Braddon returns Malkith's gaze. "Business arrangement? Didn't you say she wasn't paying him any more? At least not with cash... I wonder when he expects his next...deposit?" He sniggers, a wry smile briefly breaking his ill humour.
He turns towards Gristav, listening hard to make sense of the words.
"If you want someone to come through the door I can do that easy enough. Though it depends if you want a thug, a thief, a client or an assassin to exit. It seems pretty hard."
He shrugs at them both, such subterfuge seemingly lost on him.
"Look, I'm prepared to try this 'public entrance game' thing but really, I think if we act like customers, he'll act like a scribe and we learn nothing. If we act like crime lord thugs, he'll fear for his life and business and tell us everything to save them. You said none of them were on his books, so he probably survives by avoiding their notice rather than choosing a side. Well, I say we notice him."
Braddon explains no more of his idea, its benefits seemingly obvious to him. But he listens as the others come to a resolution and trusts to their greater intelligence, though his agreement to play the part they assign him is still somewhat sullen.
"Oh, Phillip," she greets him a bit self-consciously. "Do you know if the others ever came back last night? I never heard them come in, and they're not in their rooms."
Yawning and scratching idly at his shoulder with one hand Phillip replies "I left before and returned after..." shrugging to show a lack of concern "Coffee?" and the halfling moves off towards the kitchen.
"Very well. I'll try to be clearer. One of us remains here. Two leave. One of the ones who leave plays 'customer'. When the scribe opens for business, customer begins a business conversation. The one who stayed, comes from the secret door, and leaves through the scribe's office, not engaging in conversation. Just come in, walk through, and leave. Customer watches the reaction. Customer leaves, perhaps talking a while first. The other two just watch, so that if the scribe rushes out anywhere to tell anyone, we can learn where and who."
"This reveals two of us as faces he may remember and report. But your plan to posture as crimelord thugs does that, also. My ruse still permits us to use your ruse, if it comes to that. I'll admit to wanting to avoid violence or the threat of it. I have several reasons for that, we can discuss them sometime in the taproom. For now, would you rather be the secret-door-leaver, or one of the hopefully unseen watchers-and-followers?"
Leaving a frustrated Samaritha behind him in the hallway, Phil pads across the new carpet to the kitchen. As he approaches, he smells the aroma of coffee already brewing -- Sargavan Red, if he isn't mistaken. Pushing open the swinging door, he finds the only light in the room the fiery red variety, seeping from the flames behind the grating of the stove door. In the semi-darkness, the shape of the dwarf Larur is visible. He turns when the door opens, can't help but frown a bit suspiciously at the sight of the halfling, but gives a grudging nod of respect. "Morning," he greets him in his wheeze of a voice. "I've the brewing in hand this morning."
"I'll watch and follow."
Giving Larur a nod of greeting, Phil similarly verbally opens "Morning indeed... though yet to be proven good?" fishing around for a pair of cups "I'll take a cup if it's ready?" before moving to what calls for pantry to see if there is anything that could be rendered into a liquid refreshment that was not coffee. Despite the words exchanged yesterday, Phillip shows no outward ill will or residual malcontent.
"I'll engage the fellow when he opens," Malkith offers and then nods to Gristav, "That leaves you to come down the stairs."
"I was just wondering which of us, or Daynadrian. But that serves. Braddon, tell Daynadrian what we plan, and perhaps have him take a different corner to set up on? And let's hope we don't wait too long."
As a concession to the halfling's eyes, Larur pokes a broom straw through the grate of the stove and uses it to light a lamp. "What are you looking for?" he asks, checking the brew and then pouring a mug for Phil. "Basket from the bakery's there on the table; I haven't carried it upstairs yet."
Phil blinks as the lamp flickers on before smiling thanks at Larur "Something less exciting than coffee, but more interesting than water." he replies as he filches a few choice pastries from the basket.
Larur chuckles briefly. "I don't doubt that Gris would jump at the chance to brew you a pot of Tien tea," he replies, "or Garundi, or wherever the hells he makes believe that men drink the stuff in public. Splash in some whiskey, and it ought to qualify as more interesting than water. Or just pour it neat in a teacup and call it breakfast, if you've had that kind of night."
Daynadrian is summoned out of the lightening alley into the flat to hear the plan. Under the instruction of the rangers, the group does its best to return the apartment to the condition in which they found it and then three of them leave one at a time down the steps, slipping out alternate sides of the alley onto separate streets. When the last man has left, Gristav relocks the door behind him.
The streets of Leeward District are beginning to stir. Business owners who live above their shops visible through the windows lighting lamps and preparing to open, while those who rent rooms are heading for their shops; bakeries have already opened their doors to let the scent of fresh bread entice those who have not yet breakfasted, and street vendors with baskets of pastries hawk their wares to passersby.
Daynadrian has agreed to watch the side door of the office and takes up what he hopes is an inconspicuous position on the street to the north. To keep eyes on both the front door and Dayn around the corner, Braddon must lay claim to a vantage point on the busier street to the east, while Malkith mills about, ostensibly looking in shop windows while waiting for the scribe to arrive.
Fortunately, after the protracted night of fruitless watchfulness, the four haven't long to wait before a smallish man in a rather dapper suit pauses in front of the office and unlocks the door. He has a receding hairline and a beard short-trimmed with almost military precision. Taking the last bites of a street-bought pastry on the front stoop, he fastidiously brushes the crumbs from his fingers and vest before entering the storefront.
Braddon had stretched, shaken, and headed cautiously out to find Daynadrian, looking about the alley for those that shouldn't be there.
"Hey. Gristav wants to do a thing. Malkith is in on it. We hide out the front and follow the scribe if he chases Gristav out. Gristav hopes he'll run to Lil. They think it's better than breaking the guy's fingers. Go figure."
Message eloquently delivered, Braddon had made his way round the front of the business and searched for an effective view point that would draw little attention. His mouth watered as he tried to not look over passing pastries.
"I hate waiting... ooh."
He waits some more.
Phil chuckles, but sighs "Water it is then, according to Little Bird Gristav didn't make it back in last night. I think I'll stick to the water, not sure if Miss Braum would appreciate a snifter this early. See you upstairs presently." and with a doff of an imaginary hat Phillip wombles off back to his room - twin cups bearing a pastry each atop them and a third half-stuffed into his mouth.
"What's that?" Larur responds sharply, with all the alarm Samaritha had hoped to rouse in Tendal and Phil. Carefully setting the coffee pot off of the fire, he follows Phillip back toward the residential wing where Samaritha and a disgruntled but now dressed and groomed Tendal are standing in the hallway. The dwarf heads over to consult with the pair of wizards while Phil ducks back into his own room where Ethel awaits.
Phil raises a pastry laden mug in greeting to Samaritha and Tendal both as he re-enters his room by way of opening it with his backside. Furnishing Ethel with bread and water, Phil continues munching on his own food and sipping coffee as he eavesdrops on the conversation outside.
As the man unlocks the store front, Malkith continues to mill about. From his peripheral vision, he quickly assess the small man. Although his approach has been mentally rehearsed several times while waiting on the street, the Harrow reviews it one more time. Giving the man a few moments to settle in, Malkith glances about for his associates before sucking in a breath and approaching the shop.
Malkith meets Braddon's eye for a moment before crossing the street to the scribe's office. As he approaches the door, a glance in the window reveals the man -- Nathanael Weatherby, presumably -- seated at the desk he and Braddon had so recently searched, a small pair of reading spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. A gold bell hanging over the threshold tinnily jingles as Malkith pushes open the door, and Weatherby looks up, quickly closing the desk drawer. He gives a slight frown as he takes in his visitor but asks politely enough, "Yes? May I be of service?"
When Phillip returns to the room, Ethel at first seems inclined to chat, but when she notices his attention to the low murmur of conversation outside the door, she keeps submissively mum, sitting with her legs folded beneath her on the floor as she eats her breakfast and watches Phil listen.
The dwarf's ruin of a voice doesn't carry well, even through the echo chamber of the marble atrium, but Phil is able to piece together the gist of the conversation from Tendal's and Samaritha's parts. The half-elf is relieved finally to have found someone as concerned about the missing men as she is; Larur is apparently in favor of heading out to find the building they were investigating and looking for signs of trouble, but Tendal protests that either Larur's or his own presence could implicate the Gold Goblin in anything untoward that might be happening. "The last thing this business needs, Mr. Felden," he remonstrates, "is the public impression that we're involved in the affairs of a petty courtesan, particularly one who seems likely to be implicated in burglary and the possible murder of a governess. Besides, given Lil's ... profession, she very likely may not have returned before dawn. Let's give them at least until after breakfast before we panic, hm?"
Satisfied, Phil shrugs his shoulders and joins Ethel upon the floor. By way of explanation "Seems a few of the others went out last night and haven't made it back yet. Might be a storm in a teacup... might not be, but no need for all haste and alarm yet it seems." before looking a little embarrased and apologizing "Sorry about the water... seems the pantry here's a little understocked. What do you prefer of a morning?"
She smiles and shakes her head, dismissing the apology. "Back home, mother would make tea, and sometimes we'd have fresh milk or sweet cider when it was in season. Here, we're all working and no stove in the flat, breakfast is too much trouble; we'll buy something on the way to our jobs. In Leeward Common, there's a man who sells fish broth in a mug. When I first came to Riddleport and the girls said they'd have soup for breakfast, I thought it sounded awful, but it's actually good, especially in the winter." She pauses. "Where did your friends go last night? Free-Coin? Some of the places there won't close their doors until sunrise; they could still be straggling back."
Mulling the thought of a mug of fish stew for a moment, Phillip shrugs an acceptance of the possibility it might be acceptable as he puts an arm around Ethel. Pedantically correcting "My colleagues went out for business and not pleasure I think... though no doubt I'll get some more details upstairs soon." pausing for a few moments to sip at his coffee "So, are you looking forward to another day spent hemming and dodging the terrier?"
{Let's see, what's at the base of the stairs, heavy enough, light enough... Oh, you'll do.}, Gristav thought at a chair*, while waiting for the opening of the theater outside his sequester. It wasn't fine enough for the room above, not proud enough for the room below, but it was genuinely all that it was, and he fancied himself unfair for the abuse he'd planned for it.
Having noted it's place in the stairway, Gristav waited, and reviewed. He had already magicked clear and then re-dusted the stairs, leaving only his own steps, laid thereafter. The trackers' sharp eyes had approved the straightening of the flat above, while the scribe was intended to be too busy to note any minor misalignment of his textual tools.
When Malkith had the man's attention, Gristav would kneel at the base of the stairs, loading that side of his face which would be toward Weatherby's desk with the floor's dust, as the rest of the ruse would require. The cheek and the bandana over his ears, chosen for lightness, would both show well their 'unplanned' dust-rub. Then he would rise, and apologise to the chair, silently, while casting it up the stairway behind him, to tumble in his stead, and take on itself the abuse he'd pretend having sustained. One did not need a spell, for an illusion. While the chair tumbled, Gris would gentle to the door, to silently find it by firefly glamer, then dismiss the mote, crashing against the door a beat after the chair finished its tumble. Against, not through, and then through, one hand to the dusted forehead, as though shepherding a lump. Eyes seeking the exit, he reminded and coached himself. His task was to stir. Malkith would observe.
Once clear of the building, he would make for Zincher's tenement, at least a block or two. A direction chosen not from malice, but from ignorance; nothing else occured to Gristav.
* or other object of suitable utility
"So, are you looking forward to another day spent hemming and dodging the terrier?"
"Don't remind me," she groans, dropping her head back onto his shoulder dramatically. "If only I thought maybe I'd have a chance to overhear something that would interest you, it wouldn't all seem so tedious, but nothing interesting ever happens at Betta's."
Phil gives her a reassuring squeeze "Fret not milady, today might be the one where that changes." chuckling after placing a playful intonation upon the words. Continuing more somber "All rumor is of worth, and that which might be said by woman to seamstress might still be enlightening." sighing before standing and beginning the process of readying himself for the day.
Ethel follows Phil's lead, getting dressed and pinning her hair up demurely. The last thing she does is to tuck her yellow-beaded bracelet up inside her sleeve. She hesitates as she considers her discarded clothing from the previous night. "Is... is it all right if I leave this here? It would save me time not to have to go home, and I can't very well explain to Betta why I'm carrying it with me."
Phillip lets slip a satisfied smirk at the sight of his bracelet "Of course, whatever you wish... it you're lucky it might even be laundered by the time you next see it" exchanging warm embrace before making to see her across the casino and bid farewell by the door to the wilds of Riddleport.
Having seen Ethel off, Phil is free to go upstairs and join the much-diminished crew in the upstairs dining room. Saul and Larur are seated in their usual places, but the absences between the head and the foot of the table are glaring. The sides of the debate seem to have been taken, with Samaritha leaning forward anxiously over the table at Larur's end while Bojasc and Tendal's more casual positions on either side of Saul evince their comparative lack of concern. Thuvalia is maintaining a bit of distance from both ends, looking bored.
Saul gives the halfling a glance of greeting as he enters the room, then returns to what seems to be an ongoing process of soothing Samaritha and Larur's concerns. "Look, they were in Leeward. What's the worst that could happen? Maybe someone calls the Gendarmes on them? Braddon said the General owes him a favor; he calls that in when Mescher checks in, and they're back on the street. Maybe Croat's boys caught them breaking in? They'd take them back to his compound, rough them up a little, and we'll be getting a missive telling us how much he wants us to pay for their release in a while. There's really nothing to worry about. It's not like they were in Rotgut or the Wharves."
"And if they found Lil?" Samaritha asks pointedly.
"Not to put too fine a point on it, Samaritha," Tendal responds, "but isn't that precisely what we were hoping they'd do? They may very well be interrogating her right now, if they're not still waiting for her return from her latest assignation."
Phil takes a bolster and a seat after returning Saul's greeting and sees himself furnished with a fresh cup of coffee. After listening to the tail end of the discussion, he finds himself agreeing with Saul "They aren't little boys run away from home... give them time and trust"
"Herr Weatherby?" inquires in a slightly deeper, if somewhat louder than normal voice. Upon confirmation of the proprietor's identity, he strides across the shop floor with a fleeting glance at where he expected Gristav to appear at any moment. Drawing a breath, he slips into the persona he uses when performing readings for wide-eyed strangers and naive peasants. "You have associations with a woman that goes by the name of Little Scarlet." Before the man can reply, the Varisian continues, "Do not deny it; the Fates have shown me this truth. What they have not revealed is how you will put me in contact with his woman." He looks Weatherby over as if appraising his worth. "You are of little consequence on the path that I travel. Provide me with the information you are destine to give me and I will think on you no further. Draw this out and I will similarly give no lasting thought to the methods that will be employed to extract that knowledge."
Weatherby visibly startles when Lil Scarlet's name is mentioned. "I... I don't know what you're talking about," he stammers completely unconvincingly, "but if you've no business here, I shall have to ask you to leave before I call the Gendarmes. You'll find that the Overlord does not look kindly on Sczarni operating within his territory -- not kindly at all." By the end of his threat, he has recovered his composure and appears fully determined to carry through with it, casting his eye to a walking-cane leaning against the wall which could easily stand in for a cudgel in a pinch.
The next moment, however, he half-jumps from his seat as a tremendous clatter sounds from the stairwell, followed by a solid thump against the other side of the door. A beat, and then Gristav makes his appearance and then his quick exit out the northern door; outside, first Daynadrian and then Braddon catch sight of him as he blends in with the foot traffic heading eastward. Weatherby stands gaping an instant, staring wildly between his Varisian visitor and the side door.
After listening to the tail end of the discussion, he finds himself agreeing with Saul "They aren't little boys run away from home... give them time and trust"
"Precisely," Saul agrees. "If there's anything gone wrong, we'll be sure to hear about it sooner or later; until then, no point in worrying about it. Now then, what's everyone's plans for the day? Larur, we'll be needing some decking laid in the courtyard for our Varisian lovelies to dance on come Sunday. Will you be seeing Cas Cazynsik about the furniture today to arrange that with him?"
At the mention of the shipwright, Larur turns his eyes on Phillip. "Aye, and when do you suppose I ought to do that?" he asks with a hint of challenge in his rasping voice. "Before or after lunch?"
Phillip winks at Larur as he smiles "I've a lunch appointment with Cas already, so you're more than welcome either leave it to me or join Larur. Depending on whether your man Gristav makes it back in time the conversation could be... interesting... but I'm sure I'm manage." pausing for a few beats "Or if you'd prefer to talk separately, I'd suggest the morning." Put Cas in a better mood with the extra work before the opportunity for disappointment.
"Ah, a clandestine passage; a descreet egress for those having enjoyed Little Scarlet's company no doubt," Malkith states as he watches Gristav pass by. The Varisian follows his companion's path in reverse. As he draws near the secret door he looks at Weatherby, "I shall ignore your previous rudeness and let the lady know you gractiously permitted access to her flat."
As Malkith approaches the staircase, Weatherby suddenly shouts, "" and grabs the stout walking cane theateningly.
In front of the scribe's office, Braddon has just seen the figure of Gristav coming around the corner from the side door when a voice asks, "Braddon?" He glances quickly in the other direction to see Lexy approaching across the cobblestones with a smile, her auburn hair caught up under a rather demure sunbonnet and a wicker basket on her arm.
Back at the Gold Goblin, the scowl Larur returns for Phillip's wink indicates that he doesn't find the situation with the carpenter as entertaining as the halfling apparently does. The remainder of the morning meal passes quietly enough, Saul and Tendal discussing amongst themselves some points of business and plans of future improvements to the property, Bojasc silent as usual, and Larur studiously avoiding comment on the Sargavan Red in his cup.
Samaritha eats sparingly, obviously still anxious, and startles at every half-imagined quiet creak that could signal the arrival of the away party coming up the stairs. After a half-dozen such false alarms, she pushes away from the table, distractedly excuses herself, and leaves the dining room. The sound of her footsteps going down the staircase has barely faded away before Bojasc stands without a word and follows her. Saul pays him no mind, caught up in a half-baked project with Tendal, but it's the first time Phillip has seen the bodyguard leave his employer's side.
Phillip revels in the obvious distaste that Larur shows, though a voice in the back of his mind reminds One day the o'erstirred pot might prove to be ill. Any thoughts of remonstrating with either the words within or words without are put to one side and driven to pause by Samaritha leaving... with Bojasc in pursuit.
Phil drops all pretense of camaraderie as a cold chill runs through him, and his mind turns to business. Waiting until Bojasc is past and just outside of the door Phil slips from his own chair wordlessly and makes to follow shrouded in shadow...
Stealth:
As he pads along behind Bojasc he channels his thoughts Lets not jump to conclusion, but lets not leave Samaritha to fend alone... hand moving to confirm the presence of his dagger, but his head shakes No, if it comes to confrontation it will needs be words not blades.
In front of the scribe's office, Braddon has just seen the figure of Gristav coming around the corner from the side door when a voice asks, "Braddon?"
"Lexy?" puzzled Braddon looks over at her.
"Lexy!" recognition dawns on his face, followed by a huge smile.
"Lexy..." bewilderment crosses Braddon's face. He makes his way over to her, takes her hand and kisses it with a step past her and a smooth bow, that turns them both around so Lexy is facing away from the office. He peeks over her shoulder at the scribe's door, then gazes back into Lexy's eyes with genuine affection.
"I'm so glad to see you," he beams. "What are you up to?" He leans in a little closer and murmurs curiously, "Are you here to see Scarlet Lil?"
"I have the morning off so I'm getting a little shopping done," she answers cheerfully, hefting her basket. "'Scarlet...?' You mean Lil Scarlet?" she asks, her eyes widening. "Is she here?" She begins to peer around the street and into shop windows nervously, looking for the tiefling.
Although he had expected an outburst, Malkith wasn't quite prepared for Weatherby to attack him outright. Stepping back , the Varisian throws his open hands up to show he is unarmed. Simultaneously, he chants, "Cho không bạo lực đến với tôi trong các khu bảo tồn của vardo của tôi."
"No, no, don't look," Braddon tries to hold her gaze and use his peripheral vision to see over her shoulder if the scribe is emerging after Gristav.
"I wish I could join you, but I haven't had a rest since I last saw you. It seems like months. We're hot on her trail. Do you know where any of her hideouts are?"
He risks another quick glance. "No sign of the scribe. Malkith must be boring him to death."
"I've never even met her," Lexy whispers back. "I mean, I've seen her, but.... Her heyday at the temple was before my time. I've been in Riddleport less than two years. She still has a room upstairs at the temple, but I don't think she's there often. She kind of scares me."
"She's dangerous. She uses magic and she's killed a little old lady. She may even be plotting against Shorafa, but Shorafa won't help us without more proof. Which we now have." Braddon stands a little straighter and smiles smugly.
"Can I call on you sometime? When is best?"
The scribe's knuckles whiten around the walking stick, and his arm trembles with exertion; still, he can't seem to bring himself to swing the heavy cudgel. He steps defensively in front of the staircase door. "Whatever your argument is with Lil, you can take it up with her elsewhere. I had nothing to do with her ... 'dealings' with your kinsman."
Malkith smirks at the reference to Volo. "The fate of that arratoi is no longer of consequence," he replies, continuing to hold his hands aloft, "but perhaps you did have something to do with regards to Scarelt's dealings with the daughter of the head of the Gendarmes? Perhaps you should call them down here; I'm sure the Captain would be very interested to hear what you have to say on that subject. It's not like he'd turn this place upside-down looking for evidence of anyone that may have had anything to do with the molestation of his daughter." He lets his hands fall to his side. "Or we can just forget about the Gendarmes and you can talk to me."
Padding down the stairs after Bojasc, Phil has to move slowly to ensure that he remains quiet and out of sight; the Varisian bodyguard has no such qualms. When the halfling reaches the kitchen, it is empty; he cautiously pushes through the swinging doors and hears a murmur of voices from the guest wing.
Fortunately, the casino floor is still dim, the overhead lamps unlit and the only light what is spilling in the narrow windows from the covered veranda. Phil makes good time crossing the wide and shadowy room; as he approaches, he can see Samaritha and Bojasc in the hallway in front of the half-elf's door. Taking cover behind the counter once used by the desk clerk to rent out rooms, he pauses a moment to eavesdrop on the conversation.