Andrew was grateful for Master Bork's strength to pull the arm straight, so that he could set it properly. The dwarf thought he wanted to heal it. He smiled and explained he needed was his strength to straighten it. Re-breaking bones hurt and better to set it well the first time. His healing magic had helped some, but nature could do a better job on somethings. He listened to the Dwarf talking about the herbs and his liked the garden idea. That was something he could do. He listened and nodded to what the master said about his ideas. It was clear that he annoyed the dwarf, and would do so again if the need arrived.

In the darkness, he realized he use the wrong word. Maybe he meant, kiln. No but one of those would be good. Ah, smelter. He would ask about one of those. Some times his dwarvish is a off. He wasn't going to bring up the idea of finding a shipwright and maybe putting dry docks on the other side of the river next spring. He did not know what they would need. Selling copper ingots would make them a better profit than the ore. They would need the money as his uncle had other needs for his resources.

It was after midnight when the Andrew called down the stairs as not to wake the entire house, "Drom, Bring me a pair of pants and some more cold water." he paused, "A new shirt, towels and blanket too." The girl cried a little at his voice as her fever was spiking. He sushed her and kept rocked her, still humming and walking with her. The girl had done what children do when they are sleepy and sick. He wore her urine and vomit. Even her urine smelled sick to him. If it was an infection was bad and if she had eaten something poisonous, they were not past the worst of it. As strange as Drom seemed to him at times, she would help him take care of this, like everything else.

He wished he had a rocking chair, proper beds and linens for the people.

---

Down stairs Drom came out of her room in a robe and night dress. Both is a soft blue color, with a sash for a belt. She wore fancy fur lined leather slippers. She held a candle that smelled of honey suckles. She opened two of the chests that were placed in the hall. They had been moved there earlier when people started to arrive in need. She pulled out cotton pants, two shirts, another apron, a blanket. A few towels and wash rags came out another chests and all was stacked be taken up stairs. She grabbed a pail and gave it to a guard to go fetch fresh water.

The sleeping guard would have a very rough day tomorrow when captain got word of his situation. The Captain was lodged in the inn and was working out of the harbor master's office.

She heard the dwarf drawing on the walls and still fiddling with papers and cursing. He does not like elves, she though to herself, He does not know me yet. She thought that he was probably as crazy as the Abbot. The both seemed to have the habit of talking first then thinking about it.

She leaned against the door frame watching the moonlight dance on the water as she waited for the guard to return. A cat ran across the plaza and she smiled.

Bork sat down after a frantic session of visionary scribbling to regard the chalk figures he had scrawled across the wall. So many ideas. So much promise. So much cost. All these brilliant ideas he and the abbot were having would cost money to realize, something Pigeon Spit did not have much of. Scowling at the sketches and notations, the dwarf rocked pensively on his chair. There must be more money, there must be more money, he thought.

Money required trade, and that meant producing things with good value density. The abbot was right about smelting. Making copper ingots on site before shipping them would be far more efficient than hauling ore somewhere. Yet even smelted, copper wasn’t the most pricey metal; Pigeon Spit would hardly transform into a boom town with it. Could they do better than ingots? Copper tools and fittings were useful, but wouldn’t command a high price. What else?

Bork heard someone stir in the house and realized that it was probably Drom. That reminded him for some reason of Roswith, and he smiled. Rising and returning to the wall, he wrote: “jewelry”. Make a bit of shiny metal into a ring or bracelet, and suddenly it was something precious your daughter or girlfriend would coo over. People paid good money for that. And copper was easy to work.

What else? Well, add some smooth, shiny stones to it, and it was even prettier. Didn’t even have to be precious gems. Cuprite, seashells, coral, bone. Bork added the word “cheap” in front of jewelry, then thought. There was a nicer-sounding word for cheap jewelry. What did his wife call it? He struck through the word “cheap” and wrote “costume” over it.

What other goods might Pigeon Forge make for trade? Some of the farmers raised sheep, and sheep could be shorn for wool. Wool was always a good, reliable trade good. They would need to bring in more sheep, and clear some more land for meadows, of course, to do that. That was another thing. Many of these projects used up land. Still might be worth it, though. Bork wrote “wool??” and then stepped back to think a bit more.

Pigeon Spit had a brewery. And that meant they could distill as well. Spirits had good value density, too, and traveled well. He wrote: "distillery?" Of course, distilleries required more grain to feed them, and that would again, use up more land, possibly interfering with sheep grazing.

What sort of economic production *didn’t* use up land? Fishing didn’t use up land, that’s what. And they were on an island. Dried fish could be traded. Even better, so could fish oil. “Fish. Fish oil. Oil press” now all appeared on the wall.

What else? Were there seals or walrus on the island? Narwhals or whales nearby? Otter? If so, then more blubber, and pelts. “Animal pelts/skins”. And then, still thinking of the walrus, he wrote: “ivory”? What was more, Bork reasonsed, hunters and trappers were probably easier to entice to an underdeveloped island than were the more urban-oriented tradesmen.

Bork yawned and stretched. It was late, and he still intended to rise early tomorrow. Time for bed.

The city is in a state of unrest. The new "leader", along with the rumors of martial law and closing the port, and the Gold tooth hideout being confiscated.

Elements of the Gold tooth are plotting to remove the new leaderships and a new thieves guild is being formed. Six members had left the guild to strike out as a new guild - The Cat's Claw.

The night coughs is spreading through the poor part of town - two people have died from it.

It looks like there will be rain for the next few days, stopping progress on construction projects.

The wait for the Abbot was long, far too long. At some point in the wait, Gavroche became sick of waiting for the Abbot to arrive into his room, and in frustration, placed his hands into his pockets which caused a soft crunch. That's right. In all his anger and frustration, Gavroche had forgotten that he had a job to do. He heaved a defeated sigh at this fact and silently wriggled through the empty spaces to a knot hole that was directly above the Abbot's desk. The ceiling boards, unlike the floor boards, were nailed better into their studs. As such, Gavroche lightly rolled the letter and slid it through the hole, making a small noise throughout the empty room upon hitting the desk. Gavroche, hearing the noise, confirmed the letter was placed correctly, and with that, began crawling through the spaces towards the roof exit.

As he was navigating the tight space, a recognizable voice was heard beyond the wall to Gavroche's right. Curious, Gavroche very quietly pressed his ear against the wall to listen. It was Suzy's voice, one of the urchin girls. An awfully familiar voice soothed Suzy, causing Suzy to moan out a sickly cry once again. Gavroche focused on Suzy's voice. She was sick, again, the fourth time in the year. Much to the annoyance of the crew, they had to baby her, but at the very least, the sickness was never too serious. This time it was very different. For one, Suzy never cried out like that, and two, she wouldn't even be in the Abbot's lodgings in the first place. This was serious, and the fact that it was made Gavroche grimace. With haste, Gavroche went to a nearby knothole and looked through. There Suzy was, lying unconscious in the arms of the Abbot.

"Suzy!" Gavroche yelled out. Gavroche eyes widened as he clasped his hands over his mouth. Immediately, he began snaking to the roof access. In a few short minutes, the roof access was right before him. Gavroche pressed his hand against the the boarding and crawled out. After setting the tiling back down, a cool, night breeze blew against Gavroche's face as the stars in the night sky twinkled down on Gavroche. "Shoot," Gavroche muttered. While assuring that nobody was looking, Gavroche stepped and jumped from rooftop to rooftop. After getting about ten houses away from the Abbot's lodgings, Gavroche carefully climbed down from the roof and began running through the alleyways to his house.

As he was running, a dark figure stepped out, blocking Gavroche from moving forward. Gavroche stopped to a walk and furrowed his brow towards the figure.

"Ugh, I delivered it. Now leave me alone." Gavroche began picking up speed and attempted to run past the figure when it caught his arm. "Augh! Let go of me!" Gavroche struggled until the figure talked.

"And what did you deliver?" The shadow asked. Gavroche's face went momentarily pale. After a moment, Gavroche caught his bearings and answered.

"Nothing, it's strictly courier's business!" Gavroche spat. Although Gavroche couldn't see beyond the hood, the figure seemed to smile, causing a shiver to crawl down Gavroche's spine. As if reacting to his fear, the man pulled out a knife and placed it on Gavroche's neck.

"Okay, okay. I'll spill the beans. One of the Gold Teeth members sent me on an errand, the usual guy. He told me not to look at the contents, so don't ask me for that." The man lowered the knife from Gavroche's neck and stuck out a letter to Gavroche.

"Deliver this to the Abbot, tonight." The man flashed his knife toward Gavroche. Gavroche nodded, taking the letter and booking it. For a split a second, Gavroche looked back at the figure to see a pair of eyes that reflected the moonlight like cat eyes. After that, Gaveoche never looked back.

---

My last post.

---

---

Andrew had heard the voice of his little rat during the night. He knew Susie which meant that he had a chance at redeeming himself with the guild. Scribe Drom, did a nice job of cleaning the girl up. Her hair was clean and combed, a ribbon was in her hair and a leather strap made a nice belt, making the shirt into a dress. He watched Drom in amazement of how maternal she seemed caring for the child. A scowl of a look had made Andrew look away as she washed and changed the girl. He could care less about that, he was surprised by his scribe. She rarely talked to him.
As Andrew came back to his room, He found the note on the table he was using for a desk, rolled and dropped. It was a summons to appear before the guild. He was on trial or at least had some explaining to do. To make matters worse, the Captain came and gave the evening report. Fights had broken out down towards the shore and a couple houses broken into. Andrew had an inkling of what was going on and most of it was his fault. At that moment he felt very alone. He told the captain to have the men spread the word that the port was reaming open and there was no plan for martial law to be imposed. He did not want to say he started that rumor. So he didn't. The captain was smart and knew Andrew was involved some how. He left shaking his head.

Andrew called out, "Drom, please make it so I can sleep for a few hours and that I don't have to have an audience with any citizens till this afternoon." He need to get some dark clothing and make a plan. He had another day to prepare. Maybe Master Bork might help him figure out a plan. He lay on the bet tapping his forhead with the captain's sword. His luck the captain would walk in and see it.

The young layabouts in town seemed uninterested in work; in fact, to the dwarf’s surprise, they turned actively hostile when they found out the job involved a stone wall for the abbot. ”The guv wants a pile o’ stones, does he?” called out one particularly rowdy oaf. ”Here, he can have one!” A rock big enough to fill the palm of Bork’s hand narrowly missed his head. Bork happened to be holding a long measuring stick, and with a litany of oaths that would probably have made His Grace’s ears fall off, launched off in angry pursuit after the brat, who fled quickly, cheered on by a small group of his friends, who, however, kept their distance. Just as the malcontent ducked into a shack, the rain erupted once more, causing dwarf and kids alike to break off the altercation and retreat to their respective lodgings.

Bork’s mood was as black as the clouds overhead. His face scowled deep within the folds of his hood as he reached the shallow trench, which now resembled a tiny moat, marking the planned course of his wall around the abbot’s house. His boots squished in the mud, making a sound that only his good ear could pick up. The dwarf was not actually upset about the delay; he had not intended to finish the wall on time, anyway, preferring instead to concentrate on his plans. His work ethic, however, compelled him to monitor the situation, chafed on principle at the lack of progress, and took offense at the local youth’s hostility to a chance for honest labor.

What was wrong with this town? He fumed as he watched yesterday’s accomplishments fill with soupy water. Did it not want to grow? Become something other than a small, run-down pirate’s nest? ‘Spitters (that was the demonym Bork had assigned to them) were fools, with no vision, and a comfort zone that languished in a disorderly heap of squalor.



Bork did not look up when the harbor master first greeted him. Bad ear, the elf remembered. ”Master Bork!” he called out more loudly, ”I see you’re making fine progress on your canal” This time the squat cloaked figure turned sharply towards him. Nelthurin could not see the dwarf’s expression, but judging from the silence that greeted his attempt at banter, he guessed that it was unpleasant. And he could guess some of the reasons for that. Walking around to the opening in the trench where the front gate was to be, he came alongside the dwarf.. ”We need to talk to the abbot about this port closing nonsense,” he said more seriously.

He was close enough now to see the frown on Bork’s face. ”I thought that was just a rumor,” the dwarf said.

Nelthurin nodded. ”It is rubbish,” he confirmed, ”but it is rubbish that has spread all over town, and that is as worrying as the restlessness the rumor is causing.”

The dwarf nodded and started to walk towards the door. ”His Grace was resting earlier,” he said glumly. ”Up all night treating night coughs, but let’s hope he’ll see us.”

A couple moments later two dripping cloaked forms walked into the lobby. Facing Scribe Drom they both pulled back their hoods to regard her with stony expressions. Bork spoke up first, although he only said what was on both of their minds. ”We really need to talk to the Abbot. The village is turning as nasty as this weather. Is he up yet?”

Andrew called out, ”Come in” He still not able to sleep. Still tapping the sword sheath against his head, thinking.

The scribe shook her head as if Andrew needed to get over his pity party and opened the door to his room. She went over and pulled the window shades so the gloom could come in. On the table sat the Abbot’s breakfast, untouched. She shook her head disapprovingly and looked at the guests a look saying “He’s all yours.” Bowed slightly, then left the room.

After the door closed Andrew asked, “Assassins in town yet?” Not getting up from the pile of bedding since his cot was occupied. He asked, half mockingly.

Andrews thinking was much like the weather, gloomy and dreary. At least Suzy was doing better this morning, the man's arm and ribs would heal, and the woman with pneumonia would heal with some strong herbs and tonics. He wasn't a complete failure. The problem with dealing with thieves is they were thick skulled and needed a lot of persuading to come to terms with. What would motivate them - fear, greed, power.. He needed the name of the Guild Master and who started the new faction. He hoped that the Harbor Master would share it.

He wanted to hear what the men wanted to share with him.

Bork’s face wrinkled like an ill-used rag as he hung his cloak up to dry. ”I don’t think you’re takin’ the right attitude here…Your Grace” he growled, only adding the style as an afterthought. He turned back towards the abbot and stomped irritably towards the table. ”I just had some ne’er-do-well throw a rock at me because I offered to pay him to do a job for *you*.” The dwarf paused to let the import of that sink in. At least, the import he thought it had. ”Not wanting to work is one thing, but why would he turn hostile and throw rocks the moment I mention it’s for *you*? There’s something you’re not telling us!”



The elf beside Bork sighed. ”You can probably thank the goings on with the Gold Tooths and Cat’s Claw for that rock, Master Bork,” he pointed out.

Bork shifted his mistrustful glare to the elf. ”What’s the thieves got to do with this? People are mad because they think the abbot is ordering martial law and shutting down the port. Why do they think that?”

Nelthurin sighed again, exchanging a knowing look with Andrew. He really doesn’t know, it said. ”There is reason to suspect,” he explained to the dwarf patiently, ”that it’s this new splinter group, this ‘Cat’s Claw’, spreading these rumors. They’re the only obvious ones who stand to gain by shaking things up.”

”Well, then, we have to put a stop to them!” barked Bork. The elf nodded indulgently and looked at the abbot.

”Easier said than done, though” he observed dryly. ”Is there anything you know about the Cat’s Claw that might help, Your Grace? To anticipate a question: No, nobody new has come to me offering ‘protection’ yet. That would be too easy. So I guess the question is, what is to be done about this situation, Your Grace, and how can we help?”

Andrew picked himself up and went to the table with the note. [color=00ff00]"What we talk about stays here," he looks at the two of them. Then he continues by showing them the envelope. "I have been summonsed to stand before the One Tooth Guild," discomfort in his voice, "They are my second family, the ones who raised me and took care of me when my mother died." Not knowing what else to do he sits down, "I'm one of them or was one of them." He knew this wasn't news to the harbor master, but Master Brom wasn't from here.

He continues, [color=00ff00]"The guild has a tradition that the oldest living thief is the master, and as thieves go, I'm old. But, I haven't been able to make contact with them to come to an understanding." Waving his arms wide to indicate the building he says,"This was the headquarters when I was a child, and this room is where I stayed."

Looking at the Harbor Master he asks, "So has the captain still been around looking for his sword and dagger?"

He waits for the reply then continues, [contact=00ff00]"So far, I figured people would talk to me and make contact. I forgot that this is a lot more complicated. I figured the boy would tell the message to the thief that was in our rooms and not spread the word around. I should have known better. Brom, am sorry for the rocks being thrown. I figured that building the wall would let me see how well you teach and give me a chance to interact with the guild rats." He taps the table gently. "I have been trying to come up with a plan to fix this," he says, "No matter what I say, they won't believe me. So, I am thinking I am going to need to capture the new head of the Cat's Claw and bring the family back in line. Then we do something to get money and supplies flowing into and out of our port and then people."

He wasn't sure he wanted to be the Guild Leader, but he would do it till they played nice with the bigger plan.

He looks at the two of them, [color=00ff00]"Does that seem right?" he asked the two of them, looking for options.

Down the hill from the Abbot’s stolen abode the Tabaxi sat in a crawl space watching. The thief watched the routine of the guard, the elf woman as she acted as the gate keeper, the dwarf coming and going. Killing the Abbot would have been easy. More than once the fool had stood in front of an open window holding Suzy. He didn’t understand why he would care if she lived or died. She was nothing more than a street urchin and would probably grow up to be a prostitute.

He needed the Abbot to keep stirring up the people, by doing dumb things. Mentioning closing the port and declaring martial law had brought four thieves to his side.

He did not understand why humans liked to live in their “glory days”. They were about as bad a dwarves, talking on and on about battles they were not even at. Who cares if he was a good thief years ago, is he a good thief now? Can he put coins in their pockets? From what he saw he doubted it to be possible. He would start working on the dwarf, well, his second wife a dwarf would.

Next to him the dwarf’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly. It was a lot to process, Nelthurin thought, with a mixture of amusement and pity. ”As to the Captain,” the harbor master pointed out, ”he has no reason to think I know anything about his sword and dagger, nor has he asked me about them.” His elf eyes saw the sword and glanced at it meaningfully. ”As to your plan-”

”You have to cut those miscreants down to size,” the dwarf burst out angrily, cutting Nelf off: ”let them know Your Grace is not playing that game anymore! I’ll help you capture this ‘Cat’s Paw’ guy, sure. I’ll help you skin him, too!”

Nelthurin waited until he was sure Bork was finished before continuing. At first he was annoyed at all this insufferably square self-righteousness, but then he realized that it could be a resource. ”To capture this Cat’s Claw leader,” he suggested, stressing the name slightly for the sake of the street-lingo-challenged dwarf, ”we first need to find out who and where he is. I think we know who at least one of the members is, don’t we, Master Bork?”

The dwarf gave the elf a sharp, surprised look. ”You mean that miscreant who threw a rock at me? Could be.” The elf nodded. The dwarf was a bit slow on the uptake, perhaps, but not hopelessly dumb.
”Do you know who it was?” he asked.

”I think it was that Werli kid,” Bork answered. ”Tall for his age, thin, upturned nose, kinda pretty-looking. The sort who’d feel like he had something extra to prove to the guys.”

Nelthurin nodded knowingly and looked at Andrew. ”The sort who’d come up short in an established guild, but feel like he could make it big in a new, upstart outfit. A useful idiot.” He looked between the engineer and the abbot. ”We could lure him, capture him, question him.” He shrugged. ”You and me, Your Grace, probably no one in town would think we’d do anything drastic, but him…” he head-nodded towards Bork. ”I reckon he and the Captain could convince the Cat’s Claw they’d do whatever it took to get to the bottom of things, find out who CinC CATCOM is. Someone who could convince Werli that he might end up short a few fingers if he didn’t talk.” He looked at Bork. ”Would you be up for that?”

Bork gave the elf a sharp, puzzled look. Nelthurin gave him a few breaths. Slowly, insight dawned in the dwarf’s eyes. ”You reckon I should lure him,” he said. ”’Werli, I think you and I got off on the wrong foot. I tell you, working for the abbot ain’t easy, so I think I know where you’re coming from. Let’s have a drink?’” He looked expectantly back and forth between the elf and the abbot.

Nelthurin looked at the abbot as well, perhaps with a touch of smugness. You’re not the only one who knows how to work a mark his look said.

Andrew smiled a little. He nodded at the plan.
”I guess I should stay in till we have a name,” he said calmly.

Looking at the Harbor Master he asks plainly, “Who is running the store now?” Asking where he could get some thieving supplies. Since much of it would be smuggled in, the harbor master would know quite well. Andrew knew that the man would more likely take his coin and pick up what he thought Andrew would need.

Andrew would put the captain and the men at their disposal. He would start to pray and prepare for the captures.

Nelthurin pondered Andrew’s question a moment. ”That’d be Talia. Blacksmith’s daughter. Works at one of the taverns.” He grinned. ”You’ve been away awhile. A lot more of the gear’s homemade nowadays than you realize. Blacksmith himself is in on the business indirectly, but he’ll only take orders through his daughter. If you want an import, she’ll pass word to whoever her contact is. Couldn’t tell you for sure, but I’m pretty sure it’s Findir, the farrier, who is also what passes for the ironmonger in Pigeon Spit. He’s also your smelter. You know…for turning identifiable jewelry and plate into something less compromising.”

Bork perked up at this. Remembering his own note about costume jewelry, he commented, ”Sounds like somebody I should get to know.”

The harbor agreed. ”Indeed. You’d like him. He’s a dwarf, too.” Because, the Nelthurin’s mind, all dwarves got along.

The Abbot took this all in. He smiled at the information. He remembered when Talia's Dad was an apprentice and he wondered who he had married. Findir was a name he had not heard before. But he nodded, it would be a good choice. He had free movement, access to anyone around town, plus carrying bag of tools.

He could go to the tavern, but he doubted the girl would even talk to him at this point. Nor did he think the Captain was going to allow him to walk around town without an escort. With people throwing rocks, heck the captain would probably be more than happy to throw him into a cell of the jail they didn't have yet for the chaos he created.

This was hard for Andrew, letting someone dig him out of the muck. He wanted to go get some supplies, but Talia would be watched and his life would be short.

Andrew looked at Nelthurin and said, "I think I need some new work clothes for when the wall is built and I can plant the herb garden." he gave a wink then continues, "Do you think you could arrange a tailor or seamstress to come and measure me?" Then he looked at Master Bork, "I think you should arrange food for the lass to deliver for the midday meal, if you have time."

Listening to the exchange between the harbor master and the abbot, Bork sensed there was some sort of joke he was not in on, one of which he was somehow the butt, especially when it came to the wall. He would get to the bottom of this, he vowed silently, when he had time. Which wasn’t now. The abbot was sending him off to order food like some gopher? What was he-oh, the girl, right. The range of emotions from puzzlement to annoyance to insight to acceptance flashed across his face in the space of a few seconds, at the end of which he nodded.

”The harbor master and I have a few things to talk about first,” he answered, ”but right after that, I’ll see to the…midday meal. Should I tell them there’s to be soup or something for the patients upstairs?” He would have to ask Nelthurin which tavern Talia worked at, although he thought he could guess, just based on what he’d managed to glean about the town so far.

The elf next to him nodded understandingly as the abbot asked him to fetch the tailor. Another inside joke Bork wasn’t in on. Yet. ”Of course, Your Grace,” Nelthurin said smoothly, ”I shall get on it once Master Bork and I have concluded our business.”

That business consisted of the harbor master dropping off a map of the port and surrounding coastline, and taking a few minutes with the dwarf going over what he thought the port needed to make it worthy of greater sea traffic. The elf was able to point out where the abbot was thinking of putting a barrier wall. Also he explained to Bork the tidal patterns, and also the lay of the sea floor as he knew it, around the port. Bork gazed at the map intently as the elf spoke, and slowly started to shake his head. ”The abbot’s ideas are grandiose,” he observed, his tone making it clear that this was not meant as praise. ”So far, Pigeon Spit hasn’t even shown me that it could build a simple garden wall, and now His Grace wants dry docks and a sea wall?”

He shook his head again. He knew how to draw up designs for exactly what the abbot had in mind, but he also knew such a thing would never get build unless the bowels of those two ships anchored offshore concealed an army of builders in their holds. Maybe he should just draw up what the abbot wanted to impress him, worry about what could actually done later. Having to humor a dumb boss chafed him something awful, though.

Once he had gleaned what he could from Nelthurin, Bork thanked him. ”Alright. That should be enough for me to start with. Leave the map with me and I’ll get to work. Shall we run our errands now?” An edge of bitterness crept into his voice as he asked the last question. With a sigh, he retrieved his still-damp hooded cloak and headed outside with the elf, after which they parted ways, he to go to the tavern to order Talia take-out, the elf to order tailor take-out. While he was at the tavern, he would take some time with a mid-day meal of his own. It was probably a breach of etiquette for Bork to make the abbot wait while he took time to enjoy his own lunch, but given his current mood, that was actually a selling point.

After they left, Andrew took another Borks’s example and started writing on the walls.

1) People
2) Food
3) Resources

Then scratched in between people and food was housing. Finally between food and resources he wrote Occupations. Then he wrote in smaller letters Skilled. For four he put training.

On the next wall he wrote farms -> people -> houses -> occupations -> resources -> farms. He drew arrow from people to farms, houses and occupations. Then he wrote in bigger letters, resources and circled it.

Next Andrew called for one of the guards and sent him on an errand to get some more supplies.

When lunch arrived it was cold, though the soup was hot. Talia set the food out on the table. As Andrew looked up, he knew whoo her Mom was. He rose as she saw the sword and dagger with the gems. She swung her hand to strike his face. Andrew caught the arm and pinned it to his side, as she went for the dagger on her belt, he grabbed her wrist. He pulled her forward and kissed her forehead.
“Your Mom was the most beautiful women I ever saw,” he said, “and you look just like her.”
She looked at him and said through gritted teeth, “Let me go or I will scream.”
Andrew did and twisted just a little so she ended up sitting on her rump on the floor.

I need some items, he said. The word is that you are the person in the know. As I am a member of the Golden Tooth and a friend of the family, I expect you will treat me fairly. He handed her a list of items. Most of it was normal things. The locking chests from different places and the locking music boxes raised an eyebrow.

---

As Master Bork was eating, a tall muscular woman walked up from behind him and said, “That’s my table.” She moved with the grace of a cat since she was half cat, you could see some elf in her cheeks. Her hand held a dwarves hammer and a sword sat on her right hip.

In about forty minutes, the guard return on a wagon filled with the new supplies. Thick ropes, heavy tools - sledges, wedges, and saws a row boat, a couple block-and-tackle, and a captains hat with a long red feather that was placed on Master Bork's desk. The tools and ropes were place in the hall. He was going to let Master Bork figure out what to do next after all engineers did that kind of thing.

He dug into his chests again looking for his book on herbalism, trying to find a tea that would work with this coughing sickness.

Bork nearly spit out his soup when he heard the woman’s voice. He had not heard her coming. Then again, she had come around his bad side. He put down his spoon and glared at her. ”Must’a missed the sign,” he grunted unapologetically at her claim that he was at her table. He peered about at the empty tables, then up at the woman. She was the oddest thing he’d seen in a while, he’d give her that. Looked part cat or something. Perhaps it was some sort of disguise or glamor; he really didn’t care.

The dwarf started to go back to eating his soup when he noticed the weapons, not to mention the fact that she was still hovering over him expectantly. He was aware of the fact that he was not armed apart from his dagger, and the measuring rod leaning on the wall behind him that doubled as a walking-stick. So he wasn’t about to pick a fight, but neither he was in the mood to let some half-critter freakette push him around. ”You think you could bear to share your table for a bit?” he asked, as placatingly as he could manage through his irritation. ”Seems to me there’s room.” He looked at what the woman was holding. ”That’s a nice hammer,” he said. That bit of compliment was actually sincere.



Nelthurin realized he had made a mistake as he entered the tailor’s shop: he should have offered to switch jobs with the dwarf. Dealing with guild contacts, even if under an innocent pretext, should be left to those who knew what they were doing. Bork had a touch as light as a stamp mill. He grinned crookedly, a thin ray of amusement shining through his misgivings. The engineer would probably like that comparison.

He broke from his reverie when he realized the tailor was looking at him expectantly, waiting for the answer to a question the harbor master hadn’t listened to. He guessed what the question was: ”Good day. I come from the abbot. His Grace would like to be measured.” The tailor frowned at first, and the elf briefly wondered if he had guessed incorrectly at the question, but then the man nodded. ”Just a moment,” he said. He vanished into the back of his store, and Nelthurin could hear him talking with somebody with a higher-pitched voice, most likely a woman. Then the tailor returned. ”I’ll have to get some things together. Tell His Grace I’ll be on my way.”

”I have another errand to run immediately after this,” the harbor master said, ”can you find they way on your own?”

”I ain’t blind or cripple,” the tailor grumbled, slightly irritated at the implication that he might be incapable. ”And I know where the abbot is. Go and run your errand in peace.”

Nelthurin thanked him and headed back out. He wanted to hurry to the tavern in case Bork needed rescuing from his own social skills. And he wouldn’t mind a warm bite himself.

He opened the door to see Bork talking to somebody standing over him as he ate. Recognizing who it was, Nelthurin thought: “Just in time”. Walking in towards the pair, he called out: ”Master Bork! I’m done with my errand. How are you faring with yours? -Oh, hello!” He put on his best fancy-meeting-you-here for the catwoman.

Kriltra leaned down near the ear of the dwarf and whispered with a purr while staring down the Harbor Master. She wanted to see if he would jump, pull a weapon, or would engage in banter. She smiled as he went to check his weapon and came up empty. It was like a dwarf to walk around town with out a weapon.
“I’ll let you eat here this one time,” she whispered playfully, “But, you will owe me a small favor.”
She paused for a moment then said, “How about a pint of Dwarven Ale tomorrow afternoon? The brew master should have a fresh vat in kegs. Not the watered down stuff.”
Then she stood and stretched like a cat. She had hoped that the engineer would at least have some sort a rise. She had intended to use the hammer as a bribe to learn more about what was going on in their swiss cheese fortress. The master would be a good ally to have working with the claw. But it would take time to find Bork's weakness.

She turned her attention to the Harbor Master. “I have business to discuss with you later,” she said matter of fact. She had a shipment of contraband coming in from the Western Isles. A herb like catnip, that when mixed with two local herbs produced a potent stimulant that allowed one to stay awake for days. Her family discovered it on accident and they guard the secret. What she paid in silver to import the herb, she made back in gold with very little effort. The 1000 time return made it worth the effort of keeping the secret. The harbor master got a bit of a bribe to look the other way. She did not to talk about the payment in front of Master Bork as he appeared to be one of the Abbot's men.

The girl, Brok was sent to visit was easy to spot. She was still young, but she was dressed in a way that would get tips. She had blond hair in green eyes. She wore a brown skirt with a white blouse, the worse part is she knew that she was beautiful and had an attitude that demanded attention. She let a younger girl do most of the dirty work. She sat on a stool at the end of the bar as a queen holds court. The crowd would be in later and she would be dethroned. But for now, she was allowed to sit. She brought business in to the place, though not the most honest nor the best tippers. But even thieves and cons, needed to eat and drink.

That catlady’s approach annoyed him. She bent down towards his ear -at least it was his good one, on his left side- and Bork stiffened, pulled back slightly, turned to glare at her. ”Hey!” he said sharply. ”This may or may not be your table, but it’s definitely *my* face your crowding.” He waited warily to see her reaction, fingers gripping his soup bowl so that he could fling its hot contents into her smirking face if the need arose. He hoped not. He wanted to make a statement, not an enemy.

She didn’t get provoked. In fact, she even…well, she asked him out, more or less. That was odd. Bork considered the unexpected offer for a moment, then nodded. He even ventured a smile. ”All right, you’re on. Been waiting for the right occasion to test his fare, see if it’s up to snuff.”

The girl stood up and did the catlady stretch thing. The dwarf watched. She had the stuff to work it, Bork gave her that. Then she said something to the elf, and he snapped his gaze over to the harbor master and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Nelthurin’s expression was all smooth-skinned elf blandness as he acknowledged her remark with a barely-perceptible nod.

Bork watched her slink away. When she was out of earshot he looked at the elf again. ”Tell me that wasn’t Talia,” he said. Laughing, the elf shook his head and pointed to the other girl, whom the dwarf had not even noticed up to that point.

She was quite pretty, in that mundane way human girls are often pretty. Not exotic like catlady. But he guessed she’d be breaking a few hearts, especially in this village. After he finished eating he excused himself from Nelthurin and rose to talk to Talia. The elf tugged at his sleeve and bent forward. ”I’d watch myself around her, if I were you,” he warned.

Bork frowned. ”Around whom? Bar girl or cat lady?” The elf rolled his eyes. Realizing he was being slow on the uptake, the dwarf filled in his own guess. ”Yeah, you’re right. She wants something. That’s why she was so nice even when I wasn’t. I’ll be careful, thanks” Then the dwarf walked over to ‘bar girl’ and explained his business, placed the abbot’s order.



The elf ordered some food for himself and seated himself at a different table from the dwarf. He watched the proceedings between Bork and Talia. He was all business without the slightest bit of flattery or flirting, or even small talk. They probably weren’t going to be friends, either, Nelthurin realized. He chuckled to himself as Talia left. ”You managed to clean the place out of girls almost immediately,” he observed.

”It’s a gift,” the dwarf shot back wryly, as he walked back to his table to gather his things. Occasionally Bork could keep up his end of banter. Though not usually. He walked out, leaving Nelthurin to his thoughts. The harbor master was thinking about Kriltra. Could it really be that simple? He wondered. That literal? He’d speak to the abbot some time this evening and suggest a change to their earlier plan. They might have a much better “in” to the Cat’s Claw than Werli.



The tailor grumbled as he walked towards the abbot’s place. So cold and wet. And muddy. And poor. Not at all like home. Why had he come to Pigeon Spit in the first place? He knew all too well why; it pained him every time to think about it.

His brothers had sent him north, ostensibly to secure a supply of wool for their family’s famous rugs. But the funds for the shipments he sent back never came, and soon he realized the truth: his own kin had tricked him away to cut him out of the family business. He had booked passage home, using the last of his own money, but the ship’s crew ripped him off, and dumped him here, in Pigeon Spit, with no money and no prospects. To this day he remembered the name of that ship as vividly as he remembered the names of his treacherous brothers: Dragon Wind And the revenge he conceived in his rage-filled fantasies fell as heavily on it as it did on them. The only saving grace had been that Pigeon Spit had needed a good clothier.

His reverie was cut short by a water-filled ditch, into which he had very nearly just walked. Muttering he corrected his course to take him safely to the front door. He knocked and waited just a moment before trying the door of his own volition. ”Mr. Abbot?” he called in, unsure of the styles and courtesies required. ”I am Amsgar, the tailor. The harbor master told me you wished to be measured for something?” He hoped the abbot would have a good order for him. Maybe he could even interest him in some imported rugs. From his family’s competitors.