The Abbot greeted Amsgar warmly and took him into his room. After a little talk about the rain and being called out in it, the tailor set to work measuring. Amsgar asked about the clothes to be made. "Mr. Abbot, what would you like me to make for you?" Amsgar asked already knowing the Abbot's need.
"Well, I need to have some work clothes made," Andrew said, and went into detail about clothes that he could wear when healing or working about the building. The tailor measuring his legs, poked him with a needle. Andrew flinched. Amsgar did not apologize nor did he seem to be malitous. Andrew continued and again he poke him. This time a little harder. "Ow, what was that for?" Andrew asked thinking there was no need for needles for a measurement. "Mr. Abbot, I know what you need better than you seem too," Amsgar spoke giving him a knowing look. Then he continued, "The whole town knows. But it seems you do not?" Andrew looked down with a puzzled look. "Mr. Abbot, think!!" he said,"Why would the king send you here to a town where the thieves try to run the place?" He gave a little smile, like a older man teaching a child. "You sent the harbor Master to me, no?" He asked then continued, "A thief in his own way." He smiled at this. "You need clothes, yes. Because you are don't come to my shop, you hide in secret, yes. Mr. Abbot, It makes one believe that your a thief too. All around town people talk. Some truth, some lies, all wonder. So, if you want clothes of a thief, say Master Amsgar, I need the clothes of a thief and I make them. If you say I want clothes of a gardner, I make them." He said pausing for a response. Andrew wanted to protest that he wasn't a thief, but he was or had been. If he wasn't would he care about the little war going on in the guild or have let the boy escape. Andrew started to speak, "Master Amsgar, In order to..." The needle poked him again, "Too many words. What do you want?" Andrew moves his leg in pain this time. He started again, "Master Amsgar, I want thieves clothes with a warm cape and I want clothes for healing and working around the house." The Tailor smiled, "What that so hard, Mr. Abbot? I will have your thieves clothes to you tomorrow, for your meeting." Andrew wanted to talk about hidden pockets and what he wanted. But the tailor knew his trade and the needle hurt.
Master Bork also knew his trade and so did the harbor master. He knew thieves and it was clear that secrecy was lacking in the Golden Tooth.
When they were done the Abbot invited Master Amsgar to sit down and tell him his story over a hot pot of tea and some reheated lunch from the tavern.
The thief watched the building as long as he could take it. When the Engineer and Harbor Master came then left, he followed. Silverclaw hated the rain like little children hate eating vegetables or taking baths. But he slinked along with his hood up trying to follow the two having come down the stairs thanking the homeowner a few coins to continue to watch the Abbot's place.
He walked like a man who had no cares and no one paid any real attention to him. He had been a minstrel when he had his instrument. But he had become a thief so that they could eat. He had been stranded here in this place by sailors and now it was home. He had two wives, though not legally married, his first wide was half Tabaxi, human, and half-elf. She was a your standard second story thief, breaking and entry, lock picks. His second wife was a dwarf that had fallen in with them when they were dumped in this pit. She was a craftwoman, a glass worker, though her wares and equipment was stolen when the group of them were dumped. She kept the books and handled the money for the newly formed guild.
The tended to hang out at the tavern watching and listening for opportunities to arise.
The abbot was talking to somebody in his rooms when Bork returned. A man, didn’t sound like the Captain. Accent he couldn’t place. The tailor, he guessed. He and Talia had passed each other on their respective return trips, and he could smell the food. He went back to his own space to get some work done. He saw all the newly-arrived gear and stopped to look at it.
The dwarf grinned. Seeing this hardware warmed his engineer’s heart. He was already thinking of things he could do with such items when he arrived in his well-scribbled room. Those scribbles were part of the reason he was here; he was ready to transcribe some of them into the abbot’s book, then he could clean the walls to make room for new ones.
First into the book were his design and notes for the boardwalk. He had store, office, and warehouse fronts measured out, and had sketched out a right of way extending behind those fronts, enabling them to expand rearwards as the need for their capacities grew.
He put in notes that expanding Pigeon Spit’s fishing would be the quickest route to increasing food production. Unlike farms, fishing would start production right away, and would use hardly any land. Surplus could be dried and smoked and sold to visiting ships for some coin. Even better, catching the right fish would enable the town to produce fish oil, which they could use for cooking and fuel. More lamplight. Safer nights. Safer and more productive mines. And another trade good to sell to visiting ships.
To make oil, one needed a press, and Bork had a design drawn up for one of those, too. One he had cribbed from one of his books: De Re Molarum. And the toolhead could be changed out for pressing different things into oil. Beech nuts (those were beeches he saw in the woods, right?) and, once the farms the abbot had in mind got going, flaxseed.
Until they had a proper wainwright, their transport options would be limited. He next copied a sketch and description for a makeshift wheelbarrow, basically a crate with an undercarriage and a pair of wheels made from reinforced barrel lids. The log boom and timber raft designs he had shown the abbot earlier went in the book as well, and also designs for grading and laying simple roads. These were dirt roads for now, not stone, though they did use rock dust and gravel to stabilize the bedding. He also sketched the tools they would need to grade and tamp the road properly. A well-built dirt road was better than people gave it credit for. And it was easier on horses and mules, who for the time being would be doing most of the hauling on their backs, rather than pulling carts.
In the margins he wrote: “needed professions: fishermen, a presser, a glassmaker”. There was enough sand and wood around here to make glass, he judged. They would want bottles for the oil. They could also add glass beads to the costume jewelry line he had in mind.
Pushing the book back he looked up, and noticed with a start the hat on the table. If it had been a snake, it could have eaten him by now. The Abbot’s idea, perhaps? He examined the hat and then tried it on. It was a bit loose. Probably made for another dwarf, he guessed. One who didn’t cut his hair as close as Bork did. Not many dwarves did. Anyway, the hat would sit fine over his hood, or with a headscarf underneath.
Taking a break, he went up to see if the abbot was busy, and to ask him what all the gear was for.
The abbot smiled as Master Brom came in with the captain’s hat. He was still eating with an appetite that he had not had for days. He waved for the man to sit and have something to drink and eat if he wanted. [color=00ff00]”My patients are doing much better today,” he said. Then getting up he moved to a stack of books and pulled the second book out from the bottom. A thin bladed knife was being used as a bookmark, placed not to crack the binding. He brought the book to the table, ”I might be of some use at the mine, if you have samples of the ore you are looking for.” With a single motion the knife was back in his arm sheath. It was an obscure prayer and on the side of the page written in Dwarven was a description of what the prayer did. The language was ancient and Andrew could not read it with out the help of the saints. He would work on that after the thieves meeting.
Most of his library of books were old. Someone had deemed them to be antiquity and not worth saving. Andrew had gone through them. There was a ancient Dwarven book that had illustrations of dragons. An elven prayer book, that had a beautiful dedication service for a temple that he wanted to modify. There were books of different prayers. A book about birds with illustrations. Another about rocks. Many of them he had been collecting since he was a novice. To be honest, most of the books he stole to keep them from being burned.
He sat back down to let Brom talk about what he came to talk about.
The tailor was happy to accept the abbot’s offer of tea and a sit down. He was in no hurry to go back out in that cold drizzle. And he figured the abbot had brought some good tea with him. Amsgar missed good tea and coffee, like he missed warm weather and clothes that didn’t feel like he was wearing one of his family’s rugs. And he hoped the abbot and his new dwarf helper would do something that would bring more of these nice things in.
”My ‘story’, Mr. Abbot,” he repeated neutrally. He peered silently into his teacup, as if the story he was to tell were somehow within. In a way it was; he and the tea leaves had probably made similar journeys to get here. ”I come from far away, from a land where the mountains are cold as they are here, but the seas warm. My family, the Durak family, are famed for the rugs they make there.” Bitterness and pride mingled in his voice.
”Some years ago, my older brothers married, but I had not yet. Neither of their wives liked me, and we quarreled. Fortunately, at that same time, an opportunity had presented itself to do business in another part of the world, farther north. Perhaps to find a new sort of wool to use in making our rugs, perhaps even to start making them in those distant lands. My family sent me to look into it, in the hopes that in my absence things would cool down. Or, failing that, that I could start a new branch of the family business there, and not be around to vex my sisters-in-law.”
Amsgar sighed. ”You know the saying about things that sound to good to be true? We have a saying like that, too, but I did not listen. I could not imagine that my own brothers would act against my interests.” He set down his teacup sharply and glared at Andrew. ”But they did, Mr. Abbot. They did not pay me for the wool nor the live sheep I sent back to them, nor all the samples of locally produced dies and wool cloth. And they never filled the orders I took. They even went to so far as to contact the financiers to cancel my line of credit. I had to sell almost everything to book passage on a ship home.”
He sighed again and shook his head. ”And here again young Amsgar did not listen to the sayings. He thought he had found a reliable ship’s captain, but he turned out to be incompetent. We drifted badly off course in a storm, and had to make landfall here. When the Dragon Wind set sail again, it did so without me. I had left the few valuables I still owned in my berth, thinking it safer than bringing them ashore to Pigeon Spit.” Amsgar laughed mirthlessly and swept his hands about him. ”And thus, I am here, your humble tailor Amsgar. I don’t even bother naming myself Durak anymore.”
Amsgar picked up his teacup and drained it. He peered inside to examine the leaves. ”This is fine tea, Mr. Abbot, whence do you get it?”
Bork
Bork realized with a start that he was still wearing the hat and doffed it before sitting down. ”Well, I wanted to thank you for the hat, first” he began, ”but I also wanted to ask about all the gear that suddenly showed up. What did you have in mind for that?” That had initially been all the dwarf wanted to talk about. The catlady could wait until Nelthurin came by again. Bork had an idea the harbor master knew something more than he let on.
He greeted the news that the patients were doing well with an inward groan, not because he wished them ill, but because it reminded him that he had forgotten to ask. He limited himself to nodding and responding: “That’s good to hear.”
He perked up more when the abbot mentioned looking for ores. ”Is that so? Well, I’m looking for ores for stuff other than copper. Mainly tin and iron ores. Hematite, magnetite, and stannite. They’re common enough, and having our own source of them would help immensely. Make our own bronze and iron tools. Next, I’d be looking for galena. That’s an ore mainly for lead, but it also usually contains small amounts of silver, too.”
He thought for a bit. ”Did I hear cannon go off when you arrived? Because one thing you can usually get out of copper ores and pyrite is sulfur. But only alchemists use it, though. To everybody else, it’s just a smelly fire hazard. But if somebody’s using black powder, then there’s a market for sulfur somewhere, even without a local alchemist.”
Andrew laughed and said, “Every captain needs a hat. It is for when you have a plan to deal with the wrecks. Engineers always need block and tackle and ropes too. From what I’ve been told there a lot of uses for them.” He wanted to say the ropes were for tying up the Claws and the Teeth, but he knew that was going to need to be a negotiated peace. His first thought was to just kill off the current leaders and take control, but fear was not his style of leadership. Well, maybe assassination was more correctly not his style of leadership. Fear could be useful. The thought of walking with with four dire wolves seemed to be a tempting negotiation starting point.
“Yes, they had a massively ugly cannon. Normally used to fight pirates, but they have a tendency to explode and kill crew members,” Andrew said, “I was told they tend to be about as dangerous as the pirates.”
Andrew pointed out his writing on the wall and the trouble he was having with this. You needed people to make the buildings you needed to get people and buildings to get the people. He wondered about capturing a slave ship to get some laborers. If they got lucky, some might be skilled. He did not think the bank would afford buying slaves and financing them would be paramount to treason. Let along the Scribe and the Captain would probably have him in irons for the whole mess. But, helping a few escape might be okay.
"So, where do you want to start and what do we need?" he asked the engineer.
Bork’s eyes lit up as the abbot explained what the stuff was for. Finding a use for the hat was trivial. Finding a use for all the other things? Quite a few possibilities. ”Once we have a couple days of good weather in a row, I can probably come up with something,” he said. It was more than just a stall. The rain made outings unpleasant, and also limited visibility.
The engineer turned his eyes next to regard Andrew’s mural scribblings, and thoughtfully scratched his short, grizzled beard. ”How to scale up an operation is always tricky,” he mused, without taking his eyes off of the writing. ”And a village even more so. What Pigeon Spit needs first, in my view, is a *reason* to grow. Give people a *reason* to move here, and they’ll build their own houses if you let ‘em.”
The dwarf peered up thoughtfully at the ceiling for a moment, then lowered his eyes to face the abbot. ”If word got out that we had struck gold, or cleared a bunch of farmland that turned out to be fertile, or started bringing in a bunch of narwhal ivory from our fisheries, or found a big colony of martens in the forest to trap, people would come. They would figure out for you how to make that happen.”
He glanced back at the chalk-festooned wall. ”So we need something that promises people wealth. That’s why I’ve been thinking of trying to make the mines more profitable, by finding better stuff to mine, or figuring out how to make the current operation more efficient. That’s why I think your idea of having the farmers plant flax is a good one. And why I think we need a better handle on what kind of fauna we have out there. Are there otter or beavers or martens to trap? Seal or walrus or narwhals to harvest? Mackerel and tuna we can press into oil?
“So that, Your Grace, is where I want to start. As soon as weather permits, let’s get out there and figure what are the best reasons Pigeon Spit has to grow. Then we can figure out the best way to build a town for it to grow into. I have plenty of designs and brainstorms I can scribble into that book you gave me to fill. But if you want a *plan* we need to go get those answers.”
He exhaled slowly and turned his regard back to the abbot. ”Those are generalities. To be more specific, we should start with a census. With less than eight-score people, figuring out what we already have in terms of manpower shouldn’t be too hard. We can do that now even before the weather breaks, since we’re basically just going from door to door. Heck, set up at the inn and offer them free beer if they come to *you*. For a bit of free beer you’d save yourself a lot of work. And while they’re enjoying that beer we can ask other questions. How is their trade going? What’s holding them back? What would make them more productive and profitable?”
Andrew nodded. He liked the idea of exploring the country. "How about we let the Captain and the Scribe handle the census, with the free beer?" Andrew said. Thinking that at least a handful of the people in town wanted him dead or gone. "I think tomorrow during the day would good day for that," Andrew said. His mind raced thinking that it would he helpful to be able to put names to the thieves he was going to encounter tomorrow evening. "Our dear King will want taxes at some point too," he said. "The day after, we'll head up to the mine. We could ride up and back in one of the wagons. But we would probably end up spending the night there." he said. He would ride his horse, but not in the rain and not on rough ground.
Okay to jump to the next day? Good job getting out of paying for the beer too. :) Weather - unseasonably hot and sunny, wind from the northwest. Pigeon comes in saying a ship will be coming in the next two to four days.
Firs thing the morning, Drom would hand Andrew a note left by the harbor master. It read:
“Your Grace,
I had intended to speak to you last evening about a development, but got sidetracked by the news of an incoming ship. I believe our new dwarf friend may have inadvertently made contact with the Cat’s Claw. I went to the tavern to find him talking to Kriltra. She approached him and then me, wanting to talk about something. Supposedly she is to meet Bork for a beer this coming afternoon. He may or may not have mentioned any of this to you, as I don’t think he realizes the potential import. But I did warn him to be careful with her.
Regards,
-N.”
Bork
After his meeting with the abbot, Bork spent the rest of the evening working on his plans. Further work on the seawall and harbor scheme would wait until after he’d examined it. In the meantime, he would work on estimates for the amount of wood and labor needed to build his waterfront phase one. Pigeon Spit currently only had one skilled carpenter, which suggested that its woodcutters would have little trouble delivering lumber at least as fast as the town could do anything with it. He worked some equations in chalk on the wall and, once he was comfortable with them, noted them in his book. Next to that notation he would put down a figure for nails. He had a guess on man-hours, but was not yet ready to finalize them on paper yet.
He pursed his lips. Heavily-used tools broke, even with good maintenance; they would need more, in addition to the nails. A conversation for an ironmonger. But more than anything else they needed at least one more skilled carpenter if they wanted to grow at all.
If Andrew really intended to go out to the mines day after tomorrow, then Bork would want to spend time tomorrow finding out what he could in town. A census could get you headcount, but to get a feel for Pigeon Spit’s capacity, the dwarf wanted to see it in action. He would go out to the docks first thing in the morning to watch the fishermen work their morning catch, then ask the harbor master about getting things like barrel lids, used crates, and other scraps to test out his makeshift wheelbarrow idea. Then he needed to talk to various artisans, to learn about their supply situation, the state of their tools, and their plans for succession. Even dwarf stonemasons eventually got old and died, after all. He would take a peek at people’s gardens to see what they were growing, and how well they were growing. And he would ask the taverner and innkeeper about their businesses. How patrons paid. Did they barter or sell their produce? And if so, what sort of produce were they seeing the most of?
The two people he most wanted to talk to today were Findir, the dwarf farrier and ironmonger, who also reportedly smelted soft metals like silver on the side, and the catlady he apparently had a date with later this afternoon. So many people to see and talk to, for someone who wasn’t social at all.
He rose and headed out early, noting as he did that there was a note for the abbot on the front desk. Stepping outside, he looked up at the once-more clear sky and smiled. That was one less thing to make his rounds an ordeal. Bork was not yet in the habit of wearing his new hat, and had gone out bare-headed; the sea breeze stroked his short, prematurely-gray hair. Walking past his nascent moat, he headed for the docks. He had watched the activities before, but he had so far not watched the harbor master or the fishermen plans with numbers in mind. Then he had been a mere spectator; now he watched as an appraiser, a planner, a…master builder? He liked the sound of that, and smiled again as he looked out over the ocean. This was the best mood he had been in since leaving Roswitha at home to come here.
Andrew rose to the sound of the carpenter and his crew pounding nails and shingles into the roof and the sound of orders being barked. Letters were brought in for the Abbot. Most were mundane items, the note from the Harbor Master gave him a little pause, and another was a request to have title to part of the coves costal property. On the souther part of the bay about three lots past the current edge of the town to about where the break-wall would go.
Andrew thought it was an absurd request to make. The name was on the request was Birgitta. A lot maybe, but it took three minutes to walk that far.
He sorted the items into stacks. Things he had to deal with, things that Master Brom could deal with - offers for building materials, supplies, work, then things that the captain and his scribe could deal with. His stack was the shortest. It contained nothing.
The tailor brought a bundle to the Abbot. The clothing was simple but well made. There were a few hidden pockets in the cloak and the trousers. The cloak could be reversed and turned inside out giving it four different looks. He put it on with the off white side out. He put the dark suit on, it was light and fit well. Then he put on his robes.
Andrew called for one of the guards and his scribe. He told them about master Brom’s idea of a census with free beer as an attraction. He suggested that they also buy honey candy for children and if need be, suggest that a two silver fine be placed on any that don’t come, if it absolutely came to that. He told the captain to use the guards and hire a rider or two to go to the outer farm. If one of the woodsmen had an extra deer or two, to buy it and they would make this more of a festival mood.
Talia’s mother came with breakfast and the supplies. She gave Andrew the same scowl that she gave him as a child. The goods were exchanged and monetizes changed hands. She laughed when she saw the jeweled sword and dagger. Andrew strapped it on along with the dagger. He learned that Birgitta was the acting head of the Golden Tooth. She was having a hard time keeping control of the guild. Many of them did their own thing till she would come up with something big.
The drug trade that was going on was causing tension because it was bringing in higher amounts of money and the family running it had no use for the guild. They were paying the Harbor Master with gold coins to turn a blind eye to their operations. She told him that His engineer has been getting friendly with one of them yesterday.
Arrangements were made to have the census taken at the tavern. The thieves would meet in the back room later this evening. Andrew was planning to have one of those high ugly back chairs set on a table and he would hold court over them. Or at least he planned too.
The sleepy little village started to come alive as Brom headed out. The few farmers started to head to their fields or animals. The carpenter had a crew with him and a old wagon full of lumber and shingles heading for the old house. A few of the young boys were with him, sleepily riding in the back of the wagon.
As Brom approached the water front, he noticed that his rock flinging rat was tailing him again. Behind him a few buildings, far enough that if the boy need to run if the need arose. The boy was about as obvious as a torch on a moonless night, but he was trying.
On the waterfront two small boats were anchored, they were large enough to handle some light to medium cargo or sailors taking leave. One was heading out with three men on an errand so some type, probably fishing.
On the other side of the river, to the north, sat the tanners house and shop. He, his wife, and a couple children were busy with the start of the day. Two young women and four teenage girls were near the mouth of the river. A teenage boy leaned against the wall of a building watching the girls slacking from some errand he was suppose to be doing. As Brom walked past one of the houses, he heard the sound of a bobbin shuttle and the thump of the beater. A young girl was at a stone grinding wheat and oats to make a course flour. The brew master was doing a similar process but with two heavy stones that were being slid back and forth.
The shoe maker nodded, to Brom as he passed, he was working on a pair of leather boots, functional but not very ornate. Around some of the houses were small gardens. Root vegetables were grow, peas and beans, squashes of different types. Most of the farms had a couple cows, some sheep or goats. Small grains were being grown oats, barley, and wheat. Another farmer had planted, what looked to be, apple trees near the woods. They were about four feet in height and there was about nine of them. At the sawmill two men used a double bladed push-pull saw to rough cut boards from the logs, an older man was sharpening the teeth of another saw with a file. Up the hill a little way sat two small temples, nothing really more than stone building. One was to the goddess of protection and fertility and the other was to the sea god. Both were young and fairly new to their roles, the priestess was very pregnant and talking with the two midwifes in town.
Bork sat on a bollard and watched the fishermen go out. Later, when they were done selling their catch and were mending nets, he would talk to them, ask them about what sorts of fish they caught, what other types there were around the island. Once they were gone, he turned his attention to the bay. It was his first good look at the seaboard since the abbot had discussed his ideas for building a break-wall and improving the port. He pursed his lips thoughtfully as his eyes swept the shoreline and nearby waters. It could be done, he was certain, but it would take manpower and skills Pigeon Spit did not currently have. The abbot seemed to have, or to believe he had, the ability to tap whatever resources he needed. It would be up to the dwarf to figure out how much was actually required.
He reached inside the loose sleeve of his cloak to produce what looked like a thick, oblong piece of wood. Actually, it was two somewhat thinner pieces of wood joined on a hinge, which opened to reveal that they each framed a rectangle of slate. Writing on these took harder chalk than the walls; the piece he wrote and drew with now did not powder in his hand. He sketched a diagram of the bay, estimating distances based on angle (measured by scratching marks the chalk itself, which called for his knife) and his memory of the map the harbor master had brought him. He would check again every couple hours to get a feel for the high and low tide lines. He outlined how he imagined the wall to go and then put the slate tablet away. Designing and calculating material for the wall would come later.
It was after he started to move to other parts of town that he noticed his tail. That damned Werli kid. Bork would ignore the oaf for now; he would talk to the Captain about getting a sword to carry. The dwarf had a knife, and owned a spear as well for more adventurous outings, but a visible and good-sized self-defense weapon to carry around town might be in order. Well, Werli would be doing a lot of walking today. See how he liked the exercise.
His impromptu survey of Pigeon Spit brought mixed news, although none was any worse than he had feared and some was better. The craftsmen had adequate and well-maintained tools, and some even had spares. Nothing critical on that front. The farms and gardens had a decent variety of foods growing, and decent livestock. Grinding grain by hand would not do, however. Not if they were to grow; Pigeon Spit needed a flour mill. If he couldn’t site one on the river without conflicting with the sawmill, he would have to design a windmill. That was a challenge; he had never built a windmill before. Bork smiled. He liked those sorts of challenges.
When Bork went to look up Findir, the farrier, he learned that he was at the inn, partaking of the free beer and census. Bork decided to avoid the crowds and eat his lunch elsewhere. Then it was off to meet catlady.
Abbigale heard Master Valding leave on his mission for the day. She reached up and cast a spell with her cat. As she did her black cat looked up off the bookself at her master. She told her cat to follow him but stay back. With a stretch the cat rose and jumped to the window sill. When the sill was opened, the cat quietly jumped out the window to follow. Abbigale shook her head. These youngsters were going to turn her hair grey. He should have taken a guard with him. He needed to have someone watching his back. The boy, a child, throwing a rock at him should have told him that he wasn’t safe. A man with a knife could do more damage to him while he was distracted.
She laid down on the bed and concentrated on what the cat saw. As he traveled along, he picked up two tails. The boy who was following him and a man, a tabaxi, who was staying more in the shadows and turned down an alley to intercept Valding with a shortsword drawn. As he waiting for the engineer, the cat silently reached the man. With a gentle touch of his clothes the spell released and he and the cat were no longer there. Instead they were standing in Abbigale’s room. As he turned and raised his sword, Abbigale raised a hand releasing her second spell, freezing him in place. She smiled walking over to him and talking the sword from his hand, dagger from his belt. She pulled his cloak off, and his coin purse, and checked him quickly for other weapons. Then she bound his hands and feet with a fancy cord that she pulled from a box.
“Mr. Deerstawker, we finally meet,” she said pleasantly enough, “I have been so looking forward to having a conversation with you.” She sat down. “Please, just listen then I will let you go,” she said. “You are trying to hurt people under my protection and I can’t have that.” She rose and walked over and cut a bit of his hair and put it in a gold bowl with a lit. She chanted a spell and the bowl started to glow and she smiled. Turning back to him she said, “When the ship comes in you and your first wife are going to book passage and leave. If not, the spell I cast will cause you to explode in a ball of flame in two days. If the bowl opens or if I die the spell will also go off. Do you understand?” She looked at him, “Of course you do.” Having worked with thieves before, she knew that he was already plotting and planning to return to steal the glowing bowl. She moved held the bowl and moved away from the man with his sword and dagger out of reach. “In a moment, I will release you. I am going to scream and the guards will come running. You will be able to escape through the window,” she said calmly. Still holding the bowl, she moved to the door and opened it. As the spell dropped, she screamed loudly like she was being attacked. As if on cue, guards came running drawing their swords.
Free now, the Tabaxi turned and threw a small dart that was hidden in his sleeve, hitting the woman in the leg. Now her scream became one of pain. The wound was not severe but she could feel poison burning in the wound. Her light robe over her dress was not thick enough to stop the dart. Then he dove out the window and ran. He let the carpenter, the working boys, and a few bystanders see his face. He tried to hide it. Abbigale collapsed to the hall floor still holding the glowing bowl. Andrew came out of his room as well with a knife at the ready. Seeing the scribe on the floor, he rushed to her. One guard entered the room and the other ran to chase the thief. Andrew knew that he would disappear before the guard had a chance to catch him.
Andrew Richard Whitewood III
When Andrew heard the scream, he went running out of the room. He had been practicing with the new knives and one was in his hand. He would need to send a message to the capital and see about getting some really well made throwing knives. The blacksmith was good, but the quality was geared more towards usage than what he wanted. Andrew lifted the scribe and the bowl and carried them into his room. He laid her on the bed, pulled the dart from the muscle and threw it a chest. He then quickly got up and dug through a chest, throwing things around till he found the potion he wanted. He poured some of the potion on her leg after lifting her robe and dress to her knee. Then he had her drink the rest of it. The poison it seemed to Andrew was intended to paralyze the victim and if it struck just right would kill them by causing the heart to stop beating.
After half-an-hour Captain Harzin Afarel arrived to find the scribe complaining to the Abbot that she was fine and they were going to do the census. She said to him, “It’s the first good idea you’ve had since arriving.” He didn’t want to tell her he didn’t come up with it. Andrew grabbed his jeweled sword, the Tabaxi’s sword, dagger and cloak. Abbigale kept the bowl with her, but put on a heavier robe. A few of the boys working with the carpenter were asked to escort the wagon carrying the scribe, Abbot, and the supplies to the inn for the census to take place. One of the huntsmen was paid to sit on the balcony of the inn with his bow and shoot any Tabaxi males. No one was wearing a cloak, except the Abbot, because of the heat.
Andrew penned note to be delivered to the Brew Master. The note was written in dwarvish and contained a warning to be passed on to Brok that the woman he was meeting with was a thief and a drug dealer, to be careful. He sent it off with one of the boys asking him to make sure extra beer was delivered to the inn today.
Andrew was placed in a corner table with a couple guards watching over him. Guards were staying near the Scribe and the Captain sat at her right side with a crossbow in his lap and another guard stayed at the door watching the crowd. Andrew directed one of the guards to take his crossbow to top of the stairs and watch for someone coming from that direction. Andrew sat watching those coming and going, nodding and waving.
When a Halfling woman and her husband came to register, he saw Abbigale shake her hand, pass a note to her. He watched the woman as they went to the bar to collect their drink. She read the note, paled, and looked up at Andrew. Andrew nodded to her.
Master Valding, Abbigale, and Andrew were moved back into the Inn for a few days till the assassin could be captured.
Kriltra Deerstawker
Kriltra was all business when the dwarf arrived. They had their beer and sat in a booth away from the crowd. People in the bar were talking about the assassination attempt that was made on one of the Abbot’s staff. They talked about the Tabaxi man, who everyone knew was her husband and the reward that the captain offered for him, dead or alive. People were watching her, hoping that she would lead them to him.
She leaned closer to the engineer and said, “I am going to be leaving on the next ship and I want to come to a business arrangement with you.” She pulled out three different plants and placed them on the table. She continued, “I will pay you three gold coins for each crate of these that can be harvested and shipped to me when I get settled.” Through the day, the engineer had heard a few rumor had been out about the business they operated.
The second thing was much more personal to her. She looked down at the table, “I need a favor, the woman from your building has a gold bowl that glows. I need you to steal it for me, my husband’s life depends upon it.” She offers him a bag of gems.
Colmarh Beiti
When the engineer took his lunch at one of the taverns, the Brew Master came in and sat down at his table and barked out an order for stew. She started a conversation about the beer she just brew and changed over to dwarvish. She talked a bit about how she could use a second vessel as they drink a lot of beer. She then looked at him with a serious expression.
She said, "The Abbot has a message for you. 'The woman you are going to meet with is dangerous. She is a thief and allegedly deals in drugs.' The boy that brought me the message said a Tabaxi man tried to assassinate the scribe today and ran when she screamed. He must have been in the building for a long time as no one saw him enter."
Before the stew came, she winked at him and said in common, "So you think my beer tastes like warm horse pee!!" She slammed a hand on the table and moved to a different table grumbling.
My wife has horses and thinks that beer smells like horse pee.
Colmarh Beiti. She seemed a decent sort of she-dwarf, the kind Roswitha had been before she started turning into a needy nag hag. And she had good fare, the beer not least of all. Bork nodded thoughtfully when she mentioned wanting another brew vat. That would be doable, he thought. Pigeon Spit had plenty of copper, after all. And a smallish brewing vat wouldn’t need a city-sized foundry to fashion. With more capacity, the beer could probably be shipped to other parts. Maybe the king would even appreciate a couple kegs as tribute.
The brewer turned serious and said something to him gravely in dwarvish. She had a message from the abbot? That got Bork’s attention. It must be pretty urgent and important for His Grace to go to that trouble when they both had so many other things on their plates. So, the catlady was dangerous and up to no good? Nelthurin had said the same thing. Everyone wanted to protect the earnest, naive engineer from the big bad thieves who would all use him and rob him and eat him alive. All their patronizing crap was getting old. He wasn’t stupid and could take care of himself.
But the latter part of the message made his jaw drop. Someone had tried to off the scribe? Why? He couldn’t get his mind around the reasons or all the implications. In his preoccupation, he forgot to ask how Drom was doing before Colmarh took her leave. She might be an annoying elf goblin, but she did her job and he had no reason to want to see her hurt. He also didn’t think of the quip that he was sure the beer was thoroughbred pee until afterwards, by which time Kriltra was already approaching his table.
If Catlady had come looking for clever flirting or verbal sparring or some other display of social brilliance and smoothness, she would be disappointed. She would find the engineer a bit subdued and preoccupied, in fact. Fortunately, she wasted no time with any sort of banter or repartee and got right to confirming everything the brewer had just told her.
First, she wanted her help gathering herbs. She would pay well for that. Bork told her he would look into that as he took the plants and pressed them between his folding slates. That wasn’t even guile. After all, Pigeon Spit needed exports. The abbot’s warning had said that Catlady was a drug dealer, and that seemed to be a problem for him. Was there some sort of legal or moral catch to selling the stuff? He would talk to Andrew about that when he showed him the plants. The dwarf had sense enough not to mention that last bit to Catlady.
The second item was much more awkward. She wanted him to steal a valuable bowl, golden and likely magical, from the clerk. Bork eyed the bag of gems and thought about how much Roswitha would enjoy unexpectedly receiving them. He also considered the Catlady’s weapons and thought about how much he wouldn’t enjoy unexpectedly receiving them. Maybe the others were right to fret about his interactions with Pigeon Spit’s criminal element. He hadn’t expected anything more interesting or dangerous than Werli’s rock-tossing. How was he going to handle this, compose his objections to Catlady’s proposal? Well, he was an engineer. He’d handle it like an engineer, by pointing out the logistical problems.
”I can’t do that,” he answered. ”There’s no way I could find, steal, and deliver such a thing to you without everybody in Pigeon Spit knowing exactly what happened and why. And that’s if I pulled it off without a hitch. What’s the phrase you guys use?” He thought a moment. ”It’s too ‘hot’, I think? Count me out.” He nudged the bag back. ”Why all the cloak and dagger stuff, anyway? Why can’t you just go to the clerk or the abbot and talk to them? I can’t imagine they wouldn’t help you if your husband’s life were in danger.”
Bork had his suspicions as to why that was, of course; unbeknownst to Kriltra, the brewer had tipped him off about the Tabaxi who had tried to assassinate the clerk. It wasn’t hard to guess who Catlady’s ‘husband’ might be. Bork sat back and scanned the room. He might have to start thinking about tactical options and resources very soon.
Kriltra nodded to the export agreement. She also understood that he was not a thief. She was disappointed that he wouldn’t try, she did not think he would. She thought about taking him hostage and making a trade. But the lunch crowd was heavy enough to make doing a grab seem more than stupid. She shook her head and drank her beer.
As she drank, she thought about her options. He had almost no reaction when she put on a show before for him. So seduction was out. She didn't think crying would work, as he really didn't seem to care about a girls emotions. Bribery didn't work, so that left only blackmail. She leaned forward towards the engineer and whispered, “You don’t need to steal the bowl, you could ask for it. I just want to make sure that my husband doesn't die.”
She paused then continued, “Or I will go to the Captain and tell him you paid my husband to assassinate the scribe.” She smiled an evil smile, “The choice is yours. Dwarves hate ‘goblins' right?”
The engineer did not have to look real hard to see people pointing and whispering about them. In the court of public opinion, Bork would be considered in league with them if nothing else.
If the engineer cared to think about it, he would realize there is more going on with this. First she was going to try to influence the scribe to save her husband. Second, as most drug dealers tend to be secretive about their operations, they almost flaunt the wealth that comes from the operation. Third, if he questioned her a bit, he would learn that neither she or her husband know much about herbs. It would become clear that neither of them are the brains of the operations.
This was not normal behavior of Tabaxi as they tend to be a happy go lucky people that is more curious and interested in learning, collecting, or discovering than selling drugs or blackmail.
Through the window, one of the Pigeon Spit city guards, a young man peaked through the window and waved to get the engineers attention.
Bork snorted at the threat. It was ridiculous. He hadn’t even laid eyes on the clerk but a few days before, and now he was hiring an assassin to murder her? For reasons? It had not occurred to him that anybody would believe he could do such a thing. Nor, being room-illiterate, did he pick up on any of the tenor of people watching them. He did appreciate one aspect of the situation, though: he needed to get out of this common room, away from Catlady, and find the abbot right away. And for that he needed to stall her.
The dwarf glared at her and shook his head, biting back all the things he wanted to say while composing the things he needed to say. Finally he sat back and exhaled sharply, pushing his remaining food and drink away. ”Sure, I’ll talk to her,” he said at last, trying to sound placating. ”See if I can persuade her to do the right thing. She’ll want to save your husband’s life, I bet, if only so she can question him. I’ll sell it that way.”
There was movement at the window. Bork saw it and realized who it was. He didn’t bother to try to hide his noticing the guard from Kriltra. ”Looks like I have other company,” he observed, gesturing with his head towards the window. ”Like I said, I’ll have a go at Drom, see if she’ll give me the bowl. I can’t make any promises, though, so keep your gems until I deliver. And I haven’t forgotten about the other thing,” he concluded, patting the wooden folding tablet with the plant samples in them before putting it back into his pocket.
He took his leave and went outside to find out what the guards wanted.
Mellard Hogni
”Is he with her?” the dwarf asked, peering up at his partner who was looking through the window; the human was gesturing to somebody inside, presumably their target. Judging from his manner, he was having difficulty getting said target’s attention.
”Maybe we should just go in there and get him, Carlson,” Mellard Hogni suggested.
The human guard shook his head. ”Captain said no. Not sure why, but he was emphatic.”
”He with Kriltra?” Hogni asked again.
”Yep, and they’re talking pretty serious, too, looks like.” Adlar Carlson was young, muscular, and tall, even by human standards. He peered down at the dwarf and grinned. ”Shall I describe her to you, or should I find you a box?”
Mellard groaned. Another short joke. ”Bite my arse, Carlson,” he growled. The retort might have been more effective if the pair hadn’t been keeping their voices low.
”Bit short-tempered, are we? And no thanks, I’d have to get dirt on my chin, -oh, wait, he sees me. Looks like he’s coming.”
The two guards stood back and slightly to either side of the door. They weren’t sure what to expect from the engineer, mainly because they weren’t sure how much of Colmarh’s brew he’d had. They’d had to pull him off of that Belloc character that one time he’d gone on a bender. Some of the guys had wagered that there’d be trouble. Hogni and Carlson had both put a couple coppers down that there wouldn’t be. They suspected that was why the Captain sent them.
Bork emerged and blinked at the two guards. ”What is this?” he growled. He was grumpy, but sober. Hogni spoke first. ”Bork Valding, you need to come with us,” he explained, ”to the Inn. Something’s happened.”
Bork scowled. ”Am I under arrest? If not I got other things to do. I need to talk to the abbot and the clerk.”
”Both of whom are at the Inn,” Hogni responded, gesturing for the other dwarf to follow him. Carlson maneuvered to the other side of the dwarf.
Bork was still being stubborn. ”You didn’t answer me. Am I under arrest? And what is it that happened?”
The big human loomed over Bork and laid his hand ever-so-gently on his shoulder. ”No, you aren’t, unless you keep being difficult. And we’re not at liberty to say. Everybody you could possibly talk to is at the Rusty Peg. Let’s move.”
Grousing but otherwise cooperative, the engineer went along. He had a lot of things to tell the abbot. And even more things to ask him.
Andrew was happy to see Bork. Being kept safely in a corner is not what Andrew wanted. Safe was okay, in a corner was fine, but the trouble was the kept. Handing out the honey candy to children was at least something to do. The scribe smiled as the engineer came in. The guards gave him free roam of the room. The Captain made it clear he wasn't under arrest, just being protected.
The guards were doing their best to keep and eye on everyone, but you could tell that they needed to be rotated or changed. The only one who was still intent was the Captain. He was intently looking at the people who came to the table looking for tells of discomfort at the presence of the guards. He ordered the guards changed, but two of the men got a beer and nursed it slowly still watching at a table near Bork and the Abbot. On the table sat three gold bowls with lids. She had moved the hair to a small bag. She smiled at the Engineer when he arrived.
One fight started till three of the guards jumped in. One ended up with a black eye and both combatants ended up out on the street.
As the Harbor Master came in, the Gold Tooth Guild Master moved to get a bowl of stew, passing the note that the scribe had passed her. Instead of going to the table to register, he went to the bar, got his beer and headed to the table with Bork and Andrew. The Captain gave him a look but he turned showing he had no weapons and said, "Official business," and smiled. He wanted to go over with the engineer what was going to happen and where the troubles were with their process. Lifting and unloading was a challenge as heavy items had to be moved by hand and just about sunk the little boats they were using, the fishing boats. He looked at the note and then placed in his pocket.
Silverclaw was having a bad day to put it mildly. The witch woman did things to him that he didn’t care for. Cutting his hair, taking his cloak and weapons, holding him against his will, then turning the guard loose on him. That over zealous Captain put a bounty on him. The nerve!
Now hiding in a cellar he waited for his wife negotiate his freedom. He really did not want to leave Pigeon Spit, but he would if he had too. But the scribe was a new mystery to be solved. He also had not found the dragon’s lair and investigate all that it contained.
Silverclaw was just planning to intimidate the Engineer, scare him a bit. He wanted him to know who was running the docks and the port. The Abbot was an idiot that said things before he thought them through. But the witch… He couldn’t figure her game. Why would she just let him go? It didn’t make sense.
It does, we don’t have a jail.
How did she know where he was?
Kriltra Deerstawker had made contact and tried to get the engineer to act as a proxy. He was stubborn. Later today she would start the rumor that he might be was involved. The street urchins were good at spreading that type of rumor. She even paid them to try to recover the bowl if was to be found. The guard could chase them around.
Bork had questions. Oh, boy did he have questions. Not to mention a few observations.
The guards at least hadn’t misled him about the abbot and everybody else being at the inn. And the abbot seemed glad to see him, so this wasn’t some trick to jam him up. None of this, however, lessened how annoying this whole thing was.
He plunked down at the abbot’s table with an exasperated look. ”The guards told me something had happened. Someone attacked Drom? She alright? What’s going on?” It took a moment to process that Drom was there in the room. ”Oh! There she is!” he noted astutely. He would want the details. He would in return tell Andrew about his meeting with Kriltra, about her two propositions, and about her threat.
He showed the abbot the herb samples the catlady had given him. ”She said these grew around here, and she’d pay good money to get the stuff shipped out of here. I wanted to show you because you know more about herbalism than I do. What are these? Why would she want to pay so much money? Are these valuable?”
Bork had mixed feelings about helping out with the herbs. If it could bring in money, wasn’t that a good thing? It was just a question of who they had to do business with to make it happen.
The bowl business, on the other hand, stank to high heaven. Kriltra had threatened to spread rumors that *he* had had something to do with wanting the scribe offed. He made sure he told the abbot everything about how that interview went, what Kriltra had said, what his response had been. He had no reason to lie, and every reason to make sure his few allies here knew everything and were clear on where he stood. As an afterthought, he said to Andrew: ”Oh, thanks for warning me. That made a difference.”
The dwarf looked at the bowls. ”I’ve had a lot of trouble on account of those bowls,” he observed to Drom. He tried to make his tone joking, but a sour note crept into his voice in spite of himself. ”I was supposed to get it for her.” He shrugged. ”I told her I’d ask the clerk to ‘do the right thing’. I think those were my exact words.”
The engineer gave a curt nod of acknowledgment to the harbor master when he came in, frowned when the Captain shooed him off. Apparently Nelthurin wasn’t on the list of people the Captain or the abbot trusted on this. Bork turned back to Andrew. ”What do we do now?” he asked. ”Why are those people moving on *me* so fast? They started making threats before they knew enough to know what might actually scare me. I’m no criminal mastermind, but to me that suggests they’re in some sort of rush. Do we just wait here to see if they make another move?”
He looked glumly around the common room. The census thing was proceeding apace, albeit with a tension you could chop with an ax. And he was stuck here. He had an idea. ”Did you bring my book?” he asked the abbot. ”There’s work I could do.” He had notes about Colmarh looking at extra brewing capacity, and he realized he should tweak his waterfront to include a cooper. He also looked to see if Findir the farrier would show up. He wanted to talk to him.
Outwardly, the harbormaster was all calm and goodwill; underneath he was a maelstrom of frustration and worry.
Gods damn that Silverclaw! Why why did he have to make such a rash move and force a crisis?! Why not just let Kriltra do her thing, try to smooth Bork, ease him into the business? There’d be winners all around. But no! The fool just had to wave his blade around and show everybody who Alpha Idiot was around here. This meant war, and now Nelthurin Sebheon was stuck in the middle.
Willing himself to smile he talked his way past the captain and sat down at the ‘head table’. He acknowledged Bork with a nod and the abbot with a quiet ‘Your Grace’ before turning to the scribe. ”I’m glad to see you are alright, Ms. Drom,” he said, with at least some sincerity. He didn’t like or trust the clerk; he still had no idea what the other elf’s game was. He wasn’t entirely sure about the abbot, either. At least with the engineer you knew where you stood. You could do business with him as long as you were careful.
For all that, though, mayhem was not something Nelthurin wanted to see in Pigeon Spit. Especially not mayhem that would start a war. He needed to talk to the abbot alone at some opportunity, but that was not possible at the moment, so he confined himself to making a hand-sign indicating his wish for a private meeting. After that, he passed time discussing with the dwarf the troubles with salvaging operations. They needed bigger boats and better cranes. Bork nodded, wrote something down on that slate tablet of his. That was all Silverclaw and his wife needed to do, he thought ruefully: give the dwarf an interesting problem to work on and convince him it would be good for the town to solve it, and he could have told them that if they’d asked.
Gods damn that Silverclaw! he fumed inwardly once more.
