"A dwarvish metal twister would hardly have raised the sea though? Surely that must be linked? - and is no coincidence?" hoping that feverish interest might still keep her tongue active where it should not be.
The wizardess squints out at the sea from behind her spectacles as if she hadn't been aware it had done anything out of the ordinary -- not all that surprising, Phil reflects, up here atop the ridge at the highest point of the city. "Druidic," she murmurs to herself, "definitely druidic. I'm sorry," she goes on in a not very apologetic tone, turning her attention back to Phillip, "but do you work here? I've not seen you in the Lodge." She looks down at him sternly.
Channelling his best enigmatic half-smile, Phillip responds in a voice that hints at half-shadows "No, I don't work... here... the master to which I am beholden holds sway below" wafting an arm to encompass an area that smears across the Goblin and towards Free-Coin. "He is not fond of mystery though, and would look kindly upon whoever would be able to clarify today's events for him..." letting the words trail before trying to see if the distracted Mistress has been following any of the half-truths or sheltered lies he had been spinning.
Have to be subtle about it... but I'm to thinking this one's mind might operate a bit left of normal... not sure if the words are getting through.
She smiles. "Pretty sure I still owe you for breakfast the morning we met. Why don't we just say we'll do what we can to help each other out without keeping score?" She looks a little worried when Braddon tells her the plan. "You're all going back over there?" she asks. "Maybe I'll go up to the Cypherlodge for the afternoon ... if you think Mr. Vankaskerkin won't mind. Or I could go with you," she offers brightly.
Braddon's face lights up, then falls, then twists painfully.
"I'd love to have you along but... it may be... unpleasant. Dangerous even."Braddon thinks for a beat, his brow furrowed.
"Mr Vankaskerkin won't mind you going to the cypherlodge. We can easily cover for you."
He turns up the corners of his mouth with some effort, before asking, "Can you help in a fight? Or an interrogation?"
The ferryman's directions take Gristav and Jaelle to the north of the Mystery of the Gate, the large circular inn and conference center owned and operated by the Cypherlodge and through the marketplace in Leeward Common where he and Samaritha shopped for dinner yesterday.
"Say, here, help me look the part...", Gristav asks, inspired. Pulling a scarf from a merchant's cart, he holds it to the light, then against Jaelle's tone, with a faint frown. "I don't suppose a Varisi would choose that color. But I'll have to put something over these ears. What might suit? And do we even have time?"
"The Cloud won't leave till the tide turns," she belatedly answers the question he asked on the west side of the river. "This evening at the earliest, more likely in the morning. I'd not worry they've weighed anchor without me for some time yet."
"Shall we shop then? Would you lend a lady's head for hues, a gypsy's gift for garish grace, and fit a fabric to this fae fool?" Gristav doesn't even break meter as he continues speaking in Varisian, "Hitzak ezagunak dira, baina esanahi? Etxe bakarra belarrian etxeko abesti kantatu gaizki entzuten."
As the road they're walking turns northward toward the pocket formed by the rocky ridge hemming in the town, Gristav spies a cobblestoned courtyard ahead on the left, where a worked-iron fence directs traffic around several small tables and chairs in front of a low, comfortable-looking building with latticed windows and overflowing flower boxes. A wooden placard hanging outside depicts a confused-looking duck which seems to be facing three directions at once.
"That omens well, for such a menu, that we cannot choose. Each offering more tempting than the last... Let us hope."
"Can you help in a fight? Or an interrogation?"
"No," she replies, crestfallen. "Well... maybe. I guess. I have some spells to protect myself with, if I ever need to. I never intended to use them to fight with, though: more to dissuade anyone from chasing me while I'm running away."
"Shall we shop then? Would you lend a lady's head for hues, a gypsy's gift for garish grace, and fit a fabric to this fae fool?"
"Zara Varisi baten zati bat jotzen?" Jaelle asks, eyeing him critically. "Zer dantza al da?"
"No," she replies, crestfallen. "Well... maybe. I guess. I have some spells to protect myself with, if I ever need to. I never intended to use them to fight with, though: more to dissuade anyone from chasing me while I'm running away."
"There's just this scribe, so it shouldn't be too dangerous. If you really want to come, I'll look after you. But if he doesn't tell us anything I may have to beat him a bit."
"Shall we shop then? Would you lend a lady's head for hues, a gypsy's gift for garish grace, and fit a fabric to this fae fool?""Zara Varisi baten zati bat jotzen?" Jaelle asks, eyeing him critically. "Zer dantza al da?"
"No, I'm to be the rube, and be orbited by the ladies, and removed of all my valuables. I've considered investing in pants of cloth-of-gold." He grins, joking. "But after the 'act', there is the rest of the evening, and I'd rather support the theme than work against it. As well, if the theme goes well, it may be revisited. Further, Varisi are a large part of this town, and I'm liable to be here long enough to see value in being able to blend, if not pass. And Finally...", he grins again, "What else could I reasonably ask your advice on?"
"There's just this scribe, so it shouldn't be too dangerous. If you really want to come, I'll look after you. But if he doesn't tell us anything I may have to beat him a bit."
"Well... if he doesn't tell you anything, maybe I'll head up to the Cypherlodge then," she suggests.
Once Braddon has rearmed and armored himself, he and Samaritha join Malkith and Daynadrian waiting in the corridor near the back door. "I'm coming with you," she smiles at them, "unless you have any objections to my company. I'll try to stay well out of your way."
Braddon, Malkith, and Daynadrian walk back north through Leeward District. The streets are bustling with lunchtime traffic, and the storefronts offering meat pies and other quick snacks are crowded; the aroma reminds Braddon that he hasn't eaten since last night's dinner. As they approach the building that houses the scribe's office and Lil's secret flat, Daynadrian calls a halt on the corner.
"How are we going to approach?" he asks quietly. "One of us at each door to keep him from escaping or a show of force at his office? Should we send someone he hasn't seen before to keep him from making a break for it as soon as he sees Malkith?"
"No, I'm to be the rube, and be orbited by the ladies, and removed of all my valuables. I've considered investing in pants of cloth-of-gold." He grins, joking. "But after the 'act', there is the rest of the evening, and I'd rather support the theme than work against it. As well, if the theme goes well, it may be revisited. Further, Varisi are a large part of this town, and I'm liable to be here long enough to see value in being able to blend, if not pass. And Finally...", he grins again, "What else could I reasonably ask your advice on?"
"Ergela en Iruzur," she grins, and Gristav recognizes the name as the same Thuvalia used for the dance. "Then you should not look Varisian, at least for the dance; you must be a proper gadjo." She replaces the scarf on the cart and picks up a tall Taldan hat, setting it on his head and pulling it low over his brow and ears. "There," she nods, pulling a dignified face, "now you are fit to have your pockets emptied by the Sczarni. Add a proper frock-coat and some lace at your wrists. Or," she removes the hat and replaces it with a battered and shapeless straw version with a wide brim, "go as a farmer, his harvest newly turned into coin in his pocket, ripe to be gleaned by the caravan girls in the market square."
Channelling his best enigmatic half-smile, Phillip responds in a voice that hints at half-shadows "No, I don't work... here... the master to which I am beholden holds sway below" wafting an arm to encompass an area that smears across the Goblin and towards Free-Coin. "He is not fond of mystery though, and would look kindly upon whoever would be able to clarify today's events for him..." letting the words trail before trying to see if the distracted Mistress has been following any of the half-truths or sheltered lies he had been spinning.
"I see." Her gaze grows harder and her lips more tight. "You may tell your master he can go through proper channels to seek the Cypherlodge's expertise rather than sending spies. If he wants arcane expertise about the situation in the harbor, he can petition Master Tammerhawk for it rather than trying to steal it. Now I suggest," she goes on, dipping her hand into a pocket in her robes, "you march right down off this hill and let us finish our work in peace."
Phillip finds himself turning to walk away, and some distance is covered before he consciously realises what must have transpired. A face that was until then still genially covered with a smile turns instantly to a scowl and he pauses at the base of the hill to look back at the Cypherlodge. He raises his left hand to slick back his hair and then turns to one side and spits on the ground.
An eye goes to the sky to gauge the time of day before he begins to walk Northwards...
"How are we going to approach?" he asks quietly. "One of us at each door to keep him from escaping or a show of force at his office? Should we send someone he hasn't seen before to keep him from making a break for it as soon as he sees Malkith?"
Braddon stops at a store front and buys a couple of meat pies for himself and also any for his companions should they show an interest. The first pie is wolfed down in scant moments and he gnaws at the second as they halt on the corner.
"I'd prefer to take him at closing time when there's fewer people about but Malkith is right, we don't wanna lose him. I'll walk past just to see if he's still in. Then I'd like to look in Lil's flat and see if anything's changed. Then maybe make some noise and lure him upstairs away from those windows. He didn't get hurt this morning and may think Malkith and Gristav are back. If he does do a runner, Dayn should be outside to follow him again. Maybe keep Sam outside on watch where it's safe and Malkith can either take the front and follow him or coax him upstairs, or join me upstairs and help me take him out."Braddon slides Volo's short sword from its sheath, raises it high and tests its weight with a quick downward pull, pommel first.
"I shouldn't need much help."
Malkith frowns slightly as Samaritha announces her intentions of accompanying the party. He strolls through the streets in silence, gratuitously accepting the meat pie from Braddon. Despite the quick snack at the casino this morning, it had been equally as long since the Varisian has eaten as well. It also gave him an excuse not to speak.
Finally, as the gang stops at the street corner, Malkith finally offers his plan. "If Daynadrian and Sam want to cover the alley and street, I can give you a few minutes to investigate the flat before entering from the front. I'd rather he not try to escape out onto the street." Malkith looks up and down the lane for emphasis, "Too public. You can either come down the passage or make your commotion to draw us up there."
"I'll take the alley," Daynadrian says, looking at Samaritha kindly, "you take the street. You're out in public there and shouldn't be in any danger. Just find a way to let someone know if anyone comes out that side door and which way he's going." His gaze and tone grow more businesslike as he turns to Braddon. "Come on then. I'll open the door, then take a position where I can see the door and both ends of the alley."
As Daynadrian and Braddon leave to circle around into the alley, Samaritha turns to Malkith. "Show me where this door is that I'm supposed to watch." They also go around the back way, lest Weatherby recognize Malkith as he passes by the front windows. "You're not pleased I came, are you?" Samaritha asks after a moment of silence.
Once in the alley, Daynadrian motions to Braddon to keep watch while he creeps up the staircase. After listening a moment at the door, he sets to work picking the lock as he did last night, working quietly and deliberately. After a few minutes, he withdraws his picks, nods in satisfaction, then puts away his tools and descends the staircase again, remembering to avoid the step with the creak. "It's all yours," he whispers to Braddon. "Shout if you need me."
-------------
Having arrived back in the river valley, Phil casts a resentful glance back at the summit -- though he still can't help but feel that it is probably for the best that the wizards conduct their investigation without outside interruption. He gauges the position of the sun in the sky and the length of the shadows and idly wonders how long one must live in Riddleport before the Cyphergate begins automatically to serve as a gigantic sundial. Back in Magnimar, he would judge that he had six hours of daylight before dusk fell; shadows fall earlier here between the rocky ridges. He estimates he has some three hours before merchants begin to shutter their shops.
A guilty look passes over Malkith's face as he takes Samaritha's hand. After a moment's hesitation he finds his voice. "I'm always happy to be in your company. Perhaps that is why I am feeling babes. Your dream is a life at the Cypher Lodge, not chasing down zakarrontzira that consort with devils. It would pain me if you were ever hurt; doubly so if was because of us." He gestures to the scribe's building to indicate the rest of the party. Releasing her hand, Malkith takes a step back, appraising Samaritha from head to toe. The corner of his mouth curls upward slightly. "Baina oraindik zara Varisian eta gure pertsonak ez dira hain hauskorrak. Mesedez, barkaidazu. Ez da nire leku ekintza dictate nahi."
...trash...
"But you are still Varisian and our people are not so fragile. Please, forgive me. It is not my place to want to dictate your actions."
Once in the alley, Daynadrian motions to Braddon to keep watch while he creeps up the staircase. After listening a moment at the door, he sets to work picking the lock as he did last night, working quietly and deliberately. After a few minutes, he withdraws his picks, nods in satisfaction, then puts away his tools and descends the staircase again, remembering to avoid the step with the creak. "It's all yours," he whispers to Braddon. "Shout if you need me."
Braddon listens carefully, before making his way slowly inside Lil's apartment. With the intent of laying an ambush, he first checks behind the door and around the apartment in case one is already in place, even checking underneath the giant bed. He next makes his way to the secret door and examines it carefully. Once he's sure that everything is fine, he leaves the main door open, gives a friendly nod to Daynadrian outside, then waits back beside the secret passage, ready to jump the scribe should he enter.
"I'm always happy to be in your company. Perhaps that is why I am feeling babes. Your dream is a life at the Cypher Lodge, not chasing down zakarrontzira that consort with devils. It would pain me if you were ever hurt; doubly so if was because of us." He gestures to the scribe's building to indicate the rest of the party. Releasing her hand, Malkith takes a step back, appraising Samaritha from head to toe. The corner of his mouth curls upward slightly. "Baina oraindik zara Varisian eta gure pertsonak ez dira hain hauskorrak. Mesedez, barkaidazu. Ez da nire leku ekintza dictate nahi."
"Eta hau da zure ametsa?" she asks wryly. "Profeta, ez gerlari bat zara. Patuak duzun utzi izanez gero, oraindik ere, nahi baduzu, zure karabana behar dute." She shrugs with a smile. "The cards already said I was in danger. Surely I'm safer with all of you around me than alone. This is the door I'm to watch?" She finds an out-of-the-way place across the street where she has a good view of the side exit. "Don't worry," she assures him. "I haven't the slightest intention of being a hero." She squeezes his hand before he walks around the corner toward the main entrance of the office.
"Ergela en Iruzur," she grins, and Gristav recognizes the name as the same Thuvalia used for the dance. "Then you should not look Varisian, at least for the dance; you must be a proper gadjo." She replaces the scarf on the cart and picks up a tall Taldan hat, setting it on his head and pulling it low over his brow and ears. "There," she nods, pulling a dignified face, "now you are fit to have your pockets emptied by the Sczarni. Add a proper frock-coat and some lace at your wrists. Or," she removes the hat and replaces it with a battered and shapeless straw version with a wide brim, "go as a farmer, his harvest newly turned into coin in his pocket, ripe to be gleaned by the caravan girls in the market square."
At her dignity, Gristav preens, superior to the just-tolerable offering. At the rustic rattan, he affects a toe-digging bashfulness. "Gorsh... No, that's not right. He's intended to be distracted by lust. I'll have to really work on that characterization.", he says, grinning at Jaelle.
"I'd probably find more regular uses for the frock coat. But the Taldane topper is rich enough the ladies would plunder it, and then we are back to my ears. I'm happy with them, proud of them, I suppose, but they would be a fife trill in a vocal performance; they would clash with the scene. So, we are back to scarves? And hats and coats? I could put either straw or felt over cloth, and not be too jarring..."
"As faint recompense for your time and advice. Please, it's only fair. You didn't have to support my folly of escorting Padraig, nor tolerate my excesses. And here you are, spending good hours after ba... well, I hope, not bad. It wasn... It hasn't been...? Anyway, please have it."
He estimates he has some three hours before merchants begin to shutter their shops.
After considering where he was and the walk ahead of him Phil gets his shortened legs at task and makes North for the ferry - hoping that it is returned to some semblance of operation by now. His path from there takes him Eastwards and towards Ethel's employer.
"As faint recompense for your time and advice. Please, it's only fair. You didn't have to support my folly of escorting Padraig, nor tolerate my excesses. And here you are, spending good hours after ba... well, I hope, not bad. It wasn... It hasn't been...? Anyway, please have it."
Jaelle initially seems reluctant to accept the scarf, but Gristav succeeds in pressing it on her. She wraps it around her forearm as they continue to the Three Billed Duck. After the detour through the stalls of the marketplace, the lunch crowd has returned to their places of employment. Only a single gnome is seated at a table in the courtyard, a dog as large as he is peering eagerly over the railing at him. The door to the interior of the tavern itself stands open on the chance that a wandering hint of breeze might stray in.
After making the East bank of the Velashu, Phil takes his time as he meanders through the streets in a relatively circuitous fashion. Not looking for anything in particular, he merely takes the opportunity to revel in silence and introspection - eyes open, ears listening and putting as much of the day's unpleasantness from his thoughts as he could manage.
As he walks, and almost unthinking on a whim he murmurs "Mumble Mumble Phillip,
Alone in the maize." channeling a childhood memory of Magnimar and realizing that with each step taken in Riddleport his shadow lengthens... The small vial of perfume weighs heavy in his pocket, but also his recent encounter with the female species proving less than savory - Phil realises that further contingency would be of use.
Out loud to no-one but himself Phillip nods and confirms "Aye, Free-Coin tonight..." before finding himself before the door to Ladies' Attire & Necessities... a smirk beginning to form as he gathers his pomp and enters the establishment.
Ethel is given a sly wink, before Phillip addresses Betta "Milady" giving a small bow, and awaiting it to be returned before continuing.
"No, I suppose this is not," Malkith confesses, "My ametsak are much simpler, even if it is my deituz to go where I am needed. He squeezes her hand in return as he pulls himself away. "Be careful all the same, maitea."
With a renewed sense of confidence, Malkith heads directly to the front door of Weatherby's shop. He casts a glance through the front window as he approaches, trying to catch a glimpse of the scribe. Ready to confront the man again, the harrower reaches for the door and enters.
...calling...
... my dear.
Jaelle initially seems reluctant to accept the scarf, but Gristav succeeds in pressing it on her. She wraps it around her forearm as they continue to the Three Billed Duck.
"Odd choice, that.", Gristav observes aloud, pondering a pace or two, thoughtful, theorizing. "Is there some more', some tradition, I've nearly trespassed? You don't have to take it, I can take no for an answer. I just... would rather find our path to yes."
"Could you wear it as a Qadiran blade might? Doubled to a triangle, bound about the waist, the layers of cloth protecting the fabric beneath from the wear of the findings of the scabbard, owing to the steady sway, of their long treks on horse- or camel-back? I know you've no horse...", he frowned pensively, then smiled at her. "But there's still a sway. You may trust me, on that point."
"Such a mounting might give a Qadiran pause, set him wondering if your scimitar's slash is a step in such dance as they set above other styles. Then again, perhaps that is not a gambit you wish to make?"
After the detour through the stalls of the marketplace, the lunch crowd has returned to their places of employment. Only a single gnome is seated at a table in the courtyard, a dog as large as he is peering eagerly over the railing at him. The door to the interior of the tavern itself stands open on the chance that a wandering hint of breeze might stray in.
"A grand hound, sir.", Gristav observes, in passing, unless replied. "Well-mannered and loyal. Speaks well of his master."
Entering the opened door just ahead of Jaelle, Gristav casually defines a space for her with the length of his staff, as he turns about in search of the sense of the place, and a server. "Grimas recommends you.", he says happily to the first such he sees. "Are we too late for a lunch?"
Lil's apartment seems unchanged from the condition Braddon left it in several hours ago. He takes his position to the side of the secret door in the northern wall, ready to act should anyone come through it.
Out in the street, Malkith approaches the front door of Weatherby's office, trying to catch a glimpse of the man behind his desk, but from what he can see through the window, the room appears empty. As he reaches the door, he can read the handwritten placard behind the panes of glass: Called away on personal business. Office closed until further notice. The door is locked.
Jaelle smiles at Gristav quizzically. "Qadira? That's the other end of the world, isn't it? You've been there?"
Malkith curses under his breath. He takes a second look through the window, taking more effort this time to see if anything appears out of the ordinary. Next he hurries around the building to where Daynadrian is waiting.
"He's gone," he calls to the elf.
Daynadrian frowns. "Well, no reason we can't go in and see what he might have left behind. Go back to the front, just in case we flush him out. We'll let you in when we get down there." He runs nimbly up the steps to the open doorway to inform Braddon. "La viziisto diras ke li estas jam irita. Certiĝu li ne estas supren, kaj ni vidos se li postlasis ion kulpigan." Dayn shuts the door behind him and nods to the half-elf to open the secret door, an arrow on his bowstring.
---------------------
"A grand hound, sir.", Gristav observes, in passing, unless replied. "Well-mannered and loyal. Speaks well of his master."
"A remarkably intelligent animal, as well," the gnome replies, drawing himself up to his full height on the seat of his chair, in which stance he is still well shorter than Gristav. "Well met, stranger. My lady." He performs a deep bow to Jaelle which almost introduces the top of his head to the griddlecake in his plate.
Entering the opened door just ahead of Jaelle, Gristav casually defines a space for her with the length of his staff, as he turns about in search of the sense of the place, and a server. "Grimas recommends you.", he says happily to the first such he sees. "Are we too late for a lunch?"
The interior of the tavern is pleasantly dim and inviting upon stepping out of the hot afternoon sunshine. A square bar in the center of the low-ceilinged room encloses a stout and balding tender. There are tables and chairs arranged around its perimeter and then an outer ring of cozy booths against the wall offering privacy for their inhabitants; some few of these are still in use for those who have the luxury to linger over their lunches.
"Never too late until the sun's down," the barkeep responds to Gristav's hail cheerily. "My wife will be right with you. " he shouts. " Can I offer you a drink before you're seated?" he asks politely.
---------------------
finding himself before the door to Ladies' Attire & Necessities... a smirk beginning to form as he gathers his pomp and enters the establishment.
Ethel is given a sly wink, before Phillip addresses Betta "Milady" giving a small bow, and awaiting it to be returned before continuing.
The interior of Betta's shop is no more prepossessing than the outside. The plank floor is clean but very worn and gray with age. Dressmakers' dummies of various sizes take up much of the space in the small shop; bolts of cloth, mostly serviceable and drab, line the back wall, and a set of tall cabinets set with small drawers sits to the left, a rolling stepladder by their side, for Ethel to reach the topmost drawers, no doubt. Three mismatched mirrors are set in the far corner with a folding screen ready to provide privacy if needed; nearby is a small, shabby settee and a low table with a stack of teacups. A door practically hidden behind the rolls of cloth presumably leads to stairs to the second story.
Phil sees all this through and despite the incessant yapping of a small dog that began the moment he opened the door and stepped inside. A white spotted animal, less than a foot tall, it has large pointed ears, tiny sharp teeth, and a murderous look in its black eyes. It dances eagerly a few feet from the interloper, sending supplicating looks to its mistress to allow it to bite.
The mistress in question don't seem loath to do just that; she makes no hasty moves to call the dog off, in any case. A tall, angular woman, with gray hair styled in a manner in fashion decades ago, she frowns at Phillip's interruption. "Well, young man?" she replies to his greeting in a stentorian tone. "I believe you must surely have mistaken your way. What business could you have in a ladies' establishment?"
Ethel has not yet gotten over her surprise at seeing him and stares at Phil with a mixture of trepidation and excitement.
Malkith nods in agreement and heads back out front. He finds a comfortable spot near the front of the building where he can quickly intercept the sage, should he appear from within, and waits.
Jaelle smiles at Gristav quizzically. "Qadira? That's the other end of the world, isn't it? You've been there?"
"I think Tian Xia is the other end of the world. And I've been there. Qadira, I only know of by texts, and encounters with its people. But I was paying attention. I try to pay attention. There have been rare times, attention was all I could afford to pay. Even rarer times, when I could afford to not. Pay attention, I mean. Here, I'll prove it."
Gristav sets to unknotting the forearmed scarf, with a questioning glance at Jaelle. "With permission?", he asks, not stopping as he flaps the cloth into a broad triangle, then spins it over itself into a belt-with-triangle, "Or, further forgiveness?", he smiles, drawing the new shortened hypotenuse up along her scabbard leg, under the undrawn blade. "This should not be too snug", he instructs, "Because it's purpose is to move, to slide against itself..." Adjusting the center trine under the scimitar's mass, Gristav took the belts of fabric around Jaelle to either side, about her waist. At the close approach this required, he smiled at her. With each belt passed to the other hand, he withdrew, bringing the ends together over the triangle. "You might use a knot of your own, but I'm going to tie one of theirs. It may be less secure, but there's no real burden on the cloth, and theirs holds well, but can be pulled free quickly..."
The odd knot now tied, Gris adjusts the lay of the fabric. "The knot accounts for the narrowing of the cloth, by doubling the ends, so it's a more constant thickness for..." She was arching a brow at him. He realized, his hands were on her hips, and wondered, when he'd put them there. "Um..." {Constant thickness, indeed!}, he silently scolded himself, pointedly, reluctantly taking his hands from her. "Ww... We should go to lunch."
"A grand hound, sir.", Gristav observes, in passing, unless replied. "Well-mannered and loyal. Speaks well of his master.""A remarkably intelligent animal, as well," the gnome replies, drawing himself up to his full height on the seat of his chair, in which stance he is still well shorter than Gristav. "Well met, stranger. My lady." He performs a deep bow to Jaelle which almost introduces the top of his head to the griddlecake in his plate.
"I am Gristav, sir. The lady is Jaelle, to whom I owe a lunch, and an apology. And judging by previous, will owe another by the end. Only true grace, can suffer me, for long. Good to have met you...?"
Entering the opened door just ahead of Jaelle, Gristav casually defines a space for her with the length of his staff, as he turns about in search of the sense of the place, and a server. "Grimas recommends you.", he says happily to the first such he sees. "Are we too late for a lunch?"
The interior of the tavern is pleasantly dim and inviting upon stepping out of the hot afternoon sunshine. A square bar in the center of the low-ceilinged room encloses a stout and balding tender. There are tables and chairs arranged around its perimeter and then an outer ring of cozy booths against the wall offering privacy for their inhabitants; some few of these are still in use for those who have the luxury to linger over their lunches.
"Never too late until the sun's down," the barkeep responds to Gristav's hail cheerily. "My wife will be right with you. Quinta!" he shouts. "New guests! Can I offer you a drink before you're seated?" he asks politely.
"We're unhurried. Please, be unharried. The fare is to be the lady's choice, and my debt. If you've crow and humble pie, I favor it with mead.", Gristav jokes.
Daynadrian frowns. "Well, no reason we can't go in and see what he might have left behind. Go back to the front, just in case we flush him out. We'll let you in when we get down there." He runs nimbly up the steps to the open doorway to inform Braddon. "La viziisto diras ke li estas jam irita. Certiĝu li ne estas supren, kaj ni vidos se li postlasis ion kulpigan." Dayn shuts the door behind him and nods to the half-elf to open the secret door, an arrow on his bowstring.
"Hide where?" Braddon sweeps his sword about the empty room. He opens the cupboard to show Dayn inside, pokes under the bed, then finally opens the secret door. Sword first, he enters the passage and makes his way downstairs to admit Malkith.
When Braddon opens the hidden door, it is immediately evident that the attic storage has been tampered with since the party left it this morning. The boxes have been rearranged, and several have been opened, their lids leaning askew beside them, sharp ends of tacks protruding from the underside.
Dayn unleashes a litany of Elvish curses. "We should have investigated what was stored up here before he had a chance to remove it. Don't suppose there's any way to figure out what he bothered to unpack and take with him." He continues down the stairs, opens the door at their foot carefully, and takes a look around before crossing to the front door to let Malkith in. "Looks like he's taken some things from upstairs," he says quietly to the Harrower as he enters. "Have a look around and see if anything down here stands out as being missing."
Outside the Three Billed Duck, the gnome reciprocates Gristav's introduction. "Natinilinus Greatreave, at your service," he replies with dignity. "My associate, Sludge." He gestures to the dog which, despite its master's assurances of its intelligence, seems more interested in the uneaten portion of griddlecake on the table than the strangers. "Investigators. We find, and we find out. If it is your intent to dine here, may I recommend the griddlecake? It is a heady recipe, redolent of freshly mown grass with an aftertaste of raspberry and tobacco." Having delivered his recommendation, he scrambles back down into a seated position and readdresses himself to his meal, cutting off a portion of griddlecake and tossing it carelessly over the railing to the dog, which snatches the morsel out of the air expertly.
"Bravo!", Gristav lauds at the airborne alimentary addressing of the dextrous destrier dog. "Do, please, leave an address with the host. We might have business. But this-", Gristav gestures Jaelle toward the open door, "- is pleasure."
Inside the Three Billed Duck, Jaelle accepts a drink from the bartender, gives Gristav a glance, and then slides into one of the booths. Walls of dark wood divide one from another, maximizing privacy but minimizing light from the front windows; a small oil lamp on each table provides a north star, all Gristav's eyes need to see, but Jaelle turns the knob to adjust the wick and cast a broader circle of light.
The pair have barely seated themselves when a heavyset woman emerges from what must be the kitchen door. Her smooth black hair is pinned up neatly beneath a crisply starched bonnet, and she wears a spotless apron over an ample dress of blue. "Welcome to the Three Billed Duck," she smiles at Gristav. "You've not been in here before, I don't believe; I never forget a handsome face."
"She is rather fetching, isn't she?", Gristav replies, grinning, pointing out Jaelle with his eyes and posture. "And wreathed in warm light... It will be as if we had our own small fire, huddled against the howling winds, camped on some far trail, sharing a meager... (What's the special?)", he asked in an aside, of the hostess.
"Beef", came the answer.
Chuckling at the incongruity, he soldiers on, "... beef, we had managed to trap in our snares. A tiny, hapless... beef, tragically... trapped, but gratefully taken. The only choice, really. Would it be enough to sustain the travelers, against privation, against storm?"
Breathing a low storm-howl whistle, Gristav settles into the booth, giving a puzzled look and gesture to the booth's beacon. "I brought more wood for the fire.", he says, hefting his staff.
Dayn unleashes a litany of Elvish curses. "We should have investigated what was stored up here before he had a chance to remove it. Don't suppose there's any way to figure out what he bothered to unpack and take with him." He continues down the stairs, opens the door at their foot carefully, and takes a look around before crossing to the front door to let Malkith in. "Looks like he's taken some things from upstairs," he says quietly to the Harrower as he enters. "Have a look around and see if anything down here stands out as being missing."
"I thought we did check that corridor out." Braddon shrugs. "Well, he wasn't carrying anything large when he left. Probably just gold. He only had half an hour after Malkith and Gristav left. I figured in that time he wrote his little letter. And it's not like we don't know where he's going. In fact, he's probably still at the docks waiting for his ship to sail. And he may be waiting a while after that tidal wave thing. Shall we catch ourselves a boat?"
Phil sees all this through and despite the incessant yapping of a small dog that began the moment he opened the door and stepped inside. A white spotted animal, less than a foot tall, it has large pointed ears, tiny sharp teeth, and a murderous look in its black eyes. It dances eagerly a few feet from the interloper, sending supplicating looks to its mistress to allow it to bite.
The dog is noted, and Phil in a moment understands Ethel's disdain at the mutt. Not today... but perhaps another...
The mistress in question don't seem loath to do just that; she makes no hasty moves to call the dog off, in any case. A tall, angular woman, with gray hair styled in a manner in fashion decades ago, she frowns at Phillip's interruption. "Well, young man?" she replies to his greeting in a stentorian tone. "I believe you must surely have mistaken your way. What business could you have in a ladies' establishment?"
Ethel has not yet gotten over her surprise at seeing him and stares at Phil with a mixture of trepidation and excitement.
Raising an eyebrow at Betta Phillip puts a confused facade upon his face and answers "You had me concerned until the last, though confirmation gives me some hope. Though your surprise still surprises, you mean to tell me that in all your experience you've never entertained a man seeking to commission an outfit for their paramour without their knowledge or discovery?"
Shaking his head and sighing with feigned disappointment "If the prospect offends then I apologize... perhaps you might better recommend a seamstress that might accept my coin?"
"Handsome...", Gristav says to Jaelle as if repeating a joke. "Please.", he demurs, revealing a clear understanding of the hostess' praise. "I'm far from the prettiest man in Riddleport. Or, not that far. I actually could arrange an introduction.", he says brightly.
"Well, he wasn't carrying anything large when he left. Probably just gold. He only had half an hour after Malkith and Gristav left. I figured in that time he wrote his little letter. And it's not like we don't know where he's going. In fact, he's probably still at the docks waiting for his ship to sail. And he may be waiting a while after that tidal wave thing. Shall we catch ourselves a boat?"
Daynadrian's dour expression betrays that he wasn't looking forward to returning to the harbor right away after his experience of the morning. "Suppose we ought to go ask around, at least, see if he's booked passage and if the ship's left yet. Should we bring Malkith and Samaritha with us or let them stay here and see if they can uncover any clues?" He glances at the Harrower and goes on in the elven tongue. "Weatherby scias Malkith. Se li estas en la risortoj kaj vidas lin antaŭ ol ni vidos lin, li iros en kaŝejo. Kaj mi ne certas mi estas komforta prenante Samaritha en tia malglata kvartalo. Ili povis ambaŭ esti pasivaj."
As the proprietress retreats to the kitchen to have their meal prepared, Jaelle arches a brow at Gristav. "The frozen north gambit might have been more effective were it not high summer outside," she suggests, not unkindly. "You could even have suggested we huddle closely together for warmth."
Raising an eyebrow at Betta Phillip puts a confused facade upon his face and answers "You had me concerned until the last, though confirmation gives me some hope. Though your surprise still surprises, you mean to tell me that in all your experience you've never entertained a man seeking to commission an outfit for their paramour without their knowledge or discovery?"
Ethel's eyes widen as Phillip reveals his intentions, and she chokes a giggle into a demure cough as her employer's gaze turns on her. "I must admit I have not, young man," Betta answers sternly. "It has been my experience that respectable gentlewomen prefer exercising their own tastes rather than having their wardrobe dictated by any man of their acquaintance. How, pray tell, am I to cut a garment to a person whose measurements I cannot take? Or do you mean to surprise your lady-friend with a dress which doesn't fit properly?"
As the proprietress retreats to the kitchen to have their meal prepared, Jaelle arches a brow at Gristav. "The frozen north gambit might have been more effective were it not high summer outside," she suggests, not unkindly. "You could even have suggested we huddle closely together for warmth."
"I'll have to remember your leave to make such suggestion.", Gristav smiles. "But the nonsense was never intended to be taken seriously, only as a whimsy to serve with the willful deflecton of her praise toward you, to both inform her of your place in the center of my attentions and to respond to the... but I suppose it's darker here, for you... That hadn't occurred to me. Light enough to see, yes. And space enough to talk?"
"You'll ask for a name, more than I've given so far. And I'll relate how more than was given, I cannot know. How even what's given, is false as false is measured for names, but true as truth is measured for intent. I've a friend of years, he can confirm I've always been 'Gristav' to him. But who I was to she who bore me, or he who made me, I cannot say. I've had a full and proper-sounding name given me, and answered to it for a time, but it was a lie, and as unworthy as the world for which it was crafted. For which I was being crafted. I've left both behind."
"What other questions? You are owed answers. Will you gauge my threat to your ship's secret? I'll say, I am none. I'm intrigued to wear at the secret, but not to war on the ship. Others, demonstrably less restrained, promise that path will be interesting. Would you measure my sanity? I will say, as well as I might see from inside this pot, it is uncrazed. I'll grant fae folly might make a masque of madness, but wheels of wit and will remain, rolling in their rounds...", Gristav traced turns of conceptual clockworks, as he said this last.
"Perhaps you question my designs upon you. In truth, I have none, though making mandalas of mendhi, perhaps while huddling for warmth, is not an image I shall drive from my mind. But that... shore, that moment, that place, is not my current course. One cannot set a course, until one has more of a map."
Daynadrian's dour expression betrays that he wasn't looking forward to returning to the harbor right away after his experience of the morning. "Suppose we ought to go ask around, at least, see if he's booked passage and if the ship's left yet. Should we bring Malkith and Samaritha with us or let them stay here and see if they can uncover any clues?" He glances at the Harrower and goes on in the elven tongue. "Weatherby scias Malkith. Se li estas en la risortoj kaj vidas lin antaŭ ol ni vidos lin, li iros en kaŝejo. Kaj mi ne certas mi estas komforta prenante Samaritha en tia malglata kvartalo. Ili povis ambaŭ esti pasivaj."
"I hate it when they talk Varisian in front of us. Don't do it to them. I'm happy to talk Elvish at other times. I'm fluent but need the practice. Growing up in a human city I'm slightly better at the common tongue."
Braddon turns to Malkith. "He says you and Sam are liabilities."Braddon quickly goes on before any shouting starts. "I figure Weatherby saw the harbour master to deliver that letter and book passage. That desk was probably loaded with gold. No wonder it was so heavy. But there can't be that many ships leaving straight to that destination right now. Especially after that wave thing smashed half of them up. So he's either gone home to pack, or he's hanging about the docks waiting for his ship to sail. Which should give us time to find the best ship for him and ambush him. He may recognise Malkith, but Malkith can keep his hood up, and it'd mean we could see him too. And Sam was safe here for weeks before we arrived. She'll be fine. I'll look after her."
Braddon grins and turn to the others. "I don't think this stuff will go anywhere. Up to you guys."
Ethel's eyes widen as Phillip reveals his intentions, and she chokes a giggle into a demure cough as her employer's gaze turns on her. "I must admit I have not, young man," Betta answers sternly. "It has been my experience that respectable gentlewomen prefer exercising their own tastes rather than having their wardrobe dictated by any man of their acquaintance. How, pray tell, am I to cut a garment to a person whose measurements I cannot take? Or do you mean to surprise your lady-friend with a dress which doesn't fit properly?"
Phillip looks positively taken aback at the statement, before scratching his head with consternation "Well... now that you mention it... no, I suppose the thought hadn't reached that far." looking about somewhat exasperated before having a lightbulb moment "That is distressing... I had hoped... but wait, I've just had an idea." extending a hand towards Ethel and smiling "Miss, would you mind stepping forward a little."
Looking over her with no lascivious intent and purely mechanical consideration "Come to think she looks to be about the same size as your lovely assistant. Might we not be able to use her as a form guide of some kind? I know it might not be perfect, but I think that could work."
Braddon turns to Malkith. "He says you and Sam are liabilities."
Daynadrian shoots Braddon a quick frown before turning to see Malkith's reaction, with a defensive look on his face.
Jaelle lets Gristav's flood of words flow around her like the Cloud weathering the swell in the harbor. "There's a quarter hour's worth of conversation covered in two minutes," she remarks, unperturbed. "Now that you've asked and answered all the questions I might have thought of, must we sit in silence until our lunch is done? Or should we ask to have it boxed to take it away with us?"