As the waves come into the sleepy little coastal village, a ship starts to unload it cargo. Grain, metal goods, supplies for the coming winter, military equipment for a small garrison, and other items that would be needed. Ten solders and five archers were preparing to disembark. The tents would only be useful till the first real storm came. Earlier in the day, the two large warships had fired flares and cannons announcing the arrival. A few of the ships had left port, running the shallows so they could not be boarded and searched. No captain wants to have his vessel searched or worse seized.

Andrew Richard Whitewood III, now an Abbot was coming home. The village was originally called Dragon Spit, till the Dragons took offense to the name and it has hastily changed. Andrew was a noble bastard of the royal court. He and his mother were exiled to Pigeon Spit. He ended up being turned loose in these streets as a child, to survive or die on his own. He learned his first trade, thieving, from the pirates, whores, and street rats. He was made an honorable member of the Gold Tooth, the thieves guild, when he could finally pay his dues. Back then, he was called Andy and he spent as much time in the stocks at the docks as he spent in the school.

But life takes funny turns at times. His was when the Red Dragon, Fire claw, and the Sea Dragon, Riptide found him useful. They wanted a treaty with the king, territory to hunt and in return peace. Men and dragons have warred for as long as they have been alive. So Andy was sent to the king with a message. His uncle the king, kept him at the royal court. Andy's life took a second funny turn, he was educated and assigned to the church to keep him from being a royal pawn in court politics. It was there Andrew found that he had skills for administration and a distaste for royal politics.

Now his uncle was sending him “home” quietly banishing him from the royal court. Back to Pigeon Spit with instructions to help it become a city, help prepare for the coming war with the Western Isles, and of course pay the proper taxes.

After the troops gear was loaded on the barge, next came the horses. Andrew was placed on a smoke grey mare at the captain of the guard's instance. Andrew was not sure if this was to get him killed off, either by the horse bucking him off or by someone mad at the king. At the thought of someone thinking about assassinating him as he arrived with two large war ships docked close enough to send sailors to destroy the town, made his heart beat fast for the moment. Then he shook his head at thinking that he had been at court too long. First chance, he gets, he is getting off this horse, put on normal clothes, and get something to drink at the Rusty Peg Tavern.

As the barge started its trip in, the horse shifted uneasy with the waves as they came along the dock. There were row boats many had left a sailor to guard it. As the lines were secured, he made his triumphant reentry to Pigeon Spit by falling off the horse and on to the dock. Andrew's handlers had told him that riding in on a horse would make him look royal, being at court had polluted his thinking that this was a good idea. Now, the small crowd that had gathered to see the commotion, laughed to themselves.

Andrew waved off his handlers, picked himself up and belly laughed loudly. Bringing a roar of laughter from the crowed. Better to be thought the fool and to be found competent than be thought competent and found the fool, he thought. He then proceeded to push pass the pomp, his captain and servant,and went to greet the people. A few he remembered from his childhood, a couple he asked about family members. It was his attempt at letting the people know he was one of them, even if he dressed like one of them. By the late meal, his story would have made it from porch, to tavern, to table, to wash line and everyone would know who he was. Not all of it would be true, but not all gossip was bad and having some confusion gave him a little power.

At the end of the line was Lilly, a woman a little older than himself, with two children in tow. He took her hand and then hugged her. She was his first "true love" and now she was married to a forester with children of her own. She introduced him to her children as Uncle Andy, which confused those that did not know him and the guard. He took her arm, picked up a child and headed for the tavern to catch up on what had happened while he was gone.

Pigeon Spit. What a stupid name. Sounded more like an epithet one would use to berate errant workers. As in: “Move it, Pigeon Spit! No, the other hammer, Pigeon Spit! You guys are all dumber’n pigeon spit!”. And frankly, Bork hadn’t seen much of the town so far that would warrant a better name. The dwarf had heard that the king was sending somebody to shore the place up, develop it, make it into a town worth more than pigeon spit. That somebody clearly hadn’t arrived yet when Bork got there, so the engineer had set about on his own, making inquiries, visiting the copper mine and the quarry, talking to the harbor master about facilities and commerce, generally taking notes and forming some ideas.

Both the mines and the harbor facilities were badly in need of some tough love, to say nothing of competent management and a sense of direction. There was potential here. Hopefully, the decision makers in this community weren’t such idiots that they couldn’t see that, or appreciate the extent to which Bork Valding could provide those things. So it was with great curiosity and hope that Bork waited at the dock with a small knot of assorted yokels to watch the arrival of their new…governor? Mayor? Aedile? Commissioner? Whatever his title was to be. The guy Bork would have to pitch his ideas to in order to make things happen. And he had a few of those ideas already.

Bork was dressed in his “nice” clothes, an outfit that Roswith had picked out for him when they were still talking to one another: a beret that kept threatening to fly off his head with every breath of wind, a bright blue cloak fastened by a fussy brass brooch that took too long to polish, a tunic and trouser you couldn’t even really see under the cloak, anyway, and a pair of those silly, uncomfortable pointy-toed boots with shiny buckles as fussy and polish-hungry as the brooch. The dwarf glanced ruefully down at his feet, amazed and disgusted by how dirty and dusty those boots got just in the walk from the Rusty Peg. Once he had gotten his fill of disgust at his own footwear, he looked up to the arriving launch, to behold somebody, presumably His Whateverness, trying to disembark on horseback. Who did that? Perhaps the poor man had a Roswith of his own, Bork thought, loading him up with advice on how best to make an impression. Or worse: advisers.

It wasn’t long before the man paid for his folly; the horse faltered as it tried to step off the boat, pitching His Most Elevated Center of Gravity gracelessly onto the pier. The townsfolk giggled like idiots at this. Bork simply felt annoyance and disgust, much as he felt about his dirty boots. He was willing to give His Nibs the benefit of the doubt, assuming that he had been put up to this equestrian nonsense by somebody at court, or one those solicitous handlers who were now fawning over their fallen charge. Still, it was not a good omen for what was to come. The dwarf fervently hoped that His Officialdom would exercise better and more independent judgment when it came to matters of industry and commerce.

There was only one way to find out: follow the procession, now that it was once more up and moving, back to the Rusty Peg and buttonhole His Buttonholeyness as soon as he got the chance.

After getting a couple tankers of ale, a bowl of stew, and a lot of gossip about what had been going on in Pigeon Spit Andrew’s maid, a tall proper Elf of a woman arrived with two guards to collect him from the tavern. He had come to a belief that the woman liked him to feel uncomfortable. It also felt like he was being placed under arrest.

She took his arm and reminded him that he had people to see today. They had found him a house, of sorts, to stay in. When she started to describe it, he knew the place. It was one of the old Golden Tooth’s hide outs. He walked the rooms as the Captain fetched the carpenter to patch the roof in sports and to plan the repairs that would be needed.

The negotiation started, 9 silver, as the carpenter was working on other pressing projects. His name was Patmor and he looked a lot like his father. When the negotiations were done, Andrew had negotiated the price to 4 gold including all the materials and four helpers. The main work on the roof and walls would be done in the next day or two, repairing doors, windows and shutters would a couple weeks.

“The downstairs rooms should be dry enough if it rains, your Grace,” the carpenter said. Andrew thought about the number of times the carpenter’s father had chased him off with a switch and wanted to laugh.
“And the house is stable,” the man continued, “My grandfather built it with his own hands.” The pride was beaming in his voice.

Andrew’s gear was moved into one of the back rooms. There was a fireplace and a small storage room and shuttered windows. Andrew knew the rooms well. One of the boards near the edge of the wall could be pressed then slid to reveal a hiding space where Andrew stored his treasures. He opened it to find a short sword and a dagger that he stole from a sea captain’s quarters while he was entertaining one of the dock maids. There had been a reward offered for their return. A couple small red and blue gems were in the handle and scabbards. The weapons were not worth much but the bragging rights were.

He and his friends had made a bet not about the theft, but about the girl. He laughed thinking about the sword and dagger being with the girls clothes. He had grabbed the bundle and made his escape, proof that he had seen all of her. He had returned her clothes after the bet was won and received a slap a cross the face so hard his teeth were loose for a couple days.

Next he pulled out his old thieves tools. Then lay on the cot, examining his old treasures.

" 'ullo, miss! Do you by chance know what happed in the Peg?" Gavroche asked while looking up at a random woman. The woman looked down at Gavroche while patting down her long, cotton skirt and responded, "The Abbot had just bought an old, abandonded building, the one near the harbor and has been empty for some years. I reckon that the old rickety place will fall down on this prideful pillock." Gavroche gave a chuckle at that remark. "What a shame, but at least we'll have one more to agree with the horse." The woman gave a hearty laugh and went on her way. Gavroche turned the other direction toward the Gold Teeth hideout and began happily whistling.

When he arrived, he went to an odd, hidden corner of the hideout and looked around to make sure nobody was looking. When he was comfortable, he knocked a portion of the wall a few times. The final knock caused a panel to become ajar. Into that hole, he squeezed through, closing the panel once the inside with a few, hard pounds. After snaking through some tight spaces and popping in and out of rooms, Gavroche reached the room he thought the abbot would lodge. On one end of the room was a silent, loose panel that was the hidden entrance from the room next door. Next to the fireplace, there were a few, loose floor panels that led to a small underground space confined to the dimension of the room.

In the span of a few hours, Gavroche observed the sleezy building owner displaying the room and some of the servants bringing in what Gavroche assumed was the abbot's belongings. When nobody was there, Gavroche silently popped out and swiped some coin and a few objects that looked unimportant but expensive. He was about to leave through the hidden exit when he heard someone walking through the hall. Panicked, he hastily but silently went back down into the hole and closed the compartment. A few seconds later, the door clicked open with a person walking in. Gavroche peeked through the hole. It was the Abbot. Gavroche recoiled away from the peeping hole and hastily covered his mouth. With caution, he inched toward the opening but without pressing his eye against it. Gavroche watched as the man walked towards the fireplace and open up a hidden compartment filled with what Gavroche could describe as a thief's treasure. While the abbot perused the objects, Gavroche was filled with awe towards the treasure and confusion towards the abbot. Absurd! How did an outsider, especially a stuck up noble, know about that compartment. Even Gavroche didn't know about that! Gavroche pushed that thought aside and continued watching. From the same compartment, the man procured a set of thieves' tools, which befuddled Gavroche even more. Before he could resolve this confusion, the man placed a cot right above Gavroche's exit, obstructing Gavroche's view of the room.

---

Note: I decided to have a hider for the beginning part since I felt it wasn't too relevent (but still should be included in some way). I can take down the hider if it's too much.

Captain Afarel and Scribe Drom had been working to repair the damage that Andrew had done. A chair and a couple tables were brought into the room. The lock picks had been hidden in the pillow case. People had been coming and going. Petitioning for this and that, favors from the crown, business ventures to invest in, and the like. People wanting justice and others trying to make bribes. Food and wine was brought in for the appropriate people. Drom would be listening outside the room recording the facts and Afarel would note who would need to be watched.

Andrew thought he heard the sound of movement coming from below the floor. After the patron left, Andrew took a bowl of the hot stew and a spoon and placed it near where he thought the hidden door was. He hoped that his "rat" in the cellar would at least eat. He had been in that position many times. The worst was being trapped in a dress under a bed for a night.

"Captain," he bellowed, "Did I ever tell you that I had an uncle that had a gold tooth? He lived in a house that was so drafty that the rats would come and go as they pleased. He finally decide to start feeding them and keeping them as pets."
Afarel was confused by the conversation as he came in.
"I visited his house, the one with the gold tooth, and was bit by a rat. The rats started to think that they ran the place, so we poisoned them," Andrew said in a more normal voice.
"Post a bounty on rats," Andrew said, "and have the garbage heap on the edge of town burned."

Afarel reported that the men had reported a large number thefts. Pick pockets mostly.

Sitting at the table, Andrew looked up at him and folds his hands in front of his chin.
Then Andrew said calmly almost forcefully, "You parade me in like I am the king, on a stupid horse, flaunting the royal flags and seal. Then wonder why the pick pockets come out? Your lucky you and your men are lucky to have brass buttons and swords." He was about to tell the captain how to deal with the situation, when a dwarf tired of being stonewalled by protocol, Scribe Drom and the guards, started to push his way past the young guards. He caught Andrew's attention and Andrew called him in. Andrew hoped, his rat in the basement had managed to hear all that conversation. In dwarvish, Andrew calls the dwarf in to the table. Then dismisses the captain.

Andrew offers a clean bowl and silverware, dark rye bread and water to his new guest. "What is it that you would like me to do for you?" Andrew asked.

His Abbotness had given Bork the slip at the Rusty Peg, and the dwarf was not going to let that happen again. As soon as he discovered where Abbot Andrew Whitewood III was setting up shop, he marched straight to the dilapidated house.

Bork had dealt with protocol and procedures before. There was always some officious little goblin eager to feel important and throw his weight around by making people wait in line or run in circles. ”I’d like to talk to the abbot,” he declared to the scribe in the front room. “No, I do not have an appointment,” he continued, not waiting for the inevitable question. “And no, I do not wish to make an appointment; I wish to talk to the abbot. I know he is here, and I know that he has already met everybody in this town important enough to wait behind. Will you please just announce me? Bork Valding, Engineer.” He extended his card. “No, I did not give you that to ‘file away’”! he growled, as the scribe moved to consign his card to some oubliette in his desk. “I gave it to you to show the abbot when you announce me. Fine, then, I’ll do it myself. Hey! get your hands off me!”

The goblins retreated before the sound of their master’s voice, issuing from deeper inside the house, and Bork was able to walk into the abbot’s office unimpeded. It was gratifying. The dwarf gave the abbot a curt bow. “Greetings, Your…Grace? That’s the style, am I right? I am Bork Valding, engineer. I am not from here; I recently came to Pigeon Spit because I heard that the king wished to build this…town into something more. I am here to tell you how I aim to make that happen.”

His eyes widened a bit when the abbot invited him to the table. “You speak dwarvish?” he responded in the same language. “I am impressed, your Grace. Not many humans do.” He was even more impressed by the table itself. People worked at tables. Desks were for goblin clerks to hide behind while asking visitors if they had appointments. Bork realized that the abbot probably simply hadn’t had time to arrange a proper desk yet, but in the meantime, he liked to imagine that the abbot was hardworking. He declined the food and drink, having eaten beforehand. You never ate or drank at an interview or presentation because you might spill something on the nice clothes Roswith had picked out.

Tugging a scroll case out of a sleeve, he continued. “I brought my credentials and references, if you...r Grace wants to see them. As I said, I’m an engineer, and I’m interested in helping to build up this town. Specifically, I’m interested in improving the facilities at the mine and the port, as well as the transportation between them.” Bork had discussed some things with both the harbor master and the mining captain, and he could discuss them now with the abbot: the need for a bigger pier, or perhaps a wharf running along the coastline, with warehouses and cranes. The need to dredge the harbor to make it accessible to bigger ships, maybe even to salvage that derelict sitting out there just off shore. Bigger and better roads -possibly paved with tailings from the mine and crushed waste rock from the quarry. Locks, canals, and dams to turn the local river into a road that wouldn’t need paving, connecting the mine and the port.

“Of course, as your Grace understands, I would require a salary, to say nothing of a budget, for such undertakings.” He looked meaningfully about the room. “And an office, too.”

As Andrew took the credentials, took them out and examined them diligently. In dwarvish, "Master Bork, If one wishes to speak about these things, Dwarvish makes it easier." Finding the credentials in order and knowing that his scribe would send a pigeon to ensure that he was in good standing, Andrew continued. Dwarves did not tend to lie when it came to working with stone, but they might push to truth a little.

Measuring the man, the Abbot smiled. What did he know about this man? First thing he was a bold risk taker. Did that mean that he wasn’t careful? Master Bork did not start by offering to build a cathedral or even a temple. Most people applying for the job would have started there. So he did not think it was important, then what was? His hospitality being refused which meant the man was nervous and did not want to make a bad impression. But the nervousness probably also meant that he had not taken on something this big before. Andrew felt nervous about it too. Andrew got up and opened one of his chests digging in it.

As he searched he asked, "Do you already have a plan that you can show me?" he asked. Andrew knew this was a trap of a question. If he had a plan that meant that he did not care what others thought. If he did not, then he wasn't prepared. If it was only partially done, well then he didn’t complete things. Andrew liked how bold Bork was and wanted to see him react to the trap. He wanted to know this man's character. He pulled a thick book out of the chest and returned to the table and waited to see what Master Bork would offer.

After Bork gives his answer, Andrew tells him, "You can use the room down the hall for your office and space. This week you will be paid the proper rate. But, there are three conditions for keeping the job. The first is to get the boys that are hanging around the town and have them build a stone wall around the house tall enough to provide some protection. The second is I want to see a drawn out design with a plan, first things to last things.”
He paused for a moment, “By the end of the week."
Andrew hands him an oversized empty blank book to work on.

Andrew knew he was being a bastard and was asking too much. But it would answer all the questions he had. How did he deal with challenges? Could he plan and manage money? How would he deal with it when things did not get done? How did he deal with people? Could he help them learn new skills? Would he delegate or need to be in charge of everything? Would he ask others to help? Would he let them grumble and complain?

Would he grumble and complain? Master Brok was a dwarf, so there would be grumbling, complaining, and swearing – that happened even when things go smoothly. It was why Andrew originally learned Dwarvish, so he could swear effectively. But would he let other experience his anger?

With only a couple of teamster wagons and no wheelwright in Pigeon Spit, sabotage the project would be easy. Andrew knew the wall would not get done. He would need to find a partner.

“In a week, you will eat at my table and we will negotiate your proper salary,” Andrew said, “If you would excuse me, I can see that it about time for my evening prayers.” Andrew looked out the door to the scribe and said, “Please tend to his needs.” Andrew smiled, as he showed Master Brok out the door.

Gavroche continued to stay underneath the floor boards for quite a while, staying still as much as he could. Much to Gavroche's dismay, the place where the man had placed a cot still had a cot on top of it, meaning his chances of escaping without being caught were still rather low. For hours, he stayed in the crouched position, trying to stay as silent as possible. When the discomfort became unbearable, he shifted his body just a little bit so that he would only make a sound he thought only he could hear. The time grew longer as people moved in and out of the room with Gavroche eavesdropping on everything. Gavroche had thought there could never be a boring conversation, but it was here that he finally understood what the word "bureaucracy" meant. Every so often, his interest was piqued by the occasional bribe (especially from one Gold Teeth member he recognized) but was quickly disappointed when the Abbot declined every single time. At some point, things became so boring that Gavroche fell asleep and began softly snoring. He awoke to a small plunk above him and pitch black darkness. The peep hole was covered.

"Bollocks," Gavroche thought to himself. For all he knew, they could have put a dresser atop where the floor boards were loose, and even if it wasn't, any object above would certainly make a noise upon moving. He wasn't particularly worried about getting punished. He actually couldn't care less. It was his mother that he was worried about. Being late for supper was bad enough, but getting caught, that meant certain doom for his earlobes. After a minute of sulking about his predicament, he heard the Abbot making a conversation with another person. It was about rats, about a very particular kind of rat that scurried under the boards. To say in short, Gavroche understood everything.

"Ha," Gavroche thought to himself, "These rats will do more than bite you, they'll-" Gavroche held that thought to deal with another. No, that couldn't be. A dumb Abbot being a Gold Tooth? No... But it did make a lick of sense. How did the Abbot know about the compartment and that Gavroche was there?

"Scratch that second point, I was probably snoring..." He shrugged to himself and shelved the theory for the meantime in favor of eavesdropping. Gavroche smiled at the fact that the crew cleaned out the pockets of the entire guard. They'll more than likely empty this guy and his men out when they're done. After the conversation, Gavroche heard that a dwarvish man was barging in to make a business deal.

"Great, more boring chatter." Gavroche turned his attention off as the footsteps grew louder. Without notice, the Abbot talks in a language Gavroche had never heard. That initially interested Gavroche, but very soon, he became bored when it was just another boring business deal that didn't really interest him much. The only interesting thing was the prospect of pick pocketing more people, but that was all. As the conversation wrapped up, Gavroche began twiddling his thumbs, waiting for the Abbot to go to sleep.

Andrew waited, saying his prayers extra long. The sunlight set, he picked up the bowl of stew and placed the tray out the door for someone to take. Then going to a trunk he got a pouch and a metal plate. He took a smoldering stick from the fire then went over near the hide-hold. He pour some of the contents on the plate, then looked and poured some more. He started blowing on the stick to making it red hot. Moving the stick so the glow could be seen, he placed it into the material on the plate. Smoke started to fill the air, with a prayer the incense started to swirl, driving into the cracks in the floor and walls. Even the bugs started to flee at the strong scent. He pulled his dagger from his sleeve, watching the smoke change direction as it edged around the hatch and sinking into the hole. He was hoping to fill the space with smoke and insects and spiders to drive his guest out of hiding.

As Gavroche was waiting, the peephole went alight, allowing him to look through the peephole. There he saw the Abbot do his long winded prayers. Although Gavroche was bored, he was not unfamiliar with those kind of things. His mother used to always take him to the temple and have him sit through prayers far longer than this one. The smoke wasn't any big deal either considering they always did incense at the temple as well. (Though he did have to admit this one was far stronger and nearly made him cough) Though, what really caught Gavroche's attention was a familiar glint that flashed out of the Abbots sleeves.

"Wait, you do knives?" Gavroche inquired as he popped out of the hiding hole like a weasel, staring directly at the Abbot. "Oops," Gavroche muttered with a grimace. Immediately, he popped back down, smoothly placing the floor boards back above him without a noise and away he crawled from the opening.

Andrew smiled as the boy popped out then went back to hiding. Andrew was wise enough, well maybe old enough, to think going through the crawl space wasn’t something he wanted to do. He wasn’t fat, but he was no longer starving thin either. The crawl spaces were tight when he was young; he hated to think of getting stuck now. The boy would having him in speed and dexterity.

He chuckled at the thought about the stories about the mad Abbot, knife wielding and part of the thieves’ guild. He was okay with it even become a song as long as they left his name out of it.

The boy was young almost old enough to wok and someone was watching out for him. He looked like he was being routinely fed and his clothing were “clean” and in good condition. That meant that there was a woman in his life, a mother or an older sister. He might even be a part of a family.

Andrew thought back to his youth, he would not have wanted to come out of the hidey-hole either. Still, the boy should have realized that if he wanted to hurt him the Abbot would have yelled for the guards or grabbed a cross bow and shot through the floor, even taken the sword from the bed and thrust it down into him. Having spent time in the Royal Court one had to always be aware of assassins. The knife was to protect him self not to attack the boy. Any one with basic knife training would have recognized that the knife was being held defensively. He even gave him a chance to interact on his own terms, as guild brothers. Andrew sighed and asked to no one, “Does everyone have to do things the hard way?” It was clear that he needed to deal with the thieves’ guild, quickly. Had the guild master lost that much control? The thought of the guild master having died made him sit down on the bunk. The thought of himself possibly being the oldest guild member alive and therefor the defacto Guild Master hit him hard, right between the eyes.

He waited for a couple moments giving the boy a good chance to escape. He would give the boy a little room to brag for the evening. Then he had heavy chests moved to block the crawl spaces and passage ways. Tomorrow nails would be pounded into the floors at angles.

---

In the morning, Andrew and his crew, walked to waterfront to examine what they were dealing with. The Abbot called over one of the street kids and gave him a message to pass on. He whispered it to him, “If the one that visited me last night and took my stuff does not call on me, in the day light. The whole town will suffer. They will be feeding, providing drinks, bedding, and dealing with sailors long at sea that are itching for a fight and carry no coins and all will know the reason why.” He nodded at the two large warships and the little ships coming in to pickup supplies. He handed the child a silver coin to make sure the message was passed on. He needed to learn what happened to his guild family.

They spent most of the day, walking the town. Andrew would stop to look at a flower garden, children at play, he would watch people working their jobs. He spoke very little, lost in thought, nodding greetings to those who spoke to him.

OK, so the abbot wanted to show off his dwarvish. That was fine. When His Andrewness asked if he had a plan the dwarf shrugged. ”Not really. I have some ideas, and have made some sketches, a couple of which I have with me.” He reached into the scroll tube once more and unrolled a large piece of parchment with charcoal sketches and doodles on both sides.

One was a sketch of a large wharf along the coast, with lifting cranes, loading platforms, and warehouses along it. The warehouses were numbered, and were drawn as solid rectangles fronting the wharf that were extended by dotted lines into deeper rectangles farther back from it. The area immediately behind the warehouses was marked “right of way”.

Another was a cartoon map of the river showing logging sites and a path running down to it from the mine. On one side of this was a detailed sketch of a timber raft, and another of a log boom at the mouth of the river. In the area on the other side of the river, as if marking some sort of terra incognita, were the words: “No wainright?! Crappy roads? Transport problems! Try rafts. Ask Rorik how he got his carts.”

On the back side of the parchment was a picture of a wheelbarrow using wheels made from barrel lids and hoops. It had the caption: “Cooper?”

On the same side were various calculations of quantities of rope, wood, stone, gravel, and other materials. Rope was cheap, but whatever Bork had in mind was going to require a lot of it. Scribbled notes about inventorying tools, and also finding sources of tin and iron.

Bork listened next to the abbots “conditions” for his employment. He frowned until he realized that the conditions were actually challenges, whereupon his face took on a relieved grin. He had been afraid they would involve dress codes or paperwork or something. Building a stone wall without a stone mason? That could be done, if the ‘lads about town’ knew how to work and could learn anything.

Getting a plan written up in a week? He took the book and smirked as he leafed through its empty pages. Sure, one could whip up a plan in a day or in a year; it all depended on the amount of detail you went into. He had a pretty good idea how much planning he could do in a week; he’d push himself a little bit, but not enough to go crazy.

With a start, he realized the abbot had finished talking ; however, there was a minor detail. ”That’s only two conditions, your Grace,” he observed. ”The third?” He also wasn’t sure if His Grace meant the week deadline to apply to the wall as well. If he did, then he was a fool. A proper team of stonemasons with a design in hand and a load of material already in place could possibly build a wall like that in a week, conditions permitting. But here? With ‘lads about town’ and makeshift tools? Bork would go through the motions. No good being seen to ignore the abbot’s request. But he had already decided that he wasn’t going to make progress on the wall a priority in the coming week.

He would have to find out what if anything the last condition was before deciding how it would fit into his busy week ahead. After that, it would be time to examine his new digs, and then inform the goblin of his needs. It looked like the abbot was taking *his* leave, rather than leaving Bork to figure out how to withdraw from the conversation. That was a good thing. Spared a lot of fussy etiquette stuff. All in all, the abbot seemed interested more in getting things done than in standing on ceremony. Things were looking up.

Scribe Dorn showed Master Bork to the room. It was larger, but Andrew insisted on that specific room as his. Her room was across the hall from his.
[color=#00aa88”]“He is a good man, but a bit odd,”[/color] she said as if that was a surprise, “even worse since he is coming home. We try to keep him busy so he feels like he is in charge.” The truth was Scribe Dorn was more in charge as she controlled the purse than Andrew.
She pulls some inks and quills from her pocket for him.
“He does have some good ideas at time,” She said, “but he has a tendency of getting himself.” She pauses then continues, “um, in over his head.”

When the Abbot suddenly left the room, Gavroche made no hesitation to accept the gesture. Within minutes, Gavroche was out of the building, heart pounding in both excitement and confusion. There were many questions that were floating around in his head that he wanted to think about. However, first thing was first, staching the goods and then heading home. After Gavroche was done hiding his payload, he began heading home.

About halfway during the journey home, Gavroche's hairs began to stand on end. "Psst," a whispered voice beckoned, "Gavroche." It was a familiar voice that made Gavroche both relieved and annoyed. Gavroche whirled around to face a dark figure in the shadows. He then crossed his arms, raised an eyebrow, and laid his weight against the wall of the alley

"Spit it out. My mum is already worried as is." Gavroche snapped, impatiently tapping his foot onto the floor. The figure gave a soft sigh.

"You know, for someone so small, you've got far too much sass." Gavroche smirked at that comment. "Besides the point, I need to you deliver this to the Abbot in your 'special way.'" The figure handed Gavroche an envelope with a familiar insignia. "Don't open it or use that little trick of yours. I won't be so kind like the last time." Gavroche snatched it from his hands.

"Fine, but it'll have to wait until tomorrow. Also," Gavroche held out his hands. The figure let out of moan. Clink, clink a few coins went onto the palm of Gavroche's hand. "Thaaank you," Gavroche said before taking off to his house.

Gavroche approached a decent cottage near the northern reaches of the city. It was just far enough from everything to be in the Sparses, but just close enough that people came to it to conduct business. It was a round, brick building that was decently sized and decently comfy. On its front and back there were small porches with the front one that held various signs and paraphernalia during the day. Along the back of the cottage was a small garden that he and his mother tended to. Upon reaching the little house, Gavroche came in bursting through the door, exclaiming, "Sorry I'm late, mum!" His mother, named Marina, was sitting on a chair doing her sowing work under candlelight. Upon seeing her working, Gavroche immediately knew that she was particularly upset and quietly gulped. In under a second, Marina shot up from her chair, launching her work onto the floor.

"Where were you Gavroche Marmalage? I was positively worried about you!" She immediately stamped towards Gavroche who was bracing himself for the worst. With a shot of her arm, her hand pinched Gavroche's ear in a deadlock. She began to make demands as to where Gavroche was all this time.

"I was with my mates! We were arguing on how to divvy up the loot today!" Marina held still for a second. She then began tugging harder on Gavroche's ear. "Don't give me that rubbish," she scolded, "Tell me the truth or else!" Gavroche struggled to break free, but Marina's wrathful grasp was too much to bear. After a few agonizing seconds, Gavroche finally broke. "Okay! Okay! I was running a few errands for the Gold Teeth!" Gavroche fibbed reluctantly. "With the new Abbot coming in, they were positively overrunning with gossip, questions, and requests!" Marina paused for a second and then swept Gavroche off his feet and held him like a pillowcase. Gavroche sighed and went limp in defeat. He knew that his fib would work all too well to give him a sorry rump. That night, Gavroche was sent off to bed with no supper and with a beet red rump.

The following morning, Gavroche did his usual routine with his mother of cleaning the house, tending to the garden, and cooking the meal of the day. Though, with his misbehavior from yesterday, he was sent off on an errand to get cloth, thread, and food. From the side of the cottage, Gavroche took out a small wagon and began pulling it toward the market. The delivery would have to wait until much later.

The marketplace is not quite the ones in the royally patroned ports. Unlike them, the marketplace of Pigeon Spit is rather sleepy with only a few people walking about at a time. There was the occasional chattering gossipers walking down the street, but other than that, there wasn't anything exciting about the marketplace. When Gavroche entered the center, he made a few turns into one of the General Shops.

"Good morning, miss merchant!" Gavroche cheerfully chimed.

"Hello, dearie. Did you get in trouble again with Marina?" The general store owner asked.

"I'm afraid so. I sure got a boxing and a whopping when mum was done with me." Gavroche sighed. The shopkeeper gave a chuckle. "The usual, I presume?" the shopkeeper inquired. "Yes, but add in a red and purple, both about twelve in length," Gavroche replied. The shopkeeper's eyebrows raised. As she was getting the items, she asked, "Something special?" Gavroche looked at her and shrugged. "Mum won't tell me what it's for. I'm not guessing." The shopkeeper nodded and continued packing everything into the small wagon. Upon loading everything, the shopkeeper gave the price and Gavroche gently placed them into the woman's palm.

"Thank you, ma'am." The woman smiled. As Gavroche was about to turn around and leave, the woman's face went alight.

"Ah, have you met the Abbot?" Gavroche paused. "He's such a wonderful young man. Unlike snobbish royalty, this one is so kind and thoughtful. He visited this shop and had a wonderful conversation with me! Oh, and did you know? He's also a clergyman!" Gavroche paused and stood there.

"That's wonderful!" Gavroche choked, trying to sound as sincere as possible. It seemed to pass as the woman waved him goodbye without saying anything. Gavroche took a direct path home, filled with conflicted feelings towards this new "Abbot." In one direction, he felt absolutely no respect for a nobleman, but in the other direction, he felt a level of respect towards a man who actually seemed genuine towards the faith. And then there was that fact, the fact that made everything oh so complicated for Gavroche: the secret compartment and the knife. Those things made Gavroche confused, angry, and yet amazed? Before he fully settled those thoughts, he threw his hands up into the air in frustration and began to think of an insult toward this man. He thought of twenty in an instant, but none of them felt right. They didn't have the satirical bite that Gavroche was always known for. These were just plain ol' insults and uninspired wordplay. Two thirds of the way home, one of the urchins walked up to him.

"Yes, mate?" Gavroche inquired. The young boy looked down at him and brought him a message mutilitated through the whispers of several different children. The boy crouched down and said, "The Abbot is threatening the town if you don't show up to his doorsteps and confess to the pick pocketing." A flare lit up in Gavroche's eyes. "That bastard." Gavroche growled under his breath with the grinding of his teeth. Here he was, thinking that this man was above all of this. Oh, he'd give a confession alright, a confession that'll knock out a tooth or two before he was done. "Thanks. I have walloping to give now." The boy nodded and ran off into an alleyway. Gavroche picked up his pace towards home. Upon reaching the house, Gavroche quickly dropped off the wagon at the front porch before running off. Before he could get far, though, Marina burst through the door.

"And where do you think you're going!" Marina yelled. Without stopping, Gavroche turned back and yelled, "Have an errand to do!" After yelling, he went off in a sprint.

After borrowing a great deal of coin from the others, Gavroche finally reached the old building where the Abbot was living. He walked up to his usual entrance and attempted to open it. He couldn't. After trying to force it for a few minutes, he realized that the boards were nailed shut. He cursed under his breath and headed toward another entrance that he usually used. That one was nailed shut again. He gritted his teeth and let out a frustrated huff. He would have to use that entrance. He was reluctant to use this one, but considering the circumstances, it was worth it. This one had to wait until nightfall, however. For the wait, he went into another Gold Teeth building close by and hid in the walls until nightfall.

---

Note: The merchant's name is not actually merchant. It's just courtesy to name people by their professions and not by their direct last names.
Note 2: Of course a game of telephone won't bode well for a message.

Bork appraised the room with increasing satisfaction. It was a bit run-down, but he would fix that. The only obvious flaw with the space was that he currently shared it with a goblin (and this goblin, even more annoyingly, was an elf), but he would soon fix that, too. He was startled, and then annoyed, when the goblin spoke. The abbot was a good man? Blah blah blah? He gave her a scowl, but then softened it to a cursory “understanding” nod. ”I’m sure he’ll do fine,” he mumbled somewhat absently as he looked intently at the blank walls.

”I’m going to need soft chalk,” he announced after a moment. ”I have some for now, but I’m going to need a steady supply going forward.” Eventually, he would want a large slate board, but that could wait. The available flat surfaces would suffice in the meantime. He nodded again as the elf put a quill and some ink on the table, he continued. ”Apart from that, the usual office supplies, of course.” He looked around at the other furnishings, and then back at the table with the quill and ink. ”I’ll talk to the carpenter myself about a proper drafting table.” Another thought occurred to him, and he took a piece of chalk out of his pocket and wrote directly on the tabletop next to the quill and ink: "bigger charcoal facilities?"

Eventually, he returned his attention to the goblin. ”I’m not available for anybody while I’m working, except the abbot. And don’t make appointments for me. If somebody wants to see me, have them leave a note, and I’ll respond to it if I wish to talk to them. I’ll tell you about any appointments I make.” He scratched his unfashionably short beard. ”I’ll take a look at any information and records you currently have about the town’s resources and facilities, who and where the skilled craftsmen are, what they normally produce and trade for. I’d do all that legwork myself, but as you know, I’m working against a deadline.”

And that reminded him of yet another thing. ”Oil and rushlights,” he said curtly. ”I expect I’ll be working late in the coming days.” He would retrieve his lantern and rushlight holder from his baggage at the inn. ”And if you can scare up a cot, that would save me some lugging from the Rusty Peg.”

He set the chalk down next to the ink and quill, and the empty notebook next to that. ”I think that’s all for now. I know where to find you. Drom, is it, or Dorm? Thank you.” Just then there was a soft but heavy rumble somewhere under the floorboards. Bork’s frown returned as he looked back up at the goblin. ”That sounds awful big and slow for rats, and it’s still daylight. Do you guys have marmots under the house?” Marmots could pose an inconvenience, especially for any wall he was supposed to build around the house.

As dusk settled in, There was a change that Andrew did not expect. A woman with the night coughs, a young girl with a very high fever, and a farmer that had been kicked by one of the cows when he tried to separate the calf.

They had been placed in one of the upper rooms, it was larger and allowed them to be made comfortable. Andrew’s cot was now upstairs and occupied by the man. The woman rested on a pile of the abbots clothes and vestments. The young girl was being held in his arms and he rocked her humming. Andrew was dressed in a plain cotton pants, well work and a healer’s smock. He had blood and vomit on the bottom and he was bare foot. The only weapon he carried was the knife on his arm. He used it to cut bandages. A chest was open and drawers were pulled out showing herbs and ointments. Each labeled by name.

In the morning, he would ask Master Bork to help him set the man’s arm. He would have the guards hold him down. Andrew knew he wasn’t strong enough to pull and straighten it. He did not like admitting that he needed help of others. The man’s ribs were mended so he was breathing better. He had stopped the bleeding that occurred when the woman coughed, she had been close to death. If a few days, she would be well enough to return home. Andrew ordered that the windows in her house opened and her bedding washed. Andrew had sent the girls parents home to get some sleep. He healed the sweating wreck of a girl, wrapped in a blanket. Her hair clumped from her sweating and Andrew and she had the evidence of the girl’s vomit.

Andrew as he sat there, realized that he was a fool. He said out loud, “Why do I have to do things the hard way too?” As he said that Scribe Drom came to check on him a lantern low, she smiled at him as if that was the first right thing he had done. “Would you ask Master Drom if he could spare me a few moments? I could use his help and that of one of the guards.” He would apologize and suggest, ask, if they shouldn’t work on some irrigation projects for the farm, a blast furnace and smelter for the mine, and a common building to put their offices and a place to heal. He would send a runner to get cut stones from the Mine for the wall and for the foundations.

If the boy showed up, he would ask him what he though Pigeon Spit needed. Thieves do see the real hurts of an area. He might even ask the boy to help his refresh his skills.

Heck, he might ask the Captain to teach him how to ride a horse.

He closed his eyes and continued to hum.

Bork had a week in which to do things for his “test”, and although he intended to focus most of that time on his plans and drawings, he decided to start with some work on the wall. Having heard something moving under the floorboards, the dwarf checked around the perimeter of the house for burrows, or other likely entrances for animals in the foundations of the house. It had been abandoned and in disrepair for a while, and who knew what sort of vermin had decided to make themselves at home in that interval?

He saw no signs of burrows, nor did he see any groundhogs galumphing about in the nearby fields. He did notice a spot where the ground had been freshly disturbed at the base of the wall. Looking more closely, he saw traces of sawdust on the ground. He shrugged. Any number of persons or things could have come by here. There being no obvious hole or other entry, it might be unrelated to what he had heard. But he would pay attention to that particular spot in the near future.

He paced around the house, tracing what he judged to be the best course for a wall. The lot was flat enough that he could probably put it wherever he liked. He would need to stake out the intended course, dig a shallow trench, and put in a gravel bed first. Fishing out his abacus, the dwarf figured the volume of gravel he would need. That would need to be ordered from the quarry as soon as possible. He would ask the goblin to help with that. Then he needed landscaping stakes, which he would get from Patmor the carpenter, another item in his note for Ms. Drom. For a third item, he needed tools. A few shovels and spades and a wheelbarrow would do for now. He only needed one hatchet and mallet, and he had those.

Once he had these requests together and handed to the clerk, he would start walking about the town, looking for some of these “boys who are hanging about town” to find out if they were both able-bodied and able-witted enough to do basic work, and whether they would actually do so if asked. If all went as planned, he could have them well along with digging the trench this time tomorrow. He would just need to make sure he could pay them. He also talked to the innkeeper about some sandwiches for them.

Having done all that, Bork would then get the things he would need for work out of the inn and moved into his office, and have an early dinner. The balance of the evening would be spent sketching ideas in chalk on his office walls…. (to be continued)

…or so he thought. Around dusk he heard a disturbance in the front of the house. Bork ignored it at first, but at lenght he could not. Muttering idioms in dwarvish the abbot probably wouldn’t approve of he went to investigate. The dwarf gaped at the activity. Was the abbot running some sort of sick house here? Well, of course. He was an abbot and there was apparently no hospital in Pigeon Spit. To whom else would these yokels turn if they needed healing?

Helping set broken bones was not a normal part of Bork’s skill set, but apparently this would be the new normal, at least until this Pigeon Spit town got bigger. Any mining engineer had to know some first aid, of course; people got hurt in mines. And Bork could help with herbs and such. But setting broken bones was not part of his normal skillset.

“Dammit, I’m an engineer, not a doctor!” he would exclaim, too annoyed to care if the abbot minded the breach in etiquette. This had not been how he had planned to spend this morning. When they were able to take a pause from their ministrations, he pointed to the chest with the medicines in it. ”I can help you more with those than I can setting bones,” he explained. Curious, like a snooping house-guest, he peered at the bottles and jars, thinking. ”We could use an herb garden,” he said after a moment. ”At least some of these plants will grow around here. Maybe we could start one once I’ve got the wall up.”

As he listened to the abbot’s ideas, he nodded thoughtfully. ”An official building of some sort is a must if this town is to grow,” he agreed. ”At least one. That’ll be one of the first things I’ll draw up working on my plan, in fact.” And the next thing he would get on with was his plans for his log boom and timber-raft system. And wheelbarrows. There wasn’t much hope in much of any building project until they had a solution to moving large quantities of building supplies.

”I’d just have the runner tell the quarrymen to start cutting all the rocks they can. It’ll take me a while to figure out the right size for the order, but it’ll also take at least that long to fill it, anyway. Once I have the numbers, I’ll send them so that they know when to stop.” The dwarf shook his head. ”We *really* need a wainwright,” he muttered.

He continued to think through the abbot’s suggestions. ”Irrigation, sure,” he answered somewhat noncommittally. People always liked the idea of irrigation systems. But those could be tricky to design, since it involved changing the course of waterways. Ideally, Bork would prefer to see what the creeks and rivers were like over the course of a year before designing any major irrigation systems. But then he had a boss to humor, so perhaps he would just draw something up that looked good. “Proposed” irrigation systems could always be redesigned before anybody started damming and digging.

Lastly he got to the mining ideas. “A smelter? Sure. But right now the only metal we’re digging up is copper. We need to find us some other metals like tin, lead, zinc, iron before we can start smelting the good stuff. As to the blast furnace?” he shook his head. ”No, Your Grace,” he said, hoping the title would soften the blow of shooting down the abbot’s suggestion. ”We don’t even have iron yet, let alone any way to make steel. First things first: as I said, prospecting for more metals. Also, I *am* in the process of drawing up a bigger charcoal furnace, which we would also need for steel.” In fact, he would be able to show the abbot his design for the furnace before midday. Charcoal was ideal for smelting, and you definitely needed it for steel. You could also use it for writing, and to make ink for even more writing. And for absorbing moisture in a sick house. And filtering medical preparations and water. Good stuff, that charcoal.

When dusk settled onto night, Gavroche crept out of the empty hideout and began lightly treading toward a building next to the Abbot's lodgings. This building was not unoccupied, but Gavroche was confident that he would be able to get through it without being seen. After reaching the spot and looking around, Gavroche quietly forced a few boards out of the way and ducked into the small space and placed the boards back. In a few minutes, he was at the exit of the hidden spaces. He took his ear and pressed it against the loose board that was too be his exit. A soft snore was beyond the boards, giving Gavroche confidence to leave. The lodgings he went into were of no significant importance other than it was the house of a port hand. To his left were the stairs he needed to take and in front of him was a dinky parlor that held a drunkard that was out cold. Gavroche's nose was slightly tickled by the scent of alcohol, but he ignored it and pressed upwards to the second floor. Once upstairs, he silently entered the attic and went to the window that would give him access to the roof. Gavroche peeked at the ground to see if there were any onlookers. There were none. With deft movements, Gavroche open the window and then scaled the roof without a sound. Atop the roof, he faced the Abbot's lodgings. The gap between roofs was not too great. Gavroche could easily skip over the small space. After looking down and seeing that the people were paying attention to the ground and not the sky, Gavroche stepped onto the Abbot's roof and without a sound walked over to a particular spot where the tiling was discolored.

"Damn," Gavroche muttered to himself, "What it took to find this mouse hole." Gingerly and careful not to make a sound, Gavroche fingered the underbelly of the tiling. His fingers eventually felt a familiar notch, giving Gavroche a smile. "There you are." Gavroche slowly lifted up an underneath board, elevating an entire patch of tiling and revealing a very small space for Gavroche to crawl into.

During the time that Gavroche was at the hideout, he had time to cool down and time to think. Of course, he wouldn't let the Abbot go without getting pelted with a coin, but beyond that, he wasn't sure as to what the Abbot should suffer from the wrath of Gavroche. Perhaps more penny pelting or perhaps a fist to the face, but when Gavroche continued ponder on the Abbot, the less grasp he had on what he would do next. There would be flares of anger, dismissing all these feelings of uncertainty and to just beat the Abbot up, but very quickly, those feelings dissipated. For the very first time, Gavroche didn't want to criticize a noble, and it felt wrong, and yet, it felt just as wrong to spout rumors for this "noble." Even when Gavroche was infiltrating the Abbot's lodgings, he was still carrying these feelings with him.

After a journey of crawling and ensuring that he didn't make a noise (which he was successful), Gavroche finally reached the Abbot's room. It was empty. Gavroche cursed under his breath. He would have to wait for the Abbot to return if Gavroche is to deliver some coinage.