Phillip laughs coldly at Grisav's naïveté before looking pointedly again to Saul "It would seem they would place their trust in the same that took your hand Saul..."
"Is that what I said? To me, it seems bloodlust is the same that took his hand. Bloody-minded vengeance, is the fire that burns in your heart, yes? And Lil's? Perhaps. I'd trust your sense of her... intention. But the scribe's? Are you measuring his heart against your own? I don't think that's a fit. His heart against Lil's, or yours. And that's what I was saying."
"But since you've raised the hand, let me point out it was the church that provided that sanction. At least, as the tale was told to me. What might the Abadarites do, I wonder, to avenge the loss of their wayward ram? What would they, put in their balance?"
"You say there's a wife," he addresses Braddon. "Young, pretty? Does she have money?"
"Apparently she doesn't have money. She spends money. Not as pretty as some," his eyes barely dart to Samaritha, "but not a hag either."
"Then she has money," Saul concludes. "There are two reasons a man marries a woman: for her looks or for her money. A smart man marries the first time for money and the second time for looks. Funny thing about a man who marries a wealthy woman," he winks at Braddon. "He starts to feel like it's his money and resent her spending it like it's her own."
"He's an Abadarite, yes? From the armor, and the scales? Then his word might bind him better than our chains, if perhaps less well than Lil's. It's she we fear, I'm told rightly so. Let a part of his parole be proving he's beyond her grasp, if not her reach. Let him provide better and willful details of her plans, or even letters of introduction for us. Let him by those letters put arguable evidences in our hands of his complicity. Evidence held against any future perfidy."
"Former Abadarite," Daynadrian puts in pointedly. "He broke his vows to his temple and his god; why should he keep a promise he makes to us if it looks more beneficial to him to break it?"
"Aye," Saul agrees, "and I particularly wouldn't trust his word to us if he got himself closeted with Lil once again. A woman can wheedle most any concessions out of a man, if she puts her mind to it ... and that's a regular woman, not Lil Scarlet."
"It would seem they would place their trust in the same that took your hand Saul..."
"Is that what I said? To me, it seems bloodlust is the same that took his hand."
"It was being betrayed by a man who was supposed to be working for me that took my hand," Saul puts in harshly, rubbing his arm where the prosthetic fits on his stump and flashing a sullen gaze around the table that seems to take all of them in. "Well," he relents with a self-deprecatory smile, "that or not being satisfied with the crumbs the bosses allowed to fall from their table. There's those who would say it was my own greed took my hand. That's the thing about stories: You can draw any number of morals from them."
Larur has been glowering from the end of the table as the discussion has gone on around him; now, in the momentary silence that fell after Saul's outburst, he speaks up in his ravaged voice, his fierce expression making up for the volume he can't put into his words. "I'm not running a damned prison, Saul," he insists, "nor yet a slaughterhouse. You're using my money to run a casino, not your own ring of criminals."
"No, no, of course not, Larur," Saul soothes the dwarf. "Didn't I say we weren't set up to keep prisoners? We'll figure a way to get him out of here without him ever knowing he was at the Goblin. Let's just worry about getting our wines and spirits delivered first; then we'll set our minds to his disposition. Perhaps we could put him on a ship to Roderic's Cove and tip off Mescher that he might be able to lead him to Lil. The General could easily have him followed in the Cove; it's one of Cromarcky's subsidiaries. We needn't do anything in haste, after all."
"Former Abadarite," Daynadrian puts in pointedly. "He broke his vows to his temple and his god; why should he keep a promise he makes to us if it looks more beneficial to him to break it?"
"He shouldn't. Which is why we should be sure it remain better for him to keep it. My point is only that he may have motivations, or be given motivations, beyond revenge."
With the elders in voice, Gristav took the moment to take a pastry, then a second of dissimilar dressing, onto a plate before him. A repeated gesture bisected each, and a lemniscate swirl of fingers shuffled the breadstuff shells.
At the apparent settling of the discussion, Gristav nodded, and an instant later smirked mischievously. Suddenly, he rushed from the room, leaving the plate behind.
"No rush to deal with him. Everyone knows his left town, few know we're after him and none know we're back. Plenty of time to decide. An earlier release would endear us more than a late one though. Just give me time to ship Lil's bed here."
Phillip allows the argument to fade, especially given that the importance is not primal to the moment... the scribe was to be kept for at least a few days. He nods solemnly as he flippantly adds "I'll keep it in mind that killing is frowned upon... I'll try and limit my lawlessness to breaking and entering, highway robbery, assault, kidnapping, theft, torture and larceny. Those crimes at least seem to have endorsement of both dwarf and man." Phillip's tone with a hint of irony and primarily stated to get a rise out of Larur... as well as deflect perception away from the lone halfling being the sole criminal at the table.
He continues soon after on the topic that Saul preferred talk steered towards "Cargo arrived safely on the Pearl, being attended by a few feckless docksmen that I'd not harbor too much concern over... Billy Dagger and Bellamy, if my short memory serves. They seemed much excited over the prospect of a couple of silver on the sly if they made the delivery easy... so I've hopes for the pair of them. Given where the Pearl's berthed they'll likely be coming up past the Arena and across to us."
"I'd be strongly in favor of taking delivery in the front - much more open space and easier to see trouble coming. Too many derelicts and alleys out back where bastards could either hide or come up on us close." draining the last of his coffee and putting the cup back on the table, retrieving his drawn dagger in the same motion "Least... that's how it looks to me."
Snake remains quiet as he listens to the conversation at hand, not really knowing what or who it is they speak of. Don't know what this guy has done to these people, but it must be real bad to have him chained up and Raccoon offering to kill him. Or maybe he's was offering his blade for someone else to. Either way, doesn't matter. Just putting it out there leads me to believe he'd have no qualms of going through with it himself. I'm gonna have to stay alert when that one's around. Although, I'd wager more so when he's not.
At the apparent settling of the discussion, Gristav nodded, and an instant later smirked mischievously. Suddenly, he rushed from the room, leaving the plate behind.
True to his expectations, Thuvalia has paused in the doorway from the upstairs corridor. As he hurries into the sitting room, she offers him an insincere smirk and saunters in, as if he had merely caught her in the act of walking over the threshold.
"Just give me time to ship Lil's bed here."
Samaritha gives him a quizzical look askance. "What do you intend to do with Lil's bed?" she asks.
"Cargo arrived safely on the Pearl, being attended by a few feckless docksmen that I'd not harbor too much concern over... Billy Dagger and Bellamy, if my short memory serves. They seemed much excited over the prospect of a couple of silver on the sly if they made the delivery easy... so I've hopes for the pair of them. Given where the Pearl's berthed they'll likely be coming up past the Arena and across to us."
"I'd be strongly in favor of taking delivery in the front - much more open space and easier to see trouble coming. Too many derelicts and alleys out back where bastards could either hide or come up on us close." draining the last of his coffee and putting the cup back on the table, retrieving his drawn dagger in the same motion "Least... that's how it looks to me."
Saul laughs, glancing at Phil with surprise and respect. "Now, see, Larur, there's some initiative taken. That's the kind of information that earns our coin fairly. Billy Dagger's a decent sort, if none too bright. I don't know much of Bellamy, but if one of them's taking money under the table to sabotage us somehow, it'll be him; no one would pay Billy Dagger to do something subtle and believe he'd do it right."
"And, aye, I prefer them coming in the front doors as well. Easier to keep an eye on them the whole way on the floor than through the back corridors. I know they're new carpets, Larur, but I'd rather clean up muddy footprints than worry about surreptitious mischief."
"The carpets are easily cleaned by application of a simple cantrip, sir," Tendal puts in. "The work is tedious but not taxing. Between the two of us, I believe Samaritha and I should be able to handle any incidental soiling." He glances at Samaritha, taking her concurrence for granted.
Samaritha gives him a quizzical look askance. "What do you intend to do with Lil's bed?" she asks.
Malkith looks directly at Braddon as he replies her question, "I think the question is 'what does he want to do in her bed?' I, for one, don't need to know the answer to that."
He listens as the others contribute to the conversation, weighing the merits and flaws of their comments silently in his head. By the time Saul brings the discussion of Weatherby's fate to a recess, Malkith is almost glad to move on to a new topic. "When is the delivery due to arrive at the door?"
At the apparent settling of the discussion, Gristav nodded, and an instant later smirked mischievously. Suddenly, he rushed from the room, leaving the plate behind.True to his expectations, Thuvalia has paused in the doorway from the upstairs corridor. As he hurries into the sitting room, she offers him an insincere smirk and saunters in, as if he had merely caught her in the act of walking over the threshold.
Laughing gently, Gristav cautioned, "Careful, e'er you trip across a knee. Or blade.", his tone dropping at the last. "But brightly", he added with a smile, "There's no blade to stumble on, today..." Stopping at sight of Phillip's cheshire knife, Gris shrugged, and took up the plate he'd prepared, turning again to Thuvalia.
"I'd saved you a portion, and shared both between us. You're welcome, I want you to know, to what's fair...", he said, holding the plate forth, with a soft hope, but a firm grip.
Braddon looks to Phil. "Good info. Who's been doing all that other stuff? I've been busy so I dunno much. I suppose we kidnapped the scribe, but does it count if we let him go. And Lil doesn't need that huge bed anymore. It'd be worth a fortune and we don't want it going to waste." He grins.
He turns to Saul and the others. "I'm happy to do door duty or something, or is that for those orcish thugs you had the other night?"
Shrugging at Malkith's question of timing "Men don't seem to hold any real schedule... but I'd wager they'll be along not soon after we're finished here."
"Aye, there's no promise when they'll show up," Saul concurs, "but as the quicker they make their deliveries, the sooner they'll be free to do as they please before they have to report back to Depuy, they tend to be expeditious. Larur, you want to go down and unbar the doors?"
"I'm happy to do door duty or something, or is that for those orcish thugs you had the other night?"
"Who? Croat's boys? I hired them on for security for opening night; it's just us here today. You're a strong lad, though; why don't you go down and help Larur take the bar off the front doors?"
Larur is halfway to the door already. "Can handle it on my own," he grumbles. "I'm not an invalid."
"Of course you're not, Larur," Saul replies cheerfully. "But why do something alone when you're paying men so handsomely to work for you, eh?"
"I'd saved you a portion, and shared both between us. You're welcome, I want you to know, to what's fair...", he said, holding the plate forth, with a soft hope, but a firm grip.
"Oh ... 'what's fair,'" she repeats dryly. "The crumbs from the table, the leavings no one else wanted, in exchange for my servitude?" She snatches a pastry from the plate. "This new prisoner of yours: Does he dance? Why not set him to entertain as a condition of his release, as you did me?"
Taking Larur's exit as invitation enough, Phillip slips from the bolstered chair and unto the floor. Thuvalia's arrival and caustic words give him a smirk as he slips past her and out. A short visit downstairs to his room retrieves his crossbow, before he moves to join Larur at the front doors...
Though Phillip has no interest in assisting the dwarf unbar - instead he seeks a chair to drag across to the entrance such that he can await recumbent for the delivery.
"I'd saved you a portion, and shared both between us. You're welcome, I want you to know, to what's fair...", he said, holding the plate forth, with a soft hope, but a firm grip."Oh ... 'what's fair,'" she repeats dryly. "The crumbs from the table, the leavings no one else wanted, in exchange for my servitude?" She snatches a pastry from the plate. "This new prisoner of yours: Does he dance? Why not set him to entertain as a condition of his release, as you did me?"
"That wasn't me, mind... but I'll hazard a guess: You're prettier. And I'm not offering leavings, but half of what I wanted, and half of what I thought you'd want. Here, have it all, and the effort and goodwill of the attempt." Gristav leaves after Larur, saying, apparently to himself, "You know you will have to try again..."
Snake grins at Thuvalia's sarcastic comments. She's fiery. There's a trait you've got to appreciate. Rising from his seat, "What's my part that I'm to play in all this, Saul? I do have a pretty good eye to notice things; most of the time anyway. Some type of watch, maybe?" He then retrieves his staff and supports the end of it against the floor. "Or am I to beat some heads in if something terribly goes wrong? Of course, I'm not much of a fighter."
"Watching for trouble and hoping to find none," Saul replies. "If there is trouble, that'll be the time for beating heads in, but if all goes well, we're just replenishing the bar for our next opening."
Malkith glares at Thuvalia from across the room. How does she know about the scribe? Aloud he says, "I shall be down stairs awaiting the delivery." With a solemn nod of his head, he makes for the door and turns in the direction of the stairs. Already his hand is fingering the pouch containing his deck of cards.
As Malkith takes his leave, "Yeah, me too." He then pushes his chair in and turns to the women. "Ladies." The stranger tips his hat to them both and then makes his way to the main room as well.
As he makes his way out the door, "Alright, Luck, in you go. Can't have anyone seeing you that's not part of this." The mongoose reluctantly complies and makes his way within the pack, his face the only part of him that can now be seen.
Braddon fills both his hands with food but stops next to Samaritha. "If you want the bed, you're welcome to it. It's huge and could easily fit a couple of people."
He grins and takes off with Larur, using the journey to the doors to empty his hands.
"I ... no, thank you," Samaritha manages to stammer to Braddon's offer. As the others begin to depart the dining room, she gets to her feet, carrying her cup of tea with her. "I'll come down with you," she offers quickly.
Thuvalia, in contrast, saunters to the table and takes a seat, seemingly settling in for a leisurely breakfast.
Larur, Braddon, Malkith, Gristav, Phillip, Snake, and Samaritha head down the stairs and out onto the floor. Braddon helps the dwarf lift the heavy bar off the double doors and pull them open; the new floor covering is less bunchy than the old, so the doors swing somewhat more easily than they used to over the floor, although Larur urges Braddon to be slow and cautious lest the carpet catch on a corner and unravel.
Malkith takes a seat at one of the golem tables where he can see both the front entrance and the bar, shuffling cards of a more divinatory nature than are usually dealt on its surface. Having retrieved his crossbow, Phil selects his vantage point as well.
Samaritha steps out onto the veranda once the doors open and surveys the iron-gray overcast of the skies. The horses in the courtyard nicker; they've stretched to the end of their tethers after what weeds and tufts of grass are growing up between the cobblestones. "Poor things," she says. "I'll return them to the stable, shall I? If we won't be heading up to Lubbertown until after the delivery's arrived, I should have time."
"If you're waiting on the Sczarni moll," Larur growls, "you likely won't be underway until afternoon. Go ahead, lass; I'll let them know where you've gone, and they can go find you on their way out of town if they're ready to go before you're returned."
Phillip pulls a chair to just outside the threshold of the opened front doors. Putting it with back to wood, he sits upon it with crossbow across his lap, though not yet drawn back or loaded.
Snake takes a seat at the bar, his back up against it so he's able to see the front door. This seems a bit much for a simple delivery. They act like it's a barrel of platinum their receiving. Oh well, as long as it pays what do I care.
More or less following Larur (and Samaritha), Gristav catches most of the discussion of the disposition of the horses. "If you are shown associated with the pursuit...", he says, intending Samaritha, "We had best continue with our intention to de-motivate any avenging investigation."
Informed Samaritha had already been present to be associated, Gristav reprises in surprise, "Oh? Well, we might brush and water them, then. Will you be returning the horse you didn't rent? With what explanation?"
"Returning the horses is a good idea, though it does tell the stable master that we're back with the scribe. And the man took absolutely no convincing to tell us where the scribe had gone. But since it's my gold, the sooner back the better. Watch out for the dark bay horse with black hooves. She was glowing green last night. Don't tell the stable master that though. I want all my money back." Braddon grins, the horror of the previous night seemingly just a distant memory.
"It does seem to me a skilled twister of stories might find some conflation of the green and the red, of how it was the scribe selected, the scribe taken, and all we found was the horse. I can't pretend to such talent for spinning, I only see the twists in life's skein. But I'm sure there's such under our roof. Or would be, if Phillip leaned back a bit." At this last, Gristav smiled at Phillip at his post in the doorway.
"It does seem rather we've not yet decided what's to be our story. You ought at least consult with your experts. And I wouldn't fret the costs, counted in coins, over any counted in tears."
"Will you be returning the horse you didn't rent? With what explanation?"
"They told the stableman they were trying to catch Mr. Weatherby on urgent business," she shrugs. "I'll simply say that they succeeded in catching up to him and he went with them to deal with the matter as quickly as possible, leaving me to return all the horses."
Samaritha leads the horses away back toward the stable on the edge of town. They follow her eagerly, in the hopes of returning to feed and shelter.
After she disappears from view, the men have nothing to do but to wait. The smudge behind the clouds that is the sun climbs a few degrees higher above the eastern ridge, and its glow becomes brighter, seemingly determined to burn through the clouds eventually. Malkith sits at his table, laying Harrow cards out in a grid.
First, the past: the Midwife speaks positively of new arrivals. You glance across the room at the man who calls himself "Snake" leaning against the bar. The Empty Throne and the Locksmith carry a more ambiguous meaning of both loss and opportunity.
The cards dealing with the present continue the theme of events being unsettled and liable to upheaval: The Peacock and the Eclipse speak of shifting motivations and purposes. More ominously, the Unicorn misaligned in the bottom row warns that some of those you now consider friends are untrustworthy. Your eyes flicker back to Snake, but the Midwife vouched for him; besides, he is still too much a stranger for you to have grown to trust him yet.
Finally, you flip over the cards in the column which tells what is to come. It is not a comforting message. The best the Fates have to offer is the Fiend misaligned in the top row, promising ultimate survival but only through seeming calamity. The Beating warns that you will be under attack from multiple foes, and most hauntingly, the Survivor misaligned foretells tragic news and profound loss.
After a while, Saul, Bojasc, and Tendal come downstairs to wait with you. At last two men pushing handcarts come into view at the entrance to the courtyard; one cart is heavily loaded while the other carries only a few crates. Phil recognizes the two men as Billy Dagger and Bellamy; Billy with his scar is the one pushing the fullest cart, while Bellamy is having an easier time with his lighter burden.
"Ahoy, the Gold Goblin," Bellamy cries. "Cargo from the Poison Pearl."
"Aye," Saul calls back pleasantly, "we've been expecting you. If you'll carry it up the front steps and set it near the bar over there," he requests, "and mind the carpet; it's newly laid."
Bojasc glowers from over his employer's shoulder, the hostile counterpoint to Saul's cheerful welcome.
With a grunt of acknowledgment, the two men begin to lift the boxes off their carts and carry them, one by one, up the stairs and through the gauntlet of watchful eyes provided by the Gold Goblin staff. Billy Dagger's scarred face spreads into an avaricious smile when he recognizes Phillip, and he gives the halfling what he imagines to be a surreptitious nod.
The two have just completed their first circuit from pushcart to bar and back and are entering the casino for the second time, when a knot of men meanders into the courtyard from the street. All look capable of handling themselves in a fight, but the bull-necked, broad-shouldered man in the middle is the clear leader, both in sheer muscle mass and by the deferential air the other men display even as they crowd around him.
Larur veritably jumps in surprise at seeing him, and Bojasc's hand goes to the handle of his throwing axe. Saul maintains his placid smile, his only adverse reaction to the visitor being to raise his hand a few inches placatingly and murmur, "Now, now, lads, let's keep it polite."
The man and his entourage stroll up the steps to the veranda. He stops on the threshold, and his men stop with him, as he offers the dwarf a smile. "Larur, you're looking well." He is surprisingly soft-spoken for his bulk.
Behind him, another man comes across the courtyard: the bartender Covey Smith with the practiced rolling gait that bespeaks long acquaintance with his peg leg. He stops dead in his tracks when he spies the group of men on the Gold Goblin's doorstep, but the visitor only smiles down the stairs at him. "Morning, Covey," he calls amiably. "Don't let me keep you from your business. I've only dropped by to exchange pleasantries. Here, lads," he looks around him at his retinue, "you're blocking the door and keeping these folks from their work. You can wait for me down in the courtyard. This won't take long." With a few belligerent glances at Bojasc, the men disperse to loiter around the foot of the goblin statue, some of them pointedly removing daggers from their boots to clean their nails.
Saul strides to the door, Bojasc in lock-step, as Covey Smith nervously enters the casino and the delivery continues. Bellamy has finished with his crates and, rather than giving Billy Dagger a hand, sits on the handcart to watch the conversation at the door with interest. "Well, Cleg," Saul greets the visitor, "to what do we owe the honor of one of the city's most influential bosses paying our humble establishment a visit?"
"Why, I wouldn't forget the man who gave me my start," Cleg Zincher responds affably. "I heard about your little business here and thought I'd drop by and wish you luck for your opening." Although Saul has made no gesture of welcome, he steps in as if he had been invited, wandering toward the dais in the middle of the room and looking around the casino floor with mild interest.
Snake perks up as he notices a fairly large, strapping fellow step in. Glaring through narrowed eyes, Who the blazes is this fellow? He rises from his feet, then takes a few steps before leaning against the wall, awaiting to see what transpires next.
The dwarf follows Zincher onto the floor protectively. "You missed it," he glowers. "Opened last week."
"What's that?" He cups his hand to his ear, as if unable to understand Larur's rasping voice. When the dwarf has repeated himself at the utmost of his volume, Zincher looks down at him in surprise. "Really? How odd. You'd think I'd have heard something about it."