talien
Community Supporter
Baumann's Prize: Part 1a – Rudolph’s Exotic Book Shoppe
Rudolph’s Exotic Book Shoppe was located on Dreaming Street in Scurvytown. There was only a dingy signboard depicting an open book and a glowing candle with the words “Rudolph’s Exotic Book Shoppe” printed underneath them.
“Are you sure this is the place?” asked Vlad from across the street. “It doesn’t look like a drug den.”
“It’s not supposed to.” Kham nodded at the storefront. “Keep watching.”
At random intervals, people who looked more like derelicts than scholars wandered in and out of the shop. They entered the shop in a rush and cast furtive glances in all directions as they approached the entrance. Patrons leaving the shop seemed disoriented or drunk, often stumbling in the street.
“I’m going in invisible.” Kham tapped a clear vial in one hand with his thumb. “Sebastian, Beldin, you go in and say the passphrase: I’d like to see your exotic-book reading room, please. I’ll sneak in behind you.”
“I recommend we all keep our cloaks up and scarves across our noses,” said Sebastian. “If those mercenaries really were working for this Well-Dressed Man, they may know what we look like.”
“And THAT’S not suspicious.” Ilmarė’s arms were crossed.
“Trust me, the clientèle here all looks like that,” said Kham.
Ilmarė was skeptical of any plan Kham came up with as a matter of survival. “What happens after you go inside?”
“You and Vlad wait five minutes, then come in and say the same pass phrase. If things go sour, I’ll give you the signal.”
“What’s the signal?” asked Vlad.
Kham pointed both forefingers and, imitating a pistol, fired with his thumbs. “That signal.”
Then he took a swig of the vial and disappeared.
Rudolph’s Exotic Book Shoppe was located on Dreaming Street in Scurvytown. There was only a dingy signboard depicting an open book and a glowing candle with the words “Rudolph’s Exotic Book Shoppe” printed underneath them.
“Are you sure this is the place?” asked Vlad from across the street. “It doesn’t look like a drug den.”
“It’s not supposed to.” Kham nodded at the storefront. “Keep watching.”
At random intervals, people who looked more like derelicts than scholars wandered in and out of the shop. They entered the shop in a rush and cast furtive glances in all directions as they approached the entrance. Patrons leaving the shop seemed disoriented or drunk, often stumbling in the street.
“I’m going in invisible.” Kham tapped a clear vial in one hand with his thumb. “Sebastian, Beldin, you go in and say the passphrase: I’d like to see your exotic-book reading room, please. I’ll sneak in behind you.”
“I recommend we all keep our cloaks up and scarves across our noses,” said Sebastian. “If those mercenaries really were working for this Well-Dressed Man, they may know what we look like.”
“And THAT’S not suspicious.” Ilmarė’s arms were crossed.
“Trust me, the clientèle here all looks like that,” said Kham.
Ilmarė was skeptical of any plan Kham came up with as a matter of survival. “What happens after you go inside?”
“You and Vlad wait five minutes, then come in and say the same pass phrase. If things go sour, I’ll give you the signal.”
“What’s the signal?” asked Vlad.
Kham pointed both forefingers and, imitating a pistol, fired with his thumbs. “That signal.”
Then he took a swig of the vial and disappeared.