Braddon looks at the proferred hand for a brief second before shaking it once with a firm grip and a sad smile.
Gristav's brows rise as the manifolded missive moves to Mescher. He gives Braddon a curious look, but smiles faintly at the mention, and demonstration, of honor. Though he remains curious as a cat of the scrap's contents.
He redirects his attention to Gristav's petition with effort. "Aye," he agrees, in a tone more accommodating than any of the party have heard from him heretofore, "she kept her end of our agreement as far as she was capable. I'll release the young man ... with the understanding," he puts in advisingly, "that I'll not turn a blind eye to any further criminal behavior. Mistress Vishki bought a pardon for his past crimes, not impunity for subsequent infractions."
"Would you have me recount those terms? I wasn't trying to negotiate them; I wouldn't have thought them negotiable. Justice oughtn't be.", Gristav reflects. "If I meet the man, I'll inform him. If we meet again later, I'll remind him."
At the suggestion of employing Shorafa to ask questions of the corpse, he scowls. "I don't trust that woman," he growls. "She has no respect for the law. And she'd assuredly know which investigation we're pursuing; she knows everything that goes on in town from her network of whores. Half my off-duty force is probably in her temple right now." He sighs. "I'll consider it. I don't suppose any of you know of any disinterested clergy who might be in town? There's divination, but Tammerhawk would empty my coffers for the privilege; we had to pay a pretty penny to the Cypherlodge just to recover the body."
"I don't mean to offend, though I might. And I do mean to assist, if I may. But with our futures under a Damoclean sword, I cannot in good conscience draw into that danger innocent disinterested clerical consultants. I should need to make to them explanations, and bring them... here? And otherwise put them into the shadow of your promised wrath, should our mutual quarry evade us. For in any denouncing and dungeoning of us, they would stand as witness unwelcome, of our current cooperation."
"You can see my dilemma. I may be trapped against your vengeance for failure, but to draw in another? I think not. Can you trust us? Allow us to trust you? Can we each and all assume the others doing their best, and remove from the table future denunciations or actions against, owing to simple, rather than willful, failure? Let us leave willful failure with revengeable betrayal, where it belongs. But when all are trying, let none of the others have us tried."
Snake patiently waits for Gristav to currently run out of words before responding himself. "I don't know anyone in this town." He shrugs.
Snake patiently waits for Gristav to currently run out of words before responding himself. "I don't know anyone in this town." He shrugs.
"Except me.", Gristav says, smiling at Snake before turning his eye to Mescher.
General Mescher considers a long moment, his eyes flickering to Braddon. Then he clarifies, "If you can find someone who can interrogate the corpse, I will officially designate them as a consultant to the Gendarmerie in this matter. Unless they prefer not to be associated with us in an offical capacity, in which case I will be happy to stage a false arrest to get them here with as much show of coercion as they may wish. You'll find some people's livelihood depends on not being known as a friend of the authorities," he explains. "Unless you're enjoying the bouquet," he goes on, "shall we relocate to more pleasant environs? Or do you wish any further inspection of the deceased?"
"It can wait", Gristav says. "I'll know by midnight, and make delivery of refusal, revenance, rates... or the request of a raid, by dawn... no, perhaps after. I could go to tend to that now, perhaps have an answer sooner. But I expect Braddon will want to see to Adalo's release, and I don't favor his remembering your terms. And I'd prefer the company of Mister Kane, for this legwork... perhaps Braddon remains, an established hero to help you explain the darkness of the city to your bright daughter, while we two try to rush your answer? I surmise Adalo is safe enough."
Over the course of the next hour, Phil begins to think that Win should have going-away parties more often. He has a golden touch with the skiffs, maneuvering every tiny boat into its most profitable position, and takes several storms in a row. Stymieing Maddy in such felicitous circumstances is child's play. Watching her from his position of advantage, he confirms what he has previously observed of her technique: While she's a clever admiral, she is too mulish, too focused on winning. Rather then knowing when to cut her losses, she doubles down in pursuit of an ever-more-unlikely victory. Before long, Phil has more than doubled the stake he bought from Ewart, much of the increase coming from Maddy's pocket.
Braddon looks over the dead woman's body.
"I assume you've had her pockets and such searched for stuff that wasn't trampled or washed away? If she hit the cliffs, nothing up there that might have come free then lodged at an impact point? Any further clues to share?"
Phillip inwardly smiles at his success of the night, though outwardly doesn't seem wont to gloat. Between storms he sends eyes and interest tableward towards his abandoned paramour, ensuring that she did not seem overly concerned or restless... and also eyeing whether Marce showed any particular interest to her. Not that he was concerned or jealous in any respect... but all information could be useful.
After the hour Phillip rises and stretches his neck from one side to the other, snapping cracks showing the strain that concentration had seen take root in his muscles. With a shrug and a "Seems it was my night tonight.. but I'll not press my luck." and a nodded thanks to those playing, Phil made his way languidly back to table - aiming for Ethel's elbow once more.
Braddon looks over the dead woman's body.
"I assume you've had her pockets and such searched for stuff that wasn't trampled or washed away? If she hit the cliffs, nothing up there that might have come free then lodged at an impact point? Any further clues to share?"
The general opens a cabinet on the wall. "The only possession she had when she was brought in was this," he says, taking a tarnished locket on a long chain from a shelf within and handing it to Braddon. Opening it, he finds inside a rather inexpert portrait of a young Varisian girl and a curl of dark hair tied with a faded ribbon.
Mescher turns toward Gristav. "I can give you a day. If you can't find some other way to speak to her by tomorrow evening, I'll be forced to put her in Shorafa's hands and hope her spirit is candid, despite the coyness of the questioner. If you've no objection, I'd prefer to wait until the morning when we've more staff in Shoreleave to process the grandson's release; I give you my word nothing untoward will happen to him in the meantime." He pauses. "He would undoubtedly be more likely to answer the questions of someone he thought had nothing to do with Devil's Fork. Perhaps your Varisian friend might be the one to approach him?"
"Except me.", Gristav says, smiling at Snake before turning his eye to Mescher.
"Funny," he comments, forming what you believe is the slightest of grins if you look hard enough.
"It can wait", Gristav says. "I'll know by midnight, and make delivery of refusal, revenance, rates... or the request of a raid, by dawn... no, perhaps after. I could go to tend to that now, perhaps have an answer sooner. But I expect Braddon will want to see to Adalo's release, and I don't favor his remembering your terms. And I'd prefer the company of Mister Kane, for this legwork... perhaps Braddon remains, an established hero to help you explain the darkness of the city to your bright daughter, while we two try to rush your answer? I surmise Adalo is safe enough."
"Yeah I'm good with leaving this to Braddon. Even with this cloth thing, the stench in here is tough."
Phillip keeps an eye on the table near the bar as much as he can through the crowd. At some point during a storm, Marce must have managed to snag another chair; he is now seated near Ethel, but his attention appears largely focused on the departing sailor and his sweetheart. On occasion, some other halfling stops by the table to exchange a word; whether with Winthrop or with Marce is hard to tell from this distance.
He departs the lake with a pleasantly full pocket of chips that will exchange for an even heavier pocket of coin at the cashier's cage. Ewart bids him a good night with a wry chuckle; Olin and Maddy, who fared worse in the storms, see him off with less warmth. Maddy is sullen and flustered; he feels sure she'll feel driven to keep playing until she has won back her losses.
Weaving through the milling mass of patrons, he regains the table. Between them, Ethel and Marce seem to have papered over the nascent unpleasantness; Win and Almah both look cheerful enough for a couple destined to part in the morning.
Marce glances up at Phillip's approach. "How'd the lake treat you, Phil?"
"Oh, Phil," Ethel smiles up at him, "is it time to go already?"
The general opens a cabinet on the wall. "The only possession she had when she was brought in was this," he says, taking a tarnished locket on a long chain from a shelf within and handing it to Braddon. Opening it, he finds inside a rather inexpert portrait of a young Varisian girl and a curl of dark hair tied with a faded ribbon.
"Let us be sure Adalo has that.", Gristav says sadly. "Likely at the questioning."
Mescher turns toward Gristav. "I can give you a day. If you can't find some other way to speak to her by tomorrow evening, I'll be forced to put her in Shorafa's hands and hope her spirit is candid, despite the coyness of the questioner. If you've no objection, I'd prefer to wait until the morning when we've more staff in Shoreleave to process the grandson's release; I give you my word nothing untoward will happen to him in the meantime." He pauses. "He would undoubtedly be more likely to answer the questions of someone he thought had nothing to do with Devil's Fork. Perhaps your Varisian friend might be the one to approach him?"
"We can try. Guided by the unseen, he walks his own path. What questions would you have put to him? What could he know, from within your keeping? Still, there may be something. No, you're quite right, we ought to see what he knows. I will try for Malkith. Failing that, I lived as a Caravari, I would do my best. Oh, and while on the topic, the Varisi we brought you, he's heard too much, while we negotiated your gatelord, so if he's mingled with your other guests, Adalo may be asking questions of us."
"Mister Kane? Shall we be off? Braddon, you can spare us, yes?"
"It can wait", Gristav says. "I'll know by midnight, and make delivery of refusal, revenance, rates... or the request of a raid, by dawn... no, perhaps after. I could go to tend to that now, perhaps have an answer sooner. But I expect Braddon will want to see to Adalo's release, and I don't favor his remembering your terms. And I'd prefer the company of Mister Kane, for this legwork... perhaps Braddon remains, an established hero to help you explain the darkness of the city to your bright daughter, while we two try to rush your answer? I surmise Adalo is safe enough."
Braddon jerks his head up.
"You want me to do what?" he asks nervously.The general opens a cabinet on the wall. "The only possession she had when she was brought in was this," he says, taking a tarnished locket on a long chain from a shelf within and handing it to Braddon. Opening it, he finds inside a rather inexpert portrait of a young Varisian girl and a curl of dark hair tied with a faded ribbon."Let us be sure Adalo has that.", Gristav says sadly. "Likely at the questioning."
"Why would he want it? It may have been her lover. That's usually who people keep in lockets. We can ask, anyway."
"I figure we're done here for now."
He turns to the General. "I'll go too, unless you'd like anything Sir."
"A -- a moment, Mr. Heart," the general requests a little awkwardly, clearly a man more used to issuing orders than to making requests. "A private word in my office, if you don't mind? Your colleagues may wait, if they wish; it won't take long."
... perhaps Braddon remains, an established hero to help you explain the darkness of the city to your bright daughter, while we two try to rush your answer?"Braddon jerks his head up.
"You want me to do what?" he asks nervously.
"To speak from your heart. Your personal connection to the tragedy of the moment will weight your words. Your established heroism will open her ears. You're simply the best man to explain certain things..."
"Let us be sure Adalo has that.", Gristav says sadly. "Likely at the questioning.""Why would he want it? It may have been her lover. That's usually who people keep in lockets. We can ask, anyway."
"I figure we're done here for now."
He turns to the General. "I'll go too, unless you'd like anything Sir."
"A -- a moment, Mr. Heart," the general requests a little awkwardly, clearly a man more used to issuing orders than to making requests. "A private word in my office, if you don't mind? Your colleagues may wait, if they wish; it won't take long."
"Very well. Oh, General Mescher, will you be listing us with your gate guards, or some such? For future meetings here?"
He turns a needling gaze on Gristav at the suggestion. "Your Varisian comrade has my token. If you'd shown it at the gate this time, you would have met with no obstruction. Mr. Heart, if you'd be so kind?" He begins to lead Braddon back up the stairs toward his office, then pauses and turns back toward the guard. "Cooke, keep an eye on our guests? While they are not being detained in our headquarters, they've no call to wander."
The Gendarme gets to his feet obediently, turning a bland smile on Gristav and Snake.
Braddon jerks his head up.
"You want me to do what?" he asks nervously."To speak from your heart. Your personal connection to the tragedy of the moment will weight your words. Your established heroism will open her ears. You're simply the best man to explain certain things..."
Braddon fidgets uncomfortably. "I... I can't spin words like you. They don't dance for me. They more sort of tumble. Plummet. Thud."
"A -- a moment, Mr. Heart," the general requests a little awkwardly, clearly a man more used to issuing orders than to making requests. "A private word in my office, if you don't mind? Your colleagues may wait, if they wish; it won't take long."
Braddon takes a deep breath. "Sure. Of course."
He nods to the others and forces a smiles."You guys can go, if you want. I'll meet you back at the G... base."
Braddon follows the General back up the stairs towards his office.
As Braddon heads up the stairs, Snake turns to Gristav. "So we gonna head on back or do we wait? Doesn't matter to me."
Finishing his pencraft, he spreads a handful of sand across the writing and then carefully tips it off to keep the ink from blotting. Then he removes from another drawer a palm-sized leather wallet and slides it, along with the paper, across the desk to you. "I am quite sincere about being obliged to you for your forthrightness, Mr. Heart, and I pay my debts. If you find yourself in need in Riddleport, this badge will ensure you the cooperation of any Gendarmes to whom you can show it. The affidavit affirms that the badge was not stolen but granted to you, by my authority, should any question your eligibility to carry it."
He pauses. "You asked earlier about the necklace that was taken. I ... have told you I am not a wealthy man. The necklace was, at some point, confiscated as stolen goods and never reclaimed by its rightful owner. After a certain amount of time, such valuables are deemed the property of the city. I ... wanted to give her something nice." He shrugs self-deprecatingly. "I can have the records searched, try to find out under what circumstances the necklace was seized, but the information may not be there to be found."
Responding first to Marce "Seas were fair and I had the favor of following winds." winking before nodding to Ethel's words "Aye, the hours lengthen and matters as yet unattended call... Might I have the favor of liberating the fairest flower in the field?" seeking flattering approval to remove Ethel from the group and thereafter the Watercress.
As Braddon heads up the stairs, Snake turns to Gristav. "So we gonna head on back or do we wait? Doesn't matter to me."
"Where I am bound next, I'd want company. But, while I'd rather Braddon have some hours here, enlightening an errant elle, if he's to be soon done, we're better going as three. And singing.", Gristav says.
"We wait.", he clarifies.
"Mister Cooke... or is it officer? Deputy? Sergean-D'armes?", Gristav waits for a proper honorific address to be provided, but eventually continues, "As an officer of the Gendarmes, are all your equipments provided by a quartermaster, or might you otherwise be able to speak with confidence on the qualities of local armorers? As a courier, I have eschewed heavier arms and armor, but with roots apparently being put down, heavier shells might be put on..."
"Sergeant Cooke," the man corrects Gristav. "Our arms and armor are shipped from Magnimar. We get minor repairs done in town, though. Local smith's a man named Drovenge, in River District."
"Yes... I've... had the pleasure of dealing with Quint.", Gristav jokes. "Still, pleasant company is not sought at the armorer's; this town has other sources. But for armor... I saw a man in a Korvosan style, appeared a full kit, well maintained; Is there regular trade of that?"
Cooke gives a scornful chuckle. "Nay, 'Old Korvosa' is one of a kind. When that kit of his gives out, he can't replace it without returning to Korvosa, and they say he's an outlaw there. That damned broom-thing he wears on his head is already getting moth-eaten."
My dad was a sailor. He taught me to fight but I hated the sea. My mother was a chandler. She taught me the streets but I hadn't her patience. They let me make my own choices. If I'd made better ones I might not be here but that's my fault and not theirs. Does that make sense?"
He takes the offering carefully as if trying not to dirty them and holds them awkwardly in one hand.
"Yeah. Any news on the necklace would be great. I'm sure that's what they were after. If they wanted to get at you they had Ananda. You obviously care for her and so they let her go. They're good and scared of you. But they knew Ananda had the necklace. And they were prepared to kill Gramma for it. I'm not resting till I get to the bottom of this. And that whore and her friends are gonna pay."
Braddon heads towards the door and looks down at the wallet and affidavit in his hand. He folds them neatly and they vanish inside his jerkin. "Thanks very much for your... trust. I'll try not to screw up." "Again."
Responding first to Marce "Seas were fair and I had the favor of following winds." winking before nodding to Ethel's words "Aye, the hours lengthen and matters as yet unattended call... Might I have the favor of liberating the fairest flower in the field?" seeking flattering approval to remove Ethel from the group and thereafter the Watercress.
Ethel slips to her feet, and Marce and Win's chairs scrape back as they follow suit. "I hope you have a profitable voyage, Win," she bids the sailor farewell. "We'll see you when you return. Almah, Marce ... I'll see the two of you sooner than that," she smiles as she takes Phil's arm.
"Where I am bound next, I'd want company. But, while I'd rather Braddon have some hours here, enlightening an errant elle, if he's to be soon done, we're better going as three. And singing.", Gristav says.
"We wait.", he clarifies.
"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll pass on the singing," he says, a side grin quietly forming.
Cooke gives a scornful chuckle. "Nay, 'Old Korvosa' is one of a kind. When that kit of his gives out, he can't replace it without returning to Korvosa, and they say he's an outlaw there. That damned broom-thing he wears on his head is already getting moth-eaten."
"But his doorway lintels are clean?", Gristav suggests. "Eccentric sort of fellow?"
Snake and Gristav hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs behind them, the harbinger of Braddon's return. The half-elf comes down the staircase to rejoin them in the entryway. General Mescher does not accompany him.
Braddon looks surprised and somewhat pleased that the others are still there though he attempts to hide the latter immediately.
"What are you still doing here? Is there more work? What's the plan?"
He follows them, somewhat quietly, lost in thought.
"We figured we'd wait. Plan?" Snake shrugs. "Got me. I say we head back and call it a night. I think we've done all we can do for now."
"To the worst neighborhood in the city, for the candidate best man, who might provide you the opportunity to say goodbye, to your grandmother."
"We'll be suspect, thought to be a press gang, in a street where that's a capital offense. Thus the singing, which might bring us such pressing attention, but will reassure the native guards of the man we'd hope to reach..."
Gristav leads the trio to the steps of the impoverished temple...
Phillip nods his goodbyes, sure to include the seafaring, seapining and Lord Mayor all before spinning and leading Ethel towards the ferry. Upon the walk he waxes "I hope that you did not need suffer overly at table while I was captaining my fleet?"
"Oh, no," she shrugs. "We've seen Almah through every time Win has to leave again, poor thing."
Bidding Sergeant Cooke good night, Braddon, Gristav, and Snake exit the general's HQ and then Devil's Fork itself, the gatehouse guard who threatened them with lock-up giving them a sullen glare as they pass back out onto the narrow road alongside the Velashu. Maskyr's Island looms across the water, mostly blotting out the bright lights of Free-Coin on the far bank from this perspective.
The three head south toward the town proper. The southern end of the rocky ridge cradling Devil's Fork blocks their view of Leeward District and its streetlights until they are practically upon it. All businesses on this side of the river are closed and dark; the well-lighted plaza of the House of the Silken Veil is a beacon both of light and of activity in a district where the vast majority of citizens are either at home or enjoying the nightlife across the Velashu.
Apart from the temple, the Mystery of the Gate is the only other property showing signs of welcome, a heatless arcane light glowing on either side of its front doors for the sake of any travelers arriving late. From there, it is a short walk to the back door of the Gold Goblin.
Phillip does wend their way t'wards the cashier and exchanges four gold's worth of chips out for fresh coin, the other four silver worth kept in the form of worthless discs.
Looking curiously at the property with the glowing lights as they near the Goblin, "What kind of place is that?" he asks about the Mystery of the Gate.
"An Inn, run by the Cypherlogium, as a rest for visitors to their wisdom.", Gristav says in a voice absent of malice or mirth. "After spending a score of gold by the day for their libraries, you'd be welcome to lay out most of another by the night. I don't know if it's ignorance or arrogance that keeps them from seeing, bed and company can be had for less, though one might perhaps be late to the library, the next morn..."
Braddon follows Snake and Gristav back to the Gold Goblin, looking round for Samaritha when they arrive.
Ethel is suitably impressed by the amount of Phillip's winnings and clings rather nervously to his arm as they wend their way toward the ferry, as if everyone they pass must suspect the mild-mannered halfling of carrying two-weeks' salary so casually in his jacket pocket.
-----------------------
On the east side of the Velashu, Braddon, Gristav, and Snake regain the alley behind the Gold Goblin and let themselves in the back door. The casino is quiet, but a lamp has been left trimmed low in the kitchen. A glance into the bar reveals no trace of the morning's eight-legged interlopers; the crates have been unpacked and removed and the furniture set to rights. Another lamp burns like an evening star on the unused reception desk in front of Desna's sanctum, and the three are headed toward the residence wing when the peace is broken by a door opening on the other end of the floor and the tramp of heavy footsteps. Before even Gristav and Braddon's eyes can discern the approaching personage, the distinctive hoarse rasp of a voice from the darkness identifies the new arrival.
"Who's that?" Larur demands, then, as his dwarven eyesight answers his own question, goes on, "About time you got back here. Lad, you feeling stronger?" he asks Gristav with concern. "I went by the Publican this afternoon, and he said you'd been there and he'd set you right, but he didn't know where you'd gone from there. Oh," he goes on, his tone darkening, "any of you expecting a parcel? Some sailor turned up earlier with an odd delivery." He turns suspicious eyes on Snake. "There's a snake involved."
"I'm well, thank you.", Gristav says. "Still an imperfection, but beside all my others, it's hard to tell."
"Sailor of what vessel? Typically, they are wont to say... How is a snake involved?"
"Hells if I know," he growls. "The redhead dealt with him. Said a sailor had a delivery to be left with whoever answered the door at the Gold Goblin. By the time she came upstairs and told us the tale, he was long gone. Come and see." Taking the lamp from the desk, he leads them across the floor to a card table near the cashiers' cage. The oil light reveals an odd trio of children's toys: a yellow snake, a mauve raccoon with a purple mask, and a butterfly with wings of indigo and silver. Two scrolls lie on the table as well, along with two lengths of string. "That one was tied to the snake," Larur jabs his finger suspiciously, "and that one to the butterfly. It's someone trying to send a message, no doubt, but if it's for me, he's too clever by half; I haven't a clue what it means. Saul claims to be in the dark as well."
There may be a man in Lubbertown called Pitivo Vitteri... a travelling merchant of tincture and oil. He may pay for a chance to draw liquid foul from the mortos oito besta pernas.
Make use of this or not, it is the only time it will be mentioned,
Mapache
If the two new guests are now unwelcome, you could seek out Wilfrid Piggens (of him the badger likely knows). A chance they could be exchanged for gold, with little risk of the change being noted by the blade.
Make use of this or not, it is the only time it will be mentioned,
Mapache
Looking up from the scrolls, Gristav asks, "Were you present, this morning? Phillip called you badger, me bolboreta, and Snake, well... I can guess at Serpens, from 'serpent'. So, he's suggesting to me that a Wilfrid Piggens, known to you, would purchase the spiders. And he's suggesting to Snake that a Pitvio Vitteri might pay for a milker's matinee. I'm deducing that bolboreta is the genus, perhaps the species, of the lepidoptera depicted, via Rosetta method, based upon the snake/serpens. That leaves the raccoon, perhaps, for you, Larur? Or Braddon? I would have thought more a purple-maned horse for Braddon. And I've nothing but agreement with the apt 'badger' name. It suits you, Larur." Gristav smiled at the expected grimace of disdain for the folly of it all.
"Let's see... for Saul, a crab, the sort with unbalanced claws? And Malkith, an owl? Thuvalia, a bird. To flatter her song, of course. But what might be worthy of Samaritha? What is bright enough, but flame itself? Perhaps a phoenix? She is seeking to reinvent herself..."
"What does 'mapache' mean?"
"Heh." Snake reads the letters after Gristav is done and then hands them back. "Raccoon is not the dwarf," he glances over at Braddon, "or the pretty boy. And 'mapache' is raccoon. And I could use some coin, so, any of you know who and where this Pitvio Vitteri might be? And possibly how to get there? And, Larur, I'm gonna need those bodies - I've got business to take care of."
Remembering it's late at night, "In the morning of course; I'm beat. But I'm still gonna need those bodies, dwarf. Should we take care of that now or in the morning? Either is fine with me."