With his rifle and kit laid out on his bed, Thwip looks at his tools. Then he looks at his broken arm and somewhat immobile hand. Then he looks at the waiting Sasha.
– No. He probably wouldn’t know the proper amount of torque to use.–
Then he looks back at his rifle, the damaged seal, the pump, and the delicate, fiddly, clever tools. Then he stares down at his arm and sighs.
“Sasha. I don’t tink tat she’ll be comingk t’ fetch yi. Wouldt yi be willingk t’ come wit me to t’ healer? I don’t tink tat I kin do tis wit mi arm as it is.”
Sasha watches Hayu’s indignation from the window with amusement.
“I do not think she has accepted her fate yet but it guides her nonetheless. I would not ask her to shore up an unstable gallery and I’m sure I would be as much a hindrance in her world.”
“Come, let us get your arm fixed instead and then you can tinker to your heart’s ease.”
Ranar nods at Eoin, glancing around at the crowds of people, trying not to get distracted by their noise. “Aye. This is far from my … huh- lan- … ah, place. It’s yer show. I’m here t’ back ye if ye need support. Just be tellin’ me what I should be doin’, an’ how you’ll signal it.”
On the inside, he hopes that these two really do know what they’re doing. Eoin seems to know his way around and they both can certainly put up some bluster, but it remains to be seen whether the locals will fall for it. Dwarven merchants that he’s known could see right through a shady act. But this is not Zarak.
He’s also dubious as to how well they’ll haggle when selling gear that they neither made nor fought for. But perhaps it’s for the best that negotiations be done by someone who didn’t watch their companions die while acquiring the loot.
With mixed feelings about the venture, Ranar trudges on, taking note of his surroundings so that he can find his way back if need be.
Getting directions to the cheapest healer from the barkeep, Sasha ventures into the streets with Thwip, his evident happiness the polar opposite of the misery of his previous few days. Whistling a jaunty mining tune, he stares around at the bustle of a human city.
“So, Heathen, have you given any thought as to what we do after your arm is fixed?”
Thwip’s mood, while not exactly the opposite of Sasha’s, isn’t anywhere in the same neighbourhood.
Thwip gives his deep thought frown that he is never aware that he makes, and mulls over it before answering. Being in the company of dwarfs tends to make him forget to guard his words around someone who is still a stranger.
“I’m not rilly certain, t’ tell t’ trut. What I needt t’ do is spendt some time in a library or a wizard’s book collection and research and I don’t know ifin yi all kin wait tat long. I want t’ look fir anyting about t’ magical artifacts off t’ past. Elven magic and the killers that use it. Banestorm history. Wars wit al-Wazif. Aronn himself…”
Thwip is lost in memory for a few seconds before continuing. "He was too close wit his seekrits. A simple plundter off an oldt ruin turndt oot t’ be a live and deat fight over an unknown power. He seemedt sick from a curse yet had considerable magicks. I didn’t trust him and… "
– And I was planning to kill him if it turned out he was a mad elf with an artifact of evil power I helped him gain.–
“Yet he gave his live t’ safe mine.”
Thwip turns away and looks carefully at the people around him, using it as an excuse to hide the tears that are welling up. He looks at the tension in their faces. Their confusion over seeing a goblin and beardless dwarf walking together. The distrustful and fearful looks they shoot at the guardsmen like everyone who recognizes those in power. The distrustful looks they shoot at each other. He smells the lingering haze of smoke. Hears the mummers. Recognizes the desire to have life go back to normal as soon as possible.
The second his eyes dry something turns over in his head. Later he would variously describe it as the clack of a clock, the popping of a deer’s eye soup, and the swearing of fear giving up.
He then turns his attention back to Sasha.
“But right now I want t’ help tese people get tere life back t’getter before they let teir fears destroy it all. Let’s poke aroond after mi arm is healdt.”
“No talking,” she says. “I’m serious. First key to success in a new town is keeping your ears open. Kind of places we’ll probably end up, the last thing you want to do is say the wrong thing. Second last thing you want to do is sit with your back to the door… or at any open space you can’t see in a mirror. Also, try not to look like you’ve got too much money. That’s just teasing.” Not that they look exactly un-poor. “I hope you left the bulk of your money somewhere safe.” She’s got just enough for a couple of pints on her, just enough to look like a customer and not a spy. Most people think illegal deals are made in alleyways in the dead of night, but a surprisingly large number are in plain sight at the pub. “As for it going south, we won’t have to signal. You’ll be able to see it, if it happens.” She looks him over. “You got that? Good. Now tell me to get lost before people start wondering why you’re letting some beggar harrass you this much.”
Ranar conceals a smirk. Keeping his mouth shut is something that he’s particularly good at, his natural state really. He’s not too worried about having some coins on him, nobody’s getting them unless he chooses to spend 'em and he certainly wouldn’t just leave them somewhere. But he’s definitely not wearing them on his tunic either.
After a brief moment he puts on an annoyed face and holds up an arm, palm toward Hayu, and looks away, straight ahead. “Begone wit’ ye! I got naught for ye. Ye’ll find luck elsewhere mayhap.” He continues forward, pointedly not looking back at her.
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.”