"Sword and Anvil," Pisca had replied to the proprietor with a great deal of Matter-Of-Fact.  "Lots of ... "  And her arm had then swept the walls to indicate what there were a lot of.  "And the way you're built ...  Equals blacksmith."  Pisca had then shrugged off her own feat of deduction, and things had moved on to the rooms.

"Well, that just means we have to finish what we need as quickly as possible and then leave.  Right?  Right, Kerr Mollin?"  The gnome's eyes tracked the door to the bath with a bit of wistful longing as they passed.  But she dragged them away with a somewhat uncharacteristic power of will and continued on.  "Maybe later," she promised herself.

"Right?  Before we have to get jobs.  Or something."

"Does anybody need to leave anything here?  I don't," announced the business-like gnome that was Pisca.  (Or that Pisca had become.)  "Shall we head out to the Bazaar?"

---

---

There was general agreement that no one needed anything else.  The party stowed their extra gear in their rooms, locked the doors, and headed back down the staircase to the public area, where they found Gustav and Mac waiting for them near a table containing breads, cheeses, various sliced meats, and a large bowl of thin, crisp, salted crackers.  Five glasses of cold water awaited them as well, alongside a large, icy jug in case anyone was particularly thirsty.

Mac already had a plate heaped up in front of him; he plowed into his food with gusto but also with a surprising modicum of manners.

After the group finished their meal, Gustav bid them farewell and they returned to the streets with their pint-sized guide, who seemed all the happier for his mid-afternoon meal.  He led them back down the large avenue to the dock region, taking a right onto a smaller avenue, and then a left.

And there it was:  The Bazaar of Sails.

The avenue opened out into what looked like only slightly-organized chaos.  Thousands of brightly-colored sheets were spread out for acres over an enormous open area, and each sheet belonged to an individual trader hawking their wares.  It was filled with the hustle and bustle of traders from dozens of nation all competing for space, attention and profit. From Osirion spices to Andoran wood to Chelish clothing the markets they could see were filled with goods of every sort.  And their vision was limited to only a few of the closest merchants.

“Th’ say it’s th’ biggest market ‘n all Varisia.”  Mac supplied helpfully as they made their way into the huge open-air bazaar.

The smells, colors, the sense of organized chaos, the new vying for attention with the old . . . it all made traversing the Bazaar of Sails an overwhelming experience.  It was the kind of place where every shop had a story.  Some seemed like holes-in-the-wall, teeming with bargain hunters.  Others were set away, covered with dark fabric emanating an air of mystery.  Street vendors fought for space with carts, mules, horses, and other pack-carrying animals beyond description.  Amid all these treasures waiting to be found, the spicy scent of various ethnic delicacies nearly overpowered the senses, making the party members alternately glad and regretful that they had already eaten.

Through it all, a cacophony of noise—louder even than the din at the docks—created a sort of Music of the Bazaar.

Mac dodged through the shops, stalls, and vending carts, turning this way and that as he made his way confidently through the teeming mass of merchants and customers to a relatively less-crowded alley, stopping in front of what looked like a permanent wooden building.  The well-crafted structure had two curtained windows and an elegant sign above the door depicting a life-like wolf surrounded by foods of all kinds.  Next to the door hung a thin block carved with the number “62.”

“This’s it.”  Mac grinned at them as he pushed the heavy oaken door open.  As the group followed him in, they found something like looked more like a regular shop one might find in Sandpoint or in the more upscale parts of Magnimar; it exuded a sense of permanency and order.  But there didn’t seem to be many goods actually on display for sale.

“Mac!”  A well-dressed halfling rounded the corner.  He sported an ivory-colored button down shirt under a well-tailored crimson jacket with a vaguely military-looking floral design at the wrists.  A shock of black hair was shoved back over his forehead in such an effortlessly casual manner that it was clear he had spent some time doing it.  Tan breeches and shiny black boots completed the ensemble.

“Mac, it is good to see you.”  The halfling had a lower voice than his small stature might suggest.  Not quite baritone, but not tenor either.  “And I see that you’ve brought me guests!”  A large smile lit up the halfling’s face as he turned to the party.  “Welcome to Hungry Wolf Sundries!  And my,” he said, spotting Pisca, “milady!”  He bowed, stepping forward to take her hand and brush his lips across her knuckles.  “It is not often I have the pleasure,” he winked at her.

“But where are my manners?  I am Arwick Tosscobble.”  The store’s proprietor gave an exaggerated bow.  “Yes, that Arwick Tosscobble.”  He looked up to see if any of the party took notice of his name.  Disappointed at the lack of reaction, he continued.  “And it is my pleasure to have you here in my humble shop.  I can only imagine that the intrepid Mac brought you here for a particular reason.  How can I help you?”

---

---

Lady Pisca dipped in a curtsey - an answer to the gallant kiss upon her hand.  On her face was the very quiet smile of a very satisfied gnome.  She shook out her sleeves, and of a sudden her traveling garb was replaced.  She was clad in a dress of crushed crimson velvet with the purest white ruffs at cuff and collar.

"We may not know of That Arwick Tosscobble, but I assure you, those exist who do," began the gnome with a straight backed and regal stance.  "I have heard you described with words such as trustworthy, incorruptible, a friend to all.  You have a moral compass, my friend says, and he says that such men as you are as valuable as you are rare."

One small hand reached behind her and she was presented with a piece of folded parchment.  "Our letter of introduction," she said, and dipped into a curtsy again as she handed over the epistle.

---

---

A slight widening of Arwick's eyes was the only sign of his astonishment at Pisca's sudden transformation.  "Well, aren't we the pair of well-turned-out gentlefolk?" He chuckled, then jerked a thumb towards the other, more-casually-attired members of the party.  "How did you get stuck with these ruffians?"

Arwick raised an eyebrow as the gnome listed off her string of complimentary words.  "It seems I have fans.  Or a fan, at least."  He took Pisca's proffered paper.  "I do love my fans.  Who is this mysterious admirer?

"Ah."  That one syllable was all the halfling uttered as he reviewed Jubrayl's letter.  Arwick looked up, chuckling again.  "Moral compass indeed.  Well, I suppose it's good to know that Mr. Vhiski holds me in such high esteem."  He glanced around at the party members again, as if quickly sizing them up.  "But I must say that you do not seem the type of folk normally found in his employ."  He folded up the paper and placed it in an interior jacket pocket.  "I imagine there's a story there."

---

---

"Well, Jubrayl, he's a known associate of a friend of my Aunt Hattie's," admitted the gnome.  "Twice removed.  I worked for him for a while.  Just me.  Not them.  Then ... things happened.  We repelled a goblin invasion of Sandpoint.  And crushed the conspiracy to destroy the town.  And halted the ghoulish threat from Foxglove's Misgivings.  And, well, you know, after those sorts of things happen, you have to sort of go beyond the things that you were doing before."

"Does that make sense?  Am I right?  Or am I right?" Pisca asked, not only of their host, but of every other person in the room.

Cato reacted to Arwick Tosscoble with steady indifference.  I wonder, the mage thought to himself.  Is he trying to hype up his own image in hopes that he can sell some useless trinket as an overpriced treasure to what he perceives as country bumpkins?  I'm sure that sort of thing is all too common.  Or is he really that full of himself that he expects everyone to know the name of a random merchant.  Certainly plenty of those around who are convinced they are Abadar's gift to the world.  Cato shook his head and concentrated on the present, as Pisca's monologue about their exploits grew in length.

Jubrayl Vhiski?  That was Pisca's introduction to Tosscobble?  Cato's estimation of the possible threat of the halfling grew.  He wouldn't bet that all of Vhiski's associates were criminals, but likely a good number were.  And would they be willing to sell out Cato to the Hellknights if he knew his true identity?

Cato cleared his throat.  "Well, as Pisca said, we're not the sort in his employ, just the sort he vouches for."  Cato looked around the shop again.  "So, what exactly is it you specialize in here?  Is it sundries, or information?"

Kellan bristled when Jubrayl's name was brought up. They had gone over his frustrations with being associated with the man in any way, and some how the fact that he had in his own way interfered with their business in Magnimar seemed to set him on edge.

He let out a strained breath and paced a bit, looking at the odds and ends and otherwise keeping within earshot as the introductions were made.

---

---

“It makes perfect sense to me,” Arwick nodded at Pisca.  “It sounds as if you all have been,” he searched for a good phrase, “quite busy.  We heard some rumors from up Sandpoint way but it sounds like there’s much more to them than anyone thought.”

He turned to Cato.  “And oh, my scholarly friend, I specialize in so many things they would be impossible to list in the time we currently have available.  You will not find anyone who can fold laundry quite as neatly as I can.  My juggling skills?  Unsurpassed.  And better folk than you have regretted challenging me to a limerick battle.

“So If you need sundries, information, or most other things, Arwick Tosscobble can help you out.”  He gave the wizard a small smile.  “For a price, of course.  Charity is only good for the soul when you’re giving, not receiving!”  He paused.  “And—all things considered—I’m happy with my soul’s current condition.”

---

---

"Well, now ... "  Pisca began.  Her eyes taking in - in sidelong glances - the confoundingly cool reaction with which her human friends had met the charming Hand-Kissing halfling.  "We were shopping for equipment today, Arwick.  Things we weren't able to obtain in Sandpoint.  Mostly things of a ... magical nature," she added, and raised her strawberry-golden brows to add just that little bit more.

"I myself was looking for a circlet of a particular type."

---

---

"What sort of circlet are you looking for?"  Arwick got down to business.  "Surely not one boosting your already charming personality?  Between that and your--if I may say so--quite lovely personal appearance I don't imagine you require too much help in the way of persuasion."

---

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This message was last edited by the player at 22:30, Wed 20 Sept 2017.

"Mister Mac," Liseth broke her long silence to speak to their young guide.  The city and its multitude of people were overwhelming to the girl; she stayed close to the others just to keep from being swept away in the sea of people.  It was a wonder that the boy guide could find his way through everyone.

"Mister Mac, you know an awful lot of people in Magnimar, don't you?"  She was content to allow Pisca to deal with her halfling...friend.  "We had a friend who lived here, Aldern Foxglove."  The young acolyte was fairly positive that word of what had happened to the nobleman would not have reached the city yet.  "Did you know him?  Or do you know where his apartment is?"

"Well, Lysa, don't you think ...  Why don't you ... "  Well, the cat was out of the proverbial bag and the gnome let a tiny sigh escape, and with the sigh, the hope that Liseth's casual question would not lead to certain All-Hearing ears.

Her head swiveled, taking in the store before turning to the Curiously-Right-Sized human.  "Excuse us, Mac, would you mind waiting outside for a moment," she asked with a great deal more civility than she'd done so far.

"Please?"

---

---

“Aldern . . . .”  Lord Foxglove’s first name had hardly escaped the urchin’s mouth before Pisca shooed him from Arwick Tosscobble’s establishment.  The party’s guide looked slightly put out—and maybe a little suspicious that the group would use this opportunity to try and stiff him out of his fee—but after a moment he left Hungry Wolf Sundries with as much dignity as he could muster.

Arwick took the opportunity to chat with Pisca and Cato about what they needed.  He informed Cato that he knew a source from which he could obtain a scroll of Cat’s Grace, but that the Lesser Rod of Extend Metamagic would take a little more time.  The halfling had similar news for Pisca; he actually had Muleback Cords on hand, and he could find her a Wand of Mage Armor inside of a week.  But the Circlet of Persuasion, he informed her sadly, was (to his knowledge) not available in the city.  At least at this time.  But he promised her to keep an eye out for one.

---

---

"What a shame," replied the gnome, in tones that didn't seem too very disappointed at all.  Little wonder, as her attention was otherwise diverted to stalking the perimeter of the shop and checking the doors for persons other than herself, her friends, and their host Arwick Tosscobble.

"Well, maybe I'll be able to find something else that I want from your shop, Arwick," she said as she finally finished her round of the room.  "But to come back to Lysa's question, I apologize for the secrecy, but one thing that Jubrayl seemed to stress when we talked was that the organization that we think might be involved in our search has eyes and ears in many places."

"I'm sorry, Lysa, for interrupting you."  She stood in the illusory cloak of her red velvet dress with hands folded apologetically at her middle.  "I should have told all of you sooner, but, in the rush to leave Sandpoint it seemed to have slipped my mind."

"Given your reputation, Arwick, and the nature of your business, Jubrayl seemed to think that you would be less likely to be ... touched by their influence."  And Pisca raised a golden eyebrow as though to enquire as to what the halfling made of the whole thing.

First confused by Pisca's shooing of Mac, Liseth steadily grew embarrassed as the explanation dawned on her.  "You don't think Mac would be involved with them, do you?  He's just a boy."  Subterfuge did not come naturally to the acolyte.  It went against her nature to be suspicious, and it was even more difficult to picture ordinary people as members of an evil cult of murderers.

"It will take us weeks to find anything in the city without a guide we can trust."  Liseth addressed Arwick after Pisca, "And it's really important we work as quickly as possible."

"That's a ... ???"  The strawberry blond brows rose, widening Pisca's violet eyes in surprise.  One delicate finger pointed in the direction of the door out of which she'd just ushered the Right-Sized Mac.  "That's a human child too?" she said, reiterating her surprise.  "He doesn't act a thing like Aeren."

"But ... when you think about it, Lysa, who would make a better spy and sentinel?  As a ... child, he seems innocent enough.  He knows the city.  And his job is to watch for newcomers and get close to them."

"If I were to gather a cadre of scouts I don't think I could find a better source than such as he," said the gnome, taking on the deeply focused tone characteristic of another one of her tangents.  "I would call them ... the Baker Street Irregulars!"

"Where have I heard that name before?"

"At any rate," she said, both literally as well as figuratively turning herself back to the subject at hand, "Jubrayl thinks you're trustworthy, Arwick, and that's good enough for me now.  All we have, really.  So, let me ask you, how much to you trust Mac?"

Cato nodded in appreciation to Arwick, confirming his order, then struggled to maintain a calm facade as Liseth revealed Aldern's name to Mac.  Unsure of what to do next, the wizard just watched as Pisca delved further into their introductions to the halfling.

---

---

“Oh, you can trust Mac.”  Arwick gave Liseth a smile before turning to Pisca.  “As long as you’re paying him.  The boy is . . . unduly concerned about his reputation.  And he has a good one!  I doubt he’ll risk it to lead you astray.”  He paused.  “It sounds like we’ve discussed everything you need.  Let’s get down to business.”

Arwick briefly disappeared, only to return with a nice-looking box festooned with a decorative red bow fashioned like a rose.  The top of the box contained the same wolf’s-head sigil they’d seen on the shop’s sign, sans food items.   “Your Muleback Cords, milady.”  He gave the gnome a sweeping bow as she took the box.  “I will have the remainder of your party’s items delivered to the Sword and Anvil.”

“Mac my boy!  You can come back in!”  As Kerr paid the halfling, Mac appeared almost instantaneously.  Arwick shook his head and sighed but decided not to take issue with the boy’s obvious eavesdropping.

“Lord Foxglove lived in the Grand Arch District in the very northern part of Naos, not far from Starsilver Plaza.  Mac knows where it is, and that’s a good thing for you because they don’t mark street names in that area—they think it deters burglaries.” Arwick chuckled.  “It helps a little.”

After bidding goodbye to Arwick, the party left Hungry Wolf Sundries accompanied by their pint-sized guide.  Mac led them to the northeast, where they quickly left the Dockway and entered the Capital District.  Soon they were walking through a busy square and around a towering marble sculpture depicting an armored man battling a dragon.  The man’s breastplate and shield both bore a winged-eye insignia.

“Tha’s Usher’s Hall, assembly meets there.”  Mac helpfully pointed at a formidable building across the square.  “Don’ do much, accordin’ ta Gustav.  He’s always goin’ on about ‘em.”

Nice houses started appearing as they traveled east down the thoroughfare.  “Grand Arch ain’t the richest place in Summit, but it’s big.”  The boys seemed to enjoy being a tour guide.  “Named after th’ Guardians.  It goes from the Twins' Gate down most of the length of the Avenue.  Lots o’ merchants live ‘ere.”

Mac gestured to a row of deserted homes.  “They travel lots, so ya never ken when they’ll be floodin’ th’ place or all dried up.”

The urchin stopped and pointed.  The group had arrived at another square, but this one looked as if the very ground was shimmering with starlight.  “Starsilver Plaza.”  Mac grinned.  “Got some sorta shells steada stones.”  It really was an amazing sight.

Mac took a right down a side street and stopped in front of a three-story townhome.  Boards were nailed over the windows on the ground floor.  It definitely looked as if it had seen better days, although it had clearly been a well-cared-for home at one point and it did not look as if it had lain derelict long.  The structure’s thick oak door seemed untouched.

“Tha’s where Foxglove lived.”  Mac nodded at the building.

---

---

"That's his city-house?"  Liseth was startled at the condition of Foxglove's former townhouse.  She hadn't expected it to look so disused.  The haunting image of Foxglove Manor came back to her and for a moment she wondered if the curse of his ancestor had followed him even here.  "I suppose I just imagined that he would have had people taking care of it while he was gone..."  Unless he didn't think he would come back.  "We passed by so many marvels on the way here too; finding his house like this just feels...out of place."

"Thank you for showing us here, Mac."  The girl turned from the house to their young guide, "Would you know who it is that Mister Foxglove rented this house from?  Or another caretaker?"  There must be someone who has a key; it would be easier if they could get permission to search the house.  But then again...they were supposed to be sneaky.  And there was really no telling which of Foxglove's former associates were part of the evil cult and which were just regular people.

"What do you think Pisca?  Kerr?"  She looked to her friends, then back to the house.  Would it be okay to try and search it now?

As they little group moved across the city Kellan was once more struck by the sheer vastness of Magnimar. As the child of farmers he wondered at just how they fed them all, three meals a day, day in and day out. As a guardsman he wondered how they knew who was who and what was going on at any given time.

The Sandpoint Guard often looked to Magnimar as the example, they had the money, the prestige and the the resources to equip their men and train to a standard that Sandpoint hoped to aspire to. But now that he was here he realized that it was possible that Magnimar might learn a few things in turn as well...it was much easier to keep order when you knew everybody by first name, their children, where they lived, even their pets and farm animals.

Pro's and cons...he mused to himself.

With his pole axe over one shoulder he stopped with the others and stared up at the boarded up structure. In Sandpoint it would have been one of the largest structures in town, but here it was just one more town home in a district full of them. It suddenly made sense how you could get away with a lot in a place like this...nobody had probably questioned it when the boards went up.

"As long as we're discreet about it...I don't see the harm" Kellan suggested as he glanced up and down the street.

The gnome had wandered the streets wrapped within a cloud of her own thoughts.  So opaque was this cloud that it often enough seemed that she would be straying off on her own, rather than following along with the others on their guided tour.  Each time, however, through some mechanism of either magic, or natural instinct, or sheer dumb coincidence her direction changed, putting her back in the wake of her friends and company.

"We're here?" she asked, giving the Most Certainly Abandoned building only the most cursory of upward glances.

"What do I think of what, Lysa?"

"Oh, that."

"Well, to answer your question in a manner more literally than you probably mean, Lys," Pisca began, even as she took a few exploratory steps in the direction of the front door, "'OKAY' is a tricky state of being.  It doesn't always lend itself to being pinned down to being one thing or the other.  Especially in cases where you're only trying and not really actually doing.  But that's a different line with its own degree of fineness."

Her exploratory steps having brought the gnome up the townhouse landing and to the door itself, she posed and waved back at her friends, as though in the process of touring the noted landmarks of Magnimar.  Then she leaned casually against the door itself, surely a prelude for something both morally as well as mechanically complex.  But then Pisca stopped.  She froze in the manner that people have when remembering that they'd left home without their purse or their keys or some other such vital object of daily use.  And she rushed back down the steps.

"Mac, I must apologize," she said, ending her little rush down the stairs before their guide, "I had no idea that you were a human child, and in such light my behavior toward you has been inexcusable.  I must say, though, you're delightfully gnomish.  Even though that tends to be a bit confusing."

"Anyway, with that out of the way, I would like to ask you whether you have a place to stay?  Do you have people who take care of you?  Unless, of course, I'm being too forward in asking."

Cato walked down the streets in Magnimar, following their urchin-guide through the streets.  He had been to Magnimar before, but certainly couldn't have navigated the streets nearly as efficiently as Mac.  The entire time, he alternated between examining the city, examining his surroundings for Hellknights, and then trying to cover the fact that he was looking paranoid by examining the city so closely.  After a half-dozen blocks of travel, Cato gave up, exhausted with the effort it all required.

He looked around at the others, and at the door to Foxglove's townhouse.  "Do we have a key for this?  I have a Chime of Opening we could use as an alternative, though I'm not sure if that's less conspicuous than just...finessing the lock in other ways."

---

---

“I don’t know.”  Kerr craned his neck back and looked up and down the street.  “Those guard patrols seem pretty regular.  Not sure they’d react well if they caught us breaking in, chime or lockpick.”  He paused, following the conversation.  “But if one of those keys we found at Foxglove Manor work on the door, I can’t see why they’d hassle us.”

---

---

---

---

“Crusties like Foxglove nae rent,” Mac explained to Liseth.  “They buy.  Bout status.  Na trader recks ta look dirty, ‘specially nobles.”  The boy nodded at the house.  “Dirty ones rent rooms.  Gettin’ a place shows crustiness.  That’ll be Foxglove’s own, true factual.”

Mac looked at Liseth as a teacher might look at a particularly-slow student.  “Yar man’s right, if yar gonna crash the house yar gonna reck ta wait ‘til dark.  Shinies see you crashin’ they’ll haul ya ‘fore ya can jump.”

The young urchin looked slightly taken aback by Pisca’s sudden rush of language.  “’Course I’m a kid.  Ain’t got na parents, they died.  But can take care of m’self.”  He looked slightly insulted.  “Got m’ own place,” the urchin spoke with a trace of pride while eyeing Pisca with some suspicion.  “Ain’t in Underbridge, neither.  Creepers wont get me!”

---

---

"Creepers?  What are creepers, Mac?  They get people?"  There was more than just concern or curiosity in Liseth's interest.  The multitude of horrid things they had come across already filtered through the girl's mind.  Rune Dogs, undead; might these creepers be another monster being used by the evil cult they were here to stop?  "And they're in Underbridge?"  This might be something else they had to investigate.

But, while they were here, "Lets try the keys that we got from Mister Foxglove.  He asked us to come here...before..."  Liseth sighed, "Well, you know what happened after he asked us here.  We have to search the house."