Part the Very Sixth
In which: Anvil provides some much-needed grease.
as recorded by Fajitas
Our heroes return to the temple of the Justicars. Since they are, technically, prisoners, Anvil has Thatch and Reyu put to work in the archives for the remainder of the day. What he has in mind to do next will have to wait until nightfall.
As Anvil goes about his business, Stalwart the Just hurries up to him.
"Anvil, I heard about what happened. Is there anything I can do to help?" he asks.
"I don’t believe so," Anvil replies.
"You know, I am an expert in Aegosian Law. I may be more acquainted with the subtleties of the case than you. If you like, I’d be happy to take over."
"Thank you, but I believe I can handle this," Anvil firmly informs him.
"I see. Well, if you need anything, just let me know."
"I shall." With that, Anvil leaves Stalwart behind. The sun is setting, and he has preparations to make.
**********
Reyu looks skeptically at the staircase before her. It leads down below street level, to a dank looking tavern. The sign overhead reads "The Squeaky Wheel."
It is well past nightfall now. All three are dressed in dark cloaks. Anvil has even taken the precaution of covering his robes of office. It doesn’t often pay to be a Justicar walking around unescorted in this part of town.
"Are you sure this expedition will be… beneficial?" Reyu asks. "This building seems… less than wholesome."
"Oh, it is far from wholesome," Anvil assures her. "That is why it will be beneficial."
"Will there be any trouble?"
"No. Kettenek shall protect us." And with that, Anvil proceeds down the steps. Thatch and Reyu have no choice but to follow.
The interior of The Squeaky Wheel is as dingy as expected. Low ceilings, a smoky atmosphere. Suspicious looking men and women sit at the tables, keeping to themselves but eyeing the newcomers warily. Thatch takes it in wide-eyed. He’s never been in a real city tavern before.
Anvil approaches the bartender. "We are looking for information," he says, placing a gold piece on the bar. The bartender points to a table in the back. "You wanna talk to Nichols, then." Anvil nods and heads toward the back table. Thatch stays at the bar. "Um. And maybe an ale?" The bartender stares at him.
Anvil and Reyu proceed to the table in the back. A lone man sits there, half-covered in shadow, a black cloak obscuring much of his face. They sit. The man says nothing. He simply looks at them. A small smile can be seen on the visible part of his face.
Thatch hurriedly joins them, a tankard of cloudy ale in his hand.
Nichols finally breaks the silence. "So. What can I do for you?"
"We are looking for this man," Anvil says, and he slides the sketch of their quarry across the table. "Perhaps you have seen him."
Nichols eyes the sketch. His smile grows a little. "Yes. That’s a good point," he says. "Perhaps I have."
Thatch looks puzzled at that, but Anvil pushes a small stack of coins across the table at Nichols. A black gloved hand slips out and scoops up the coins. Then, it picks up the sketch, and Nichols studies it more closely.
Thatch sips his ale and makes a face. Then he sips some more.
Nichols looks up from the sketch. "Sorry. I never seen a guy that looks like this. I’d remember someone with a scar like that…." Thatch and Reyu deflate. "…but," Nichols continues, "there was a guy in here the other night looked just like this guy without the scar. He had an eye-patch instead. Called himself Remmer."
"The scar, then. Could it have been a fake?" Reyu asks.
Nichols shrugs. "Beats me."
"You say he was in here," Anvil asks. "Why? On what business?"
"Dunno," Nichols replies. "But he was meeting some guy, name of Amos. They had a few drinks, then left together."
"Who is this Amos? Where can he be found?" Anvil demands.
"Those are all real good questions," Nichols responds amiably.
Thatch again looks puzzled, but Anvil slips Nichols a few more coins.
"Do you think you can find some answers?" he asks.
"I’ll get right on it," Nichols answers. Then, with a smile, "Shall I send you word at the Temple, Justicar?"
Thatch and Reyu exchange glances, but Anvil shrugs and nods. "That will be fine."
Thatch sips his ale. He hiccups.
