a good deal on the dry work say 35 for the lot, and I'll have a chat with the man who used to be on the Cloud... work it so next time Creesy's in town you get a chance to talk face to face with him... and a recommendation from us that you're more than fair besides. Would that work for you?"
Dayn spends a few more seconds looking her up and down appraisingly and then nods with a small smile and follows her silently though into the bed with the round room. Once inside, he looks around approvingly and comments "Nice. Is this yours, then?"
Not waiting for an answer, he looks around for something to drink and, if finding something, pours two cups, one for her and one for himself. Walking them over and handing her one, he then gestures to the chaise lounge, asking "Do you mind if we chat for a bit first? And I suppose I should know how much time do have exactly? We Elves do like to take our time, or haven't you heard?"
She shrugs. "You're the one paying, so for now it's yours." Daynadrian finds a carafe of pedestrian wine and a pair of goblets. As he pours, he glances around and comes to the conclusion that the room does not look like it's anyone's personal living space, merely a temple room for public use. She accepts both the glass and the seat on the chaise. "I wouldn't worry about the time; we have plenty. I've heard that elven women tend to be a little slow to warm up. I think you'll find my blood's a little hotter than you're used to." She pats the cushion next to her invitingly as she takes a sip of the wine.
Dayn smirks and sits, warming up to both the girl and the game. " I've only ever been with Elven women, so, yes, a little heat would be most welcome." Looking as if he just thought of something, he says with some slight alarm "Not too much heat though! I've heard that there's a Tiefling woman who works here. Is it true that they can melt a man's...parts off, with that furnace between their legs??" He then looks the priestess up and down again with a smile. "They say she's the most beautiful and successful servant of the Goddess here in the temple. But I find it hard to believe she could be prettier than you. Scarlet Laley? Lila? Something like that. Which reminds me, I've yet to learn your name, my dove?"
"Samaritha!", he scolded in a shout, striding angrily toward the young half-elf....
Both women's heads turn at the rude intrusion. Samaritha's face is frozen in shocked disbelief; the other wizard's lips grow grim and thin with growing indignation as Gris slurs out his diatribe. He turns his back, steeling his will against any arcane backlash he may have provoked. Behind him, he hears Samaritha find her voice as she begins to stammer out an explanation before he stalks out of earshot.
Dayn smirks and sits, warming up to both the girl and the game. " I've only ever been with Elven women, so, yes, a little heat would be most welcome." Looking as if he just thought of something, he says with some slight alarm "Not too much heat though! I've heard that there's a Tiefling woman who works here. Is it true that they can melt a man's...parts off, with that furnace between their legs??" He then looks the priestess up and down again with a smile. "They say she's the most beautiful and successful servant of the Goddess here in the temple. But I find it hard to believe she could be prettier than you. Scarlet Laley? Lila? Something like that. Which reminds me, I've yet to learn your name, my dove?"
The prostitute's inviting smile grows a little brittle when Dayn broaches the subject of the tiefling. "You must mean Lil," she says dismissively, "Lil Scarlet. She's not really in service anymore and doesn't take walk-ins anyway. She follows Abadar more than Calistria, if you ask me; it's all about the money, not the experience. I'm Rosamond. You're going to want to remember that, so you can ask for me."
"A fair price for the work, and I understand that wetwork outweighs the dry... you wouldn't want to be known to turn aught away, not even the small or they wouldn't come to see you for the big." making a play of looking conflicted before adding "But the thing is I'm freshly hired here and I kind of laid out a marker that I'd get a good deal for the works. The knock on the bonce scrambled my thinking a bit and I don't think I'm up for the dance... how's about we dispense with the usual back and forth and do each other a favor?"
Licking his lips before siding a little closer and adopting a conspiratorial tone "You give me a good deal on the dry work say 35 for the lot, and I'll have a chat with the man who used to be on the Cloud... work it so next time Creesy's in town you get a chance to talk face to face with him... and a recommendation from us that you're more than fair besides. Would that work for you?"
The Varisian grins as the haggling begins. "Thirty-five won't cover the wood. I've got to pay my men. Forty-five and an introduction to your friend over an ale or three at the Publican."
Phillip muses, running a hand carefully through his hair and avoiding the lump "Forty for the work, the introduction and free drink for the slips you've working for you to christen the tables on Sunday. That way we both get to walk out of this room as heroes... me to my boss and you to your workers." extending a hopeful hand to seal the deal.
Braddon gives a discrete nod to Malkith, but continues his questions of the maid.
"How do you know Mistress Vishki was 'fine' if you didn't know her? What was she like? You've been very helpful so far. Now, describe every detail you can remember about this person."
"How do you know Mistress Vishki was 'fine' if you didn't know her? What was she like? You've been very helpful so far. Now, describe every detail you can remember about this person."
"I ... I don't know," Nora stumbles. "I just mean ... she acted like she was fine. She was friendly and smiling and.... I'd always heard she was kind of strict and stand-offish, but maybe it was just people didn't like her because she was Varisian? Because she seemed really nice. I remember thinking it wouldn't have been so bad if she'd come along with us and normally, you know, after taking orders from stuffy old matrons all day, we just wouldn't want anything to do with them."
"Like I said, maybe forty-something? Varisian, obviously, with dark hair worn up, some streaks of gray in it. She had a dark scarf over her head and another around her shoulders. Standard servant clothes, nothing improper for a woman of her age and station ... but she carried herself with style, if you know what I mean. With confidence." She looks nervously at at the two and back at the door.
Despite his fears, Gristav doesn't find himself dodging a lightning bolt or a fireball as he retreats down the Cypherlodge road. Once out of line of sight and range of spell from the building, he relaxes his angry pace and has the rest of the walk down to the ferry to second-guess his choices.
"You're back sir. Settled what you'd forgot?"
"I've either warmed a dish, or burned it."
Nodding in what he thought was understanding, the ferryman asked, "Is that what you'd forgot, then? Left it on the fire?"
"Yes.", Gristav agreed, soberly.
"So you're headed back there, now?"
"I hope so."
The ferryman frowns when asked about a pass or a volume discount. "Four copper a crossing, that's what I'm permitted to charge; it's in my license," he replies stubbornly.
Phillip muses, running a hand carefully through his hair and avoiding the lump "Forty for the work, the introduction and free drink for the slips you've working for you to christen the tables on Sunday. That way we both get to walk out of this room as heroes... me to my boss and you to your workers." extending a hopeful hand to seal the deal.
Cas considers a moment, then extends his own hand to meet the halfling's. "Done," he agrees decidedly. "I'll send for the walnut and get started on the pine in the meantime. When shall I meet you and your new man at the Publican House?"
"So then, there's no way to pay the fare of the lady I crossed with, when she crosses back? Nor her next score of crossings? That'd be a whole gold, as I reckon it, for the burden of it to you, gratuity, or whatever else might convince you to accept that bargain. If you see your way clear, of course; wouldn't do to make waves for the ferryman." Gristav smiled, it was a clever turn of phrase,and deserved such. But the smile, like the man, showed some unseen burden.
"I am Gristav.", he said, hoping to seal the bargain.
"Like I said, maybe forty-something? Varisian, obviously, with dark hair worn up, some streaks of gray in it. She had a dark scarf over her head and another around her shoulders. Standard servant clothes, nothing improper for a woman of her age and station ... but she carried herself with style, if you know what I mean. With confidence." She looks nervously at at the two and back at the door.
"Hmm..." Braddon considers carefully.
"Very well then. If anything else comes to mind, leave a message for Braddon at the Publican House. Thanks for your time. You can go now." Braddon nods towards the beckoning doorway.As she leaves, Braddon marches off in the other direction, muttering to Malkith as he does so.
"A clever disguise. Scarf hides the tiefling horns. I'm beginning to see why you don't like them. Still no closer to finding the b.. target. Lead on. I'm out of ideas," he sulks.
Adding yet another rendezvous to his growing itinery Will have to brief Gristav on the ins and outs before they lay eyes... but would be a mite suspicious to schedule post delivery of the wood. Bridges best crossed once known to be set afire methinks. "Tomorrow over lunch if he's free enough?"
Malkith moves aside to let Nora return to her duties and falls into step beside Braddon. "I fear the Fates have turned their backs to us. We're no closer to finding Scarlet now than when we arrive. She certainly isn't going to allow a pair of kanpotarrak to find her if she doesn't want to be found."
As they walk, Malkith leads them in the general direction of the Golden Goblin. "Perhaps one of the others has had better luck than us?" After a moment's pause he adds, "I admit I'm not completely aware of what our co-workers have be up to. Perhaps we will find the path to Scarlet by aiding them with their endeavors."
Adding yet another rendezvous to his growing itinery Will have to brief Gristav on the ins and outs before they lay eyes... but would be a mite suspicious to schedule post delivery of the wood. Bridges best crossed once known to be set afire methinks. "Tomorrow over lunch if he's free enough?"
"Looking forward to it," the shipwright grins. "I'll meet the two of you at the Publican House tomorrow." He takes his leave.
"So then, there's no way to pay the fare of the lady I crossed with, when she crosses back? Nor her next score of crossings? That'd be a whole gold, as I reckon it, for the burden of it to you, gratuity, or whatever else might convince you to accept that bargain. If you see your way clear, of course; wouldn't do to make waves for the ferryman." Gristav smiled, it was a clever turn of phrase,and deserved such. But the smile, like the man, showed some unseen burden.
"I am Gristav.", he said, hoping to seal the bargain.
"Oh, aye," the ferryman answers, his brow clearing. "If you want to pay ahead for her, I've no problem with that. Grimas Oltedler," he offers his hand to the half-elf. "You're not local, are you? New to Riddleport?"
Gristav takes the ferryman's offered hand in a workmanlike embrace, mindful of the kinship of the oar and stave that shaped the hands, and silently invoking that grace. "Well, recently and often, but little use for the CypherLodge. I'd heard they'd little use for ears such as mine, and I don't go where I'm not wanted." Gristav chuckled in a melancholy way, and continued, "Business has kept me in motion, in any case, and a sedentary sanctum serving study of spell and sigil... seemed... surplus."
"But she had business on that side, and I had business at her side. I thought. I might still. That's not mine to decide."
Plucking a gold coin from empty air, absently presenting it to Grimas, Gris said, "This may help with that, or be read more darkly. I suppose it would depend upon mood..."
Chuckling at the realization, Gristav said, "I expect you make a study of people, and have already heard enough in silences and timings, and shuffles and stances... I hope I would have." He met the ferryman's eye, changing mode from observation to direction. "Her happiness is important to me. Please, have that in mind, when you forgive her fare, that she might hear it in the silence, or see it in the stance. She is very bright. You can see it, in the eyes. Intelligent. Kind." Gris smiled wryly. "And just today, angry at me."
He chuckles nostalgically as he punts the flatboat back to the east side of the river. "Quarrel, eh? Been there, friend. You want me to tell her it was you that paid or let her figure it out?"
"Quarrel, aye. Perhaps the whole quiver. And worse, I'm at fault, and I know it. But I'd purpose and cause, if no right. When you're wrong often enough, you get not to mind so much."
"Heh. If I might direct, just wave off her payment, it's been taken care of. Then, if I'm stepping on my right foot, I'll bask in the warm glow of having done her a good turn. And if I'm feeling dark, I'll chuckle at the gaslight."
"Thank you for your understanding, Grimas... Mister Oltedler? Transporter General? Have you a title, and ought I use it? And how does one come to such a unique-in-the-city station?"
"Just Grimas," he replies, as the boat bumps against the eastern pier and he off-handedly ties it off. "And, uh, connections. Avery Slyeg looks out for those that served under him."
As Braddon and Malkith make their way back to the road down to the River District, they note that the front door of Ananda's former flat is still guarded by a pair of Gendarmes. The tea room appears to have become suddenly popular for its view of the proceedings across the street; matrons have claimed seats at the front windows where they can be the first with the latest gossip. The tea-girl glances up from the cup she is pouring and offers the pair a quick smile.
Farther ahead, where a road leading down from the highest point of the bluff joins the main thoroughfare before it plunges back down into the heat of the river valley, a familiar figure in green robes appears. Samaritha looks upset and distracted and doesn't seem to notice Braddon and Malkith behind her as she starts back down toward the main town.
"As I understand such things, it's the whole crew looks out for the others, yes? As it should be. The rare time I've had such honor, it was all turn to, and it hung on the one man. One man less, it'd gone differently. Luck or Mercy, that we had that man? I'd not tempt either Grace by claiming to know, but neither will begrudge the nod to Honor. To count on, and be counted on."
"Good to know you, Grimas."
-----
Gristav arrives back at the Gold Goblin shortly after Cas Cazynsik departs it, not that he is aware of the carpenter's recent visit. Pausing at the threshold of the open doors, he can see that the carpeting job has only just been finished; the supervisor is settling accounts with Larur outside the dwarf's office while Sam and his fellows are moving the furniture back to its rightful places. It's his first view of the casino other than in a state of extreme disarray, and a vast improvement over its appearance thus far.
As Gristav watches a disheveled and bloodied Phillip with matted hair and a large cranial lump behind his left ear makes his way with upbeat step towards where Larur is settling accounts. Once he sees an opening in the dwarf's verbal grumblings he intervenes "Forty gold, all in and he's promised the tables and benches before Sunday... plus I've got him promised to make sure his slips turn up in force on Sunday." Wisely choosing to withhold the promise of free drink for a moment before he spots Gristav "Speaking of errands..." he raises a hand and flags down the courier, beckoning he join them.
Leaning tiredly on the server's side of the bar after moving the furnishings, Gristav took a moment to notice Phil's summons. Still apparently burdened by some other matter, it wasn't until he'd got to the end of the bar that he noticed the wear on Phil's person. When Gristav took up his staff, the far end hummed through the air as the staff seemed to settle into a greatsword grip in the courier's grasp.
"Another affront?", Gristav glowered as he crossed the room. "I'm anxious to take the measure of those who start with the smallest of us.", the half-elf said, momentarily mindful that Samaritha might be more safe if she did not return to the Goblin.
Phillip furrows brow but a moment before realising and touching finger to his head "Heh... not exactly. Price paid for liberties taken and a curious mind. Still, made some money out of it and will be drinking with the man that wielded the sword tonight - so can't be all bad."
Pausing a moment before adding "I need you for lunch tomorrow Gristav, I'm buying... and I'll be needing some of your words... though only the truth..." his cautious wording clearly implying that the luncheon will not be quite as simple as he implies.
"Truth is straw. It makes hats, beef, cream, or cheese, depending on how it's processed. What's your intent?" As Gris asks this, his staff gentles to the floor, no longer in posture of a claymore. He lets it carry a portion of his weight; quite a different mien than the moment before.
Smirking as he adopts a mock pose of trustfulness "I think cream would be to my liking..." a beat "...I have made a promise on a half-truthful lie and would see it matched with a half-lying truth. Yon carpenter just departed was told that you crewed the Cloud and had just left it's decks. Without need for further prompt he seems to believe that you are now a disgruntled crewman that would sell off what secrets he knows for a free drink and flash of kindness."
"I would have you say but you served a short time, left in good graces and could not betray your former Captain... there is no untruth in that, yes?"
Farther ahead, where a road leading down from the highest point of the bluff joins the main thoroughfare before it plunges back down into the heat of the river valley, a familiar figure in green robes appears. Samaritha looks upset and distracted and doesn't seem to notice Braddon and Malkith behind her as she starts back down toward the main town.
Braddon looks around warily, before bounding down to Samaritha's side.
"Sam?" His voice is soft and full of concern. "Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?"
Smirking as he adopts a mock pose of trustfulness "I think cream would be to my liking..." a beat "...I have made a promise on a half-truthful lie and would see it matched with a half-lying truth. Yon carpenter just departed was told that you crewed the Cloud and had just left it's decks. Without need for further prompt he seems to believe that you are now a disgruntled crewman that would sell off what secrets he knows for a free drink and flash of kindness."
"I would have you say but you served a short time, left in good graces and could not betray your former Captain... there is no untruth in that, yes?"
Gristav chuffed. So that was the feeling, when someone misrepresented you. He smiled at Philip. "Good to meet you.", the half-elf bowed. "Gristav. Just in. Came ashore this past morning, a skiff off the Cloud. Philip tells me you've interest there. You ought to know, I was more a marine, than a sailor. Protecting a secret. It was all accidental; the captain was really doing me a favor, the lease of a hammock, and passage to the Riddleport docks. I consider myself in his debt. Philip and I passed four words, over a muffin, in the middle of other talk, and he might have thought I'd been there longer. Or... deeper? I won't ask you confirm or deny it, and Phil expresses I'm somehow in your debt as well, so I'll let you choose: Do I speak of this to Captin Creasy, perhaps seek the audience for you, with him, you've not had with me? Or do I not?"
Gristav let a beat pass.
"Will that serve?"
Braddon looks around warily, before bounding down to Samaritha's side.
"Sam?" His voice is soft and full of concern. "Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?"
Samaritha jumps, startled out of her thoughts, as Braddon appears at her elbow. "Oh! Braddon ... and Malkith," she adds as she sees the Varisian behind him. "No, it's just...," she waves her hand back up the path she just came down, "Cypherlodge. I shouldn't even have.... Mr. Vankaskerkin didn't give me anything to do today, and I should have asked how I could help, but instead I took the opportunity to sneak off to try to get a toe in with the Cyphermages again, and ... well, honestly, I deserved it. I shouldn't be spending the time Mr. Vankaskerkin's paying me more than fairly for in looking for another position," she concludes unhappily.
Phillip's eyes narrow somewhat as he regards Gristav with a more competetive and confrontational rather than conciliatory and cooperative air. He lets words flow over his ears and measures them carefully before his lips curl in a half-smirk half-sneer. Returning serve with words of his own, Phillip shrugs as his eyes take on a predatory sparkle "Choice made is your own, if you wish to drink the milk offered and spit back curds then it is within your intransigence. It would not hurt me, as it is not my gold that would be diminished by your denial of a simple act."
Allowing a short pause to point at Larur "Ten gold is the price of your pride... from Larur's pocket, not mine. Would you ally, subscribe, partner, or serve with me in order to save his coin... or would you grate with righteous indignation and thusly lighten his purse."
Braddon's strong arms enfold Samaritha in a surprisingly gentle hug.
"Look on the bright side," he says as he pulls away, "at least money isn't an issue for a while."
Braddon falls into step beside her.
"What if you work a week on, then take a week off. Of you stick with us for a few months and save the cash to buy your way in? Or could you sneak in with a disguise? I think Lil Scarlet is using disguise magic. She looked like the missing governess, and got her to let her in to the house. Is there magic that can do that? Make someone let you in? No one has seen the real governess since. I think Lil might have tossed her over the cliffs behind the house. General Mescher said he'd check down there. We met him. He seemed okay. Said he might owe me a debt for getting his daughter home safe."
Braddon turns to Malkith. "Were any of his guards in earshot when he said that? He might have actually meant it."
"If he did, maybe he could get the head of the Cypherlodge to take you in," Braddon turns back to Samaritha then sees her frown as he mentions the Cypherlodge again. He pushes on quickly hoping to keep her distracted from her troubles.
"He said she was drugged with Indigo Dream. It's supposed to be more expensive than his daughter's necklace. Do you know any sellers? Maybe we could question them. He reckons the necklace was taken just to make it look like a robbery instead of a threat against him. I'm not so sure. Why make a threat look like a robbery? That's not how you threaten someone. You need to be specific, and say just enough to... Anyway, maybe the necklace was a secret artifact. I think I heard a children's tale back home in Cheliax about something like that. Though everything in Cheliax has a secret history or is part of a grand scheme. They're crazy like that. Or if they did take the necklace purely for cash, pretend or otherwise, maybe they'd sell it and we should try the pawn shops. What do you think, Sam?"
Malkith quickens his pace to catch up with Samaritha. Before he can speak, Braddon is already voicing the Varisian's own thoughts. He walks along, listening intently to what she has to say. His attention, however, starts to wander as Braddon starts talking again. By the time the half-elf is prattling on about their morning, Malkith is wondering how Braddon hasn't managed to inform all of Riddleport of their efforts.
"Persistence," Malkith states, "You are a very persistent woman, dear Samaritha. It's a very useful trait when it comes to mastering the arcane arts, as I understand it.
"Do not worry about Herr Vankaskerkin. If he had no tasks for you this day, I hardly doubt he expects you to sit around on your hands waiting to serve him. Besides, he knows of your intentions with the Cypherlodge."
He offers he he a reassuring smile as they continue back to the Golden Goblin.
Phillip's eyes narrow somewhat as he regards
Gristav with a more competetive and confrontational rather than conciliatory and
cooperative air. He lets words flow over his ears and measures them carefully
before his lips curl in a half-smirk half-sneer. Returning serve with words of
his own, Phillip shrugs as his eyes take on a predatory sparkle "Choice made
is your own, if you wish to drink the milk offered and spit back curds then it
is within your intransigence. It would not hurt me, as it is not my gold that
would be diminished by your denial of a simple act."
Allowing a short pause to point at Larur "Ten gold is the price of your
pride... from Larur's pocket, not mine. Would you ally, subscribe, partner,
or serve with me in order to save his coin... or would you grate with
righteous indignation and thusly lighten his purse."
Gristav's face showed puzzlement, wariness, and fatigue, in turns. "You've had a bad day, Mister Hargreaves. And you don't know it, but so have I. I may have burned a bridge, I surely set fire to it. Good cause, though. Head held high, however heart heavied. So I'm perhaps unequal to what you thought you were asking, I thought I had given you just that. Better, I gave all I could. The truth of the tale, with respect for all in it. If you need otherwise, it's perhaps better we speak on it again another time; we are neither of us in our best moods nor conditions."
"There is one point I'd make now, though, with you gesturing to Larur. My pride is not what price we haggle on; I'm the man went begging a berth as bait before a badge. The pride you'd price is his. Ours. We've a long play to make, here, and as I reckon it, completely aside from any moral calculus, the crafstman and his kit, and kith, and crew, are better bought early and more cheaply, than rented with a rate for resentment, later. How's your Varisi? They have a phrase, 'Gari, eta ura: ogia; Legamia, eta ordua: tarta.' Or more or less, 'Some things take time'. Let's not play a short game with this craftsman, we're in the long game."
Samaritha tries to keep up with Braddon's stream of revelations and questions. "Well, yes, there's a glamer that can disguise a person, and being invited in, all that would take would be a simple charm. But that would mean that Lil is an arcanist of some kind? I suppose that would explain the rumors about the love potions; she wouldn't need a potion if she could charm her clients herself."
"Indigo Dreams? I've heard of it." She looks troubled. "They say it lowers a person's inhibitions, makes her more malleable and subject to persuasion and less wary of dangers and, well, bad ideas. You can supposedly tell when a person is under the influence because her eyes take on a purple tinge. They say Shorafa keeps it at her temple for clients who want to feel vulnerable without really being vulnerable. She always uses it in-house and under supervision so the person drugged isn't in any real danger."
"Apart from that, I don't know. She has to get it from somewhere, but.... Some people say Boss Croat deals in illicit substances, but I don't know if it's true or just prejudice against half-orcs. And of course, Cleg Zincher's brother was an alchemist and known to be one of Lil's prominent clients, you know, after what happened with Mr. Vankaskerkin's son. Maybe he distilled it for her? I know there are alchemists in and out of Lubbertown with the caravans all the time. After Falk Zincher's death, I think the only public alchemist's shop in Riddleport proper belongs to a dwarf over in Rotgut. Terrible neighborhood. But if you're looking for pawn shops, they'd be there or in Free-Coin."