Far More Dangerous

Scene 2b - Piers/Magali - Tailor
Information on the smith and tailor

The shadows were long by the time they left the meeting.  At the end of the block, a lamplighter was finishing up his job on the street.  It was going to be another warm late spring night.

Tor Terrace was not far from Fortis and Nofri.  The blacksmith’s shop was another mile up the road, nestled between a livery and a carpenter.  Lights from the apartment above the shop showed the smith was probably upstairs eating or resting.  A horse nickered softly from its stall in the livery as Piers and Magali strolled by.  There was a tavern at the end of the block and another two blocks the other direction, and neither seemed better or worse than the other.

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Scene 2a - Vittorini Moneylenders
How the counterfeits were discovered and how to counterfeit

The shadows were long by the time they left the meeting.  At the end of the block, a lamplighter was finishing up his job on the street.  It was going to be another warm late spring night.

As Tomas made his way to the bank, he passed few people on the streets.  Most were home, eating dinner, cleaning away the day or getting ready for the next.  A guard patrol went past in the other direction, four guards with spears and a sergeant, obviously not expecting any trouble in this district.  Tomas’ military instincts grumbled nonetheless.

The bank was a plain stone building, single story, with a weathered sign showing a few stacks of gold coins.  The windows had metal bars on them, and the door was thick hard wood with metal bands.  One obvious guard in Vittorini colors leaned against the wall next to the door, seeming relaxed to a casual observer, but alert to a trained eye.  The guard watched Tomas curiously as he moved up the street.

Tomas walked up to the guard directly.  “Excuse me, but by chance is Mistress Vittorini still here?  The bank is clearly closed, so I guess not, but I thought I might ask.”  Tomas was polite, but he noted the casual stance of the guard.

It occurred to him that appearances might be deceiving, but generally guard duty was one of the least desirable tasks for a soldier.  Particularly when whatever was being guarded had a low likelihood of being targeted.  It was generally just that sort of lax attitude and assumption that made it possible for clever thieves to take advantage.  He recalled the fate of the Falcan soldiers that had displayed this sort of ennui, in the woods.  In made his face tighten with disgust and anger, but outwardly it was little more than small frown.  It was certainly not his place to dress this man down.

The guard took quick glances up and down the street as Tomas approached him, then stood upright, arms loose.  At Tomas’ question, he shook his head, “Naw, she’s home for the night.  Be back hour or so after sunrise.”

Tomas nodded, and thanked the man, then walked off toward the nearest tavern.  His belly was rumbling, and he needed to think about what he would do tomorrow.

The nearest tavern had a simple sign with a picture of a tankard on it.  Inside, smoke from a fire and several pipes hung lazily in the air.  Several long table and short tables crowded the floor and a long bar with stools by it sat against the right wall.  Many of the tables had game boards on them – Stones, Draughts, Chess.  The place was barely half-full, and few eyes turned towards Tomas as he entered, but went back to their own business after a moment.

From behind the bar, a rail thin man offered, “Welcome to Flat Tankard.  Take a seat anywhere.”

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Scene 01 - A Fine Mess
Introductions and a mission

The talk in the Weaver’s Quarter was about how the ship Moon Glider limped into port after being attacked by the pirate Mad Marcus Rishtan, its cargo of ivory and spices gone.  In the taverns, the conversation turned to the savage killings that happened in the Snarl the night before.  The Temple Quarter was getting ready for Togus’ seasonal Fair of the summer, where every manner of craft would be on display, judged by The Smith’s priests.  And the Houses were discussing trade, as always.

The messenger who found you was a plain looking fellow, but his clothes were impeccable, his tunic embroidered with a rampant lion on a red field.  He handed you an envelope, your name printed neatly but not decoratively on the outside.  Without waiting for you to reply, or even to read it, he turned and left.  Apparently, you had little choice in how to respond to the message.

Your Honor,

Your presence is requested at sundown, at the offices of Fortis and Nofri in the Weaver’s Quarter, the corner of Barker Road and Seacrest Walkway.

Orsino Vittorini

Signed by the son of House Amadei’s information broker, the message was intriguing in its simplicity.

The business was a large textile mill for turning raw wool into bolts of cloth which would later be turned into clothing or blankets.  Most of the workers had gone home for the day, and an officious clerk showed you into a room with a table large enough for a dozen people to sit around, though only two others seemed to receive the same invitation.  A tray of bread, cheese and fruit sat on the table and a sideboard held wine and brandy.

After assuring you the wait would be short, the clerk left you alone in the room.

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