“I agree,” Hayu says, trying to shoot a significant look at Eoin. She’d step on his foot if she were wearing boots and his weren’t quite so sturdy. “A bit of rest would be a good thing.” More like a bit of leaving the three of them to rest and getting the job done right. If Eoin’s even halfway smart, he’ll realise that showing up to a meet with these three is just asking to get burned.
Speaking of which… That smoke isn’t the usual city smoke smell. Something big went down here very recently, which means people are going to be jumpier than usual. Even more reason to hurry up and get off these docks instead of standing around gabbing. Hayu has always been a believer in security through obscurity, and these clowns are anything but. They couldn’t blend in at a circus.
Unfortunately, she has a bad feeling that Thwip still thinks he’s in charge. Yet another reason to find her own sleeping arrangements: with any luck, when the inevitable happens, she’ll have a headstart and be outside the splatter zone.
“Aye, as the Thief said, a rest would be good. Let us find a place to be secure and plan for we have many things to do here. A cellar would be for my preferences, if that can be arranged?”
Eoin leads you into the city, heading towards the Old Market. This open square lies to the southwest of the larger New Market, just north of the imposing Customs House. The Great Cathedral of Hadaton is visible some distance to the west.
Facing onto the market is an inn, The Sundered Horn; the sign carries the image of a horn being sliced in two by a curved sword.
Going inside reveals a moderately busy taproom, occupied by clients of moderately respectable appearance. It’s a working class place, but looks to be of a decent standard.
The barman eyes you as you approach. He’s a middle aged man of moderately large build and ruddy complexion.
Hayu finds herself a loitering place outside, tucked up against the inn wall. Dressed as she is, she won’t blend in, in there, and the landlord is liable to keep a closer watch, which is the last thing they need. As soon as she’s sure no one’s watching, she’ll have a go at getting onto the roof – high ground is better for a survey, and it’s surprising how many people don’t look up. It’s amazing the things you can learn when no one knows you’re there.
“Hello ser, we’re looking for a place to stay. What rooms do you have available?” Eoin replies. As the negotiations begin, he casually looks around the taproom assessing the crowd’s mood. He watches for signs of tension or anything out of place that might indicate if the smoke and recent fire was something to worry about.
Either way he intends to slip an inquiry about what had happened into the discussion of the rooms and rates.
Hayu hadn’t followed them inside, which was a good call. If she was the type she seemed to be, she’d be having a quick scout around, Eoin’d have to ask what she found once the rest of the party was settled.
Thwip makes a point of staring at a space six inches in front of his face.
– Eoin is far too helpful. Hayu makes her avarice and insecurity obvious, but he spins a good tale to cover for whatever his goals may be. It’s hard to trust in a pinkie even under the best circumstances yet these are not the best circumstances. –
He looks at the back of Eoin’s head as he speaks to the in-keeper.
– It could be as simple as them smelling the scent of gold upon me and Ranar. In that case they can be easily paid to go away if the need comes. It’s just money and more can be earned. There isn’t much other reason for them to still be with us that I can see. Unless Sasha’s pagan gods are indeed playing with us. –
He then casts a look at both dwarfs. Despite Sasha looking like he’s trying to dig into the basement by slouching, Thwip finds the presence of the dwarfs reassuring. He feels that they’re typically not a fickle people. And if he had to choose he’d much rather have an angry mob of them behind him than in front of him. Should Eoin or Hayu betray them Thwip is confident their only hope would be in out-running both dwarfs.
If Sasha and Ranar were anything like Archmage Eyegouger, they’d have to run to the bottom of the ocean.
Thwip notes Hayu is not with them.
– Probably waiting for the best moment to make a dramatic entrance through our window. If it keeps her happy, I suppose we can deal with it.–
The inn is a square fronted, two-story timber building in the middle of the block. Two doors and three windows face the street at ground level; five windows on the first floor.
To the right of the inn is a narrow alleyway, designed to allow access for the waste collectors. A pair of chimneys rise up this wall, each with a small metal hatch at ground level for ash removal.
Although uncomfortably warm, the brickwork provides for good handholds all the way to the roof. There are no windows facing onto the alleyway from the inn or the neighbouring building.
“I’ve got a couple of rooms vacant upstairs at the moment, and there’s always space in the taproom. How many of you are there, and how much room will you be wanting?”
Although the patrons are not hostile in appearance, there does seem to be a hint of tension in the air. Several tables appear to be having intense, private discussions.
After a gentle probe, the barman explains.
“Yes, everyone’s a bit upset; the theatre burnt down this morning, and that’s the third fire in the neighbourhood this last fortnight. It weren’t no accident, no matter what they say.”
“It’s those bloody fanatics north of Newmarket what’s responsible, if you ask me. The Prince should kick them back over the river where they belong.”
[GM note: I’ll be needing a Climbing roll from Hayu and a Merchant roll from Eoin]
“One of the upstairs rooms’d be good. Now this next bit might be a little odd, but dwarves,” Eoin says with a knowing look, hoping to trade on the dwarven reputation for cultural weirdness. “They don’t like to be too far from the ground, ya got a nook in your cellar they could use? If not they’ll take some space in the taproom.”
“What makes you think so? Do they have a burning hatred of theatre, or is there something alike with the other two places that went up?”
Easy, peasy, she thinks, examining the brickwork. She puts on her good gloves, flexes her fingers and toes a bit, then starts up. Her feet are hardened and need no protection but it’s hard to do delicate work with callused hands.
Once she’s on the roof, she keeps as low a profile as possible, while still able to have a look around. She’s got a good view of the street and alley, so if the trouble-twins are being followed, it’ll be harder for their enemies to pull off an ambush.
From here, she can also see that it was more than just one fire: there are three sets of blackened ruins, too far apart from each other to have been part of the same conflagration.
“Huh.” She knew a guy who would do that – worked for Sam the Snake and was crazier than a half-starved badger. Mean as that, too. Sam didn’t like people who skipped on their debts and funny thing was how his boy Émile could put the frighteners on anybody once they knew how he worked. Nobody – not even the Snake – was that surprised or upset when a knife somehow ended up inside his kidney.
That gives her some comfort: whoever this is, at least it’s not Émile.
After a bit of haggling over the price, Eoin manages to beat the innkeeper down to $300/night for room and board for the five of you, or $1,800/wk if you pay in advance.
In response to the question regarding the fire, the innkeeper replies “It’s those bloody mullahs of theirs. They go on and on if a man of theirs so much as looks at a decent establishment like this. I ask you, what’s wrong with a bit of ale to soothe the soul at the end of the day? Where’s the sin in that?”
“The theatre today, Egbert’s inn last week, Guinevere’s house of…ahh…negotiable affection, let us say…the week before that. Where will it end? The Prince has to do something before we all fry in our beds.”
The inn faces south. Across the square is the customs house; Newmarket lies behind you to the left. On your right is the cathedral; the bulk of the city stretches ahead of you to the south. A nearby church stands just south of Newmarket. The Prince’s palace is dimly visible in the distance.
The centre-north and core of the city are occupied by commercial buildings and lower class residences; the southern fringes contain the upper class estates. The burnt out buildings are all contained within the working class neighbourhood around you.
Thwip snaps out of his reverie as the conversation takes a turn. As a young child he had been frightened by what he later came to know as the Church Inquisitors visiting his home and having a very intense conversation with his parents. After they left the crying boy came to his parents for an explanation and comfort. As was his habit, his father put his ink-stained hands on Thwip’s shoulder and grunted, “Son, your uncle Thwine would put his dick in a hornet’s nest just to hear the noise it would make.”
It took many years to understand what that meant. With mentoring under Eyegouger Thwip had grown to be fearful of the sound. He felt it was time to pull Eoin’s dick out.
Pushing up to stand aside the man, he interrupts. He tries to mimic Lord Aronn’s rumpty-tumpty way of speaking in the hopes an innkeeper’s habit of wanting to please people with money will take over from his growing buzzing.
“Mi good Sirah. Ifin yi haff t’ time later after t’ meal we’d love t’ hear more from yi aboot t’ troubles. But as yi kin see by mi arm we’ve met t’ wrong end off a roving band off…” Remembering some of Ranar’s confused looks he over-enunciates the word, “Ssen-taurs. I wouldt be greatly appreciatif ifin yi showed us t’ are rooms and then to t’ nearest healer once we’re settledt.”
He tilts his head back as Aronn would. Like a man who never has to keep an eye out on the ground because shit never sticks to his shoes.
Having got enough information out of the barkeep, Eoin ready’s to disengage from the conversation. The barkeeper’s reaction was not unexpected, considering the tension in the air. Businesses like his own were going up in smoke, and he was letting off steam but he hadn’t lost his reins yet. Simple enough to deal with men in that mood. Agree with them, and step out of the conversation. Something along the lines of ‘what’s the world coming to if’in a man can’t get a some relaxation in peace’ and a sorrowful shake of the head. But then Thwip interrupts with a player’s version of an aristocratic accent.
Oh God, he’s going to have to keep speaking like that for as long as we stay here.
Once they were shown their lodgings, Eoin stashes his pack and begins changing out of his armour into his street clothes. At the same time he floats some logistics past the group.
“If yer selling those weapons, yer going to want someone discrete. A regular merchant’s going to assume you knocked over some noble’s armoury, or raided a tomb, and that’s just goin’ to be trouble. If you want to go that way, then while your getting your arm seen to me and Hayu can probably track someone like that down between us. For a reasonable broker’s fee of course.”
“15 per cent’s fair in my opinion, less what we’re owing for the boat ride. And if my share of the fee’d cover it, I’d like the broadsword from that lot to replace my ol’ beater,” he says strapping his sword belt back on.
The Prince has to do something before we all fry in our beds.
While everyone is distracted by The Heathen’s brain fever Sasha takes out a piece of chalk and draws a complicated mark in an unobtrusive place in the bar indicating that a Warden Of The Fires That Burn In The Dark was staying here. It wouldn’t mean anything to anyone who wasn’t a Dwarf, but it made him feel better after the unsettling boat ride.
"It’s just setting things up, safety is simple. Dont’ go tromping in with too many armed folk, ya’ll look like part of a rival outfit muscling in. Don’t look clueless and weighted down with valuables, you’ll look like a victim. Look like you can handle yourself, and ya don’t have enough on you to be worth getting stabbed over, you’ll look like a customer. And no-one wants a reputation for rolling customers, it’s bad for business.
“The hard bit is finding the right people in the first place, and knowing how to speak their language. That’s were the girl and I earn our fee.”
Thwip listens carefully while sitting on one of the beds. Nodding as he tries to take the new information in. He’s tired in a way that will require the idea of PTSD to be invented before it can be named. Being in constant physical pain along with learning about life on the other side of the fulling mill is draining him mentally. He’s struggling to speak Anglish.
“I’dt like yi t’ take Ranar wit yi. I want tis becuss ifin t’ ennimy is among t’ local undterground I’d ratter yi come back witout a buyer ten not come back at all. He is trustworty so yi kin rely on him t’ haff yi back.”
He shifts to look at the window. He wonders if he should undo the latch to make it easier for Hayu to climb in to show off her skills like he expects her to. Maybe she’d resent trying to make it easier for her? He sighs.
“I’d ask Hayou t’ take Sashya wit her but her pride is prickly. Ifin she wants t’ go it aloon tere may be no choise but I’d ratter she didn’t.” Thwip frowns as he thinks of everything that could go wrong. He’s risking a lot on two strangers in a town that seems to be on the verge of religious violence. He deeply wishes that he had the time to approach both his own troubles and the troubles of the city more methodically, but life seems once again to be moving faster than he’d like.
“Take t’ swordt. Tell Hayou t’ do vat she doz bisten yo…” He realizes that he slipped into Goblinese and shakes his head clear.
“When you see her ootsidte, tell her tat ifin she wants t’ take Sashya she shouldt come get him. I’ll stay here andt fix mi rifle andt wait for yi all t’ come back.”
He looks from the window to the others. “Does tis sound fair t’ yi all?”
“Sounds good to me,” Eoin says as he digs out the broadsword in question, and swaps it out for his old sword.
"This can double as a show piece, if we find an interested buyer."
Eoin moves towards the door and says "I’ll let Hayu know what’s what. Ranar, see you downstairs when your ready."
He sketches a quick salute to the group and leaves the room.
Heading out of the Sundered Horn, Eoin scans the street. He packs his pipe, and lights up a smoke, leaning casually against a wall on the opposite side of the street as he works out were Hayu is likely to be.
She’s not immediately visible out in the open. She’d probably want to get an idea of the escape routes in the area and be able to see trouble coming, so the alleyways are out. Limited sight lines. That leaves the direction honest folk don’t look to much, up. Probably on one of the roofs on the inn’s side of the street, he guesses.
He takes a punt and glances up, giving a quick, casual half-wave in a way that’d look like it was directly at any one of the roof-tops within a building of the Sundered Horn.
Just because he can’t spot her, doesn’t mean Hayu needs to know that, he thinks with a slight grin lifting a corner of his mouth.
In his plain greyish-brown civilian clothes, with his traveling gear stowed away, Ranar looks quite nondescript. A typical working-class surface-side dwarf, in as much as there is such a thing. After a moment of indecision over whether to risk a confrontation, he leaves his hammer behind with the axes and the rest and heads downstairs to meet up with Eoin.
But Eoin is nowhere in sight in the taproom, so he gets an ale and finds a quiet corner of the room to drink it. Feeling a bit anxious in a place full of strangers, that doesn’t take long. Soon he steps outside for a breath of fresh air and to get his bearings.
Spotting the rogue across the street, gazing up at the sky, he walks over and leans against the wall as well. “Birdwatching?”
Hayu drops down silently from the roof and sneaks quietly up behind the pair before speaking. “No.” Then Eoin gives her the bad news: their self-appointed leader expects her to take Sasha.
“Non, tabernac.” Her expression darkens considerably. “If he wants me dead, he can have the guts to do it himself. I said I would go to the meet with you. You know how to blend in,” though he’s still a little too nicely dressed for the kinds of taverns where you can find the best information, “but has everyone forgotten the part about trained assassins? Do you really think someone’s going to resist telling the story about how a beardless dwarf walked into the pub, especially if they think there’s some coin in it?” After all, if criminals were trustworthy, they wouldn’t be criminals. “Am I the only one here who even has the slightest experience at being on the run?”