Grimas Oltedler's page

You're actually on the Windward side of the river, since Braddon and Snake just came up the road from the Publican and had to wait for the ferry to return, so it's one more trip across the river for Grimas.

Grumbling, Grimas returns the ferry to the Leeward side of the Velashu. "This is it for you three today," he warns them. "You want to cross the river again, you either go where the boat's already going or you swim."

"You lads happy on this side of the Velashu?" Grimas asks wearily. "Or do I have to ferry you someplace else? Devil's Fork? Maskyr's Island? Magnimar?"

Despite Gristav's sincere offer, Grimas shows no willingness to share the job of poling the ferry upstream. "Easier to do it myself than to teach a tyro," he grumbles. "You'll get the pole stuck in the mud and get left behind in the river."

"Where to now?" Grimas asks, preparing to push off with a mixture of satisfaction and resentment, as Gristav exits the tavern.

"It'll cost you both ways," Grimas grumbles, "plus the drink. And I can't tarry any longer than it takes to quaff it." He judiciously uses his pole to keep the ferry in the swiftest part of the rather sluggish current as it carries them downstream. As they come around the bend in the river before the harbor, he steers them away from the jutting docks used by the ship repair business and toward the more modest piers in front of the bay window of the Publican House on the west side of the Velashu. As the flatboat bumps gently against the pier, he expertly tosses a rope over the nearest piling to secure it. "Arnando'll know what I like," he tells Gristav. "Step lively now."

With a resigned sigh, Grimas pushes the flatboat out into the current for the easy downstream portion of the journey. Gristav's arcane display seems to make the man nervous.

"You know, it occurs to me, if they are not at the Publican, and you'd agree, we might go to the dock, that side. My plan being to fatigue you and get my turn at the punting.", Gristav jokes.

"Which dock?" he asks, not following the half-elf's quickly-flitting train of thought.

"Can you carry me over? I'd ask if he's been to the Publican. I'd also ask, where any rumor of theft might have started."

"Direct to the Publican," Grimas asks reluctantly, "or just across the river? Your mates might be on their way back upriver on the west bank now; if I take you straight to the Publican, you might miss them."

To the second question, he shrugs, as he puts his arms to the pole. "May as well ask where a swarm of cockroaches hatched from. They're out in the world now, mate, whether they were bred of a purpose or mommy-roach was just drinking so heavy that night she doesn't remember daddy-roach's face. You're wondering if it's a deliberate slander? Then your friend would best know who'd gain from its propagation. On the other hand, laying out a pile of coin gets people's tongues wagging all on its own. Could be just idle speculation."

"Larur Felden is the most honest man in Riddleport, except for me, when I'm saying those words.", Gristav growls. "His money's his own, earned at the forges, and his whisper is their embezzlement." The truths unburdened Gristav. He could have stopped talking.

"He's partner in the Goblin, to provide better for his family, a gamble to replace the time that was embezzled, and he'll make it pay. We'll, make it pay. Or them. He's my truest friend, and he's missing, and conspired against. Missing, with the only thing I know to give his spirit peace. So stop teasing me. Have you seen him? Has he crossed?"

The ferryman raises his palms, pacifying. "Easy, mate; I mean no offense. There's a fleet of rumors to be heard in Riddleport, and many of them flying under false colors. Only a man who knows what's being said against him can defend himself, eh? At any rate, no, he hasn't crossed by my boat."

"The dwarf, name of Larur. You, observant clever you, would remember him as the one went missing from the morning cluster leaving work for bottle breakfast and dawn dinner, a month or so ago. And then you'd have seen him not in that company, today, or last night, and perhaps you noted an unusual shortness. In his breath. He'd have been taking a pace that would have made that plain, hence, 'Weezey'." Gristav felt uncharacteristically short of breath himself, and found something else-way of interest, causing him to turn away from Grimas. When he turned back, he said, "I'm worried about him."

"Aye," the ferryman frowns in remembrance, "that'd be the dwarf that went into business with Old Stumpy ... Saul Vankaskerkin, that is. Strange thing, a dwarf not at the Forges, in Riddleport. Had a falling out with the management, from what I heard: fired for undisclosed reasons. Stealing from the till, maybe? I heard the reopening of the Gold Goblin was bankrolled by him." He eyes Gristav inquisitively, obviously eager to have his speculation confirmed or denied by the half-elf's reaction.

"Do you get much dwarven traffic? Would you recall- DO you recall- one that might have been named 'Wheezy', or 'Grumbles'? Although that last would be rather common..."

The ferryman returns a grim smile. "Aye, perhaps, but I don't know a dwarf who would answer to either epithet with a gentler response than breaking a kneecap. I do get dwarven traffic, as their homes and job are one side of the river and the tavern on the other. If there's one in particular you're looking for, you'd do better to ask for him by name, not hint around like a virgin in a brothel."

"I'm bound for Arnando, not specifically the Publican. He hasn't crossed, has he? Having time to waste, doesn't mean I want to."

Grimas sighs crossly. "Just got back from taking your mates there. You couldn't have traveled in company and saved me a trip? As far as I know, Arnando's in his sanctum. If he's crossed the Velashu, it wasn't by the sweat of my brow."

"Can you drop us off behind the Publican? We... um... I've got new boots. Gottem Wealday afternoon."

Braddon lifts a foot to show them off and avoids glancing at Daynadrian.

Grimas stares at Braddon for a moment, frozen in the act of punting, then pointedly lifts his pole from the mud at the bottom of the river and lets the current begin to carry the flatboat downstream toward the Publican House.

He shrugs, as he poles the flatboat across. "I can deliver you to any of the docks on the west side of the Velashu: straight to the Publican or up to Free-Coin or anywhere in between. East side, too, if you're that lazy, from the harbormaster's office to Devil's Fork. The fare depends on the distance traveled. Most people are content to take the shortest fare across and walk; only costs them their shoe-leather. That's excepting the Windward folk. I can take you straight to the river taxi stand at the mouth of the harbor, but they'll charge you an extra fee to disembark if you're not a local. Pretty rare the Windward folk get desperate enough to take my ferry, though; they have their own boats they can hire. I can take you to Maskyr's Island, too ... only they won't let you set foot on the place unless you've been sent for by the Overlord. Then I can charge you to take you back," he smirks. "Hey," he goes on with a more genuine smile, "good news about the redhead, huh? She sure seemed excited this morning."

Braddon, Snake, and Daynadrian follow the road west to Velashu Ferry. The working day is underway by now, so the streets are fairly quiet and there is no one waiting at the dock other than Grimas, sitting at the doorway of his cottage with the brim of a hat pulled low over his eyes to shade them from the morning sun. He eyes the two men strolling along with the nervous-looking boy rather dubiously.

"Crossing to the west bank?" he asks, as they approach.

Arnando continues to frown but doesn't ask any more questions as he and Snake make their way up the western bank of the Velashu to the ferry. Grimas sees their approach from his cottage on the opposite side and starts to pole over to meet them before they've arrived on the dock. "Don't often see you away from the Publican this time of day," the ferryman remarks to Arnando with a curious glance as he steadies the flat boat against the piling on the west side.

"You're not wrong," Grimas chuckles. "I'll see a man cross with his wife during the day and with his mistress after dark, but I never tell him he's just missed his wife going across with another man."

"Hardly worth your coin, that," Grimas remarks as he moors the flatboat at the western dock. "Not that I'll lose a wink of sleep over charging you for both crossings, but you spent little enough time on the windward shore." When the men have boarded the ferry, he pushes off once again to return them to the other side.

Grimas looks exaggeratedly over the group and down the road behind Gristav. "What? No blonde this time?" he deadpans. "Where to, gents? If it's anywhere but across the river, you've come to the wrong man."

"Walked into risk?" the ferryman responds. "Looked to me like you walked into a brunette. Which, I concede, could be pretty risky, when there's a redhead involved, too." He stares at Gristav appraisingly for a moment, trying to read his true intentions. "I'll tell you this time, because it's after dark and you might be really worried for the girl. Didn't see her today. Which is unusual, as she almost always crosses toward Windward at least once a day. Last time I saw her was yesterday, after you chased after her and came back. She seemed upset then; thought it was due to your quarrel." He gives Gristav a stern look calculated to make the magus uncomfortable if he has anything to feel guilty about.

Gristav and Jaelle return to the ferry, and Gris queries the ferryman about a nice place to have lunch in Riddleport.

"The Three Billed Duck's a nice place to grab a quiet bite," he offers after an appraising glance at Jaelle. He provides directions to a tavern past Leeward Common. As Gristav moves to step off the ferry on the eastern shore, he maneuvers close enough to breathe in his ear, "Not the same girl you were arguing with yesterday." He raises his eyebrows in amusement.

Grimas accepts the coins readily, cupping them in his hand as he counts them, then dropping them in the pocket of his leather apron. "Certainly, sir," he agrees. "Just let me drop the other passengers on the west bank, and I'll take you downriver."

"Just Grimas," he replies, as the boat bumps against the eastern pier and he off-handedly ties it off. "And, uh, connections. Avery Slyeg looks out for those that served under him."

He chuckles nostalgically as he punts the flatboat back to the east side of the river. "Quarrel, eh? Been there, friend. You want me to tell her it was you that paid or let her figure it out?"

"So then, there's no way to pay the fare of the lady I crossed with, when she crosses back? Nor her next score of crossings? That'd be a whole gold, as I reckon it, for the burden of it to you, gratuity, or whatever else might convince you to accept that bargain. If you see your way clear, of course; wouldn't do to make waves for the ferryman." Gristav smiled, it was a clever turn of phrase,and deserved such. But the smile, like the man, showed some unseen burden.

"I am Gristav.", he said, hoping to seal the bargain.

"Oh, aye," the ferryman answers, his brow clearing. "If you want to pay ahead for her, I've no problem with that. Grimas Oltedler," he offers his hand to the half-elf. "You're not local, are you? New to Riddleport?"

Despite his fears, Gristav doesn't find himself dodging a lightning bolt or a fireball as he retreats down the Cypherlodge road. Once out of line of sight and range of spell from the building, he relaxes his angry pace and has the rest of the walk down to the ferry to second-guess his choices.

"You're back sir. Settled what you'd forgot?"

"I've either warmed a dish, or burned it."

Nodding in what he thought was understanding, the ferryman asked, "Is that what you'd forgot, then? Left it on the fire?"

"Yes.", Gristav agreed, soberly.

"So you're headed back there, now?"

"I hope so."

The ferryman frowns when asked about a pass or a volume discount. "Four copper a crossing, that's what I'm permitted to charge; it's in my license," he replies stubbornly.

Gristav, due to being on the payroll at the Gold Goblin, you can use petty cash for petty purchases: Anything less than 1 gold can be considered paid for by the Goblin, so you don't have to track ferry tolls and the like.

She watches him go unhappily, raising her hand in a half-hearted wave before she turns to head up toward Windward District and the Cypherlodge.

Gristav returns to the crossing, where his near-immediate reappearance raises the ferryman's eyebrows. "That was quick. Forget something?" he asks as he readies his punt.

"Is this the only way across the river? It's quite the earner for you. Surely not everyone crosses like this. I mean, does Scarlett Lil use your services? She's not the type who'd paddle her own boat. The big bosses can afford their own private barges of course. And they're more used to people coming to them than travelling back and forth. I woulda thought the overlord would have his own people here charging a fortune. Instead, we have you doing a great job. I didn't think things worked like that round here."

Grimas cocks an eyebrow. "What makes you think I'm not the Overlord's own people?" he asks a little coolly. "Velashu Ferry is operated out of Maskyr's Island, and I have the exclusive license to the income, as long as I want the job. Raising fares would put us out of business. The wealthy folk can afford their own boats, as you say, and if we price the poor folk out of crossing, the pirates in jollyboats will do it for drinking money at the mouth of the harbor. The Overlord didn't get where he is by being a fool."

"Anyway," he replies, "no, Lil wouldn't cross with me. Since the unpleasantness over Falk Zincher's death, she doesn't mix with the general public much; afraid some low-life thug might decide Cleg would thank him for knifing the woman his brother was killed over. She crosses somewhere -- she's based in Leeward, and she's frequently seen in Free-Coin -- but she must travel in a private craft. One of her clients', no doubt, probably a Windward man. Or woman," he adds as an afterthought. "A lot of bored housewives up there who married for money rather than inclination."

I am assuming that there are businesses that hang out over and line the river.

Yes, although in the River District, many of these are defunct and boarded up.

"Actually I wasn't asking Grimas anything but trying to figure out if he would be interested in investing in a toll bridge. Since a bridge will impact the ferrymen the most, it makes sense to get them to participate."

"A toll bridge?!" Grimas seems stunned by the prospect. "You'd have to get approval from the Overlord for that. I operate the ferry on an exclusive license from Maskyr's Island. I have an irrevocable contract, as long as I want the job."

Tendal worries for a moment that he might have to stoop to the ungentlemanly level of shouting across the river to get the ferryman's attention, but business must be brisk enough on a Moonday afternoon that Grimas keeps a sharp eye on the far bank from inside his cottage because shortly after Tendal's arrival, he emerges with a wave and punts his flat-bottomed boat across to the western pier. "What's become of Liry?" he asks, glancing around for any sign of her.

"Since you keep track of everyone that comes past, or at least me, when have you seen the girls she was travelling with before? And did you get a client yesterday, with a strong smell. Sickly like. Maybe they tried covering it with perfume. About mid afternoon yesterday."

"The girls? Domestic help up in Windward, I believe. They like to hit the Publican House once they're off work, and then last night they were headed to Old Stumpy's new casino. Hear it was an exciting time."

"A smell?" He grins wryly. "Working on the river, I can't say as I can stand to be picky about smells. Most of the wives and mistresses about town wear perfume and pretty hefty doses of it to counteract the summer funk off the harbor, as do Shorafa's girls. Yesterday afternoon?" He thinks and then shakes his head. "No one that sticks out. Desy ... that is, Mistress Krump, the tanner's wife. She always wears enough perfume that I can smell it over the river, as it's her husband's business responsible for half the reek in the Reek District," he chuckles.

"Mescher? What's he got to do with it?" the ferryman asks. "Can't see him causing trouble for Shorafa just over Oliver's latest antics; she generally polices her own."

"Shorafa wouldn't sanction that," Grimas replies immediately, in a tone that brooks no doubts. "And Oliver ought to know it. Doesn't really sound like his style, either, although I wouldn't swear he wouldn't do it. I think he does things sometimes just for the experience of having done them. Shorafa's girls?" he squints into the sky thoughtfully, as he starts to punt the ferry across the river. "Suppose they could have been. I'm not as familiar with Shorafa's girls as I used to be in my younger, more single days," he offers Braddon a wink. "I imagine she has a whole new generation under her wing by now."

The ferry operator frowns. "What's Oliver been up to then? He rarely goes to the other side of the Velashu, unless he's got friends down at the wharves that take him back and forth without my knowing about it. D'you cross the river last night, sweetheart?" He peers at Ananda's face as he helps her down onto the flat boat. "Here, I remember you. You crossed last night with a group of girls that had been at the Publican House. Paid the fare for all of them. Looked like you were having a grand time. What happened to your friends?"