Phillip listens but does not speak to the poison or vials. He continues to wait for the room to be mostly emptied before speaking to Saul.
"Why retain emptied tubes? Why not a fire, a public privy, a bush beside a trail, a faint splash behind a boat under way? This Lil looks less of either guilty or clever, every time we turn another track."
Saul shrugs. "Lil gets by on her looks, but no one's ever accused her of being a genius. Smarter to take them with her than to leave them at the scene, after all. If things had gone as she presumably planned, an overprotected girl sneaks out for a night on the town, the governess absconds with the jewelry, and there's no evidence anything fishy went on at all. It's only because I hired on extra help for the opening that Oliver was caught in the act."
"I'll go along to Lubbertown in the morning too, if you don't mind," Daynadrian puts in with a hard glance at Tendal. "Just in case Thuvalia runs into any old acquaintances."
"I'll join them as well," Samaritha decides. Off Daynadrian's surprised glance, she points out, "You don't speak Varisian, do you? How will you know if she's hiring musicians or arranging another inside job?" Feeling Malkith's gaze, she looks his way; when he and Braddon get up to go downstairs, she excuses herself too and joins them.
"Quite the little party we'll make," Tendal remarks dryly. "Remind me to pack cucumber sandwiches. If there's nothing else, sir, I'll retire also. A rested mind is a ready mind."
"I'll walk down with you and get these vials locked safely away. Gentlemen," he addresses Phil and Gristav as he takes the vials and pushes back his chair, "feel free to finish your nightcaps."
Gristav rises with Samaritha, but does not follow, some detail or set of details of the case orbiting in his mind like pottery shards. Pottery...
Regaining the real world at Saul's exit, Gristav sweeps a hand to gather the abandoned bowls, leaving in place any that seemed near to Phillip, as he couldn't really remember if one had been the halfling's. Looking into the crock, Gristav offered, "Last of the stew, before I banish it? It wouldn't be worthy in the morning. I could have it steaming, in a moment?"
Half in demonstration, and half in efficiency, Gristav set to cleaning the other bowls and silver, leaving 'Phillip's' bowl for last.
Phillip lingers in the meeting room, finishing his glass of wine and claiming no ownership over any stewbowl - having not eaten during the late night impromptu meeting. He shakes his head at Gristav's question.
Phillip lingers in the meeting room, finishing his glass of wine and claiming no ownership over any stewbowl - having not eaten during the late night impromptu meeting. He shakes his head at Gristav's question.
"Probably too late. Still, had to try." Gristav puts the bowls and silver into the crock, and carries the lot to the kitchen. Everything is cleaned and put away before he goes to his room.
Braddon smiles sleepily to himself as Samaritha follows him and Malkith down the stairs.
"See Sam. You're a great part of the team. You're all over that clever thing. This outfit needs brains like yours."
Braddon heads towards his room, his bed calling him.
"Indeed," Malkith agrees as they walk, "You have more worth that you give yourself credit for."
She scoffs. "It doesn't take a great deal of cleverness to out-think that gizarte eskalatzaile. I'd do it for the simple pleasure of ruining her plans, even if Mr. Vankaskerkin weren't paying me." She pauses in the hallway before they enter their rooms. "Good night," she wishes the two of them.
Downstairs, after tidying up the kitchen, Gristav begins to cross the floor toward Desna's shrine and the residence hall beyond when a light suddenly glints from the area of the cashier's cage: Saul, Larur, and Bojasc are emerging from a door across from Larur's office, Bojasc carrying a lamp.
Everyone finally having cleared the room, you are left alone in the dining room at last to swirl Saul's table wine in your glass: not your first choice for a nightcap, but passable as the accompaniment to a homely supper. After some time, you hear the sound of footsteps coming back up the stairs; Saul enters the sitting room, closely followed by Bojasc carrying a lamp.
"Ah, Master Hargreaves," Saul says with some surprise. "Still nursing that wine? Can I offer you something a little stronger?"
Downstairs, after tidying up the kitchen, Gristav begins to cross the floor toward Desna's shrine and the residence hall beyond when a light suddenly glints from the area of the cashier's cage: Saul, Larur, and Bojasc are emerging from a door across from Larur's office, Bojasc carrying a lamp.
"Irrational of me to imagine any other understood my reference...", Gris says to his old friend, catching him at the door. "...as so few folk travel in such circles, and only you knew of the particular pastry..." Sniffing and looking about, Gristav asks, "What odds on pie at breakfast?", and smiles at Larur.
"I've a thought to look into it after the delivery's seen to..." pausing to see if Saul endorses the interest.
Smirking, Gristav heads for his room.
To the other question Phillip shrugs "You showed no less paucity of wisdom than when you decided I was worth hiring just because I didn't want to get trampled." pausing to swirl the dregs of his wine around in glass before cautiously continuing "If he's an inside man... he's either very good or pathetically bad at it."
"I'd be more concerned with loyalty... Mine is bought, but he might be like Larur's man... a pretender that it's not the basest instincts that drive us all." eyes moving to Bojasc for a few moments as the last of his glass is drained "The Gold Goblin is a casino first, no? Too many moral men might make it hard to keep profit high where it should be."
Rising to run a hand through his hair, Phillip gives a short bow "At any rate, questions will be asked... and if any are answered then I will speak to you of them." and makes to leave unless called back.
Working swiftly, Phillip stands at the back door first looking outwards towards the nearby buildings still shrouded in the silvery light of the moon. His eyes narrow as he re-examines the nearby area for anything that catches it - as well as for any locations where those meaning fair or foul intentions might conceal themselves. Once complete looking out, Phil makes a swift circuit to look inward from those vantages, keeping eyes open for anything out of order... vagrants that had been moved on, boards removed and replaced recently, any businesses that were likely to rise with the dawn. Finally, once complete at the back door - Phillip moves to the front door to repeat his due diligence.
Work done... he considers making an early trip to the docks... but wards himself against it. Instead he moves back within the Goblin and unto his bed - spending a few hours comfortably entwined... before rising prior to the dawn.
Slipping in and out of his room without waking Ethel, Phillip finds himself out back in the alley where Volo and his men bled and died a few nights ago. The rain has subsided to a thick mist, which is somewhat less damp but no more conducive to night visibility. The streetlamps on the road to the north seem very dim and far away.
The buildings directly across the alley are boarded-up warehouses. If they contain squatters, they are holed up deep within against the damp tonight; Phil can find no sign of them nor any evidence that they've been recently tampered with.
Circling around to the front gate, he glances across the cobblestoned courtyard to the casino. A quartet of horses nicker out of the mist. The courtyard itself is open, the oversized goblin statue providing the only possibility of cover, and it doesn't strike him as a particularly good hiding place. The structures to the south are warehouses connected with the wharves; still in use, unlike those along the riverfront, flickers of light attest to a watch being kept. Depending on where the ship is berthed, the delivery will undoubtedly come either past Cas Casynsik's warehouse by the mouth of the river or by the road south of Zincher's Arena.
By the time he is back inside the kitchen door of the Gold Goblin, Phil's hair and clothing are once again damp, if not dripping as they were when he came in out of the rain. It is a relief to return to his room and drape his second set of clothing alongside his first to dry before achieving some well-deserved and long-delayed rest.
Even before the sun rises on a new month, several members of the Gold Goblin's staff are up and about themselves on various items of business. The rain has stopped sometime during the night, but the sky is still thickly overcast, an occasional low grumble of thunder sounding in the distance.
Once the world turns and Oathday arrives, Phillip rises early to put on still damp cloth and armor. Ethel is gently roused to explain "I need be away a while, I should be back afore breakfast... but if not, don't worry for me." giving her half-awake form a kiss on the forehead before making his way out of the room, and out of the Goblin proper.
Waking sharply, Snake bolts upright as he quickly looks around. "Must've dozed off," he says to himself, as if that's odd. Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, he quickly snaps his head to one side and then the other, cracking his neck. "Alright, Luck, show me what I got going today." He turns and looks to his mongoose as it has already made its way over near him. As Snake narrows his eyes, he stares into the mongoose's own. Moments later, Snake's eyes suddenly go wide. Different images attack his mind, the movement of his eyes the only tell that suggests something's happening from within. While many images are seen, only a few are distinctively clear. After what feels like an eternity, the tall man shakes his head as if to wake himself. "Don't know if I'll ever get used to that, friend," he tells his tiny companion as he strokes him from his head to his back. "Alright, time to get moving." Rising from the bed, Snake moves to gather his coat and hat, placing them on before gathering the rest of his stuff. "Alright, Luck, time to get in. I know, I know, you don't like it. I'll fix that today, I promise you. Just do it for now." Obviously not pleased, Lucky relents and finds himself hiding within the pack. "Alright, let's...," he stops, a questioning look about him. "I wonder if I've overslept?" Shrugging it off, "One way to find out. Let's go." With that, Snake places the pack on and heads out to breakfast, barring he's not too late.
Phillip lets himself out the back door and starts toward the Wharf District with a glance up at the sky. The previous evening's rain has made the morning rather almost chilly, but if the clouds burn off, it seems clear that the day will quickly become humid. In the pre-dawn, the city is almost as dark as night, but lamps are lit all along the wharf, making his goal clearly visible between the dark warehouses. He can hear voices calling to one another and footsteps echoing up and down the pier; clearly, the workers of the Wharf District arise even earlier than he, or haven't yet slept.
As he approaches the waterfront, he can see the round stone tower at the mouth of the river, its door open and spilling lamplight out into the darkness. Some half-hearted revelry is still perceptible in a few of the taverns, though most of the patrons visible through the windows look sullenly exhausted. In addition to the lamps along the wharf, lanterns hang from the prows and masts of several ships which appear to be in the process either of loading or unloading cargo and crew.
Malkith is meditating over his cards, and Braddon is deep in troubled dreams about green, glowing pirates when each hears a rap at his door. "I'd imagine our guest might be feeling communicative by now," Dayn greets them. "If we go have a chat with him now, we might use the promise of a bit of breakfast to loosen his tongue and jog his memory."
Phil embraces the cold, letting it seep through his leathers and sharpen his focus. Making the wharf he nods and moves to the nearest ship and workers, offering a smile and question to the first he finds on the docks "Hei lads, where's the Poison Pearl at berth?" before tipping his imaginary hat.
If the location of the vessel is given unto him, Phillip prowls along the shore-front towards it - keeping to the building side of the docks for the moment and assessing the lay of the land...
The sailors look down at Phil curiously. "Pearl's down the harbor a few piers," one replies. "There, you can see the harbormaster's men checking her manifest and collecting the Overlord's fees."
Phil continues quietly toward the knot of men the sailor pointed out: two standing in the light of a lantern examining a sheaf of parchments and four or five others sitting idly on upturned handcarts, awaiting the outcome of the palaver. One appears to be dozing.
Opposite the berthed ship is a tavern whose weatherbeaten sign identifies it as the Saucy Strumpet. One of the front windows is newly boarded-over, undoubtedly a casualty of yesterday's groundswell; the other is grimy but at least transparent and ought to offer a decent prospect of the offloading of the cargo. Smaller windows in a second story might possibly offer a bird's-eye view while also concealing any interested onlooker from reciprocal glances.
----------------------------
Having lain the lines of new spells in his mind like arrows in a quiver, Gristav closes his spellbook and exits his room, heading for the kitchen. As he is closing and locking his door, the door across the corridor opens, and Snake emerges, pack on his back as if he is ready to hit the road once more.
Taking a moment to lean against the front of the Saucy Strumpet under the boarded up window, Phillip raises his hands to face and makes a show of rubbing them together under heated breath to warm them. As he does though, he takes in the faces of the dock-workers - committing to memory their features... and dropping eyes to their bodies to see if weapons or armor is concealed beneath clothing.
After a brief moment spent watching, Phillip slips into the Saucy Strumpet taking in who is lingering there as he walks to the bar and addresses the barkeep "Shot of rum to warm the blood." fishing out some copper for the priviledge.
Malkith is meditating over his cards, and Braddon is deep in troubled dreams about green, glowing pirates when each hears a rap at his door. "I'd imagine our guest might be feeling communicative by now," Dayn greets them. "If we go have a chat with him now, we might use the promise of a bit of breakfast to loosen his tongue and jog his memory."
Braddon starts awake, his hand gripping a dagger under his pillow. He looks around warily, examines his hands then calls through the door.
"Coming."He gathers the many manacles, puts on his new boots and sheaths a dagger inside one before stumbling out into the corridor.
"Sure, let's go," he says though his eyes do seem to be looking past Daynadrian at the door in the corridor opposite his. He follows Daynadrian down the corridor with only a single backwards glance.
Having lain the lines of new spells in his mind like arrows in a quiver, Gristav closes his spellbook and exits his room, heading for the kitchen. As he is closing and locking his door, the door across the corridor opens, and Snake emerges, pack on his back as if he is ready to hit the road once more.
"You'll not want to carry that around while on watches.", Gristav begins. "Well, I should think not. Unless that is the same who, which, again, why carry in a bag? Or... are you, as you appear, taking leave of us?", the halfelf asks with faint sadness.
Aware of the knocking at his door, Malkith concludes his morning meditations. As his eyes flutter open he calls to the elf on the other side, "I will join you momentarily." The harrow finishes collecting his possessions and exits his room in time to see Braddon emerge from his own.
"Do you have any suggestions for effectively interrogating a prisoner?" he inquires, "Admittedly, I don't have personal experience with such activities. That sort of thing was typically left to the caravan's gihar."
"Saul wants us to keep his name out of it," Daynadrian warns as the three walk out of the guest wing, "and not let him know where he's being held: let him think we're working strictly for the Gendarmes or his wife and avoid any plots of revenge he might cook up."
There is no need for visual acuity to spy weapons on these men. Like most in Riddleport, they wear their blades openly at their belts: short knives and daggers, nothing to get in the way of their work. They are also wearing thick leather aprons and gloves to protect them from bumps and bruises while moving heavy objects; the uniform ought to serve as well as leather armor in a fight.
After a brief moment spent watching, Phillip slips into the Saucy Strumpet taking in who is lingering there as he walks to the bar and addresses the barkeep "Shot of rum to warm the blood."
If the woman behind the bar was ever the saucy strumpet advertised, it was thirty years and twice as many pounds ago. She casts a bleary eye over Phil, a somewhat more interested one over his coins, and pours the drink, sliding it across the counter. The other patrons of the establishment include a trio of men throwing dice in a corner, a sailor snoring over a half-finished mug, and a pair of shifty-looking chaps at the bar who stop whispering and dart appraising looks at Phil as he approaches.
Braddon looks between Malkith and Daynadrian.
"We have to get him to want to tell us the information. The less we tell him about ourselves, the more he'll try and guess what we want. I guess we remind him no one will care about his disappearance for some time yet, we'll let him go if he spills everything, and I'll keep kicking him until then."
Braddon smiles grimly.
"Do you talk business? He'll probably understand if we treat it like some kind of deal."
Phillip drains the glass in a single gulp, weighing up what has been seen while the cheap liquor burns through mouth and gullet. Short blades and garbed for the trade... I'd wager they don't mean harm. Just need to watch out for fresh faces then... putting the glass back down on the bar and smoothing his mustache with the same hand And none in here that look fit for trusting... but... as a lantern moment triggers within his mind. He gives himself the slightest nod of his head before wordlessly tipping imaginary hat to the strumpet and making his way back outside.
"You'll not want to carry that around while on watches.", Gristav begins. "Well, I should think not. Unless that is the same who, which, again, why carry in a bag? Or... are you, as you appear, taking leave of us?", the half-elf asks with faint sadness.
Snake looks to Gristav with a raised eyebrow, finding it odd there's an issue with backpacks. "Is this... is this some kinda joke? Something wrong with carrying a pack in this town? It's my pack. I carry things in it; things I don't wanna carry by hand. That's it. Simple as that," he finishes, as he now finds himself lost in thought on the subject. Rubbing his chin as he contemplates the issue, he leaves his reverie and looks back to Gristav, innocently asking, "Doesn't everybody?"
"Do you talk business? He'll probably understand if we treat it like some kind of deal."
"Not I," Daynadrian answers in the negative as they enter the kitchen. He opens a door, revealing a staircase descending beneath the surface, and lights a lamp to carry down with them. "Saul could probably do it, if we weren't keeping him a secret. Here's a question: How do you know when to stop kicking? What if he really doesn't know anything more than he's told us?"
Braddon shifts uncomfortably at Daynadrian's first question, but seizes on the second.
"Of course he knows more. He didn't tell us about the letter. He's got all that stuff stored upstairs. There was a secret door there. He was spying on Lil and probably her clients through that knothole. Great little money spinner that, knowing if someone has used Lil's services. He hasn't explained his accounts with her, or Treeg or anything. And he said a Windward client, and that's where Ananda was. He knows heaps more, even if he doesn't realise it. I'm feeling better this morning so I may go easier on the kicking, but if he wants to smart mouth and act all tough that'll get us nowhere. The sooner he tells us everything, the sooner we let him go. Everyone wins."
Snake looks to Gristav with a raised eyebrow, finding it odd there's an issue with backpacks. "Is this... is this some kinda joke? Something wrong with carrying a pack in this town? It's my pack. I carry things in it; things I don't wanna carry by hand. That's it. Simple as that," he finishes, as he now finds himself lost in thought on the subject. Rubbing his chin as he contemplates the issue, he leaves his reverie and looks back to Gristav, innocently asking, "Doesn't everybody?"
"I hope my jokes are funnier than that. But again, I've been too oblique. It does seem odd, standing and watching, in one's dwelling-place, with one's luggage. Rather suggests the question, does one dwell therein, or is one more in motion? But I suppose you're within rights to carry what and who and how and where you like. Shall I get my own saddlebags, then, make such the uniform of the day? And when we are asked why, we can say they're just terribly comfortable, and we think everyone will be wearing such, in the future?" Gris smiles, sure he's missed some point of Snake's, but hoping he's made his own clear.
Gris does not fetch his saddlebags, instead making his way to the kitchen, scouting for breakfast, or tasks in support of same.
"Let's go easy on the kicking," Malkith suggests to Braddon, "I'd rather not have him fall unconscious again so soon."