Out in the streets of Riddleport, Phillip checks the position of the sun in the sky. Reminding himself of the early sunset caused by the western ridge, he judges that Ethel is unlikely yet to be released from her daily drudgery and chooses to do a little shopping, window and otherwise, as he wends his way through Leeward District toward her place of employ.
Stopping in at Flask & Stubbs, he spends some time perusing the offerings before making his purchases. Communicating the address and regularity of the delivery takes some time, as does wording and scribing the note to accompany it. He leaves the shop with some dried meats folded in a parchment pouch with the Flask & Stubbs crest set in the wax sealing it. He strolls past a few clothing stores and peers in the windows, but the clothes on display are sized for larger folk. He presumes that Ethel will be able to tell him where the local halflings shop; at any rate, he'd prefer shopping with a companion to compliment his choices.
At length, he arrives in the slightly shabby block southeast of Leeward Common which houses Betta's dressmaking shop. Stopping across the way from the door under the peeling gilt letters, he glances to where the road climbs to a notch at the top of the ridge and whatever lies beyond Riddleport to the east.
Phillip briefly considers baiting the scrappy dog that Ethel complained about into the open throgh judicious use of dried jerky... but manages to restrain his puckish side. His second whim was to enter the store... but given his present dishevelment he shelved that idea also. Perhaps it best that I await without this day at least... Another day for idle diversion within methinks.
With that Phil loiters with intent a short distance away from the dressmakers, awaiting the completion of Ethel's shift and release into the wild.
Phil finds a shady vantage point -- no difficult task so late in the afternoon with so many buildings about -- and waits, watching the shadows stretch farther across the street. About the time the penumbras of the roofs across the way have reached the doorstep of Ladies' Attire and Necessities, the door opens, the unseen dog yaps, and Ethel steps out into the street. He sees a flash of welcome in her eyes as she sees him which is quickly smothered by an inner qualm. "Good evening, madam," she calls back into the shop and primly shuts the door behind her before crossing the street with a consciously deliberate pace. "Phillip," she greets him rather formally, waiting to see in what manner he will address her.
Saul pushes through the swinging doors of the kitchen and out onto the casino floor, shadowed by Bojasc. "Ladies!" he grins beatifically. "I hear you're planning our next great success for Varisian Caravan Night. Tell me what you need, and Larur and I will set about procuring it for you, won't we, Larur?" The dwarf's answering scowl is less accommodating than Saul's words.
"Your Harrower is being recalcitrant," Thuvalia complains. "He refuses to participate. I need a Varisian man for this dance."
Daynadrian, having accepted a key from Larur, approaches those discussing the dance. "Look here," he says with a hard look at Gristav setting down his tray, "why can't I play the handler? Seems like it would be a prime location to keep an eye on the crowd from."
"You are not Varisian," Thuvalia replies dismissively. "An elf cannot do Ergela en Iruzur." She returns her attention to the owner. "And we will need music, authentic Varisian performers. And a costumier. Will your woman be at our disposal?"
Phillip notes the formality put forward with conscious air and thusly quashes the hint of smile that begins to germinate at the corner of his mouth and matches formality with formality. Placing left hand tucked behind back Phillip straightens his spine and walks towards his inamorata. Stopping a pace short of her he proffers his right hand before himself with palm up as his back bends at the waist into a half-bow; while left hand is kept tucked away. His opening word is merely "Milady" The angle of his bow is carefully selected so as to give Ethel best possible view of the still blood matted hair and now fully bloomed lump and bruising that was gifted to Phillip by Ranef earlier in the day.
He pauses for a moment to see if Ethel allows him the honor of showing fidelity and courtesy by offering her hand to be kissed... but whether offered or not, Phillip remains in a half-bow and apologizes "I am sorry to have not met you for lunch. I was... indisposed... having been bludgeoned into unconsciouness. One hopes that one did not cause you concern?" slowly straightening and allowing a smirk to form at one corner of his mouth.
"Oh, Phil!" She gasps as obligingly as he could have wished when his injury becomes evident, immediately dropping her air of reserve and reaching gingerly toward the bloody knot, although she is too squeamish actually to touch it. "Are you all right? What happened?" she asks with wide, worried eyes.
"Excuse me." Samaritha quietly backs away from the conversation on the floor of the Gold Goblin and heads for the guest wing in Malkith's wake. Stopping outside his door, she knocks quietly. "Malkith? Maiatzaren etorri naiz?"
Rising and dropping his own formality Phil flashes a smirk and wink at Ethel to assuage some of her concern "Perfectly fine... though it's still a bit tender if I was being honest. I was at the arena and found myself fighting a bout against a largish scarred gentleman... needless to say I lost." fishing out the coin purse from the bets in the arena "but with a few well placed wagers I still came out ahead." sidling up and putting arm around her waist.
"How was your day Miss Braum?"
"Ooh, keys. Thanks." Braddon accepts the key from Larur and drops it into his boot.
He is pleased to have been overlooked in the plans for the Varisian caravan night. Uncomprehendingly, he watches the exchange between Malkith and Thuvalia, not noticing Phillip's departure but frowning as Malkith stalks off. His concern fades as Gristav places down the tray of drinks whereupon he goes over and grabs two. But by the time he turns back to Samaritha, she's also gone. His face falls. He takes a sip of the tea, makes a face and offers the second drink to Gristav.
"Doesn't anyone here drink ale? Are you one of the servants? I haven't seen you before... this morning."
"Zatoz eta zure oinak atseden," Malkith responds with the traditional Varisian phrase.
He is laying in bed, propped up by its pillows. His eyes are directed at the harrow deck being absentmindedly shuffled, but his gaze is some place far off. As Samaritha crosses the threshold of his room, Malkith looks up. The cards continue to dance between his hands, but his expression involuntarily softens at the sight of his guest.
"Zer egin dezaket zuretzat I, nire maitea?"
"How was your day Miss Braum?"
She is still distracted by his injury. "Oh, Phil. Well, I ... I would have complained how tedious it all was, but at least no one attacked me. Phil, you could have been killed! When you didn't show up at lunchtime, I thought.... Well, Maddy said that you'd got what you were after and wouldn't be putting the press on anymore. I didn't think that, but ... I thought about what I said at the Gold Goblin might happen to you if you got caught, and how you had to run from Magnimar without telling anyone and what, well, anyone who was left behind must have wondered, and what it would feel like to go back to going out at nights with Olin and Ewart and Almah and Win and then back to work for Betta in the mornings, day after day for the rest of my life." She lets him direct their steps, not paying much attention to which way they're going.
Phil listens to Ethel's voice roll onto and over him, maintaining a wide smile as she speaks. When words are spent he retorts with his own "You've little to fear milady, on either account. My skull is thick and not easily broken... and you are my muse Miss Braum... More likely you will tire of me more quickly than I of you." squeezing her waist affectionately and holding up his hard won coin.
"As you may have noticed, my garb is unchanged from the last two times we met and does not become one who has such a comely maiden upon his elbow... Might you recommend a tailor where my range of drapery might be enhanced?"
"Oh, Phil!" she says in an entirely different tone of voice now that she's paying attention to the fat, jingling pouch. With his permission, she takes the bag and peers inside, her eyes growing wide at the sheer wealth enclosed therein. "With this, you could buy a whole wardrobe, bespoke! I suppose in Magnimar you could walk into a store and buy something elegant right off the rack," she goes on ruefully. "Here they don't sell anything our size except laborers' clothes and used laborers' clothes. Still, you could buy something new for right now and have them make you something nicer in a day or two. We'd better hurry; everyone will be closing soon."
Given a destination and a purpose, she pays renewed attention to their surroundings and leads Phil to a small, respectable-looking storefront just west of Leeward Common. "I wish we'd had time to wash your hair out; I don't want him to think you're a ruffian," she whispers nervously before taking his arm and pushing open the door with dignity. A discreet chime sounds from within.
The clothing near the door and windows is all sized for humans, but Ethel seems to know where she is going. She leads him to the back wall of the shop, where halfling-sized clothes hang on a low bar. As she predicted, there is nothing formal or fancy available, but the clothes are well-made and appear to be of good quality.
About the time the two arrive, the proprietor spies them between the taller racks and moves over to join them. "A little late in the afternoon, sir," he says with a touch of disapproval that Phil's not entirely convinced he'd use if his customers were taller.
Malkith pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. Finally he sits up and adjusts so that his body is facing Samaritha, "Beste batzuk, badirudi nahiko ondo informazioa biltzen hiria honen denizens tik egokituak. Agian denbora gehiago zer nago egokitzen ari eman behar dut. Bihar, ahalegin gehiago patuak kontsultatzeko egingo dut. Dut inguruan izango da, hemen baduzu," he gives Samaritha a wink and smiles, "Nire pribilegio handia izango litzateke zure dantza bikotekide izan nahi du.
"The others seem well enough suited for gathering information from this city's denizens. Perhaps I need to spend more time doing what I am suited for. Tomorrow, I will make more efforts to consult the Fates. If I'm going to be around here anyways, it would be my great privilege to be your dance partner."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Daynadrian, having accepted a key from Larur, approaches those discussing the dance. "Look here," he says with a hard look at Gristav setting down his tray, "why can't I play the handler? Seems like it would be a prime location to keep an eye on the crowd from."
"You are not Varisian," Thuvalia replies dismissively. "An elf cannot do Ergela en Iruzur." She returns her attention to the owner. "And we will need music, authentic Varisian performers. And a costumier. Will your woman be at our disposal?"
"Excuse me." Samaritha quietly backs away from the conversation on the floor of the Gold Goblin and heads for the guest wing in Malkith's wake.
Gristav seemed taken by surprise by the sharpness of Daynadrian's look. He was about to answer, his half-opened hand nearly shaping to the two points he'd speak of, when Thuvalia answered half of the matter as he saw it, and raised a more important point. Though she was speaking to Saul, hadn't Daynadrian been speaking to Gristav? Gris judged right and need to speak, in any case. "She isn't exactly...", he began, but the wind left his sails when Samaritha's sun, clouded, left the room.
"Ooh, keys. Thanks." Braddon accepts the key from Larur and drops it into his boot.
He is pleased to have been overlooked in the plans for the Varisian caravan night. Uncomprehendingly, he watches the exchange between Malkith and Thuvalia, not noticing Phillip's departure but frowning as Malkith stalks off. His concern fades as Gristav places down the tray of drinks whereupon he goes over and grabs two. But by the time he turns back to Samaritha, she's also gone. His face falls. He takes a sip of the tea, makes a face and offers the second drink to Gristav.
"Doesn't anyone here drink ale? Are you one of the servants? I haven't seen you before... this morning."
Gristav smiles a tutor's smile at Braddon, nodding at reference to this morning, but saying, "No... There appear to be many misconceptions. The tea is too strong, my intent was water by half, for those wanting it hot, or ice to cool and thin at once. But my intents, today..." Gristav chuckled.
Raising his voice to a volume intended to demand attention, Gristav called out, "Sirs and madam!", he said, stepping half away from the tray before feeling the absence of his staff. "There are I think many mistakes in perception, perhaps, or failures of communication. Let me try to correct them. Then you may correct me."
"Introducing the company. Daynadrian, who asked me why he was unsuited as 'handler' in the skit, and answered in the obvious by Thuvalia, whose experience and art we are relying upon to produce it. Thuvalia, I think, missed the larger point of Daynadrian's question, which I'll answer now, to suit his and my purpose: The better place to be to observe, perhaps yes, Daynadrian. But a worse place from which to act on such observations, and a place with distracting duties attached. I think she is correct, you are unsuited by appearance, but moreover, you are more suited, by disposition, to overwatch, as evidenced by your thoughts of such. Bravo.", Gristav bows politely to Daynadrian. "Here is a man who thinks to support the company entire. Bravo."
"Braddon, here, standing at my confusing unfinished presentation of tea, has taken me for a server. But I do not speak of it to say how he is wrong..." Gristav smiles at Braddon a beat, continuing, "But rather to frame the correction of Thuvalia's perception of Samaritha. 'Wench', and 'woman', and 'girl', she has been from her lips, and glad I am to find the moment to say this bon mot...", Gristav smiled at Thuvalia, saying archly, cracking the whip of his elven brow, "The wench? Is a wizard."
Swanning on, to lessen whatever sting Thuvalia might have felt, for that was not his point, Gristav added, "But one can see how such a mistake is made, when a tray is borne to a bar, a carpet carted, or muffins warmed, or a door answered. We've both done such service. And been taken for servers. Which I, at least, honestly do not mind. I'll draw the parallel to Daynadrian's seeking how best he might serve, and take my congratulations from what I'd given him. As I judge it, we're all of us the greater when each of us does the lesser acts. I'd like to propose a point of philosophy, a brick to build upon: There is nothing beneath us, any of us, save for thinking ourselves above the needs of the rest. Any of us who think they are better than, are by that thought proved lesser. Or, so say I."
"And WHO, am I?" Bowing deeply, and keenly missing feathered hat and ashen staff, each from their proper hand, Gristav rose to say, "I am Gristav. In reverse chronological order, pastor, pourer, player (no dancer), demimonde, defiant, dutiful dunce en duet. Carter of carpets, cracker of whips, stiller by dance of too-bitter, sweet lips. In the morn, before that, cadged a badge for a dwarf, and the night before, mendicant marine at the wharf. Before that, courant courier, and merchant beside, so to somewhat requite wanderlust undenied."
"But that's all what I've done, and small part what I who. So... Larur is my friend, more than one year, then two. And now Larur has need, something he'd I deliver. But I'd sooner, full-armed, try to swim up your river. So no task's now beneath me, just as no man above. Pretty words, piled up, but their truth I will prove. Call me Larur's Bojasc, though somewhat less beside, who'll accept any task, done with dutiful pride."
"I'm sorry. What was it that dwarf said... Yes. Sometimes my tongue is 'hinged in the middle'. I'll say my point again: If we're going to work together to produce a show, a house, a success, we've all got to be not too good to work with the others. It can't be done from above."
Happy to see Ethel focused more upon the dance ahead rather than the blunt force trauma of the past Phillip still cautions "Not all to be spent upon myself of course... there is a certain beauty that is also in need of a fine gown for this Sunday." winking at his inamorata. At the mention of cleansing Phillip mentions rakishly "Perhaps we need visit the baths then... where we each might ensure the other meets with appropriate standards of cleanliness." giving her a salacious glance and raising of eyebrow before they make for the storefront.
Once within the store, Phil releases his grip on Ethel and offers a short bow of greeting before taking on a slightly more clipped affectation in his voice to address the shopkeep "Surely not too unusual my good man, for those that work without are also in need of cloth no?... Of course if my gold were better spent with another who would not feel the imposition of a descending sun?" making the gold pouch disappear back into his jacket, but setting a single piece of gold to dancing across the fingers of his right hand.
At the mention of the baths and Phil's suggestive wink, Ethel blushes a little, but nothing in her gaze suggests she is antipathetic to the idea.
"Surely not too unusual my good man, for those that work without are also in need of cloth no?... Of course if my gold were better spent with another who would not feel the imposition of a descending sun?" making the gold pouch disappear back into his jacket, but setting a single piece of gold to dancing across the fingers of his right hand.
Phil's display of wealth has the desired effect on the proprietor. "Oh, not at all, sir," he responds readily. "What were you looking to purchase? Off the rack, or something custom-tailored for a special occasion?"
Cheshire cat grin firmly ensconced upon his mustachioed face Phillip muses a moment before responding "Both. A something that can be taken today that is as close to non-descript as a brown cassock in a monastery, and a second tailored for nocturnal exhibition. Details for the second fall beyond my realm of imagining, so I shall trust milady fair in all things" deferring to Ethel such that carte blanche is offered for her to see him garbed however she chooses.
She turns laughing eyes on him. "Non ten medo eu vou vesti-lo de lilás con cintas e luvas de pelica?" she murmurs, before turning back to the tailor with a business-like air. "Show me what you have in poplin and wool," she commands airily, "and then you can get started taking his measurements."
"Of course, madam," the man replies politely. "If the gentleman would care to cast his eye over what I have ready to wear on the rack while I find the lady a seat and the goods she requested?"
Ethel follows the tailor to the other side of the shop while Phillip flips through the garments on the rack. Familiar with the clothing favored by Marce, Olin, and Ewart, he is easily able to select an outfit in keeping with the habits of the other halfling men in town. Once Ethel is ensconced with several bolts of fabric over which to pore, the man returns with a measuring string and a small book in which to jot his findings.
Smiling mouth though eyes betraying a more solemn and meaningful intent Phillip whispers back "A mellor forma de descubrir se pode confiar en alguén é confiar neles." pausing for a few moments before repeating "I trust you milady..." allowing the truth of the statement to sink in before turning puckish of intent "Besides... we need shop for your own gown hereafter, so if revenge is needed it shall be near to hand." eyes twinkling before he succumbs to measurement, direction and whichever is desired by Miss Braum.
In punctuation of his remarks, Gristav decants an ale for Braddon, presenting it with a smile.
"There's not a lot of room in here for dancing," she observes, "and my room is the same. Nor are these robes very practical for the purpose," she points out, lifting her hems with a shrug. "I do have other clothing; I just ... when loitering outside the mage's guild trying to get a position, I thought it might help to look the part. Maybe we could use the empty room upstairs? Or we could go to Lubbertown and practice there if you have the time another day. No one up there would look twice at a couple dancing, especially when so many of them already believe we're betrothed," she smirks. "And in return, I could help canvass Leeward for anyone who might know where Lil is. I don't think I'll go back up to the Cypherlodge until after Sunday," she blushes a little. "At least I'll feel like I've fulfilled my duty toward Mr. Vankaskerkin then."
"If we're going to work together to produce a show, a house, a success, we've all got to be not too good to work with the others. It can't be done from above." In punctuation of his remarks, Gristav decants an ale for Braddon, presenting it with a smile.
"Then tell it to the Harrower," Thuvalia protests. "It is he who refuses to work with me! I am only trying to do what I can to contribute to the success of the evening, as I've been told." She looks to Daynadrian for affirmation.
"Of course you are," Saul puts in with a conciliatory smile. "Don't worry; we'll find your Varisian dancer. Perhaps you want to play the part, eh, Bojasc?" he grins cheekily at his bodyguard who replies with an impassive stare. "Never mind: When we hire the musicians, I'm sure they can provide a dancer. As for costumes, decide what it is you need, and I'll send for Fiora in the morning. Where do you think we should plan the performance? In the courtyard where the crowd can gather round like a real Ergela en Iruzur, or up on the veranda with the audience at the foot of the stairs so you're more visible?"
"Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah."
"Oh. So you're one of the performers then." Braddon turns idly back to the discussion before him.
In punctuation of his remarks, Gristav decants an ale for Braddon, presenting it with a smile.
"Ooh, thank you," says Braddon with genuine enthusiasm. He turns to chatter with Gristav. "The harpy and her cronies tried to rob the place. You've no doubt heard. We had to kill a couple of them, so Malkith doesn't exactly trust her, but Daynadrian seems to like her. Maybe she used a charm spell on him. She's been a total b!~$% to Samaritha. I think it's the ears and Sam being so much prettier than her."
Having explained his take on the recent disagreement, Braddon takes a swig of his ale and moves onto the various schemes. "Her lover was one of the dead but I think Malkith said he was working for Lil Scarlet who we can't find. I also think Lil set us up for kidnapping the General's daughter. He's okay with us investigating and seems nice enough for someone who can have you dragged off, tortured and killed in the middle of the night. I've got him looking for the body of the governess. I reckon Lil killed her. Malkith says she had help or something. Currently, everything seems to hinge on finding Lil. I don't suppose you'd know where she is?"
"Oh. So you're one of the performers then." Braddon turns idly back to the discussion before him.
"One of the servers at the moment. Glad you were paying attention."
In punctuation of his remarks, Gristav decants an ale for Braddon, presenting it with a smile.
"Ooh, thank you," says Braddon with genuine enthusiasm. He turns to chatter with Gristav. "The harpy and her cronies tried to rob the place. You've no doubt heard. We had to kill a couple of them, so Malkith doesn't exactly trust her, but Daynadrian seems to like her. Maybe she used a charm spell on him. She's been a total b~@+% to Samaritha. I think it's the ears and Sam being so much prettier than her."
"Indeed.", Gristav said, trying to fit pieces together.
Having explained his take on the recent disagreement, Braddon takes a swig of his ale and moves onto the various schemes. "Her lover was one of the dead but I think Malkith said he was working for Lil Scarlet who we can't find. I also think Lil set us up for kidnapping the General's daughter. He's okay with us investigating and seems nice enough for someone who can have you dragged off, tortured and killed in the middle of the night. I've got him looking for the body of the governess. I reckon Lil killed her. Malkith says she had help or something. Currently, everything seems to hinge on finding Lil. I don't suppose you'd know where she is?"
"Not... as such, no. What shows her hand in this? I know you find my wordfulness artless, but I'll be asking similar of you. I'll be right back.", Gristav said as he rose, the third of the staff in as many minutes to make their way past Desna.
He gave a faint bow at the effigy, needfully turning his back to unmount the slate. That done, he turned again to the statue, as though in response. "You're right. Nothing ventured..."
Leaving the slate on the floor, he went down the hall to Samaritha's door. After some soft one-sided conversation there, he crossed to Malkith's, sighed, straightened, and knocked. "Malkith. Would you please come to the taproom? And, if you could, bring Samaritha?"
Assuming he was heard, Gristav fetched the slate, and returned to Braddon in the taproom.
"Now, who was killed?", he began.
"Now, who was killed?" he began.
"Handful of Sczarni," Larur volunteers, leaving the details of the Varisian Caravan Night performance to Saul and Thuvalia. "Part of her gang, or she was part of theirs. I think it was two dead, two taken to Shoreleave, and her left behind."
"And so you took her in?", Gristav asked with a forced levelness, a smirk slowly forming as he chalked 'Sczarni: 5, 2 KIA, 2 ShLv, Thu'. The smirk became a grin when he said, "I'm sure it wasn't you, who took her in. Saul? And how? Prisoner? Prize? And now she's Maestra! You've solved your Lil Scarlet problem.", Gris joked to Braddon. "As rapidly as Thuvalia's fortunes are rising, in a fortnight she'll be able to decree a command performance!"
Daynadrian's jaw tightens a bit. "She didn't threaten anyone or take anything," he points out. "And she gave us a lot of good information: We wouldn't have known Volo was working for Lil Scarlet if she hadn't told us. Are Saul and I the only ones around here who believe in giving a person a second chance?"
"I was teasing Larur. I'm the one asked her for guidance of the show, and after offering her a painful lesson if she continued shaving the truth and selling me the shavings as magic straw. I don't mind the second chance; I'm not sure she's ever had a first, yet. But I do wonder, two things: No, three. Well, you'll see. Will she see the chance given as a chance taken, and hold her head high and her hand in another while she climbs? And, is that all the cause of the ill-will, from, about, and to, her? That ought be talked out. Before it's screamed out."
"I bear her ill will because she abuses Samaritha and tries to take advantage of her captors. I'm not in charge, so I can't have her locked up or executed yet, but she's so stuck up it's only a matter of time. I caught her before- I can do it again," Braddon explains matter-of-factly.
"I'll do what I'm told without trying to boss people around. That's what I'm paid for. As for Lil- Malkith thinks she was behind the robbery for some reason. The dead leader was in love with her and not the harpy, which is hardly a surprise once you've seen them both. Dayn gave me her handkerchief and said the perfume was evidence. Oh, that reminds me..." Braddon waves down Daynadrian.
"Dayn. That handkerchief." Braddon pulls the torn quarter from his pocket. "That was the smell at Ananda Mescher's house. She was there."
Braddon turns to Gristav to explain. "Before the robbery, one of Shorafa's slimes, a tiefling called Oliver Bott, was found with a girl in one of our rooms. We chased him off and next morning when she woke up she said she'd been drugged. Turns out she's the General's daughter so we got her home safely, but her apartment had been looted, her birthday necklace stolen and her governess vanished, presumed dead. She said the governess drugged her and the General said it was Indigo Dreams which he said is worth more than the necklace. But the governess knew where the necklace was, so it wasn't her that looted the place, and the girl at the tea shop across the road, who's quite lovely, said she saw a woman with a varisian head scarf go in that afternoon and they never had visitors and Sam says charm magic can do that. So the fake governess gave Ananda to a bunch of maids who came to the Goblin, including the Kruft's maid. The tanners, the Krumps. That's right. Their maid. Who Malkith and I interrogated and she said she knew nothing and did it for the money the fake governess offered. But I think the fake governess knew the maids were going there and didn't just stumble upon them and Larur said that Lil and Bott and the Krump wife all worked together with Shorafa so I think the fake governess was Lil using magic or potions to disguise and charm. But the most solid evidence we have so far is a smell." Braddon waves the handkerchief again.
"So we still need to try and find Lil..."
Suddenly thirsty, Braddon quaffs half his ale in one go.
The proprietor locks his door but continues to give the two halflings exclusive service until he has finished taking Phil's measurements. Ethel sends Phillip away to the front window to watch the foot traffic on the street outside as she confers with the clothier about the details. "Vostede dixo que confiaba en min," she reminds him with a wink as she shoos him away.
After a while, she sidles up beside him again, taking his arm. "The tailor's ready to settle up," she murmurs with a smile, "and you'll see what I've chosen when you come back for your fitting. What's so special about Sunday night, and where are we going from here?" she asks with a smile. "I hope I get to change out of my working clothes at some point."
"Ongi zaude?" Malkith asks as he catches Samaritha's expression.
He follows her into the hall, shutting the door behind them. Several paces more and he spots Braddon waving his scrap of scent cloth in the air. "Gizona bere ahots propioa maiteminduta dago Zin egiten dut." he mutters to Samaritha before they're within earshot.
"My presence was requested?" Malkith asks of Gristav as they approach the group assembled in the taproom.
"Ongi zaude?" Malkith asks as he catches Samaritha's expression.
She shakes her head dismissively. "Ezer ez da." It's nothing.
Samaritha accompanies Malkith out to the casino floor, folding her arms and looking at Gristav inquiringly.
"Dayn. That handkerchief." Braddon pulls the torn quarter from his pocket. "That was the smell at Ananda Mescher's house. She was there."
The elf frowns. "Do we know if Lil has any grievance against Mescher or the Gendarmes in general?"
"I bear her ill will because she abuses Samaritha and tries to take advantage of her captors. I'm not in charge, so I can't have her locked up or executed yet, but she's so stuck up it's only a matter of time. I caught her before- I can do it again," Braddon explains matter-of-factly.
"I doubt it will be neccessary. I don't doubt your capacity; an elven-eyed tracker, bred to the city, with the habits of perceptions the rest of us labor at? I don't doubt it at all. But for now, she appears... mollified."
"I'll do what I'm told without trying to boss people around. That's what I'm paid for. As for Lil- Malkith thinks she was behind the robbery for some reason. The dead leader was in love with her and not the harpy, which is hardly a surprise once you've seen them both. Dayn gave me her handkerchief and said the perfume was evidence. Oh, that reminds me..." Braddon waves down Daynadrian.
"Dayn. That handkerchief." Braddon pulls the torn quarter from his pocket. "That was the smell at Ananda Mescher's house. She was there."
Braddon turns to Gristav to explain. "Before the robbery, one of Shorafa's slimes, a tiefling called Oliver Bott, was found with a girl (...snip...) But the most solid evidence we have so far is a smell." Braddon waves the handkerchief again.
"So we still need to try and find Lil..."Suddenly thirsty, Braddon quaffs half his ale in one go.
Gristav makes rapid notes on the slate in a mix of Tien glyphs and Common runes, managing to keep up with Braddon, even to begin to chart some of the ties between various Tien (or rather, Riddleport) characters. He begins to ask a question of Braddon as he drinks, but stops as Malkith steps up.
"My presence was requested?" Malkith asks of Gristav as they approach the group assembled in the taproom.
"Indeed.", Gristav confirms, setting aside the slate at the end of a table, propped on the wall. "And thank you.", Gristav says, adding an indicative gesture behind Malkith toward Samaritha as he repeats, "And... thank you. Tea? Ale? Water?" Gristav was behind the bar in a step or two, one curious glance back at the slate, then another at Malkith. "Braddon was explaining Thuvalia, and got as far as all the explanations you are still seeking. I ran for the slate, and tried to keep up."
Decanting or mixing whatever was wanted, even if only by himself, Gris continued, "I had hoped to speak of Thuvalia, but now I'm torn. The missing governess? A life perhaps lost, perhaps in peril, and that unknown makes distraction a moral gamble. If I disturbed your divinations, I'm sorry, and I'll help arrange some sign to signal your seance, to serve sagacious solitude. But you are here, now... You're both here." His eyes made clear he meant the tattoed Varisians.
"So, I suppose we should speak of Thuvalia. While she and Saul each charm at the other, I'll make my arguments to the most of you that attend. Rhetorical questions follow. Is she a prisoner? Or is it only the threat of indication as a part of the plot, held over her head? And if either of those, would we not also chafe at direction, and try to get back our own? Please ponder those points. I do not debate that the bird is part harpy, I only wonder if some of that can be understood. And, I do not defend the harpy's dismissive and diminuitive characterizations of Samaritha, but I do offer a plan to dminish or discontinue them."
"Because we need such a plan. She is to be, or apparently already so, the artistic authority behind Caravan Night. The air... has to be cleared."
"I don't need protecting," Samaritha protests. "I'm not going to break down in tears because someone calls me a name, and I would far rather everyone took care of finding Lil Scarlet, or whoever's behind the attacks on the Goblin, than waste their time worrying about my feelings. I'm a grown woman, and I'm perfectly capable of working with someone I don't like for a few days until Mr. Vankaskerkin's Caravan Night is over."
Gristav saddens, then steels. "It's not protecting you, to clean up this mess before we track it all over. Her lying and shirking has had me threaten her. You avoid her, Braddon dislikes her, Malkith also left the scene, was that related? To whatever degree it's unfairness from the Goblin, that justifies it in her mind, it would to that degree be protecting all of us, serving all of us, to deal with it. We can't require she behave fairly if she sees herself a prisoner or extortee."
"You aren't the only victim, and that's not the only reason. But if I'm the only one that thinks it need be done, I'll drop the matter."
---
"Let's talk about the missing matron."
"So what if I dislike her? You're not going to make me like her, and she's not going to believe me if I pretend. I'll work with her if I have to, but at the moment, I don't have to." Braddon shrugs dismissively before turning to Samaritha.
"Malkith and I have been trying to find Lil Scarlet. We've terrorised two little old ladies and a maid today and they knew nothing. But the nice girl at the tea shop saw someone enter the General's daughter's house earlier in the afternoon and the fact that she was dumped here the night of our attempted robbery shows it wasn't coincidence, especially since her house now actually smells of Lil Scarlet." Braddon brandishes the quarter handkerchief again.
"So, we know where she's been and we know where she's not."
Braddon turns back to Gristav. "No one except me seems to think the missing matron is important, but if she's alive she can answer a lot of questions. If she's dead, her manner of death may tell us something. She was last seen letting some one wearing a Varisian scarf around her head..." Braddon places his ale on the bar and makes little tiefling horns with his fingers "...into the apartment of Ananda Mescher. Ananda was then drugged by an impostor and handed over to a gaggle of maids to be brought here and used to frame us. That leaves very little time for the governess, Mistress Vishki, to be disposed of. She wasn't there next morning when I took Ananda there, and since Ananda said Mistress Vishki knew where her stolen necklace was, I don't think Mistress Vishki was there when the impostor looted the place. At least, not alive. I think she was tossed over the cliffs behind the house. General Mescher says he's got his men searching below."
Braddon retrieves his ale and consumes the final drops. "All in all, I say we try the Publican House again tomorrow morning, then we all search for this supposed apartment in Leeward District."
"Oh, I agree, she's important. Alive or dead, and she might be either, this Mistress might still answer questions, to a careful eye or a proper prayer. The looting you mention, it doesn't make sense, if the cost of the mission is so high, and it's run so well, would you expect interest in looting the house? That might have been a jackal to our lioness Lil. I wonder what the jackal might have seen, how they caught the scent of carrion to be had."
"Let's assume... Lil's... play is perfect, and she makes no mis-steps. Could it then be Mistress Vishki's willing passage from the city, or unwilling sequestration within it, that give the jackal the scent? It seems obvious, it's more likely a live woman leave a trail, than a murdered one. So that's hopeful."
"What apartment in Leeward?"
"Lil went freelance some time ago," Daynadrian answers. "Decided she could charge more on her own than Shorafa would sanction. She moved into a private room somewhere in Leeward District that she operated out of. Then came the trouble with Orik and Falk. She went back to the temple for Shorafa's protection. But she's not there now, and Rose ... well, a lot of people think she never gave up her own place. We have it narrowed down to a handful of blocks between the House of the Silken Veil and the Velashu River where it must be."