If this keeps up, I shall have to buy a larger journal.
Where to begin? When I left off, we had returned from the hinterlands to the Grass Pipe. (I am growing found of this place, although it feels odd to have slept so many nights in a row indoors.) Pasha gave us our wages, and I expected a quiet night.
I was, of course, wrong.
First, Zinna started in on the food. I was convinced she was trying to spend her entire reward in one sitting - she ordered everything friend Stuckey had on offer and tucked into it with enthusiasm and vigor, if not grace. She drew the attention of a new face at the Pipe - a short, stout fellow, Rorick by name, who joined us at our table. He turned out to be of the Dwarven Race; this came as a great surprise to Urik, who had to be disabused of the notions that his forebears had eliminated that people completely and that Rorick was a large and obese gnome.
The drinks flowed, Zinna ate, Urik talked about pain, and Applerabbit somehow got fixated on osans - apparently Urik has never seen an orange, and it became terribly important to the gnome that he understand the nature of the fruit. Rorick joined in all of this as if he had been our boon companion forever.
During this merrymaking, I appraised this newcomer. He seemed strong and hardy as well as smart, educated, and convivial. I thought he might make a useful contribution to our little band, were we to find any more employment from the Lady Pasha or even from Sharif Nackle himself. It seems lucky that we encountered him, so of course I fear it is too good to be true.
Nonetheless, I slept well and morning came much too soon.
The whole group breakfasted in the main hall, until interrupted once again by the imperious Lady Pasha. True to her word, she came to fetch us for an audience with the Nackle himself. As she surveyed us, she saw the newcomer Rorick and questioned him briefly but intensely, asking him at the close of her interrogation to join our group. She was muttering something again about our being strangers to the city - as if our joint and several identity as aliens, visitors, guests, tourists - whatever it is we are - somehow made us more valuable to her plans. She did also admit that we acquitted ourselves well on the last task, so I am sure that was part of her calculation as well. In any case, she hastened us out of the Pipe and off to city hall, Zinna stuffing her face and pockets till the last and Rorick bringing takeaway food (he was a late riser, presumably from effects of strong drink), but all of us trotting behind her as she strode along.
Pasha's rank and authority were clearly evident as we made our way to the Nackle: no one challenged her as we penetrated deeper and deeper into his - well, stronghold is the only word I can use. Guards stepped aside, doors opened, until at last we were ushered into the room of the great man himself.
I do not use the word great unadvisedly; there was a power rippling from Nackle; you could almost see it, like heat waves rising from the jangwa. He was clearly physically powerful - I do not think the five us could have left the room alive had he chosen that we did not. Years of experience in battle marked the way he moved, the way he carried himself, even the set of his eyes. But even more so than that, there was a force of will within the man that was almost unstoppable. Pasha had a manner that made people listen to her and follow where she walked; Nackle commanded respect, deference, and obedience by his very presence.
Our audience with him was fairly one-sided: he was like a prophet come down from the planes with an explanation of the way of the world, from the gods' mouths to his ear. He has a vision for this Grelsh - a singular commitment to building a future. As the jangwa has taught me, in the end, everything is built on sand... but this Nackle made me want to believe.
I took the opportunity to ask him a question about my own circumstance; he gave me much to think on, and I inch closer to a decision.
The particulars of his employment of us - for that was indeed why we were there - were far more jejune. He suspects the chief cleric of the town, one Releford, of some sort of chicanery or deceit - he was not specific - and wants proof of this. I suspect he has put us on this trail like jackals on a scent for plausible deniability. If four - five - foreign obtruders were to uncover evidence of wrongdoing in the church of Agravaras, Nackle could use it without the appearance of being on a personal hunt for the priest. As caliph, he would have no choice but to act on the information presented him.
Nackle offered us fifty times our wage for fighting the barbarians if we find such evidence. We get nothing if we do not, except a generous per diem until the job is finished (or Nackle tires of us). He also suggested we attempt to work with the local Stealer's Guild as a way to start; he suffers their enterprises as long as they do not interfere with his grand plan.
We returned to the Grass Pipe for luncheon, and Stuckey was as effusive as ever. Zinna had purchased all sorts of groceries on the way home, and bade Stuckey cook for her, which he did. Applerabbit, for her part, had obtained a crate of oranges, and I was included in the party to witness Urik's first taste of the fruit. It was an underwhelming experience for both him and me. In the course of the meal, we inquired of Stuckey whether he was part of the Guild; he forebore answer. When the meal was over, Stuckey told us it was to be a closed house while he ran errands, and that we needed to leave; he made sure we promised to come back and pass the evening with two notables, Pince and Sprig, over whom he made quite a fuss. We made for the streets to pass the afternoon.
As we strolled along the nearly deserted quay - so different from Feck, yet so reminiscent with its reed piers - to the west of some industrial neighborhood, I caught a look from Zinna that said she had seen what I had seen and what had gone unnoticed by our comrades: we were being followed by a shady-looking character. At my gesture, Zinna stole into the shadows, intending to ambush our ambusher; I sent C'hallah to caper up a nearby building to distract the lurker. My plan was for the stalwart Zinna to capture and detain this fellow, hoping to trade freedom and amnesty for contact with the Guild. I don't know why I continue to try; as usual, my plan turned to ashes.
Applerabbit turned a corner and almost immediately we heard the sounds of banditry: she was apparently being set upon. I saw Zinna heading east, around the other side of the building Apple was behind; Rorick and Urick were casting spells in preparation for joining the fray; I called C'hallah to guard the way and moved to engage.
The battle was by turns laughable and horrific. Rorick conjured a slippery oil under the feet of two attackers - and Applerabbit. Applerabbit fell down. Urik tore a man nearly in half with his sword and the enemy was short a combatant. Applerabbit could not get up. Apple's attacker missed a swing and cleaved his sword into the side of the building like a woodsman's axe. Applerabbit could not get up. Burik conjured a gout of flame and set all the combatants afire. All while, he was shouting "I don't want to hurt you!" Applerabbit finally stood up, raced to Rorick, and doused him with conjured water. Applerabbit's attacker ran away. Urik gave the remaining bandit quarter, which he took.
I was worried about Zinna,who had not joined the fight, and so raced to intercept her path, only to find her in her own combat - apparently with the ambusher, who had deviated from his projected path and met her away from our skirmish. Together, we dispatched him nicely.
Our interrogation of these louts - after we had secured them, stabilized their wounds, taken half their gold as reparations, and thrown their weapons into the sea - was short, successful, and unsatisfying. They were no members of the Stealer's Guild: hardly more than boys, they had pretensions to greatness - they called themselves Brothers of the Night Watch - but had yet to be granted admittance to the Guild. The leader spun some tale about a romance with Sprig - Stuckey's friend! - that had gone wrong and her enmity being the barrier to his ascendancy in the ranks of thieves. Applerabbit, of course, began going on about love, and apologies, and letters, and oranges, and I don't know what all else, since honestly I stopped listening after a while, but it was quite a gay affair for some time, there in the shadow of the warehouse, with the blood pooling in the dirt.
The important thing is that Pince and Sprig have some sort of gatekeeper roles in the Stealer's Guild, and perhaps, with Stuckey's endorsement, they are our way into that group and its intelligence. Our service to Nackle might actually have a chance of success.
So. here we are again, in the Grass Pipe, awaiting the evening's festivities. I think I hear someone at the door...
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