"That's a sadness. Well, I may return. And you know I will likely crave Jaelle's company for such attendance. So, we are allies in that, eh? In the pondering of Beauty and Grace, such a mortal exempless might inspire a man's... musings? Yes, musings, that's fair."
"Until then, and if?", Gristav closes rhetorically.
Some strides later, he asks of Jaelle, "Would the Publican serve? I have a previous meeting that was arranged before the screech, it should be either pleasant or swift, and then if you preferred another setting, I should be free to go where you'd like."
Phil maintains his smile through force of effort, but the geniality is immediately passed over internally and his mind given over to the dance. Jerking his head towards a more isolated table he mentions "Better in private than public eh?" picking up his tankard and leading the way aside.
Assuming that Cas sees fit to follow, Phil waits for him to be seated opposite. Before speaking he smooths his mustache and runs a hand through his unkempt hair "I'll be blunt... he's not coming. When I spoke with him details were pressed for and he got affronted, looks like my tongue isn't as nimble as I first thought.... but" pausing for a few moments to let any initial dismay or anger o'erflow and the hanging preposition draw Cas' curiosity.
"But with a mite more follow-up, luck managed to follow me... turns out I've tracked a man who didn't serve afloat with Creesy, but did him a good turn beside in port - defended his ship from violent interests and is on good terms with the Captain beside. He'll be of bugger all use for matters of worked wood... but with a handshake and smile he'll raise your opinion with the good Captain. The name of the new man is Gristav."
"Now I realise that matter first bargained was different to final, and have and will take the delay in furniture without conflict or concern. I was on my way to talk with you before luncheon when rising water and sweeping tide gave me other concern. But in mucking out the warehouse I spied something gifted from the silt and offer that as a sweetener... so as to match my disappointment with recompense." slipping a hand into his coat to retrieve the obsidian pendant, proferring it hidden within an extended hand to be shook by way of acceptance for revised terms.
Some strides later, he asks of Jaelle, "Would the Publican serve? I have a previous meeting that was arranged before the screech, it should be either pleasant or swift, and then if you preferred another setting, I should be free to go where you'd like."
"The Publican House for a previous engagement?" she asks. "You do know how to sweep a girl off her feet. Who are we meeting? Some other girl who chanced her way between your lips and Desna? Here," she guides his steps northward, "if we're headed to the ferry, let's go through Leeward rather than back down the wharves." Their heading is now toward the smoking chimneys of the Gas Forges.
At Phil's revelation, a wave of anger crosses the shipwright's face, his temporary victory over his unquiet thoughts overturned. "Gods damn it, I don't need an introduction to Creesy; I need an introduction to a man willing to sell him out!" His voice rises a little toward the end of his exclamation, and he glances around the room to check if anyone seems to have overheard before going on in an undertone. "He's keeping his secret to preserve the value of his ship and what he can charge for a swift passage; he gives that secret to me, I'll be retrofitting any ship that'll pay me with his improvements, and he knows it. Why do you think he's so tightlipped?" He looks at the bat-shaped piece of obsidian in his hand quizzically, clearly having no idea of its significance or possible value.
As Malkith tries to remonstrate with the recalcitrant half-elf from outside the door, Samaritha comes down the corridor with a pair of boots in her hand. She gives the Harrower an inquisitive look, and he shrugs. With a sigh, she steps forward and raps gently on the door. "Braddon?" she calls. "I have your boots. I've cleaned them. If you'll open the door, I can tidy up your clothes, as well."
Some strides later, he asks of Jaelle, "Would the Publican serve? I have a previous meeting that was arranged before the screech, it should be either pleasant or swift, and then if you preferred another setting, I should be free to go where you'd like.""The Publican House for a previous engagement?" she asks. "You do know how to sweep a girl off her feet. Who are we meeting? Some other girl who chanced her way between your lips and Desna? Here," she guides his steps northward, "if we're headed to the ferry, let's go through Leeward rather than back down the wharves." Their heading is now toward the smoky chimneys of the Gas Forges.
"The meeting was planned before we'd met, and shown to be more urgent just before the screech. I'm sorry that I've offended you. From the start, it seems. I wouldn't try to build on a falsehood, nor wish to seem later to have been concealing anything, now. So... What is your opinion of Cas Caszynik, the shipwright? The meeting is with him, and while it was arranged without my knowledge or consent, a regrettable liberty, it was done to support a friend, and so I'm following through. I intend to say nothing of the Cloud's methods; I intend to say that I know nothing of the Cloud's methods. I had hoped to smooth what loss that might seem to Cas by holding forth the potential of an introduction to your captain. All of this, was in my mind and in my day before the screech, before I met you. With all this entangling, was I to draw you into some doorway niche to neck? Would that have seemed fair? Oh, I want to... You have a very... Fetching blush. Makes a man want to see how far it goes. But entangled, as I am, wouldn't you think that I was... Manipulating you?"
Phillip allows a modicum of faux surprise to cross his face... though inwardly he does not share it, having been more than aware of reasons why "Ahh, that was not plain to me when bargain was made... I had thought that a meeting and word or two of praise would suffice..." sitting up in his chair and leaning back to mull slightly "At any rate, dealings and discussion were carried out in good faith on my part... and I've no doubt the same will prove of yours." draining his tankard and moving to stand "Gristav will likely arrive in a short while regardless - I leave it to yourself as to whether you choose to make opportunity of that or leave it fallow... but my part in it is done" standing and making to move back to the bar and finish his sandwich.
Before he departs the table he closes "I hope the swell of tide serves your purse well in the days to come... when calm is returned, I look forward to the furniture." dipping an imaginary hat to Cas, before making for the bar.
"Braddon?" she calls. "I have your boots. I've cleaned them. If you'll open the door, I can tidy up your clothes, as well."
The door swings open as Braddon turns away and falls back onto his bed. His backpack lies just in the doorway, the soiled rope spilling out the top of it. His chain shirt is draped over the back of a chair, a thick filthy blanket is spread across one bedside drawer while the other bedside drawer is piled high with daggers and crossbow bolts with a loaded light crossbow on top, pointing at the wall but balanced precariously. Other random items are strewn around the room and spread on top of the chest at the foot of his bed. His bastard sword and short sword are balanced carefully in a corner and look as if they've already been wiped clean, possibly with the winter blanket. The window has been opened but already the smell of wet mud is beginning to fill the room.
"You were a plant to get a look at the Cloud?" Jaelle frowns. "The woman on the wharves, was she distracting the men for you to sneak below? And then you pretended you'd repelled boarders? Are you even a real lubber, or was your muddle throwing that rope all for show?"
Samaritha looks at the cluttered room and muddy half-elf sprawled on the bed with a look of horror. She seems on the verge of saying something, then reflects and presses her lips tightly together. She sets the boots gently inside the door, far enough from the backpack that they won't pick up more grime, and begins the process of slowly magicking away the mud, one one-foot-cube at a time.
"You were a plant to get a look at the Cloud?" Jaelle frowns. "The woman on the wharves, was she distracting the men for you to sneak below? And then you pretended you'd repelled boarders? Are you even a real lubber, or was your muddle throwing that rope all for show?"
Gristav's eyes and smile widen as Jaelle permutes aloud the possibilities. When she ends on the rope, he laughs out loud. "Oh, you are a wonder! It's all wrong, of course, but it all could be, and you, clever... You saw them, falling like dominoes. If this, then that, and that would mean this other... Beautiful. Amazing. Brava." His face suddenly soured as if he'd had the slap she perhaps owed him. "Wait. Do you, actually, think I'd have let that old man drown?"
He pushed the sting off his mind, with a visible shake, and reasoned aloud. "You've missed some maths. The rope and grapnel; of what use were they to the me that you imagine? If I had planned to be aboard, and to have the crew entranced, then haven't I been below already, while they were? Remember, I awakened them. At a time of my choosing. So what possible use, then, to stroll past you today, just as the rooftops screeched? Or was the wave another of my conspirators?"
Gristav chuckled. "I suppose, with me suggesting Desna is... you're well within bounds to suspect the lowly wave.", he said, grinning. "So, to your questions: I was and am no plant against the secrets of the Flying Cloud. I knew nothing of any secret worth taking, until cautioned by her crew. I have taken no action, and plan no action, to bring her secret or secrets into my awareness. Or any other person's awareness." Gristav nodded, to himself, as though acknowledging that glass had brimmed.
"Regarding the woman, I do not know her, and likely could not recognize her, save perhaps by voice. She is no ally of mine. Nor were the boarders. The 'battle' to repel them was genuine, but one-sided; they never reached the top of their rope. And last, I am a genuine 'lubber', as useless on your ship as you would be in my camp. And I did my level best at casting that rope. It was tied down! I'm a horseman, when I throw a coiled rope, I hold one end, and the other flies, ...not being tied down."
Realizing he'd become defensive, Gristav settled himself with a sigh.
"Your suspicion does you credit. I say that- all of that- sincerely. You're truly a wonder. Beauty, wits, bravery, guile enough to defend against it... Would that I had whatever caused your blush.", Gristav said wistfully.
Braddon sighs.
"You don't have to do that." He doesn't rise.
"Look, I..."
"I mean..."
"Malkith..."
"How can..."
"You don't..."
It seems a struggle, but the right words eventually escape.
"I'm sorry."
Braddon sits up and looks Samaritha in the eye.
"I'm really sorry I snapped at you. You didn't deserve that. You didn't do anything wrong. You never..." He catches himself with a grimace then sits back against the wall. He speaks again with care, watching Samaritha sadly.
"I've never seen you do anything wrong. You're kind and honest and b... you were right to be concerned for Saul's carpet. It's our job to look after his interests. And I was wrong to shout at you. I was wrong to take out my frustrations on you, of all people, you who's treated me better than anyone else. And obviously better than I deserve."
Braddon takes a breath.
"I really care about... what you think. And I want you to be able to say anything you want to me, without being afraid I'll... take it the wrong way. Like I did then. Which I promise I won't... I'll try... I promise I'll try not to do it again. I'm not very good at promises. I've... lied to you. I can't remember what about. I'm new in town. Lying is safe. I mean it keeps me safe. But I don't want you to lie to me. Or be afraid to tell me what you think. So I'll try my best to be...honest...with you."
Braddon closes his eyes.
"It was all... I mean Malkith..."
He sighs and opens his eyes.
""It was all my fault. Malkith didn't do anything wrong either. I ran out expecting him to follow. Dayn and I were almost washed out to sea by some magic wave that washed out half the docks. I was worried Malkith had been caught. I was... surprised... to find him still here... dancing with you." He glances across for a reaction.
"I hope the swell of tide serves your purse well in the days to come... when calm is returned, I look forward to the furniture." dipping an imaginary hat to Cas, before making for the bar.
"Whatever you had to say to Cas, it doesn't seem to have improved his mood any," Olin mutters to Phil as he returns to the bar and the remnants of his lunch.
"Wait. Do you, actually, think I'd have let that old man drown?"
"Aye, but he didn't drown, did he? When you missed, others were ready to throw the rope and haul him in. You could afford to keep up your act without the cost of an old man's life ... not that there aren't those who see a stranger's life an acceptable cost to fill their purse."
"You've missed some maths. The rope and grapnel; of what use were they to the me that you imagine? If I had planned to be aboard, and to have the crew entranced, then haven't I been below already, while they were? Remember, I awakened them. At a time of my choosing."
"You carried them aboard yourself," she shrugs as they approach the river, "as props to paint yourself the hero, and set the grapple after you'd been below. Or besides the woman, you had men in a boat supporting your story of trespass averted."
"So what possible use, then, to stroll past you today, just as the rooftops screeched? Or was the wave another of my conspirators?"
"Aye, that's a poser," she muses, stepping onto the ferry. "Perhaps you're so sure of yourself you couldn't resist returning to the scene of your crime, just to show how clever you are. Or perhaps you were simply on the wharves when you saw the tide draw back and realized you needed somewhere safe to weather the swell."
"There's more, you know," she goes on. "Why are you admitting all this to me if you've been working with the shipwright all along? Well, either you think you're so charming that I'll throw in with you rather than betray you, or you intend to overpower and silence me so I'll never tell the tale back at the Cloud. Either way, it's possible you overestimate your prowess."
"It's unlikely you're as clever as all that," she admits as she steps off the ferry onto the west bank of the Velashu. "But it's well to be prepared, just as it was unlikely old Padraig let himself get swept into the sea to lure you into a trap ... though I've known some brigands would stab you in the back after you'd hauled them out of a well without a second thought. It's their nature."
"So you're meeting the shipwright at the Publican ... to tell him what? That you've been aboard but not below? And that below will cost him more gold? And now I've invited myself along, either I'll prove how close you've been and can be again ... or you're thinking to sell me to him and let him get the captain's secrets from me at his leisure." She smiles. "No, not at the Publican. You'd be meeting him in the Wharves or Rotgut if that was your plan. Old Paddy could even have been in on it with you. 'Where's your home?' you say; 'A flophouse in Rotgut,' he says; and the pair of you walk me into Rag's End to meet a gang of thugs. That would have been clever. I'd have fallen for it," she congratulates him.
"So you're meeting the shipwright at the Publican ...
"Yes", Gristav confirms, quickening his pace by a fraction.
...to tell him what? That you've been aboard but not below?
"Yes"
And that below will cost him more gold?
"Mu", Gristav rejects the question, again hastening his pace.
And now I've invited myself along, either I'll prove how close you've been and can be again ...
"Yes"
...or you're thinking to sell me to him and let him get the captain's secrets from me at his leisure."
"No. If I had you, I would kee-", he begins.
She smiles. "No, not at the Publican. You'd be meeting him in the Wharves or Rotgut if that was your plan. Old Paddy could even have been in on it with you. 'Where's your home?' you say; 'A flophouse in Rotgut,' he says; and the pair of you walk me into Rag's End to meet a gang of thugs. That would have been clever. I'd have fallen for it," she congratulates him.
"I'll... make note of it, against future need. But there's still some context you lack. The first thing you doubted..." Gristav turned and stopped short. He let his former pace, the pace she'd matched, bring her closer. Then too close. Then, close enough. And he kissed her.
This time, it was not for Desna.
"Whatever you had to say to Cas, it doesn't seem to have improved his mood any," Olin mutters to Phil as he returns to the bar and the remnants of his lunch.
Phil nods, and swiftly completes his lunch, unwilling to linger o'erlong. Just before departing, he puts another silver upon the bar, nodding to Olin and Ewart both "Aye, best go easy on him this afternoon... might be that sour mood doesn't diminish" with that he waves acknowledgement to Arnando before seeking more pliable and less dangerous climes.
"Braddon...." Samaritha sits down gingerly on the edge of the bed, assuming she can find an unmuddy space to do so, and lays her hand on his. "Gristav said almost the same thing to me -- how good and dutiful I am -- and I'm not really. I spent yesterday morning not looking out for Mr. Vankaskerkin's interests but looking out for mine at his expense. I was thinking that if I could get a position at the Cypherlodge before Sunday, I could just run up there and hide and leave you all in the lurch. Malkith was only dancing with me because I asked him to," she glances up at the Harrower. "The thought of dancing in public terrifies me, and the prospect of practicing with Thuvalia screeching at me every time I took a step wrong isn't any more inviting. So I asked him to practice with me, because he's Varisian and knows the dance. I thought if I could get comfortable without anyone watching me, it might be easier when everyone's looking. That's all. And we really didn't know what you'd been through down at the harbor. Are you all right?"
Braddon shrugs. "You took a morning off. It's not like he asked you to do something. And as for leaving us in the lurch, you brought us here. If... When you get into the Cypherlodge, we'll have still had this job. And that's because of you. And you can still quit before the dance... he hasn't paid you yet." Braddon's grin returns.
"I'm okay. Just tired. Gristav wouldn't let us sleep in Lil's huge bed. A total waste. Maybe I should bring it here... yeah. It'll only take a few of us." Braddon looks about the room, as if measuring it up for size, then stops when he sees Samaritha.
"The harbour thing was weird. I ran back to Dayn and everyone was getting to high ground. Maybe the screech was some sort of warning. We saw people on top of the harbourmaster's office and figured it would be empty. We went in and it was, so Dayn unlocked the mail cabinet and we grabbed some evidence." Braddon holds aloft the letter and opens it.
"Then the tide came in, like, in seconds. It washed halfway up the room, then tried to suck us out, but fortunately I got crushed by a desk."
Braddon pulls his shirt up and the side of his pants down to reveal his hip adorned with a large purple and blue bruise and lined with red graze marks.
"It'll be gone in a couple of days."
Braddon then turns his attention to the letter and reads it.
"'Fortunately?'" Samaritha winces as Braddon reveals his injury.
Braddon carefully breaks the seal on the letter and unfolds it. Although it's a little damp, Daynadrian did a good job of keeping it above water; it's certainly not as soaked as their clothing and gear got. He takes a look at the writing inside and frowns. It appears to be written in some exotic language: not Common or Elven, anyway.
Phil finishes his meal quickly and slips out of the tavern, ignoring the shipwright's frown following him. He heads south, the first time he's explored past the Publican House on the western side of the river. The buildings along the bank interfere with his getting a clear view of the harbor, but the road ahead of him starts to climb up to the tall houses of Windward District atop the ridge; from up there, he ought to have an excellent view.
"Oh, but you do think you're charming," she breathes as their lips part. "Still, that was reckless. How do you know I'm not the captain's woman?"
Braddon sighs and waves the letter at Samaritha.
"Is this Varisian? Or Tiefling? Or something?"
Freed from the confines of ears to hear and the need to speak, Phil allows all guard to slip and just walks. Doubt does not work into his mind, but there is a weariness to his gait - either from the work done to clear the shipyard or from other conflict. Hands in coat pockets, he makes for the higher ground, so as to look over not just the harbor, or sea... but also the city itself.
"Oh, but you do think you're charming," she breathes as their lips part. "Still, that was reckless. How do you know I'm not the captain's woman?"
"Same way you know I am not; evidences to the contrary. Your crew's reaction to the first kiss, and their lack of warning afterward; I'd have thought I had that much goodwill with them. Your own response, a neutral... uncertainty? But most true, and most telling? Your blush for the priest. Your captain may have your contract, your word, even your love. But not your heart entire. And if there is space in your heart, if the hovel's Hierophant might turn the face of the Queen of Ships, then a Jack might have a part to play. A Jack, or a Fool. That card hasn't turned yet."
"But I spoke of your heart. Let that not be done blithely. I do not, in truth, today, desire your heart. But like your eyes, and your mind, I can at least now judge it open."
Braddon sighs and waves the letter at Samaritha.
"Is this Varisian? Or Tiefling? Or something?"
Samaritha takes the paper, reads the direction on the outside, then flips it over to look at the body of the letter and frowns. "It's not Varisian. Or Draconic or Sylvan or Thassilonian. I don't believe tieflings have their own language, but if they did, I suppose it would be Infernal or Abyssal. I don't know either of those." She hands the letter to Malkith, then asks, "Who are Lyle Vermeil and the Teeth of Araska? Or are they a where? I've never heard of them."
Some men came snooping around. They've been in your flat. I told you involving that Varisian was a mistake. They claim to be working with the Gendarmes. Riddleport is no longer safe. Have Treeg take you on to Roderic's Cove. I will meet you there, and we can make new arrangements. NW
"But most true, and most telling? Your blush for the priest. Your captain may have your contract, your word, even your love. But not your heart entire. And if there is space in your heart, if the hovel's Hierophant might turn the face of the Queen of Ships, then a Jack might have a part to play. A Jack, or a Fool. That card hasn't turned yet."
Whatever it is about Father Kreun that made her blush, mentioning him -- or perhaps her reaction to him -- brings the color to her cheeks again. "Aye, well," she replies, "a girl can admire a handsome man, no matter how spoken for she may or may not be. I've never been a great one for piety, but the Dawnflower is the blonde with the angel wings, aye?" She tosses her own black curls a little scornfully.
"Don't do that.", Gristav said, in a hurry that might have been sharp, if it weren't more worry than will. "Don't dis... like yourself. Don't...", he stumbled, and leaped to firmer ground. "You are beautiful. Don't doubt it. I'll risk Godswroth to speak from the mind and heart of how things must be. So now you listen."
"She does not shine, so that you might feel yourself lesser than. She shines that you might see, how beautiful you are. That I might, or Josper, or Kreun. That we might remind you. That a clever fool like I might reason to you thus: You are, every woman, that each and every of your fore-sires fell in love with. You are their issue and their heir, the latest in a lineage of ... Lovely."
"You feel in Her image some Beauty, and then feel lesser, in your dark colors, less of a match than the gold-haired? I say you're a closer match, and in a moment you'll agree. For She strides from the fires of a star, a heat we cannot imagine, a Presence before which evil cannot stand. And She is bright, yes. But I do not think, if but man be allowed to think, that She is pale. For She is of bronze skin, as I have been shown Her, and such skin makes hair of your color. Black. Black as iron, black as coal. We've seen coal aflame, we've both seen iron glow red; I've seen it glow white. How would it glow, stoked in a star?"
"You're not unlike Her, you're more like Her. Black, and bronze, and beautiful."
Phillip heads up to the top of the ridge. The midday sun is uncomfortably hot as he begins, but as he climbs away from the valley, the breeze picks up, both cooling him and replacing the stench of the river with the refreshing scent of the sea. He also leaves behind the peeling paint and rusting metal of River District; the higher he climbs, the larger and more freshly-painted and well-maintained the buildings appear. Windward District seems largely residential; while he spots a few tea shops and other small mercantile affairs, most of the buildings are homes and apartments. He immediately senses that the population up here is less diverse than in Leeward; a halfling strolling the street, he draws curious though not hostile glances from other pedestrians.
To the east, the valuable real estate at the edge of the cliff overlooking the harbor is crowded with buildings jealously guarding their residents' views, most notably a long row of terrace houses painted in the colors of confectionery. To find an unobstructed viewpoint, Phil follows a footpath past the rowhouse toward the cliff's edge which leads to a kiosk offering a river taxi; obviously, the well-to-do of Windward don't rub elbows with the hoi-polloi on Velashu Ferry when they have to cross to the east bank. He stands in the shade of a small tree which has managed to root itself in the thin soil overlying the rocky ridge and looks down over the harbor and Riddleport beyond.
The harbor is settled now, although most of the activity is still aboard ships or in front of the waterfront buildings, people sweeping mud out of their businesses or boarding up broken windows. There seem to be fewer ships in their berths than he saw riding out the swell; some have apparently set sail and left the harbor. He can see the vast oval of Zincher's Arena and the smoke-spewing chimneys of the Gas Forges. The brass dome of the Gold Goblin glints in the sun, and past it, he catches a glimpse of the round roof of the Mystery of the Gate. Farther away, he thinks he sees some greenery and flowers and assumes it might be the rooftop garden of the House of the Silken Veil. Except for the Wharf District, there seems to be no unusual activity in the city; he wonders if people in Leeward even realize anything happened at all. Far up the Velashu, the dark shape of Grimas's ferry is crossing the river.
Over his shoulder, the Cyphergate looms. From up here, its size is even more impressive ... or would be, if he hadn't grown up beneath the Irespan and gotten used to its immense presence literally looming over his life. Somehow simultaneously massive and airy, the Cyphergate stretches its gleaming, runecarved span across the sky, only a tiny speck of dark cloud in the far distance marring the cerulean expanse.
Leaning against the small tree, Phillip takes a few minutes to just look peacefully over the city. From the genteel surrounds that envelop his overlook to the touches of violence, industry, avarice and false worship that are hinted only by his knowledge of what the rough structures visible represent. The Goblin, Arena, House of the Veil and even the Gas Forges all on the ever-changing gameboard of chance and opportunity that made Riddleport what it was.
A heightened gust of wind brought a momentary chill to Phillip's core, and as he shivered his mind flashed over the faces of people he had met thus far... and through actions taken, implied and believed - the greyness of opinion had quickly waxed or waned into stark black and white. Running a hand through his hair Phillip sighed as his furtive initial steps had seemed to as much fortify as they had destroy.
Even within the Gold Goblin itself, Phillip's only patron was a relatively disinterested dreamer whose as yet flimsily positive opinion of Phil could easily be clouded and tainted by a bodyguard who the halfling had threatened to torture to death, and a stubborn dwarf who would likely prefer an altruistic city guard to clasp Phil in irons than have his misplaced honor besmirched further by a halfling unrepentant for revelling in having a form that casts a shadow.
Drawing a copper from his pocket, Phillip sets it dancing across his knuckles as he seriously mulls his decision to place himself in Saul's employ at all... surely there would be more prospect in the service to one of the stronger exemplars of sin within the city walls. Truth easily stated, but also the other organizations are thickly covered with boundary and barrier - it would take years to peel away into the profitable core.
No... for the moment at least... Saul's burgeoning empire was his best attempt at allowing his enterprise to send root past the topsoil and gain purchase upon bedrock... patience... and endurance were needed. Casting his eyes over the cyphergate he muses how many men similar to himself had seen their aspirations choked out upon the cobble and cast into the Velashu to be flushed away into the bay.
Noting the dark cloud, Phil wonders if it portents rain - and watches for a few minutes to see if it is swelling and approaching, or passing by at sea.
"You're not unlike Her, you're more like Her. Black, and bronze, and beautiful."
"Mostly I get Besmara," Jaelle shrugs, "but she's a heartless b*%*@; men who try to flatter me by saying I'm like the Pirate Queen don't get very far." As the Publican House comes into view on the street ahead, she hesitates. "I'm not sure me being with you when you meet the shipwright is a good idea. It might be swift, but if you're not telling him what he's expecting to hear, it won't be pleasant."
Phil squints up into the sky. The cloud is little more than a hazy blotch in the distance; it could be smoke or a plume of dust or ash, for that matter. He wonders if it is connected to the swell in the harbor and tries to remember if he's heard of any volcanic islands off the coast of northern Varisia.
As he is pondering, a voice intrudes on his thoughts. "Here! You! Lad!" Looking around, he sees the man attending the river-taxi kiosk trying to attract his attention. "You supposed to be booking a boat for someone?"
"You're not unlike Her, you're more like Her. Black, and bronze, and beautiful.""Mostly I get Besmara," Jaelle shrugs, "but she's a heartless b#%~+; men who try to flatter me by saying I'm like the Pirate Queen don't get very far." As the Publican House comes into view on the street ahead, she hesitates.
"You think I was flattering you?", Gristav wonders aloud. But the Publican on the horizon changes the subject, Gristav halting his speech as she halts her stride.
"I'm not sure me being with you when you meet the shipwright is a good idea. It might be swift, but if you're not telling him what he's expecting to hear, it won't be pleasant."
"Let him hear what he wants to hear, so long as it's his own quasit whispering in his ear. Do come with." Gristav starts walking again, beckoning or towing Jaelle, as needed, and faintly grinning. "He'll surely not speak before you, calling me aside. I'll tell him I feel I have something of a welcome aboard, but I haven't truly tested it yet. And I've not been below, in any case, only favoring the breeze in the tops. He'll want me to pledge to a report, at which I'll be confused. When he makes it clear he means the Cloud..." Gristav stopped with a hand on the unopened door. "Then I'll say, 'The ship? I had meant the girl.' "
Phillip allows his hackles to rise and then subside without snark departing his lips... Lad?... before turning to the man at the kiosk and raising a hand of acknowledgement "No, just resting a moment" before rising again and moving on without any further explanation. As he's in the area, Phil figures he may as well drop past the Cypherlodge for a look on the way back Northwards - so loops back inland and past it before making back into Riddleport proper.
"Who are Lyle Vermeil and the Teeth of Araska? Or are they a where? I've never heard of them."
"Nor have I. Braddon, do you know who the scribe was trying to contact?" Malkith looks at the letter and frowns. "This is Infernal, the language of Hell. Despite the direction, Herr Weatherby seems to expect this missive to end in the hands of Lil Scarlet." He reads aloud: "'Some men came snooping around. They've been in your flat. I told you involving that Varisian was a mistake. They claim to be working with the Gendarmes. Riddleport is no longer safe. Have Treeg take you on to Roderic's Cove. I will meet you there, and we can make new arrangements. NW.'"
"I'll tell him I feel I have something of a welcome aboard, but I haven't truly tested it yet. And I've not been below, in any case, only favoring the breeze in the tops. He'll want me to pledge to a report, at which I'll be confused. When he makes it clear he means the Cloud..." Gristav stopped with a hand on the unopened door. "Then I'll say, 'The ship? I had meant the girl.' "
She laughs. "And you think you've a reasonable prospect of being invited below if you play your cards right, do you?" she asks flippantly.
Phillip leaves behind the officious attendant and backtracks past the rowhouse to the road that leads up to the Cypherlodge. It runs right along the crest of the ridge; the wind fairly whips at his clothing and hair, and what trees and shrubberies grow are stunted from the salt in the air and the rock at their roots. The sprawling building sits at the pinnacle of the cliff, the ground dropping off steeply on either side and even more abruptly behind it to the sea. It's an ungainly structure, composed of several wings clearly added at different times as the membership and prestige of the society grew.
Right now, it is also abuzz with activity. Several robed figures are standing around the building looking up, some reading unusual measuring devices, some scribbling notes on sheaves of parchment or in books; two men are hovering in mid-air on either side of the weathervane atop the highest roofpeak. No one pays any attention to the approaching halfling.
Intrigued by the seeming activity and making a tenuous connection to the source of the wave of tide, Phillip edges closer - trying to overhear some of the ongoing conversations.
"Nor have I. Braddon, do you know who the scribe was trying to contact?" Malkith looks at the letter and frowns. "This is Infernal, the language of Hell. Despite the direction, Herr Weatherby seems to expect this missive to end in the hands of Lil Scarlet." He reads aloud: "'Some men came snooping around. They've been in your flat. I told you involving that Varisian was a mistake. They claim to be working with the Gendarmes. Riddleport is no longer safe. Have Treeg take you on to Roderic's Cove. I will meet you there, and we can make new arrangements. NW.'"
Braddon shrugs. "Lyle sounds like Lil. Maybe it's a fake name. People always choose fake names based on their own. Maybe Vermeil means Scarlet in the language of Stupid." Braddon nods emphatically.
"And I dunno about the Teeth of Araska, but we now know Lil is going on to Roderic's Cove with Treeg. We should take this to Saul and see if he wants us to go there too." Braddon gets up and makes his way to the door."And, this scribe knows heaps and is intending to do a runner so we should grab him now. Well, before tonight anyway. I told you we should break his f... threaten to hurt him." He glances cautiously at Samaritha.
"We could all go back and grab him. Probably before he closes. Should we wait for the babbler? Or will just the three of us do?" He begins to head towards the steps, up to see Saul.
She laughs. "And you think you've a reasonable prospect of being invited below if you play your cards right, do you?" she asks flippantly."I'll tell him I feel I have something of a welcome aboard, but I haven't truly tested it yet. And I've not been below, in any case, only favoring the breeze in the tops. He'll want me to pledge to a report, at which I'll be confused. When he makes it clear he means the Cloud..." Gristav stopped with a hand on the unopened door. "Then I'll say, 'The ship? I had meant the girl.' "
"Possibly not the cards that I'm holding.", he smiles. "But a shuffle is coming." Holding the door for her, Gristav adds in a hush, "If I'm courting you, and might be useful to him, he might not look someplace else..."
Malkith frowns at the paper in his hands. He turns it over, looking for more on the backside. Passing it back to Braddon, he address Samaritha, "Lyle sounds like a who. The Teeth sound like a where. Where did you hear those names?"
Turning to Braddon, the Varisian says, "Apology accepted. You were gone so fast, I lost sight of where you had headed by the time I got out the door. Good job with that letter."
He thinks on their situation at the moment. "You said the harbor got flooded. What state is that in now? Herr Weatherby mentions meeting up with Little Scarlet at Rodric's Cove, but if that requires taking a boat, he may be delayed. Either way, Little Scarlet isn't going to be meeting him there based on that letter.
"Lets check in with our employer. Perhaps he can shed some light on these names and places with which we're unfamiliar. Hopefully, by then, our other comrades will have returned."
Malkith frowns at the paper in his hands. He turns it over, looking for more on the backside. Passing it back to Braddon, he address Samaritha, "Lyle sounds like a who. The Teeth sound like a where. Where did you hear those names?"
Braddon turns the letter over to reveal the address and the broken seal.
"It's who it's addressed to. But Dayn and I weren't fooled. The wax looked fresh and was still slightly warm and the paper was as crisp as new.""Good job with that letter."
Braddon beams slightly.
He thinks on their situation at the moment. " Either way, Little Scarlet isn't going to be meeting him there based on that letter.
Braddon stops and thinks for a second. "Oh, yeah."
"Lets check in with our employer. Perhaps he can shed some light on these names and places with which we're unfamiliar. Hopefully, by then, our other comrades will have returned."
"Yeah. The more of us there are, the quieter Mr Scribe will come along."
"Lyle sounds like Lil. Maybe it's a fake name. People always choose fake names based on their own. Maybe Vermeil means Scarlet in the language of Stupid."
"Vermilion is a bright red color, like scarlet" Samaritha notes. "You may be right, Braddon." She looks at him with approbation, not unmixed with surprise. "You two go on up to speak with Mr. Vankaskerkin; I'll finish cleaning this up while my spell's active. Daynadrian should still be upstairs; I believe Mr. Deverin is, too. If anyone else shows up down here, I'll send them up to you."
As Gristav and Jaelle walk past vendors hawking quick midday meals around to the main entrance of the Publican House, they can see that it wasn't completely spared the depredations of the groundswell. A rowboat sits atop the short pier rather than floating next to it, and the boardwalk is filmed with grime. A clean path has been scrubbed along the outside of the building past the paned glass window overlooking the river to the door.
Having crossed the empty common room to the door of the smaller morning room, Gristav sees, in addition to Arnando behind the bar, a wiry moustachioed Varisian at one table and a thick-necked bald-headed man with a black beard at a smaller one; neither look pleased.
-------------------
At the highest point in Riddleport, Phil edges closer to the Cypherlodge to eavesdrop. To his disappointment, many of the wizards seem to be using arcane means of communication; the ones levitating around the weathervane, in particular, seem silently to be mouthing words rather than calling their findings down to the ground. A pair of junior mages in buff-colored robes, however, whose jobs seem to be to supply fresh parchments and quills to the scribes when needed, are talking quietly between themselves. The halfling devotes himself to overhearing what he can of their conversation.
"...some sort of attack on the Lodge? Testing our defenses?""
"No, the effect wasn't localized; it seems to have occurred all over town. The Mystery was the first to report in and said it happened to the buildings around them as well. They're conducting sendings inside, to Magnimar and Korvosa to see if there were any disturbances there."
"Nothing detected at all?"
"No residual auras. It wasn't a spell effect here. Could have been something cast elsewhere, but it would have to have an incredible range."
"But what could do that? And why bother tampering with weathervanes?"
Their conversation is interrupted by a woman in dark green robes. "Here! You! Grackulous, or whatever your name is. Run to the library and fetch us Instanti summonitionem et conjurationes aliud by Pupillus. It's bound in dark red leather. Hurry now!"
"At once, Mistress Bromathan," he replies, handing his handsful of quills to his partner, and jogging back through the front door of the lodge.
Phillip's eyes narrow and he taps his fingers against his hip in thought... Aye, it might get some information... but could also piss off those that wouldn't be worth pissing off... but, still...
Arnando looks up as the newcomers enter. "Jill," he greets the sailor. "All's well with the Cloud? Josper was here when the river invited itself in, helped us clean up a bit before he left to check on the ship."
Gristav notices the Varisian man glances up sharply at the bartender's words.
"Aye," Jaelle answers, giving Gristav a tentative glance before crossing toward the bar, "we weathered the swell. Fished a waister out of the harbor before he could be landed by another ship. Stealing myself a bit of shore leave after towing him back to his berth. You won't rat me out to the captain, will you?"
Malkith and Braddon head up the stairs to consult with Saul on their latest discovery. As they approach the owner's suite, they hear voices arguing, sharply but in a low tone. Entering the waiting room, they can see Daynadrian leaning over the table in the dining room, his face close to Thuvalia's, but the expressions on their faces don't betray a lovers' tryst exposed. When they see Malkith and Braddon, Thuvalia composes her face into a bored expression and turns away toward the far wall. Daynadrian frowns and walks into the sitting room to meet them. "You taken a look at that letter yet?" he asks. "I hope it's something worth almost getting drowned for."
"Only a direct lead to Lil and the news the scribe is in on far more than we knew." He grins.
"On the down side it means we'll have to go back to the scribe but I'm in the mood to hit something until it cooperates."
"Is Saul about?"
Having crossed the empty common room to the door of the smaller morning room, Gristav sees, in addition to Arnando behind the bar, a wiry moustachioed Varisian at one table and a thick-necked bald-headed man with a black beard at a smaller one; neither look pleased.
Gristav marks the moustache, a memory from the matinee mounting of the casino's carpet. Memory begs also, a closer approach to the bald and bearded. If it was the staff-struck bruise-bearded boarder, Gristav thought, perhaps that second kiss had pleased Desna...
Arnando looks up as the newcomers enter. "Jill," he greets the sailor. "All's well with the Cloud? Josper was here when the river invited itself in, helped us clean up a bit before he left to check on the ship."
Gristav notices the Varisian man glances up sharply at the bartender's words.
"Aye," Jaelle answers, giving Gristav a tentative glance before crossing toward the bar, "we weathered the swell. Fished a waister out of the harbor before he could be landed by another ship. Stealing myself a bit of shore leave after towing him back to his berth. You won't rat me out to the captain, will you?"
Gris was tempted to inflate the implied imperfection in Jaelle's dutifulness as a deckhand, but not without her permission... but hadn't she just opened the gambit? Was that deliberate?
"My silence could be bought.", Gristav grins, then puts on a mathing mask. "At least in theory. I mean, I have been offered coin to shut up. Never actually received any... never really shut up. But the theory holds."