Following the barman’s direction to the healer, Thwip and Sasha head across the old market to the south of the square.
The square is busy with commerce during the day; mostly food and trinket vendors. More established businesses line the square. The food is notably less multicultural than what Thwip was accustomed to in Tredroy.
The healer’s office is a small storefront to the southwest of the square. A bell rings over the door as you open it; a young man pops out of a door in the back of the waiting room in response.
Thwip holds up his arm with a grim expression to show the splint. He decided to tell the truth. Or at least a version of it with scant details. If the healers here are experienced with mercenaries they won’t ask for more.
He hopes. He doesn’t have much experience being a grim mercenary.
“We hadt a goot fieldt medik but he didn’t know inny magick. It’s bin a week or so andt I’d like t’ get tis ting off off mi. What kin yi do?”
“Ooh, that’s a nasty break you’ve got there. But never mind; just take a seat here and the healer’ll be with you in a jiffy. Is there anything else you might be interested in? Some healing potions perhaps?”
“Tat sounds like a logikal plan. We kin discuss it after mi arm is reattached.”
Thwip looks at Sasha with an expression that he hopes conveys the idea that he’s about to ask things and that he might need help knowing when to not ask things. Not knowing what that expression looks like he mugs at him with something that looks like a confused smirk crossed with smelling a fart.
“I can’t help but notice tat tis toon is on edge. T’ inkeeper toldt us tat tere was some arson andt everyone is blamingk everyone tey don’t like fir it. Inny insights? Tis a bit worringk.”
Unlike Ranar, Eoin doesn’t even try to conceal his amusement, just deftly rolls it into part of the pantomine for their unwitting audience.
“Told ya, “If ye show res’pct, ye’ll get res’pct” me arse. You’ve a kind face so you need to be quicker with a mean tongue or that lot’ll see you as a walking purse,” he says with a friendly clap on the shoulder. With that he steers Ranar deeper into the Islamic quarter, trusting Hayu to keep up and watch their backs.
Eoin brings them to a stop outside a place that looks a lot like The Sundered Horn, only the air is thick with the smell of coffee and hashish instead of beer and tobacco. He pauses at the door before going through, "Hang back, by the door while I get us the nod."
Once their both inside the door, Eoin heads to the bar and waits patiently to catch the inn-keeps attention before starting.
“Peace be with you, I’m Eoin could you tell Imam Waleed our friend Alfric sent me and the dwarf to talk with him? And he apologises that he couldn’t come himself,” he asks the inn-keep in Arabic. Hopefully the Imam catches his drift with the name drops.
The expression on the face of the healer’s assistant goes momentarily blank.
“Yes, those fires were terrible; horrible burns. So many that we couldn’t save them all in time. It’s terribly sad”.
“Excuse me a moment”
He ducks into the back room, leaving Thwip and Sasha alone in the office.
The innkeep welcomes you, and sends a boy scurrying upstairs with the message. After a moment, Waleed appears at the top of the stairs.
He is a man of late middle age, of a gaunt and weathered appearance. He is dressed in traditional robes of a style that is not quite Wazifi or Hazi.
He sweeps a keen glance over the room, then calls out in Arabic.
“Eoin! Peace be upon you.”
“It is good to see you again. Come on up; welcome to my humble lodgings”
He leads you into a small suite of rooms on the second floor of the inn. The rooms are cluttered with books and manuscripts; Waleed sweeps a few from a bench and gestures you to sit.
“So, what brings you back to Hadaton? As I recall, you left in something of a hurry…”
Sasha looks at Thwip, uncomfortable at the assistant’s behaviour. Most non-dwarves are a bit of a mystery but even he can tell that was odd. Fingers brushing the hilt of his sword in reassurance he starts after the human, looking for anything suspicious.
As a plausible cover for his actions, he calls out “Wait, we have not discussed payment yet”, and pushes into the back room.
Like Sasha, Thwip often found the behaviour of pinkies unfathomable. However Sasha pushes into the back before he can formulate a plan of approach.
– I need to teach these guys the scientific method at some point. –
He stands up and follows the dwarf. He decides that caution has already been spiked into the tropical winds brewing over the city. “Hullo? Apologies ifin I haff given offense. Tis seems personal to yi. Do yi needt help?”
She hangs back far enough to still keep track of them but not so close that anyone will peg them as a unit. The pub Eoin leads them to isn’t much different than the one they just came from: except for the goods served. She should have asked Eoin to grab her some coffee.
She’ll blend in inside like a cat in a mouse den, she wagers. On the street, however, no one wants to look too closely at a beggar, lest they be forced to care. She sets herself up where she can keep an eye on the pub’s front door. If a few coins come her way during the course of keeping watch, so much the better.
As Thwip and Sasha barge into the back room, the assistant spins to face them with a surprised expression. On the other side of the room stands an older man, in the process of closing the door that leads out the other side of the consulting room. A desk is in one corner of the room; a stretcher bed sits against one wall.
After collecting himself, the apprentice comes towards Sasha making shooing motions with his hands. “Please, gentlemen, I asked you to wait outside…”.
The elder man at the door turns and steps forwards.
“Never mind, they’re here now, I may as well see them. So, hurt your arm, have you? Give me a look at that”.
He gently draws Thwip’s arm from the sling and examines it.
“A nasty break. Been getting into trouble, have you? Never mind, that’s none of my business. I can fix it immediately for $200, or make it heal over a month for $100. Which will it be?”
Thwip thinks of trying to stare down the man for two seconds. Then he remembers that there are human children more physically intimidating as he is. Instead he smiles.
“I could pay yi nothingk andt still have mi arm healedt in a month.”
He glances at Sasha. Perhaps if Eoin were here he could approach the man about who he just let out the back door in a subtle way. But Thwip is a scientist. Poking at things he shouldn’t is his calling. A brief memory of his father on the day he left home after the murder of Eyegouger floats into his head.
Thwip hopes this nest has golden hornets.
Looking at the door that just closed in what he hopes is a meaningful way, he speaks in what he hopes is a confident and reassuring way. He is relying a fair bit on hope today and it makes him uncomfortable.
“We are members of t’ Tredory mercenary guildt. Unlike some off are brotters we try t’ help tose who needt it. Be it t’ Fate of Dwarfen godts or t’ hand off Godt in Heaven we are in tis toon at a time off needt. It doesn’t take an abrasif-yet-opportunistick street thief t’ see tat t’ situation is personal t’ yi. Ifin yi’ll have it, we’ll help fir the cost of yir magicks.”
– I didn’t lie here. I just decreased the margin of error is all. –
Thwip mentally prepares himself to be tossed out on the street. Perhaps the next healer won’t act so suspiciously and he can get on to doing what he really wanted to do: Take measurements of the burnt buildings.
The healer appears momentarily startled, then confused.
“Well, obviously it’s personal when you’ve had to watch people die under your hands. It was a truly terrible accident.”
“I’m just a simple healer, though. Did you want me to fix this arm or not? I tell you what; I’ll do it for $150. It isn’t a very large arm, after all.”
The botched escape from the vault flashes before his eyes. Aronn’s life pouring out in front of him. Blue Hawk falling. He never saw what happened to Jabril and Nic. He only remembers their silence as he and Ranar laid them out.
He shakes himself out of it and attempts to regain his composure. “I… understand completely.”
Smiling again he nods a thanks, “I tank yi fir yir offer off a reducedt price. How does tat cost seem t’ yi, Sasha?”
– Please live up to at least one Thumb stereotype and haggle them down! –
Thwip bows to the inevitable and digs out $150 for the healer. After telling Thwip to lie down, he goes to a cabinet in the rear of the room and withdraws a couple of gemstones.
Clutching the stones in one hand, he places the other upon Thwip’s broken arm. Muttering a few words, he sends power coursing into the goblin’s arm, drawing the bones straight and knitting them back together.
After a few moments, Thwip’s arm is as good as new.
“Thank you for your business, gentleman; remember us if you should ever need our services again. Good day to you.”
Despite his newly functioning arm Thwip feels a very different sort of pain in his pocketbook as he walks out the door.
“Tat lead did not git us anyting,” he says to Sasha. “Yet I cannot help but feel tat someting is happeningk beyond some arsin.”
Thwip fiddles around in his pockets. Eventually he finds his scrying stone. He holds it up by the string to show Sasha it’s amazing swinging properties. “I tink we may findt some clues at t’ fires. Shall we go or do yi have a cunning plan? I am all fir exploringk all t’ options until we eliminate tem.”
Following the scent of smoke, Thwip and Sasha stroll through the streets towards the theatre.
The city is bustling, and business carries on as usual. There does seem to be a hint of tension in the air, however; muttered conversations and suspicious looks follow the dwarf and goblin as they move through the streets.
The theatre is still smoking, but the fire is out. A small crowd of people are milling around outside; some cleaning up and stamping on embers, some merely looking on. An attractive young woman sits on the street, sobbing into the shoulder of an older male companion.
As she watches, she listens. Her Arabic isn’t perfect, but it’s better than most people’s who didn’t grow up with the language and thanks to Hassan, she’s well aware of some of the more emphatic expressions.
People around here are on edge, mostly because the Christians are on edge and jumping to conclusions. Some mutter over whether they should leave while they still can, while others vow to fight if trouble comes. Still more just hope it will all blow over. Every now and then, someone drops a coin in her cup: perhaps out of habit, perhaps in fear of his soul. Allah, after all, is said to be pleased with charity; maybe if they are kind He’ll do the same.
That’s something, at least. When gossip reveals so little, it says more than most people know. When Émile worked, for example, even merchants who never dared venture near the dens of thieves muttered about business losses and money owed. There’s none of that here, only fear. That makes this arsonist worse than Émile, she decides. Cruel as he was, it was targeted. These fires seem like they are aimed at everybody with the sole purpose of stoking fear and unrest.
She mutters something under her breath, one of Hassan’s favourite expressions when an experiment went wrong rather spectacularly. This bâtard had best hope she never gets her hands on him.
Thwip nods towards the crying woman in case Sasha missed them, and then head gestures at the crowd putting out embers. Taking Sasha’s silence for agreement, he walks towards the crowd.
As he nears, “Hello friends. Were travelers tat just arrivedt. We feel tat what happendt here is a shame. We half two strong backs and we’t like t’ assist yi in t’ clean up ifin yi’ll half us.”