"I'm sorry, Padre, that I can't be of any more help. I won't deny that I hope you're wrong about all of this. A neglected second son giving up on ever earning his father's approval, well, that's a crying shame, but it's better than thinking we've a murderer in our midst."
Marikel nods. "I understand, Miss Blackblade. But all too often we don't get what we want. Good day."
He follows Vhailor out the door.
"Thank you for your... restraint."
Marikle looks about for Roderick.
Vhailor gives a little nod before quietly replying "So... who's first? I think we should talk to the lookout lady."
Stymied, the rogue decides to try her luck finagling information out of Cham. She circles around to the front of the Ramblehouse and steps inside, looking around the common room to see whether "Mr Freley" is present. Assuming he is not, Alicia approaches Cham and offers her an almost-sheepish smile. "Sorry to bother you again," she says. "But Mr Freley seems to have forgotten his appointment. Is he still in his room?"
"If we ain't got a lineup of suspects," Jess warns Banny, "can't promise Bumpus'll light on your villain....Maybe there'd be some value in starting where the knife was left and trying to trace him from there? Not sure Halgra'll allow us to take him in every store, church, home, outhouse, henhouse, and doghouse in town. Course, if anyone refuses us entry, it might count as admission of guilt." Her set chin belies her lack of training as a scholar of law. "Suppose you've asked Sara Morninghawk if she knows whose blade that is, if it's not his. Nah, see what you mean," she murmurs, looking down at the gleaming knife in its swaddling. "That blade's too damned pretty to belong to a Grath. Looks like a woman's." She spits in the dirt yard for emphasis.
Banny listens, squinting. She dunno animals well, 's true. "Reckon we can try that. I figure everyone walked all over that patch by now. But the thread might still be there..."
She scratches at her jaw. "Naw, I ain't been to see Sara yet. This knife's all but brand-new, an' 's got no engravins or nothin' personal like, so I din't figure it'd stand out any from all th' other new ones she makes. But thass a good idea, mayhap she knows some mark of th' forging I don't see.
"We're just a stone's throw from th' Clamor-- say we stick our heads in, like, fore we take Bumpus to the tower?"
If Jess has no objections, Banny re-wraps the knife, and starts jogging the short distance over to the smithy, her head a-whirl with dark thoughts.
Marikel and Vhailor spy Rodrick loitering anxiously near the front door. When he sees them exit the office, he hurries over to them. "I ... didn't say anything to Dad about this," he says apologetically. "Figure there's no point in him making a scene until we have the facts in hand. Did you get the Chief Defender's approval to investigate?"
Marikel raises his eyebrows.
"Miss Blackblade is aware of our investigation and has even suggested a lead. Her approval has not been given but neither has she denied permission. Like the rest of, she doesn't believe anyone would want to harm Kerst. She'll be wanting proof and not for rumours and accusations to be thrown about."
Marikel frowns.
"We'd better find Banny."
"" Jess calls over her shoulder into the store. "" Banny doesn't hear any reply from Jess's husband within, but the half-elf's keener senses obviously pick up something the dwarf's don't as Jess nods with satisfaction and picks up a frayed rope to tie through the loop on the hound's leather collar. "Have to walk by there anyway; might as well stop in and be neighborly," she remarks.
Stymied, the rogue decides to try her luck finagling information out of Cham. She circles around to the front of the Ramblehouse and steps inside, looking around the common room to see whether "Mr Freley" is present. Assuming he is not, Alicia approaches Cham and offers her an almost-sheepish smile. "Sorry to bother you again," she says. "But Mr Freley seems to have forgotten his appointment. Is he still in his room?"
"Checked out late last night after the ceremony," Cham informs her with an air of triumph. "Sounds like another would-be convert escaped the preachers. Putting on a bit of a hard sell, are they?"
Jess and Banny, accompanied by the dog, stroll to the hairpin turn that marks the beginning of the switchback climbing up Bloodmarch Hill. From a square and plain but sturdy structure can already be heard the ringing of hammers which gives Morninghawk's Fine Steel its more common moniker of 'Clamor.' While the street side of the building is neat and tidy, its dusty yard swept smooth, ingots and anvils and spare pieces of ore are visible in the unused space between the back door and the palisade.
Crap. The rogue gives Cham a worried look. "Did he say where he was going? It was actually a counseling session, and the preachers were a bit worried that he skipped out on it. Or could I look at his room? It may be important. I'd hate to see that he left a suicide note and we didn't know about it until it was too late to try to stop him."
Banny walks at Jess's side, throwing sidelong glances at just about every person that passes on their morning business. Each time she asks, silently, Could it be you? Were you the one...?
Can't go suspicionin' everyone, she supposes glumly. Yet she wants to. Dearly.
She slides her hip flask from its pocket and knocks back a mouthful of Rabus's applejack. That'll put her head right, she reckons. And dull the pain of those hammer blows ringin' like Torag's own forge, on her mild hangover.
"Oi, Morninhawk!" Banny shouts as they come up to the smithing area, timing it between blows of the hammer in order to be heard at all. "Mornin'-- you got a tick of time?"
Haltingly Vhailor queries Rodrick "Roddy... does your father really think it likely that Kerst killed himself?" bustling along following Marikel.
Rodrick sighs. "Dad lit into him last night about the pie-contest thing. And Dad ... is really good at blaming himself ... for things. I think there's part of him that thinks it would be only fitting."
"Oi, Morninhawk!" Banny shouts as they come up to the smithing area, timing it between blows of the hammer in order to be heard at all. "Mornin'-- you got a tick of time?"
"Time for what?" the half-orc smith calls back over the sound of her and her employees' tools. "What's worth letting my iron cool for?" It's hard to imagine that the metal will cool too precipitously; although the morning is chilly outside, the heat from the forge makes the interior of Clamor as warm as a summer day, and the smiths are already sweating through their rolled-up shirtsleeves.
Vhailor goes to scoff... but catches himself less he cause offense. Settling for a shake of the head he consoles "Something about wood and trees... anyway, lets give him a tangible reason to not blame any Grath"
Marikel recalls that Banny indicated she was on her way to Jess Meeson's to inquire about employing her hound; the Meesons' place of business is back at the foot of the hill, not far from Sanctuary.
"Did he say where he was going? It was actually a counseling session, and the preachers were a bit worried that he skipped out on it. Or could I look at his room? It may be important. I'd hate to see that he left a suicide note and we didn't know about it until it was too late to try to stop him."
"Oh, is that the tack they're taking now?" Cham replies knowingly. "'If only Kerst Grath had been more pious, or more obedient, he'd be alive today?'"
"Mr. Freley comes out last night, and I tell him, 'Oh, Mr. Freley, there was a girl from the mission here looking for you.'"
"'The mission?' says he, looking surprised, and none too pleased, I might add."
"'Aye,' I says, 'was it a secret?'"
"'No secret,' he says, disgusted-like. 'Just that I'm a prospector, and they're looking to invest in my operation: they bankroll my supplies up-front and lay claim to part of whatever I find in return. But I'm no friend of Lastwall,' he goes on. 'I reckon Trunau ought to stay free and independent, not under the thumb of some Watcher-Lord barely out of short pants. I'm skipping town,' he goes on, 'and I don't mind telling you. I reckon if I turn them down outright, the paladins will make trouble for me.'"
"Gods bless you, my lad,' I tells him, 'all save the Lady of Sticking Her Thumb in Other People's Pie, that is. Hope you strike a vein of ore so rich it makes your great-grandaddy's teeth ache,'" Cham concludes with satisfaction. "Aye, you can see his room, if you like. Left it spic and span, like a proper gentleman, even if he is a prospector."
"Time for what?" the half-orc smith calls back over the sound of her and her employees' tools. "What's worth letting my iron cool for?" It's hard to imagine that the metal will cool too precipitously; although the morning is chilly outside, the heat from the forge makes the interior of Clamor as warm as a summer day, and the smiths are already sweating through their rolled-up shirtsleeves.
"Time to look at a blade. Might be a life hangin' on its edge," she yells back. She presses inside with the wrapped bundle.
"Can we talk quiet, like?" she asks over the din. "'s important."
Outside, and away from the eyes of curious employees, Banny quickly explains at least some of the truth, in a low voice.
"You heard about Kurst? This knife was in the wall where he... fell. Made to look like he put it there, but it ain't his, an' I reckon you know that. Looks a new blade to me. How often you make the hopeknives?" she says, pulling aside the cloth.
"Thanks," Ali replies sarcastically. She gestures toward the human-sized wing of the inn. "Which one?"
Once she is pointed in that direction, she walks briskly to the room and opens the door, and begins her search.
Marikel heads towards Jess Meeson's business, keeping an eye out for Banny and Alicia's return. They were to meet in an hour at the Longhouse, or they might take the dog to the cliff, so Marikel is in no rush. And Halgra Blackblade suggested talking to Cham Larringfass, while Rodrick and Brinya both suggested Sara Morninghawk to confirm Kerst's marriage and his weapons.
Marikel makes his way generally forwards, but asks of Rodrick, "Where do you suggest? I was going to give Banny and Miss Alicia an hour, but suddenly it's seeming like a lot of damage can take place in that time."
Outside, and away from the eyes of curious employees, Banny quickly explains at least some of the truth, in a low voice.
"You heard about Kurst? This knife was in the wall where he... fell. Made to look like he put it there, but it ain't his, an' I reckon you know that. Looks a new blade to me. How often you make the hopeknives?" she says, pulling aside the cloth.
Sara frowns at the sight of the blade. "No, that ain't Kerst's knife. His is engraved. Did it myself. What's he doing with this one?" She reaches out to pick up the knife and take a closer look at it, and Bumpus growls. "Damn it, Jess, take the hound out of my yard!"
Jess sniffs superciliously. "Not my fault he smells the orc blood in you. Just goes to prove his worth. He's a hell of a scent hound." As requested, however, she tugs Bumpus back to the road, where he stands alert, his senses still trained on the smith.
Cham personally escorts Alicia down the hall to the room the half-orc occupied, summoning one of her staff to take her place at the front desk; clearly, she intends to keep an eye on the girl from the mission and make sure she confines her attention to the room in question and doesn't start wandering the halls.
"Here it is," the halfling announces, unlocking the door with a key from the ring at her belt. "Neat and tidy, just like I said. All paid up, too, not one of these sharp talkers who say they're just going out for a constitutional but have tossed their bags out the window to make a run for it." She cracks her knuckles darkly at the thought.
The room in question is on the first floor and contains only a single bedstead and a writing desk. The bed is a basic affair, with a tarnished metal headstead and a straw-stuffed mattress beneath clean but darned sheets and a slightly-moth-eaten wool blanket. The desk is a nicer piece of furniture that has nonetheless been chipped and worn by time. A cracked window high in the southern wall is the only exit other than the room's door. The bottom corners of the window house a historic collection of cobwebs, and the aged husk of a bluebottle fly lies on the windowsill; in contrast, the floor and desk are scrupulously clean.
Examining the desk, Alicia notices that the drawer has a false bottom. "Aye," Cham admits sourly, a little crestfallen that Alicia discovered it so easily, "that's a special amenity for my regular boarders. A little extra security." The secret compartment is empty, however; there's no indication whether Mr. Freley used it or even knew of its existence.
As Alicia is replacing the false bottom, she notices a torn scrap of paper caught between the side of the drawer and the slider. With a bit of care, she is able to work it loose without tearing it further. It appears to be the corner of a larger document, what looks like a map or a diagram. Certain points are plotted and then crossed out with a later hand; near each X is a date written in Orcish figures. All the dates appear to be within the last few months.
Cham frowns, unhappy that Alicia has disproved her words about the last occupant leaving nothing behind. "That could have been stuck back there for months," she points out defensively. "Nothing to say it's his."
Marikel makes his way generally forwards, but asks of Rodrick, "Where do you suggest? I was going to give Banny and Miss Alicia an hour, but suddenly it's seeming like a lot of damage can take place in that time."
"I ... I'm not sure," Rodrick stammers. "I guess ... I'd say start with the hound? If there's any trail to follow, it's not getting any fresher, and the more people cross it during their day, the harder it will be to follow. I'll have a word with the guard set on the site, make sure they'll let you through."
"Good point. Thank you."
Marikel quickens his pace towards Jess's place.
"We'll be up there soon."
He glances down to see if the gnome will follow him or Roderick, frowns for a second, and addresses Vhailor.
"Come on." As an incentive he adds, "So, how would you deceive the lookout?"
Alicia smirks, pocketing the scrap for the moment. "Aye, true enough. Who else has used this room in the past few months?"
He glances down to see if the gnome will follow him or Roderick, frowns for a second, and addresses Vhailor.
"Come on." As an incentive he adds, "So, how would you deceive the lookout?"
Vhailor looked to maybe have been aiming to follow Roderick before Marikel's address draws him into the cleric's wake. With a slight shrug he responds "It's easy enough to make a man see or hear what might not be there... I could've done it, but it's harder to make it actually be something that it's not." furrowing his brow and thinking as he pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. As he rambles the white cat on his shoulder listens attentively.
"Imagine Kerst's body was a melon..." a beat "I could make you see it, move it around, drop it off the table make you hear the splat... but there wouldn't be any juice to stain the ground, and if you reached out to grab it your hand would close on air. Making you feel it is a mite harder and out of the grasp of people like me... Master Carbonel could've managed it... but he's dead... I think." another beat "We should check the foot of the cliff for juice... I mean blood..."
"Yes, we should check the foot of the cliff. But if there's something out there we should probably take Banny as well. I wouldn't want Miss Alicia risking herself with us... though she does have a good eye. I suppose we could keep her safe. There's probably nothing dangerous out there anyway. The patrols do good work."
He looks about.
"So, how do you know Rodrick?" Marikel asks a little too casually.
Jess sniffs superciliously. "Not my fault he smells the orc blood in you. Just goes to prove his worth. He's a hell of a scent hound." As requested, however, she tugs Bumpus back to the road, where he stands alert, his senses still trained on the smith.
Banny does hand over the knife for Sara to see-- however--
"Hold it here, using the cloth to handle it," Banny urges. "I got th' dog with us so's he can try an' smell whoever was leavin' a blade that wasn't Kurst's, you see? If you get your hands on it he'll smell you."
She shifts her weight foot to foot, trying to be patient during Sara's inspection. "I know where his actual knife is," Banny says, low enough just for Sara's ears. "I talked to Brinya 'bout it. An' I know he ought to have been carryin' hers, but he wasn't. This situation is flawed ore, you take my meanin'?"
"Damned varmint'll try and tree me anyway," Sara growls, with a glare in Bumpus's direction, but she takes care to keep the swaddling cloth between her skin and the metal as she turns the knife over in the light. "This'n looks new. Banny, let me see yours." When the dwarf produces her own hopeknife, the half-orc nods. "Aye, see, yours is less than a year old, but you can still see some wear around the haft: the deeper bits of the carving aren't quite so sharp, and it picks up a bit of tarnish from the oils in your skin. This knife hasn't seen use, not even handling, and I've never seen the bairn with a new hopeknife who hasn't fondled the handle or pulled it from the sheath a couple dozen times for practice. This could be the one awarded last night. Have you checked with the girl living at the church?"
Perkily "Roddy? Trifling matter of him saving my life... Carb's as well now that I think about it." reaching up to stroke the white moggy upon his shoulder. "Saw him on the outskirts and didn't see the orcs nearby when I rushed out to get him... Rodrick did... see the orcs that is. If not for him, then no me."
"Aye, true enough. Who else has used this room in the past few months?"
"So," Cham sniffs, "where's all your concern about poor misguided Mr. Freley all of a sudden?" The halfling can't resist getting in on the ground floor of a good bit of gossip, however, and whatever Alicia is onto has the looks of a story to be chewed over for months. "Come along to my office," she relents, "and we'll have a look at the old registers."
Ali leans in to whisper conspiratorially to Cham, "Kerst wasn't a suicide." Letting the halfling draw her own conclusions from that, she motions for Cham to lead on, and follows after her.
Banny rocks back on her heels, her dark brows knit together. The new meat, in on this? That nervous little girl with the shaky smile? Banny can't fathom that... though she can fathom a set-up, for sure. A theft, and a frame. Layers on layers. The dwarf frowns darkly.
"No, ain't been to look at her," she admits. "But, look, d'you only make knives as needed for those ready to have their ceremony? There's no store of new blades or nothin' kept by the council, then?"
"Alright," Banny murmurs, kicking at the dust. "Well, thank you for th' help. And... and Kurst would say so too, were he around to do so."
She swallows thickly, gives the smith a nod, and heads back out to Bumpus and Jess.
"Let's get up the hill," she says. "Either th' trail's already lost due to feet trompin' it, or it'll lead us to who Sara thinks this ought to belong to, or it'll lead us to someone third, but any more time we take on it means more feet and more smells to confuzz Bumpus."
"But, look, d'you only make knives as needed for those ready to have their ceremony? There's no store of new blades or nothin' kept by the council, then?"
Sara shrugs. "We keep a few spare on hand, in case of loss or breakage. Mostly loss, of course; it'd take one hell of a blow to break a Clamor-forged blade. They're locked up inside the smithy. I can check right quick, if you want, and make sure they're all there."
"If'n you don't mind checkin', I'd 'ppreciate it," Banny says with a duck of her head. While Sara goes to do so, Banny slips out her hip flask again for another swallow-- the bang of steel in the smithy is enough to wake up her faint hangover into something more painful and pounding
Sara strides back into the smithy and comes out after a moment with a small chest. "No, they're all here," she shows Banny. "We had four on hand before yesterday, and there's three here; we'll be working on a new one to replace the one granted in last night's ceremony."
Cham's office is, unsurprisingly, in the Small-sized wing of the Ramblehouse. "Mind your head," she calls over her shoulder casually, as Alicia has to crouch over to traverse the corridor. Once inside, she sits on the floor and manages to keep her head below the ceiling.
The proprietress digs out a few dog-eared old registers and begins poring through them. The process is slow, relying on scanning down each page looking for the appropriate room number and then noting the name signed next to it, but after some time and effort, the two women have compiled a short list of occupants of the room within the range of dates Alicia saw on the scrap of parchment: Emmeline Grangerford, Kazmisk Hammerholder, Ionacu Taragoz, Gisbourne Surtova, and I. P. Freley.
Vhailor takes a step and a half to every one of Marikel's to keep up as the pair descend Bloodmarch Hill on their way to Jess Meeson's general store. They have just passed through the Inner Quarter and arrived at ground level, when they see the half-elf herself, with her dog, standing in the road in front of the smithy.
Alicia blinks slowly at Cham. "I.P. Freley? Really?" she says, incredulous. "Great. That's probably a false name, then. Do you recognize any of the other names?"
Banny ducks her head in thanks to Sara, slipping her flask away again and wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. "That's that, then," she grunts. "Let me know if you need a hand haulin' ore or coal, any day."
Turning, she strides back out out to rejoin Jess and Bumpus.
Vhailor lets himself slow up a touch as they draw near to the mangy mutt and it's less dangerous master. Carb's claws dig into the gnome's shoulder.
"Mornin' Miss Jess. Have you seen... hi Banny."
Marikel nods politely to all.
"How's the investigating..."
Marikel looks about with a pained expression.
"Where's Miss Alicia?"
"Padre," the half-elf replies to Marikel's greeting in a measured tone. As with most of the citizens, there has always been a level of uneasy distance in the Meesons' relations with the mission.
Bumpus displays a certain interest in the white cat on Vhailor's shoulders. The hound is long-legged enough that Carbonel's perch is only sufficient to raise him to the dog's eye-level.
Alicia blinks slowly at Cham. "I.P. Freley? Really?" she says, incredulous. "Great. That's probably a false name, then. Do you recognize any of the other names?"
The halfling snorts. "Half my business signs in under false names; long as their coin's real, it's no skin off my nose. This 'Gisbourne Surtova,' for example: bet his real name's Cletus Jones or Joe MacGillicuddy. Dressed in fancy clothes he probably stole off a corpse somewhere; claimed he was Brevic nobility who'd been set upon by bandits and if someone would just be kind enough to lend him a few gold to help his journey home, he'd send them back twice as much when he was back in his hoity-toity mansion. I told him he could take that story right to Freedom Town; ain't no one in Trunau going to fall for that nonsense."
"This Hammerhold, he's a dwarf. Seen him a time or two. Travels through regular-like on business. The Yaw ... Yonakoo," she stumbles over the pronunciation, "he was Varisian. Didn't trust his looks at all. Told the staff to keep a close eye on the valuables while he was around. The woman," she pauses and then shakes her head, "I don't remember. Only stayed a night with a group of other people. Must have been a caravan of some sort."
"Come to think of it," she pushes some loose hair back from her face, "there's been a rash of half-orc prospectors checking in under false names here lately. I don't judge 'em: maybe escaped slaves or looking to avoid some other unpleasantness. They've all been model guests, though; leave the room neat as a pin."
Carb rears up onto his back legs and begins to hiss threateningly. As he does, the cat takes on an otherworldly bent... as though it's features begin to become both sharper and less distinct combined. The mismatched green and blue eyes ebb and glow like a fire's ember.
Vhailor's expression doesn't change overmuch... but he also doesn't risk escalation by approaching. He seems to imply that this is modus operandi when it comes to his companion and the presence of canines.
"Hellfire and brimstone!" Jess responds with alarm, tugging back on Bumpus's lead. "What in tarnation is wrong with that cat?"
Nonplussed by the reaction Vhailor twists his head to look at Carb, shrugging and turning back to the half-elf "Carb just doesn't like dogs I guess..." seeming to no-sell the fact that the cat has just changed it's appearance to something more and less than normal.
Bumpus drops his tail and hunches his shoulders, letting out a low, unhappy sound between a whine and a growl. He doesn't struggle against his keeper's restraint.
Satisfied at his cowing of the dog, Carb fades back into appearing as nothing more than just a white cat with strange eyes. He begins idly licking at a paw.