”I... thank you, Mother. Although, I have to say that while he might not have wanted this, he might have known about it. He was trained as a priest in that tribe Uncle Howahkan mentioned, and given these relics because of it. I refuse to believe he knew less than we do, and we already know that the Dark wants them,” Marianne says, dressing quickly and efficiently. ”And maybe I’m just in a good mood because of the dream I had last night, but I find it hard to be mad about that. Father was a great man, and I suspect a better one than we realized, given how he managed to conceal these from the Dark for so long. Until we have proof otherwise, I will trust in him.”
Wamblee quietly says, without turning:
"I dreamed of the end. The dark drowning all."
And continues eating.
Uncle, his eyes haunted, says, "Did that Erret creature visit your dreams as well?" He clears his throat, but a rasp--phlegm, or simple thirst--remains.
Wamblee looks up at Uncle, with his eyes showing the results of restless sleep.
[b]"That would make sense. I take it that was the case with you?"{/b]
He meets your eyes for a moment, then looks down. "Yes. But..." he shakes his head, trying to clear it, "I would rather not discuss it further."
Wamblee nods a little.
"I can understand that."
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"He's our uncle too, isn't he?"
Uncle just looks weary. He gives a shrug. "Anything is possible I suppose, but...he is a sylph, as far as I can tell. Chaska is an oread." Uncle gives a deep sigh. "You truly have a talent for making things seem even worse than they are, Samen."
Samen grunts. "Uh... Thank you? You said there was another brother who turned away, so I just put two and two together. It would've explained why a dark worshiper would know about these relics. If you don't wish to speak of Erret, tell us more of this Chaska, then."
"There's nothing else to tell of Erret anyway, save the various ways he disemboweled me throughout the night. The first time I saw him was when he attacked me, right before I reached Rokerenge. As for Chaska, I will tell you about him as we walk back to the bank. First though..."
He looks up, addressing the innkeep from across the room. "Would you be so kind as to bring whatever you have for breakfast this morning. And please, say you have coffee!"
You hear an amused cackle. "Ye got no luck there, mister. Coffee gives my husband the runs somethin' fierce, and he's too stupid to stay away from the stuff if it's in the house. It's tea or tough ingots!" She laughs again. "Anywho, I'll bring ye some ashbread, and some butters and jams and such to go on."
Wamblee tries to figure out if Uncle is being straight and Samen doomsaying - or if Uncle does not want to admit that Samen is correct.
Marianne descends the steps with Mother just in time to hear the innkeeper’s story of why there is no coffee. Hehe, sounds like you’ll have to wake up naturally this morning Uncle,” she chuckles, sliding into a chair at their table. ”So,” the red-haired sylph adds cheerfully, ”anyone else have any dreams last night?”
Wamblee looks at Mar with a smile that barely reaches his eyes.
"Tar drowning all. You?"
"In my dreams, I was killing Erret," says Samoon evenly. He sips at some tea. "His corpses piled up and formed Volcano." He takes a larger sip.
"I don't think it was particularly oracular."
He turns to Samen. "There is some sort of familiar connection he has with us. If not blood, then something. Strange fellow, and yet I don't really care to chat with him to learn more."
After bread and morning tea, you take your leave of the inn. The clunk of the helmet says goodbye as you close the door. Volcano warms from a weak yellow to a pale pumpkin as you make your way down the main thoroughfare once more.
Even though it is early morning, you all note the strong--nearly overwhelming--presence of the city guard. Wearing the gray fist of Forge emblazoned on their armor, you see ifrits patrolling, carrying messages, riding pogonas, sharpening their blades, marching, talking, and laughing. You even see one face-down outside a tavern in a puddle of--if the smell is any indication--vomit and urine.
The gleaming Golden Hills gently reflect the light of Volcano, the orange peaklight giving the impression that the lavish houses and mines are glowing with prosperity. The guard presence here is just as pronounced, now with watchful ifrits escorting merchants and bankers on their daily errands.
In his office, Vincenzo Ferri is scratching away at a light brown document. He looks up, and all of you notice a look of distaste cross his features, though he quickly covers it up with a bland mask. "Ah yes, yes, right on time, quite admirable." Ahdmirable. He clears his throat. "However, he have, err, run into a slight complication, one might say."
Clearing his throat again, he continues, "There seems to be a lien on your father's assets. That is, there is a claim that he owes a debt to another party, and this party is offering to cancel the debt if you agree to turn your key over to them. If you refuse, then this would most likely end up in the Hall of Debts, to see exactly how much is owed."
He pulls a stack of papers, perhaps a quarter-inch thick, from his desk and pushes them over to you.
Samen glares at Uncle Howie's back the whole way to the bank, as he breaks his promise to speak more of Chaska.
At the bank, he chuckles at the development. "It's always something.
Who wants to bet that our gelatinous friend is attempting a more legal approach to acquire what he seeks? As much as I love lawyers, this sounds like an awful day of paperwork. Mar, you want to go check out the cartographer with me while they sort this out?"
Wamblee looks straight at Vincenzo and flatly says
"This is surely a nuisance case. What would be involved in the Hall of Debts, if it came to that?"
Ferri shrugs. "Well, the claimant would present his case, documentation, and you would present any counter evidence you have...and after the evidence is heard, a verdict is made. If your father's assets are adequate to cover the debt, so much the better, but if not, well..." He lifts up his hands, and sets them back down. "This came as a surprise to me - your father never mentioned it. If the claim is large enough, then his surviving family will have to cover it. Remember, they are offering to simply the debt for the assets your father has in the bank, which I do not believe amount to much in the way of gold."
Wamblee nods, taking in Ferri's points.
"What recourse do we have if this is a false claim? And what evidence is likely that this debt even exists?"
"Documentation, notarized by the Aureum, I would imagine. As for false claims, well..." He smiles. "It sounds as if you are a bit over your heads here. I would be happy to take this case on--this goes beyond simply processing your assets, as your father set up--provided you have the money for a retainer. If the claim is false, I'm sure I would be able to recoup my fees from the claimant, and refund you in full."
Uncle stands up as Samen are leaving. "I shall accompany you, I think. Stuffy offices and dry words on dead pages hold no fascination for me."
”Capital idea Samen, let’s go Uncle,” Marianne says, dragging her relatives out the door before they can get roped into the legal issues. ”Don’t let Erret get at Father’s belongings!” she calls on her way out. Once outside, she wanders back the way they came from the inn until she finds a sylph to ask for directions. ”Excuse me, would you happen to know where we could find a cartographer?” she asks politely.
Marianne waylays a young sylph, perhaps Samen's age, preoccupied with rummaging through his satchel as he walks. He almost bumps into her, but stops at the last moment, starting in surprise. "Volc! Err, sorry, lot on my mind, what did you say? Cartographer?" He looks away for a moment, thinking.
He snaps his fingers. "Right! I think I saw some maps as I was perusing the Scrap Markets the other day. Push past all the inns and stuff, it's more on the northwest side. If you see some other stuff like a shoddy printing press, history books, and scribes, you're in the right area."
"Thank you for your assistance."
Samen, you are temporarily distracted by something--tough to say what, in this busy, crowded city--and you bump into someone. Looking down, you see - the librarian! She is a short, stocky oread who insists that turning trees into books is not only acceptable, but is in fact a way of honoring Forest.
"Samen Firenze!" Her voice drips with moral disapproval. "Wars of the Ancient Past is past due, by at least a week! I trust you have it with you?" Her hands, splayed akimbo upon her hips, radiate displeasure.
Wamblee leafs through the papers in front of him, trying to glean some idea of what the case is supposedly about.
As he does so, he replies to Ferri:
"That sounds fair. What say you, Mother?"
Mother's hands have been clenched in tight white fists for the last few minutes. At Wamblee's question, she stands up and shouts, "I say that this is a lie! A farce! A crime! Is this how you treat rural sylphs and oreads, Mr. Ferri? Throw a mountain of paperwork at us and expect us to pay for the privilege of accessing our own money?"
She pounds the desk with her thin hand. "My Hotah never spent a thin copper on himself, and you are asking me to believe in this fabrication of some sinister debt that he left behind? I say we go to this Hall of Debts and see what this person..."
She stops. "Who is the claimant, Mr. Ferri?"
Ferri, who had been sliding his chair slowly backward in the face of Mother's anger, looks relieved in the change of subject. "Hmm, one...Mr Rentwyrth, of Rokerenge. The summary of the claim says there was some damage to property that is behind the debt."
Wamblee looks up from the papers with a cold gaze.
"This Rentwyrth is claiming property damage and loss of profit - from the cave-in that killed my father. Is this an acceptable claim under Forge law?"
Ferri shrugs. "There would have to be strong evidence of negligence or sabotage on the part of your father. It is a strange set of circumstances though, I must admit..." He furrows his brow, shuffling through the paperwork once more. "I believe Mr. Rentwyrth is in the city, so perhaps we can get this sorted out before resorting to the Hall, eh?"
Wamblee simply says:
"Yes. Where can we find Mr. Rentwyrth?"
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Samen's eyes go wide as his face turns white (a development he would be sure to blame on the woodcut). "OH GODS, it's you! I mean, hello! I mean, of course I have it! Uh... That is to say I know exactly where it is. I mean, your hair is exceptionally beautiful this morning! That is, um... Look, someone's burning books!"
He runs away at top speed. It doesn't matter where.
Uncle runs after, and (assuming Marianne follows), you lose the bewildered librarian...for now.
Marianne keeps half an eye on Samen as she turns to the librarian. ”I’m sorry about my brother’s behavior, we have had a trying few days. I’ll try to make sure he gets it back to you as soon as possible, but we will have little opportunity to retrieve it for a long while. Good day,” she says quickly, and then turns to catch Samen in several swift strides before he is lost into the crowd entirely. Once she catches him, Marianne stops Samen so she can get her bearings. ”What was that all about?” she asks conversationally, mentally retracing their flight for a moment before starting off again. ”You looked like you’d seen an efreet.”
Wamblee, the banker shrugs. "I'm afraid I am not privy to such personal information..."
Samoon cuts him off. "We'll be back, 'Mister' Ferri. Keep up the good work."
Outside, Samoon turns to Wamblee. "Unfortunately, I have an idea of where to look."
He gives a chagrined smile. "Because it involves calling on Albreane. I think I'd prefer facing the spawn."
"Understood, Mister Ferri. We will return."
**************
"Albreane? Unfortunate indeed. But necessary. Lead on, Samoon."
Wamblee and Samoon, you go around the main thoroughfare, away from the Iron Hills this time. As you approach the Copper Hills, the smells of baking bread and brewing yeast fill the air, with a rotten undercurrent of too many elen crammed into small living spaces.
Right at the base of the largest of the Coppers is the Office of Investigations and Safety. Fifty feet up the hill and back from the Office, you see several old copper mines boarded up with the words ABANDONED or UNSAFE painted in hasty black lettering.
The entrance to the Office opens, and a richly dressed ifrit slams the door behind him. He is muttering to himself, and you hear a few choice curse words such as cagna from the angry eleni.
"Huff... Huff... She..." Samen's eyes dart around, looking for her, panic in his voice. "She wanted the book back. The book I left at home. I don't think we'll ever be making it back there, so I will never be out of her debt. Librarians talk, Mar. They'll all know to not let me borrow books anymore. Let's just... find our cartographer before anything worse happens."
Uncle briefly touches Samen on the shoulder, ready to pull back if the gesture is unwelcome. Seeing his nephew's distress, he says seriously, "If I have time to do so, I will pay any late fees and talk to her about the difficult times we have been having lately. Do not let this cause you such misery, I beg you."
Taking a moment to catch his breath from jogging, he continues, "Now, I believe I saw the sign for a cartographer down the way as we were making our flight..." He points down a nearby street.
The smells of ink, parchment, dusty books, and some kind of spicy sylphan dish greet you. Shelves upon stacks upon piles of scrolls, maps, and tomes lean precariously in the little room. Samen has to walk sideways to prevent his broad shoulders from knocking rolled-up maps onto the floor.
In the back of the shop, a very young sylph ele looks up. For a nightmarish moment, you think she is a darkvein, but it is only a generous smear of ink on her left cheek. She smiles openly. "Oh, hello! Sorry if you've been there for a while sometimes I don't hear the bell, or remember to fix the bell, or remember to unlock the door-did you need a map or were you looking for some sites to see-I do local maps and more regional maps-"
Marianne chuckles at her bookish brother’s distress. ”I promised her that we would return it when possible, hopefully that will stop her “talking” she says, air quotes included.
When they arrive in the cartographer shop, Marianne takes in the girl’s torrent for a few moments, before gesturing for Samen to take the lead.
Samen furrows his brows at his sister, non-verbally asking 'why would you do this to me'?
"Buh. Er, nothing local. I'm looking for a map of the world with landmarks clearly indicated." He awkwardly pulls out the woodcut, trying to not knock into anything.
"Specifically, I want to know what's at these locations."
"I'd like to know where things are on this."
Great, thinks Samoon. This ifrit is probably Albreane's supervisor, has heard of me, doesn't like me by reputation. And is an ifrit.
He squares his shoulders, clears his throat, and smiles pleasantly. "Excuse me, sir. We're looking for one of your inspectors...Albreane. May we speak with them? We were told they're the best for mining accident claim investigation." He hopes he isn't immediately recognized, and doesn't say who he is.
Wamblee keeps silent.
He doesn't want to make this any more difficult on Samoon than it is likely to be.
Samen, the sylph's eyes, a tapestry of browns and coppers like a well-worn map, grow wide when she sees your woodcut. "Where did you get that-that's so amazing-*breath*sorry I won't touch it it's yours but where did you get it-" Another breath, deeper this time. She raises her hands and lowers them in a deliberate, calming gesture. Dodging nimbly between piles of paper, she brings back a rolled-up map that is almost taller than her. Placing it carefully on the table that dominates the back of the room, she opens it up and presents it with a flourish.
Though it lacks the artistry of the woodcut, the map is comprehensive and detailed. You see Volcano, the three great cities, River, the Mucklands, Icefall, the Lost City, and a few outlines of tribal territories in Great Forest. "So what did you want to see-I've got other ones that are more detailed but you need to tell me what areas you are interested in-sorry this one isn't for sale but I have smaller ones-you're pretty big did you know that?-"
Samoon, the ifrit glares at you. "What, another complaint about her? Did the v'Borio family send you too?" He looks over Samoon's shoulder at Wamblee. "Sent a little muscle this time too? Come on, the last guys came half a candle ago!"
Wamblee whispers to Samoon.
"A picture grows in my mind. Your ex getting in over her head with thugs, and now needing gold fast. Father's estate being the gold."
"Not at all, sir, and not a complaint. I'm unaware of this v'Brorio family, my apologies. May we see her?" Samoon smiles again, as placidly as possible.
Sighing loudly, he says, "Fine, she'll throw you out if you're wasting her time. Now stop wasting mine." He points behind his desk, down a wooden hallway. "Second on the left."
Though their descriptions may be superficially similar--sylph eles with red hair--Albreane and Marianne are as different as River and Volcano. Where Mar is lean and athletic, Albreane has a fuller figure, showing more of her ifrit heritage. She is wearing a functional but attractive dress, the kind Mar would find confining and overly feminine.
Holding her head in one hand while leaning over a stack of papers on her desk, she says "Come in," in a professional tone of voice. Looking up, her friendly demeanor turns cold. "If this is a personal call, leave immediately. If this is somehow business related, I'm sure that Antonio across the hall will be happy to help you." Though most of her glare is reserved for Samoon, she is no warmer toward Wamblee.
"If you must know, it's a cursed heirloom of my late father. I'd happily give it to you if these two would let me. When it's actively trying to kill me, four locations on it glow, roughly in these areas." He points to the spots, as best he can remember.
He looks down at this naive young girl, and reconsiders. "Ehh, maybe I wouldn't give it to you. If it didn't kill you directly, it might get you killed indirectly. If you have any coworkers who are jerks, I could give it to them if you'd like."
Samen, she doesn't seem to hear your comments after you point to the map. She scrunches her face in concentration, and says, "Oh that's easy-three of those are Breathless Valleys though I don't know about the last one-in case you don't know don't go there or you'll probably die-"
"Albreane. We need your help. Our father is dead. And yes, this call is business related. We need the best and we need someone who knows Rokerenge."
Samoon pinches the bridge of his nose and grits his teeth. "Unless you want your personal feelings to interfere with correcting an injustice. You can excoriate me during and after, Alb."