Warlock! Something is Rotten in Grim Biskerstaf...

Trusova is still watching from the window, but overhears the name Marzen of Fortress Strumdorf, and rummages through her thoughts at that.

The Manky Mermaid
"Well good luck to you both then!" the old man says, turning away and returning to the business of finding some leftover morsel on his clothing to consume.

Trusova has heard tell of the Peacock Guard before. Thugs, every one of them, deserted from the King's army on the way to Fesselburg. To listen to the men on the road, they were the ones really in charge in the fortress -- Kelberond was basically a prisoner.

Wolke, he knows more.

He knows that not only is his patron, Kelberond's strange daughter Meageller, sometimes spoken of as a witch... but also that she seems to have fallen into disfavor with the court's powerful wizard -- Dolkepper! Of course, nearly everyone was in disfavor with that man...

Lambert also has a cousin who says their best friend works at the fortress... and that friend maintains that the castle is a mess on the inside, that the Lord Kelberond is a slob and a madman, and that Meageller is no better. Worst of all, he says ratman inhabit the place's lowerest levels!

Trusova swears under her breath. This is quite the nest of vipers you've stepped into, she thinks to herself. The bloody Peacock Guard? She begins to reconsider their approach. This won't be a matter of smashing in a few faces; there was money and power at stake for these men, and that meant they were in for a hell of a fight.

We need to fight dirtier, was the primary thought that rose to the surface of her troubled mind. If I put every bolt in my quiver into a Peacock they'd have men to spare and replace their numbers before the end of the season. No, we need to cut this one off at the head.

"Any chance of you leaving this lie then?" Lambert says, clearing his throat awkwardly as he walks back over to the road warden.

"Hit the road. Stick that spear in the two or three they send after you, and find some place other than Grim Biskerstaf to be?"

If Whiskeyjack didn't need the rest to recover, it would have been tempting to just pack up and leave. Deep down, she knew they'd follow her. If Kelberond was in their pocket, they'd use his seal to recall her back to the city, or just have her arrested by her fellow Wardens.

There really was nowhere to go until this was settled.

She explains this to Wolke, leaving out Whiskeyjack. "This is a lot more heat than I thought, but these pricks have fucked my life up, and I intend to make them fucking regret it. I won't hold you to anything we said before, you're free to part ways. No hard feelings."

Years of hardscrabble self-preservation are telling Banio to walk away. The girl knew the risks; she played for the coin and she lost. It isn't his problem.

And yet...

Something about the forlorn swing of the girl's sandal sticks in Banio's craw. It's more like anger than affection, but it'll do. Besides, if he's going to screw these Far Hissainians to the wall, he'll need some sort of angle. Phelbt glances along the dock, then up at the ship's deck; he waits until the foreigners seem to be busy with their tasks, then takes his chance.

"Hey kid," Banio mumbles. He clears his throat and repeats more loudly, "Kid. Yeah, down here. Did you learn anything good?"

At the Docks, Near the Crystal Serpent
The sound of squawking seabirds accompanies Banio’s question, and high above this head a half-dozen gulls make slow progress into a stiff early morning breeze, their white and grey feathers ruffling.

"An wotsit t’you?" Molly asks hotly as she turns towards the little man, huddling in her metal cage like some sullen, wing-clipped bird. Her eyes are red and rimmed with dark circles — she’s had a night. "Your silver’ll do me no good in here, and they took it off me besides."

On deck, a shirtless, well-muscled, sun-bronzed man calls loudly to two others in some exotic tongue Banio doesn’t know; he’s directing them to various cleaning and stowing duties.

"That one’s a mean sort," the girl says, gesturing to the first mate with her angry eyes. "Caught me behind some barrels, just listenin’. He didn’t like that much."

"A lot more heat?" the man laughs as he says it. "I reckon you’re up to your neck in shit. No offense intended." he says with a shrug.

"Look. This combing the streets lark isn’t going to get us where we need to go. Not with what we know now."

He leans in conspiratorially.

"I can get us inside. Easy. But only if we pull off tonight. And we make it to tomorrow night…"

Trusova is intrigued. "I'm game. What do you know?"

Banio rolls his eyes.

"What's it to me is, I need something on the Hissainians if I'm going to pry you out of that cage before the seagulls get to you. So if you've anything useful to say, child, now's the time. Or maybe you have a better offer? If so, then by all means go with that."

This is taking too long. The little man casts a nervous glance along the dock, towards the burly fellow who nabbed his spy.

"You know the mad old bird with all the cats? Your Lord’s daughter. Good friend of mine, as it goes. It’s her that’s got us hitting the streets tonight.

Reckon her and the good Lord would appreciate us reducing the manpower inside that keep. Reckon she’ll help us walk right in!"

Trusova has to admit, that's a major stroke of luck.

"You have friends in high places, Lambert! That'll do, and quite nicely. It will be a red night tonight," she says, with some eagerness.

Lambert gives an exaggerated sigh.

"That’s me!" he says then. "A lordling in the last life, I suppose. Just my luck that I’m… well, me this time around!"

He flashes a brownish, patchy smile!

The Docks, Outside the Manky Mermaid