Café de Nuit

REFUGEES

Raen suddenly feels more reserved. Once the man admits the whole lot were actually in Falkovnian military, he quickly takes a glance around to make a mental check of where the people that could be danger were.
FALKOVNIAN: "I understand. While I certainly understand your reasons and that the situation in your land is different than in Darkon or here, there is a clear explanation of the hostility you see: You seem honorable, you seem fine. But you fought for the enemy. I certainly don't think your tyrant would be that stupid to send a band of marked Talons as agents, along with their families. However, that doesn't change the fact that even if you did it out of necessity or duty, these people think of you as ex-enemy soldiers. It wasn't that long ago that your military clashed with their militias. And while your people lost, the people here clearly remember you as the enemy.

So don't be offended with them. I can't think of many ways to assuage their fear and hostility of you, but banking up in here, in a clique, in a tribal way is certainly not the way to do it. I suggest you, all of you, realize that you will face bigotry and be ostracized. Have some of you protect the kids and some of you walk around the city. So the people can see you. Sure, it may be dangerous, and certainly unpleasant. Try to find honest work. Yes, you may be taken advantage of and will not be paid fairly. AVOID the easy solution of finding employment as thugs and leg-breakers for unsavory types. Don't validate the Richemulotease perception of you as violent bullies.
Things will be bad before they turn better. However, things will be better for your kids. You will have to worry about mobs throwing stones to you. But you won't have to worry about being impaled or burned alive by ... " Raen stops shortly before he says 'the Talons' and makes a pause.
"... by certain elements in Falkovnian society."



Then, he stands up and addresses the men, still in Falkovnian, but he repeats each sentence in both languages so his allies would understand.

"Gentlemen, I will need to employ two able-bodied men tomorrow for some repairs over my house. I know that your building skills may not be the best, but it's not something that requires particular skill. I will need your services from one hour after dawn to hour before sunset. Each man will be paid three silver pieces. If I am satisfied with your work, I may employ you again.
We will be moving up and down the neighborhood to find bricks and building materials from the abandoned and ruined houses. I don't have a cart, so unless you provide one, it will be very hard work, that's why I'm paying triple the normal price. You'll be carrying heavy bricks around all day.

If a woman wants, I could use someone to sweep the shoot and ash from my doorstep and the street outside. It will not take long. However, if a woman takes up the offer, I would also require another man to assist her and mainly, to make sure she's safe from the locals. I will pay one silver piece for cleaning of the pavement and street outside my house and a little more up and down. Not a silver piece to the woman and another to the man looking after her, a silver piece for both.
If you can't spare the numbers, I understand. But if you could decide as long as we remain in your company and inform me of your choice so I would know whether to expect you tomorrow, I'll be glad."
And with that, he sits down again and speaks to the sergeant, more quietly. "People will see you making honest work. And your guys may even find some furniture you could use here. "

The Falkovnians listen to Raen's speech in silence.
Then one of them mutters ''Darkonese."
A few grunts. No other words.

Ludwig says,
"Thank you for the advice. We will keep it in mind."

ewancummins wrote:

RocEter wrote:

ewancummins wrote:THOM


"Agreed." Thom says.

Pulling a small coin purse from his satchel, Thom tosses it to Juergin. "I look forward, to our next meeting." He says.

Thom steps out of the doorway back outside, closing the door behind him. Time for him to carry on with the rest of his plans, Thom makes his way to the docks.

LATER

AT THE WHARVES ON THE EASTERN BANK OF THE MUSARDE

Thom finds the dockside crowded and active: boatmen, peddlers, dockers, whores--probably some cutpurses in the mix, and other people all moving about the boardwalks and the cobbled lanes.
In addition to numerous smaller craft, a hulking Arkandaler paddleboat float in the river, moored to a long, floating lateral pier.
The smokestack resembles the chimney of a small house.
A coal-stained man moves about on deck, barefoot.
Another man unloads casks with a gaff; his skin is as dark as the other, but without any soot.

A slim young woman in a flashy gown pushes close to Thom.
''Looking for company?"
She smiles at him and brushes a stray lock of black hair from her kohled eyes.

Thom might not take the woman up on her offer, but he could milk her for information....

Later, after having spent an hour at the dockside, Thom reviews what he's learned:

Bennedict tries to follow as much of the conversation as he can, and tries not to seem alarmed at the revelation that the refugees are former Falkovnian military. When a gap in the speech opens up, he steps into it.

"My name is Herr Bennedict Gehrman," he begins, "We are an armed party of citizens operating on behalf of the Gendarmes in Pont. We have interest in this strange phenomenon going on outside, the falling ash clouds. Do your people know anything about the cause." He looks pointedly at their fire. "It doesn't seem like there's enough of you that your fires could be the source, as some suspect. I fear there be...something unwholesome on the streets. Something not of Falkovnian origin, but taking advantage of the disorganization of your camps."

He fishes in his bag slowly for his journal, removing the sketches of young Jonathon Matyr and his best recollection of the weasel-creature into which he transforms. He holds them up the assembled crowd to see if anyone reacts. "Have any of you seen someone like this?"

Adam wrote:Bennedict tries to follow as much of the conversation as he can, and tries not to seem alarmed at the revelation that the refugees are former Falkovnian military. When a gap in the speech opens up, he steps into it.

"My name is Herr Bennedict Gehrman," he begins, "We are an armed party of citizens operating on behalf of the Gendarmes in Pont. We have interest in this strange phenomenon going on outside, the falling ash clouds. Do your people know anything about the cause." He looks pointedly at their fire. "It doesn't seem like there's enough of you that your fires could be the source, as some suspect. I fear there be...something unwholesome on the streets. Something not of Falkovnian origin, but taking advantage of the disorganization of your camps."

He fishes in his bag slowly for his journal, removing the sketches of young Jonathon Matyr and his best recollection of the weasel-creature into which he transforms. He holds them up the assembled crowd to see if anyone reacts. "Have any of you seen someone like this?"

Heads shake.

Luwdig says, "Not that man. The beast? Not anything we could identify--yes?"
He looks back at the others. Heads nod.
"Right--not anything we can identify as that creature in the drawing. But there is something. We have heard it at night, growling, stalking. I saw its eyes once, glowing in the night. We found partial tracks. Something big, four feet. I'm not a hunter. I don't know what made the prints. Maybe not a natural creature. It could have been a bear, a wolf, I don't know. Maybe huge weasel like that.The prints were --what is the word? Vague."

"Can you show me?" Bennedict asks. "I may see something your people missed."

Adam wrote:"Can you show me?" Bennedict asks. "I may see something your people missed."

''I cannot. Tracks are gone. The wind."

The Falkovnian records underofficer shrugs.

"But I can show you where , at least. Is that helpful?"

The archivist nods and stands to go have a look.

Adam wrote:The archivist nods and stands to go have a look.

''It is a long walk. "

He points toward the river.
East.

"You may want to bring some of your comrades. Armed. This area is not safe. We will evacuate soon. We just need to gather more supplies first."

"What's going on that it's unsafe?" he asks. "Some kind of trouble?"

Ludwig shrugs.
"Always. The cloud brings early darkness. Bad things come out in the dark.''

Thom


LATER

AT THE WHARVES ON THE EASTERN BANK OF THE MUSARDE

Thom finds the dockside crowded and active: boatmen, peddlers, dockers, whores--probably some cutpurses in the mix, and other people all moving about the boardwalks and the cobbled lanes.
In addition to numerous smaller craft, a hulking Arkandaler paddleboat float in the river, moored to a long, floating lateral pier.
The smokestack resembles the chimney of a small house.
A coal-stained man moves about on deck, barefoot.
Another man unloads casks with a gaff; his skin is as dark as the other, but without any soot.

A slim young woman in a flashy gown pushes close to Thom.
''Looking for company?"
She smiles at him and brushes a stray lock of black hair from her kohled eyes.

Thom might not take the woman up on her offer, but he could milk her for information....

Later, after having spent an hour at the dockside, Thom reviews what he's learned:

VIEW CONTENT:

The 'ghost-boat' Thom was asking after had been impounded by the Port-Master's men. It is a keelboat of ordinary design, and had a load of cotton on board when it was found, empty and bloody and washed up against the piers in the south of the city. Inquire at the Port-Office for more.

The big Arkandale sternwheeler, The Briar-Rose, leaves tomorrow morning for Falkovnia. Some passengers from this city are expected to go with it.

A woman was accosted in the wee hours of this very morning by a man who reeked of perfume. He cut some of her hair off with a sharp knife, but she ran away. The woman works as a hair-dresser in the city and moonlights as a whore. Her name is Talia, and she may be found at her tiny shop near the waterfront.

Refugees and residents alike have been streaming out of the western city. It seems a big black cloud--Thom can see it across the river-- is dropping ash on the streets. But not just that. People are going missing at higher than usual rates. Vague stories about ''the beast'' stalking at night...

"I'm afraid, I don't have the time to enjoy the bountiful wonder that would be your company, my dear." Thom says to the young woman.

He walks away from the woman, if she provided him with information he discretely hands her some coins before walking away, and makes his way to the Port-Master's Office.

Dorgio arches a brow at the Falkovnian named Ludwig. "What sorts of things come out in the dark?"

Brock Marsh Runoff wrote:Dorgio arches a brow at the Falkovnian named Ludwig. "What sorts of things come out in the dark?"

IN THE GHOST STREETS
WITH LUDWIG

''Rats rule the dark here, huge rats. They steal food. And other things... Yesterday I saw two of the huge rats crawling toward the river. Bleeding. Like something had mauled them. One died, I think...''
He looks a around the street.
''The biggest rats do not fear our weapons, or even the guards' weapons. ''

THE PORT-MASTER'S OFFICE

SOUTHEAST PORTION OF THE CITY



Thom's trip takes him south along the waterfront to a district of warehouses, offices, lock-houses, canals, horse-driven cranes, and wagon-rutted roads.

The vibrant air of the river-markets gives way to a workaday atmosphere, as people go about mundane business; roustabouts carrying crates, skippers calling out orders, teamsters driving slowly down the roads,
boatmen poling or rowing small craft, a few fish-sellers pushing handcarts, clerks tallying and marking cargo with slate and chalk.

Thom knows where to find the Port-Master's office.

The two story building looks impressive from the outside, with a pink marble façade restored over the last couple of years. The work has progressed since last time Thom visited. Given his status and wealth, Thom needn't wait in line at the clerk's depot like a common person, but can enter the building through the lobby reserved for merchants and gentlemen of substance. Asking about the boat, he learns the Port-Master has restricted all access to it by members of the public.
But Thom would be welcome to speak with that worthy, if he so desires.
The master is taking his lunch upstairs.


The usher sends a pair of swordsmen in brigandine to escort Thom to see the Port-Master.
Paintings and tapestries adorn the wood-paneled walls of the upper level, which looks more like a little palace than an office.


The guards admit Thom to a spacious, well-lit chamber. The Port-Master, a large, well-fleshed man dressed in fine clothing, sits at his side table with a plate of fish and a tall glass of white wine set before him.

''Ah, I know you, monsieur. Don't tell me...Thomas the Printmaker. That's it, yes?'