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The Golden Key: From the Casebook of Nigel Spenser (Updated 9/16)
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<blockquote data-quote="Kid Charlemagne" data-source="post: 2445225" data-attributes="member: 93"><p><em>Death and Taxes</em></p><p></p><p>The name of Sherlock Holmes foremost rival drew looks just as blank as those a moment before. Nigel decided that his new allies were hopelessly uninformed, and prepared for Poole's meeting with Balthazar the Weasel at the tavern by Melthorpe's shop in the financial district.</p><p></p><p>The place was called "Death and Taxes," and the sign outside bore the image of the Grim Reaper, bearing a scythe in one hand and a sack of coin in the other. The place was long and narrow, in the cellar of a building and reached by a narrow stair. The bar reached nearly the entire length of the establishment, and was lit dimly by gas lighting, giving the place the scent of burning oil.</p><p></p><p>Sandor and Nigel entered first, seperated by a few moments. Nigel ambled down the bar and found a spot where he could order an ale, and observed the crowd. It was an odd mixture of clerks just off work and rougher clientele with seedier plans for the evening. Nigel paid no attention as Sandor entered shortly after him.</p><p></p><p>Balthazar was easy to pick out. He was having a loud, boisterous conversation with an elf with silver hair. Occasionally someone would approach, and that person and Balthazar would have a quiet discussion. This happened a couple of times within the first few minutes that Nigel watched.</p><p></p><p>Sandor stood at the end of the bar nearest the door, and found the barman.</p><p></p><p>"Do you have any wine?" the knife-thrower asked in his accented English. "I only see beer-drinkers here."</p><p></p><p>The barman looked over to where Balthazar and the elf were sitting.</p><p></p><p>"Kiervan!" he yelled out. "Is there any wine in the back?"</p><p></p><p>The elf turned to look over at Sandor, and strode over to speak to him. It was clear that Kiervan was the best-known person in the tavern, and he greeted Sandor with a wide smile and a clap on the shoulder.</p><p></p><p>"A true gentleman!" he exclaimed. "Of course I have wine! Most of the clientele here prefer their beer, but I keep a bottle or two for discerning customers." He vanished into the back of the bar, and emerged a moment later with a dusty bottle of deep red wine. He poured out a glass for each of them.</p><p></p><p>Sandor swirled his glass and took an appreciative sip. "Ah, this is more like it! It is like the wine in Hungary, bull's blood, we call it."</p><p></p><p>Kiervan raised his glass. "Then a toast," he said. "We are both Travellers, far from our own lands. You drink to Hungary, and I shall drink to Ireland!" He drained his glass, and poured another for himself, and for Sandor.</p><p></p><p>Nigel was mortified at Sandor becoming so friendly with the apparent owner of the tavern where Balthazar plied his trade, but his attention was immediately drawn back to business by the entrance of Adrian Poole. The poor shopkeep looked about ready to pass out. He stole a glance at Nigel as he walked past.</p><p></p><p>Balthazar noticed Poole instantly and waved him over to the small table where he sat. Nigel dropped a few shillings on the bar, and walked along the bar until he was very near to Balthazar, hoping to approach him before he was noticed. He was not so lucky.</p><p></p><p>"We're having a private conversation," Balthazar indicated as Nigel came near.</p><p></p><p>"I'm afraid I will have to butt in," Nigel said, stepping up to the table with Poole and Balthazar and leaning in close as his previous visitors had. "Mr. Poole. Mr. Balthazar. I need some information about a certain subject."</p><p></p><p>"A key."</p><p></p><p>Poole backed away from the table. At the bar, Kiervan instantly noticed something was up. Orla had entered the bar and begun walking towards Balthazar and Nigel, but kept her distance. Sandor's hand went to his vest where his knives were hidden. Balthazar held his hand up to Kiervan, indicating that everything was under control.</p><p></p><p>"I understand you have no love for the Green Daggers," Nigel said. "Neither do I. All I am interested in is the location of the key that was taken from the shop. I am not the police, I don't need to convict anyone, I just need to find the item in question."</p><p></p><p>"Love for the Green Daggers? Ha. I just like keeping my various extremeties attached to my torso."</p><p></p><p>"Then maybe you can answer a couple of questions. Did you hire Iron Tusk to do the job?"</p><p></p><p>Balthazar raised an eyebrow. "Iron Tusk came to me on this job."</p><p></p><p>"He was behind the job?" Nigel asked. "He doesn't seem the mastermind type."</p><p></p><p>"In truth," Balthazar agreed. "But so it is. He was quite desperate to get the key. I merely arranged for things to be set in motion."</p><p></p><p>Back at the bar, Sandor was watching intently the older man and the young investigator as they talked urgently. The danger of things getting out of hand had lessened, and he leaned back on the bar, and let his hand drop from his vest. He took a quick glance around to make sure everything was going well, and noticed Mary, the elf-urchin, at the top of the stairs leading down into the tavern. She beckoned to him urgently.</p><p></p><p>Sandor stood up straight again, and waggled his eyebrows at Nigel. The young investigator took note, and offered his hand to Balthazar, who took it.</p><p></p><p>"I'm glad this conversation went the way it did," Nigel said. "I was concerned the outcome might be quite different."</p><p></p><p>"I'm just a businessman," Balthazar responded. "I have no concern for what happens to Iron Tusk now. My business with him is done."</p><p></p><p>Nigel exited the Death and Taxes to find the others with Mary. The little girl looked up at them sadly.</p><p></p><p>"Dorian, ee's getting sicker," she said. "Can you 'elp 'im?"</p><p></p><p>"He's the only one who knows where Iron Tusk lives," Orla said. "Where is he?"</p><p></p><p>In answer, the little girl took of down the alley. Nigel, Orla, Artimis, and Sandor followed, while Cass and Amanda escorted Poole home, to ensure his safety.</p><p></p><p>Mary led the four down a number of narrow alleys through the London fog. Finally, they came to a dead end alley where a small orkling boy lay on a mattress of old boxes and burlap sacks. Artimis knelt by the child, and pushed the hair back from his eyes.</p><p></p><p>"Dorian?" he asked. "How do you feel?"</p><p></p><p>Dorian opened his eyes, and Nigel could see that they were cloudy, like those of a blind man. "I dunna feel very good," he said, quietly. </p><p></p><p>His turned towards Artimis' voice, but it was clear he could not see him. Nigel knelt by the boy.</p><p></p><p>"Dorian, what is wrong?"</p><p></p><p>"It's the blinding sickness," Mary said. "Lots of the big orkling's friends have got it, up at their 'ouse. They say its the water."</p><p></p><p>Dorian nodded gingerly.</p><p></p><p>"Mary, do you know where Iron Tusk's house is?" Nigel asked. The little girl shook her head.</p><p></p><p>"Dorian," Nigel turned to the boy. "Where do you get water at?"</p><p></p><p>"The well by Iron Tusk's house," the boy replied.</p><p></p><p>"Can you tell us where the house is?" Orla asked. </p><p></p><p>"It's by the river," he replied. Nigel shook his head.</p><p></p><p>"We'll never find it with just that to go on." He stood back up and paced along the alley.</p><p></p><p>Artimis had moved into action. He pulled a variety of herbs and poultices from a pack, and began putting them together, getting Orla and Sandor to help when he need extra hands.</p><p></p><p>"The blinding sickness is definitely spread by contaminated water," Artimis said. "It can also be associated with the close presence of the undead."</p><p></p><p>After an hour or so of ministrations, Artimis stood up and brushed off his hands. "He'll be all right. The worst of it is over, but he'll need to rest."</p><p></p><p>"How long until he can take us to Iron Tusk's house?" Nigel asked.</p><p></p><p>"His vision is not likely to clear up for at least a day or two," Artimis replied. "He was very sick."</p><p></p><p>"We cannot leave him here," Sandor declared. "It is not safe, or healthy."</p><p></p><p>"We have no where we can take him," Nigel replied. "We have no one to look after him."</p><p></p><p>"We can take him to Tsara," Sandor replied. "She will look after him. She is at the circus."</p><p></p><p>"Very well," Nigel responded, lifting the small orkling boy into his arms. "Then we will have to find Iron Tusk on our own."</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Kid Charlemagne, post: 2445225, member: 93"] [i]Death and Taxes[/i] The name of Sherlock Holmes foremost rival drew looks just as blank as those a moment before. Nigel decided that his new allies were hopelessly uninformed, and prepared for Poole's meeting with Balthazar the Weasel at the tavern by Melthorpe's shop in the financial district. The place was called "Death and Taxes," and the sign outside bore the image of the Grim Reaper, bearing a scythe in one hand and a sack of coin in the other. The place was long and narrow, in the cellar of a building and reached by a narrow stair. The bar reached nearly the entire length of the establishment, and was lit dimly by gas lighting, giving the place the scent of burning oil. Sandor and Nigel entered first, seperated by a few moments. Nigel ambled down the bar and found a spot where he could order an ale, and observed the crowd. It was an odd mixture of clerks just off work and rougher clientele with seedier plans for the evening. Nigel paid no attention as Sandor entered shortly after him. Balthazar was easy to pick out. He was having a loud, boisterous conversation with an elf with silver hair. Occasionally someone would approach, and that person and Balthazar would have a quiet discussion. This happened a couple of times within the first few minutes that Nigel watched. Sandor stood at the end of the bar nearest the door, and found the barman. "Do you have any wine?" the knife-thrower asked in his accented English. "I only see beer-drinkers here." The barman looked over to where Balthazar and the elf were sitting. "Kiervan!" he yelled out. "Is there any wine in the back?" The elf turned to look over at Sandor, and strode over to speak to him. It was clear that Kiervan was the best-known person in the tavern, and he greeted Sandor with a wide smile and a clap on the shoulder. "A true gentleman!" he exclaimed. "Of course I have wine! Most of the clientele here prefer their beer, but I keep a bottle or two for discerning customers." He vanished into the back of the bar, and emerged a moment later with a dusty bottle of deep red wine. He poured out a glass for each of them. Sandor swirled his glass and took an appreciative sip. "Ah, this is more like it! It is like the wine in Hungary, bull's blood, we call it." Kiervan raised his glass. "Then a toast," he said. "We are both Travellers, far from our own lands. You drink to Hungary, and I shall drink to Ireland!" He drained his glass, and poured another for himself, and for Sandor. Nigel was mortified at Sandor becoming so friendly with the apparent owner of the tavern where Balthazar plied his trade, but his attention was immediately drawn back to business by the entrance of Adrian Poole. The poor shopkeep looked about ready to pass out. He stole a glance at Nigel as he walked past. Balthazar noticed Poole instantly and waved him over to the small table where he sat. Nigel dropped a few shillings on the bar, and walked along the bar until he was very near to Balthazar, hoping to approach him before he was noticed. He was not so lucky. "We're having a private conversation," Balthazar indicated as Nigel came near. "I'm afraid I will have to butt in," Nigel said, stepping up to the table with Poole and Balthazar and leaning in close as his previous visitors had. "Mr. Poole. Mr. Balthazar. I need some information about a certain subject." "A key." Poole backed away from the table. At the bar, Kiervan instantly noticed something was up. Orla had entered the bar and begun walking towards Balthazar and Nigel, but kept her distance. Sandor's hand went to his vest where his knives were hidden. Balthazar held his hand up to Kiervan, indicating that everything was under control. "I understand you have no love for the Green Daggers," Nigel said. "Neither do I. All I am interested in is the location of the key that was taken from the shop. I am not the police, I don't need to convict anyone, I just need to find the item in question." "Love for the Green Daggers? Ha. I just like keeping my various extremeties attached to my torso." "Then maybe you can answer a couple of questions. Did you hire Iron Tusk to do the job?" Balthazar raised an eyebrow. "Iron Tusk came to me on this job." "He was behind the job?" Nigel asked. "He doesn't seem the mastermind type." "In truth," Balthazar agreed. "But so it is. He was quite desperate to get the key. I merely arranged for things to be set in motion." Back at the bar, Sandor was watching intently the older man and the young investigator as they talked urgently. The danger of things getting out of hand had lessened, and he leaned back on the bar, and let his hand drop from his vest. He took a quick glance around to make sure everything was going well, and noticed Mary, the elf-urchin, at the top of the stairs leading down into the tavern. She beckoned to him urgently. Sandor stood up straight again, and waggled his eyebrows at Nigel. The young investigator took note, and offered his hand to Balthazar, who took it. "I'm glad this conversation went the way it did," Nigel said. "I was concerned the outcome might be quite different." "I'm just a businessman," Balthazar responded. "I have no concern for what happens to Iron Tusk now. My business with him is done." Nigel exited the Death and Taxes to find the others with Mary. The little girl looked up at them sadly. "Dorian, ee's getting sicker," she said. "Can you 'elp 'im?" "He's the only one who knows where Iron Tusk lives," Orla said. "Where is he?" In answer, the little girl took of down the alley. Nigel, Orla, Artimis, and Sandor followed, while Cass and Amanda escorted Poole home, to ensure his safety. Mary led the four down a number of narrow alleys through the London fog. Finally, they came to a dead end alley where a small orkling boy lay on a mattress of old boxes and burlap sacks. Artimis knelt by the child, and pushed the hair back from his eyes. "Dorian?" he asked. "How do you feel?" Dorian opened his eyes, and Nigel could see that they were cloudy, like those of a blind man. "I dunna feel very good," he said, quietly. His turned towards Artimis' voice, but it was clear he could not see him. Nigel knelt by the boy. "Dorian, what is wrong?" "It's the blinding sickness," Mary said. "Lots of the big orkling's friends have got it, up at their 'ouse. They say its the water." Dorian nodded gingerly. "Mary, do you know where Iron Tusk's house is?" Nigel asked. The little girl shook her head. "Dorian," Nigel turned to the boy. "Where do you get water at?" "The well by Iron Tusk's house," the boy replied. "Can you tell us where the house is?" Orla asked. "It's by the river," he replied. Nigel shook his head. "We'll never find it with just that to go on." He stood back up and paced along the alley. Artimis had moved into action. He pulled a variety of herbs and poultices from a pack, and began putting them together, getting Orla and Sandor to help when he need extra hands. "The blinding sickness is definitely spread by contaminated water," Artimis said. "It can also be associated with the close presence of the undead." After an hour or so of ministrations, Artimis stood up and brushed off his hands. "He'll be all right. The worst of it is over, but he'll need to rest." "How long until he can take us to Iron Tusk's house?" Nigel asked. "His vision is not likely to clear up for at least a day or two," Artimis replied. "He was very sick." "We cannot leave him here," Sandor declared. "It is not safe, or healthy." "We have no where we can take him," Nigel replied. "We have no one to look after him." "We can take him to Tsara," Sandor replied. "She will look after him. She is at the circus." "Very well," Nigel responded, lifting the small orkling boy into his arms. "Then we will have to find Iron Tusk on our own." [/QUOTE]
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The Golden Key: From the Casebook of Nigel Spenser (Updated 9/16)
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