Warlock! Something is Rotten in Grim Biskerstaf...

"Nor mine," Foghorn mutters, taking his cup from Trusova (she bought him one, right?). "Here comes, I say, here comes Banio. Fella seems to have a way with words."

Having paid out a silver coin to his juvenile spy, Banio Phelbt strolls into The Manky Mermaid. On the threshold, he pauses to straighten his doublet and adjust the fall of his cape over one shoulder. It would be a rakish gesture if he were not so short and pudgy, and if those clothes were not so obviously shabby.

After fussing with himself, Banio catches sight of Foghorn and Trusova in conversation and heads their way. He must weave through the crowd to reach them, as no one will stand aside for a fellow of Phelbt's figure. When they even notice that he's there. The little man looks up at the warden, then the fisherman, and peels a greasy strand of hair from his brow.

"Well then," he says. "Are we drinking?" More to the point, is someone paying for them to be drinking? Banio vaguely recalls someone making such an offer. Maybe it was the dwarf.

She hands Foghorn his wine* as Banio approaches.

"Banio, welcome. See that noble fellow over there?" Trusova asks. "Can't imagine a noble coming down to a place like the Manky Mermaid for fun. Seems like he's looking for something, a potentially lucrative opportunity. We figured you'd know how to make inroads. What do you think?"

---

*- I have deducted the 4 silver for your beverage - enjoy!

"What do you take me for?" Lambert responds to the dwarf with feigned shock!

"No, sir. Turned over a new leaf, I have! I’m a sailor now, me!" he says, before breaking into a leery grin, and gives the dwarf a wink.

"Leave it with me. Can’t stay long. Just popping in to get a feel for the place and be on my way! I’ll get you sorted later. You can count on that!"

Banio follows Trusova's attention to the nobleman in the corner. As best he can, given the crowd and from his vantage, Banio Phelbt contemplates the well-dressed stranger. Just as importantly, Banio contemplates those with whom the nobleman has chosen to converse.

All In at the Manky Mermaid
The weapons are racked and stacked near the door, under the watchful eye of the beady-eyed lout who collects them -- them as well the pennies it costs for the 'service.' Regulars know the man has an eye for haft and head, for crossguard and scabbard. He rarely gets it wrong when returning them, and doesn't use scripts or receipts of some kind.

Banio eyes the trio in the corner surreptitiously once he's made aware of them. The nobleman he guesses is from the west, perhaps even from the famed the town of Fair Marenesse, judging from the cut of his stylish trousers and the heraldic device adorning his cloakpin. A black, velvety sack, finely made, rests on the table, its contents unknown but not smaller than a bread loaf. The pair of people he speaks with, they look more like locals of Grim Biskerstaf. The man wears coarse brown robes and sandals, the woman much more expensive garb that marks her as merchant class at least, if not nobility herself.

A gardener, Phelbt marks the man -- with his sickle at his belt, his pouches of seeds and berries, his dirt-stained hands and feet. Perhaps a caretaker in Hemlock Holt, the wild and overgrown grove inside the city walls?

The tall woman wears a head covering, the kind that hides her hair completely, and presents only the oval of her face to those she speaks to. Her dark robes are embroidered and made of different pieces of sewn silk; beneath them she wears tall boots cobbled specifically for her. She is shaking her head as she speaks, and her posture suggests she doesn't know the foreigner well.

Foghorn pays Trusova for both their drinks, then waves the group to a table so they're not all standing around gawking at the man from Marnesse. He buys a round of fire brew for the group as promised.

Rausimod graciously accepts the drink, with the plan of nursing it throughout the night. If there was one thing dwarves were known for, outside of their smell, stubbornness, and fear of water, it was their love of drink... so he would use that. A dwarf with a drink in his hand is a happy dwarf. Until he isn't. Meanwhile, his small treasure hoard weighs heavy in his pocket.

Banio claims a chair, then comes half out of it like a tetchy toddler and pulls one of the cups of fire brew towards himself. Once he's settled and lubricated, he feels reasonably prepared to pronounce upon Trusova's potential mark.

"It's a transaction, plain enough," he says, his voice muffled and distorted by the cup that he plasters to his face. "Over the contents of that fine velvet sack. But who's buying, and who's selling? Hard to say, yet." Banio wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, squinting through the crowd at the nobleman and his guests. "Milord is not from around here. Marenesse, perhaps? Our lady is a local of means, and her companion... works the land, somehow. A gardener or a groundskeeper?"

Phelbt thoughtfully pushes out his bottom lip. "He's not up to the snuff of them other two. Odd that he'd be part of their chat. Maybe whatever's in the sack is something you'd bury, or plant, or grow..."

The fire brew is very strong, and draws a wince from all but the most accomplished drunkards. It burns going down, then boils the belly a bit until everything finally settles out.

The happy dwarf, Initiate Rausimod, hears a sound above Banio's voice, and the rest of the bar's din. A silver coin, dropped onto a wooden floor. The noise comes from right beneath him, and when he looks down he sees the metallic disc spinning to a rattling stop. A quick grope of his pocket reveals a hole -- nay, a thin, carefully made slice.

Wait... those coins... those were his coins! His bloody coins! Those kids, the gang! "Och, they stole me treasure," Rausimod barks out in a very stereotypical manner. How dare they steal from him?! He was exhausted after spending all day in the boat, so come the morning he would have several tasks before him. First, he would need to secure a better purse. Second, a weapon. Third, their scalps! Finding a street gang that claimed to have a dragon would be easy enough. And he would show them just how far a true dragon would go to protect his hoard.

Lambert does knock back one drink, once the coinage has been sorted!

"Gah! That’ll warm your bones after a day on the sludge."

Trusova listens to Banio's assessment. It sounds very astute, and although she really can't confirm any of his assumptions, she is won over by his gusto.

"That's all well and good. A man with deep pockets might make a good patron. Do you think you can..." (Trusova pauses as she tries to think of a noble wording) "... make introductions?"

She sits back as Rausimod flies off the handle. Was he really going to chase off through the alleys looking for those kids?

More and more patrons arrive at the Mermaid as the work day ends for many, as ships are tied up, as catches are brought in and as shipments are secured. Craftsmen and merchants close up their shops and carts as privately-hired night watchmen join the too-few city guardsmen in the task of being vigilante after the sun goes down. It won't be long before the lamplighters have tended their tasks and lit at least some of Grim Biskerstaf's cobbled streets, and a small army of servants and hirelings begin their work to clean homes, halls, and businesses, many of them dumping trash and offal in whatever places they find to be convenient. The day is ending, but the city is abuzz.

Over at the table with the trio of people Banio has been describing behind his cup, two of the three rise and nod, taking their leave. The well-to-do woman and the groundsman shake their heads as they offer final words and go, leaving the out-of-towner with his cup of wine, his sack, his fancy cloak and a sour expression.

The din in the room is rising as more and more fisherman and dockers arrive, some saying hello to Foghorn, and virtually all joining in the mostly good-natured rivalry that exists between the two groups. No punches have been thrown yet, but it is surely a matter of time.

Outside, the shadows are lengthening. Lambert's meeting is to take place some hours after dark, so he has time to enjoy his gut-burning beverage and fine company...

As the strangers leave the foreign nobleman's table, Banio sweeps the tip of one finger around the bottom of his empty cup. He scrubs his gums with the dregs, then sucks that fingertip until it pops audibly out of his mouth.

"If you're interested in introductions, here's the best opening we'll have," he tells Trusova. The little man hops down from his chair, then offers the road warden his hand. It's only a little damp now.

"Are we doing this?" he asks impatiently.

Sensing that things are about to get busy, as day comes to an end, Lambert strolls outside, still feeling the heat in his stomach.

He rounds the corner, and leans up against the wall to relieve himself, before returning to the door of the Manky Mermaid, and eyeing up those that are arriving to spend a few coins:

"Right, you lot! You know the rules! Weapons out, hand them over! You can collect them on the way out!"