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<Meek> ::Dawn receives another note, this time from Whistle, indicating that a meet has set up for him with a retired thief who responded to Whistle's probings for information on Master Pimsleur. He is given a day and a date for lunch at a busy little tavern just off the market square in Suzail. He's to look for an older woman in a grey-striped bodice. She will tell you that she's been "waiting for hours":: <Meek> ::Dawn is to tell her in return "the ladies never showed up":: * Dawn arrives at the tavern precisely at noon, just as the lunch crowd is reaching its peak. He threads patiently through the throng, watching for his contact. Eventually, he makes his way to her and drops into the empty chair across from her as if he's exhausted and irritable. * Meek raises an eyebrow. She looks to be in her fifties, which, given the life of the street, would put her in her mid-forties, most likely. She wears a grey-and-black striped bodice and grey skirt. Her red hair, starting to go grey at the temples, is done up in a kerchief. * Meek looks like any middle-aged shopkeeper, but her hand curls around her thumb in the recognition sign as she remarks tartly, "I've been waiting for hours, you know." * Dawn repeats the signal with one hand as he shoves the other crossly through his unkempt hair. I know, but the ladies never showed up. How I'm supposed to conduct any business when..." He sighs. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, okay?" * Meek grins at him approvingly, blue eyes twinkling. "Ah, well. You can at least buy me lunch, I suppose." <Dawn> ::drily:: How very generous of you. Have you already ordered? ::he turns to wave down the busy serving girl:: <Meek> ::shakes her head:: Didn't want to be getting too presumptuous on you. Nightsorrow's eye is pretty light on this side of town, and I've heard she's got... issues with you and your partner. Figured I wouldn't get my hopes up too high. <Dawn> ::half-smiles:: Word gets around. No partner anymore, though. You can sell that up to Nightsorrow, if you like. He won't mind. ::turns to the server:: Stew and bread. House beer? That'll do. Whatever she's having. ::he drops several coins in her hand:: <Meek> ::nodding her thanks:: Sorry to hear. Figured Whistle was vetting me over pretty careful, wouldn't hurt to know who I was meeting with. Us old ladies can't be too careful. ::she gives him a half-grin:: Got no problem selling to Marsember, though. Far as I'm concerned, Nightsorrow's just jealous, and the lass needs to get over and get on. <Dawn> If jealousy were her only problem... ::he shrugs and grins:: Am I taking delivery here, or shall I wait until after we've eaten? <Meek> ::glances around casually:: Nice and busy here, hard to overhear. Not that anyone but you'd care, I think, what you asked for's old, old news. Master Pimsleur's contacts with some business people I know, aye? <Dawn> Aye. ::takes a drink from his mug:: What kind of business? <Meek> ::pauses to lean back as the harried serving wench whirls by to plunk a basket of bread and bread trenchers on their table, piled full with a hearty, good-smelling stew:: * Dawn picks up his trencher in both hands and sips at the stew, watching Meek carefully. <Meek> ::tsks:: Shady business, when a friend gets greedy for something his friend has. ::her eye twinkles again:: Not that I'd get between such nonsense, of course. Respectable woman, I am. ::takes a bite of her stew:: Heard of a young lass, though, who was hungry enough to get in the middle of it. This was... ::thinks a moment:: oh, a score of years ago now, I think. Right around then, leastways. <Dawn> ::almost smiles:: The impetuousness of youth. <Meek> Indeed. ::leaning forward a bit, elbows on the table:: You ever hear of an old goat by the name of Thaddeus Bonesteel? <Dawn> ::considers, rubbing at his scruffy face:: Name's familiar, but I don't know that I can say why... <Meek> ::shrugs a shoulder:: The family's been around a long time... all gone, now, he was the last of them, I understand. Least, he moved off and his kin never came back. Got himself into some bit of scandal when his wife ran off with the stableboy, or something like that. <Dawn> ::snaps his fingers:: That's it. Knew it was something like that. <Meek> ::nods amiably:: Anyways, our Master Pimsleur was known to him... they were friends, after a fashion. That is, they did business together a time or two, and struck up an acquaintance. Pimsleur was one of the few who'd still have the man to dinner, after his wife left him. Reputation took a bit of a beating, getting cuckolded like that, and then turning all his people out in the street... * Meek chuckles. "Made the job all the more tempting to our lass, though. She figured, no one around, easy peasy, right?" She shakes her head and takes a swallow of ale. "Sorry, getting ahead of myself, here." <Meek> Master Pimsleur, he's a silverworker, you see, though I expect you already knew that, as you're asking. Lord Bonesteel was a bit of a mage, collected this-and-that... odd things, mostly, but pretty... little clockwork things, fancy toys, bric-a-brac. * Dawn 's eyebrows go up a bit at "mage", but he only takes a bite of his stew-soaked bread and nods at her to continue. <Meek> Heard tell his wife got him started into it, giving him this and that. Anyways, they were the wife's, initially, or so Master Pimsleur told the girl. <Dawn> ::frowning:: They... the knicknacks? <Meek> But she'd left all her things behind when she left, see, and Lord Bonesteel... well, the pip-pips really gave him a drubbing over the business... don't rightly know why, not like he did her in or anything. <Meek> ::waving her hand again:: Getting ahead again. Sorry, bad habit. <Dawn> ::shrugs:: Bluebloods'll get their britches in a bunch over just about anything, as long as it doesn't make any sense. <Meek> ::nods:: Ain't that the truth of it, then? Anyways, yes, "they" the knicknacks. Marvellous little things, so I'm told. Lord Bonesteel, he'd tossed all the servants out, on account of what one did, I suppose. But he kept all her things. Wouldn't part with them. And that really got up Master Pimsleur's nose. <Dawn> ::half-smiles:: Rude of him not to share, was it? <Meek> ::smiles a little:: Well, he's a tradesman, through and through. Offer a fair price for something, and it's a fair bet someone'll sell it to you. Offer more than a fair price and it's a sure bet they will. That's just what the man's like. <Meek> ::snorts:: Of course, doubt *he'd* part with them, after all he went through trying to lay hands on the damn things... ::shakes his head:: <Dawn> All *he* went through? What of the girl? <Meek> Well, she didn't count, of course, seeing as how she'd failed him an' all. ::shakes her head:: There I go again. <Meek> Alright, back up-- Master Pimsleur and Lord Bonesteel, friends after a fashion, right? They got into the habit of having each other over to dinner, talk about news of the day, show off a thing or two. <Dawn> ::washes down his bread with a healthy swallow of beer:: Aye. And Pimsleur got an itch for a couple of Bonesteel's knicknacks, as it happened. <Meek> Not a couple. A dozen, to be exact. A real clock piece-- matched set of twelve silver statuettes of women. And, twice a day, they'd do a little dance. But here's the kicker-- each had her own hour. So you could set them up like a real clock, see, and each in turn danced in the hour. Neat, hunh? <Dawn> ::looks impressed:: Magic, or clockwork? <Meek> Bit of both, he thought. After all, winding 'em up and setting the proper time'd be a bloody chore, if they were just clockworks. ::shrugs:: Not rightly sure myself, I never saw 'em but the once. ::there's a faint hint of old rancor in her voice:: <Dawn> ::nods:: So he offered a fair price, and then more, and the stubborn old goat wouldn't sell. <Meek> Pimsleur, though, he thought the things were a bloody marvel, went on and on about 'em. ::nods:: *Exactly.* And then, to make matters worse, the old goat decided to move. Clear out in the country, I hear. <Dawn> Touchy of him. Surely the nobles would've had some new scandal to be horrified by, if he'd just waited a bit. <Meek> You'd think so, wouldn't you. ::shrugs again:: Don't know what he was on about. He was a queer duck, that's for certain. By the time he finally left, plenty of people were happy to see the back of him. Said they saw strange lights in his place, of a night. <Dawn> ::snorts:: Happens, with mages. <Meek> ::shrugs:: People're funny that way. <Meek> So anyway... Pimsleur had a sort of a... ::clears her throat:: prior accidental acquaintance with a cohort of this girl... <Dawn> ::waves a hand dismissively:: Don't we all? <Meek> ::half-smile:: We were all young once, I suppose. Anyroad, word got 'round that he was looking for... a bit of a going-away gift in reverse, I'd suppose. Something to remember his friend by, before he left. <Dawn> ::apparently seriously:: Sentimental fellow. I'm guessing... he had Bonesteel to dinner. <Meek> Indeed he did. Manor would be empty, described the things in eye-rolling detail, offered a pretty penny. <Dawn> And the girl discovered why it is that pennies must be very pretty, to entice one into a mage's home, even unoccupied? <Meek> ::waves a hand:: The girl had a few friends, she said, that handled that end of that. They were *very* pretty pennies. You'd have thought he wanted her to do away with someone. <Dawn> Ah, well, then. I'll stop interrupting, and let you get on with it, then. <Meek> ::grins:: Nah, I like to hear you talk. Your silver, anyway. <Dawn> I'm not paying by the hour. <Meek> But no, girl went through every damn packing-box in the place-- it was *quite* near to when he meant to leave, y'see-- and they weren't anywhere to be found. She'd have sworn to it. <Meek> So, either the man was carrying these big clanking dancing ladies around in his pocket, or... ::shrug:: they just weren't anywhere she could get to them. <Meek> She wound up refunding most of the man's fee. ::scowls:: *And* paying her own damn mages out of pocket. <Dawn> ::considers:: Which makes him a not inconsiderable mage. Or a fucking impressive thief. I've heard of walking the bells, but... <Meek> ::laughs and shakes her head:: I don't know. And I'd have gone on not knowing, I'd wager, but that I happened to wander by Master Pimsleur's shop a while ago. Purely for old time's sake, of course. Social visit. He and I have had done business a time or two since he spoke with the young lass of our mutual acquaintance. <Dawn> And he had acquired the dancing ladies. <Meek> This was... oh, let me think... maybe a year or two ago, now. Aha! Whistle said you were a sharp one. <Meek> More than a bit smug about them he was, too. Although he couldn't be *too* smug. He didn't have all of them, you see. Two were missing. <Dawn> Which two? <Meek> ::narrows her eyes a moment, thinking:: Six and twelve, I believe. He said he'd gotten them at last from Bonesteel's son, in exchange for taking him as apprentice. Smart lad... gave over a few each year as his 'prentice fee. <Meek> Don't think he ever told the old fellow he didn't have the full set. He was a mite cross about it, for all he tried not to show it. <Dawn> ::chuckles:: A lad after my own heart, no doubt. ::slants a look at her:: What sort of 'prenticing did he take from the Master? <Meek> ::shrugs:: What he does, I reckon. Silversmithing. He makes all sorts of fancy-work. Starts the lads on making jewelry-boxes to teach them the joins or something, I think. You can see them in his shop. <Meek> He does bigger stuff, himself-- furniture and the like. And he's done fine-work for mages, but I don't know if he does that anymore. That's how he and Lord Bonesteel got their heads together, after all. <Dawn> ::nods:: I might do a little shopping while I'm here. I've a lady I owe a birthing-gift to, yet, and some friends with an eye for fine craftsmanship... Ever hear that the boy had a hand for the finework? <Meek> ::frowns, finishing off her bowl and wiping her mouth on the napkin:: The boy... now that I don't know. Father was a mage, I expect he'd have been a mage too, right? Except maybe he failed at that or something and decided to try an old friend of the family for a new line of work. <Dawn> Could be. I never heard that a decent mage ever had to sell off the family trinkets. <Meek> ::shakes her head:: Just guessing, there. I don't know much about the boy. ::frowns:: He had a funny name, that I know, but I can't think of it now. <Meek> Now here's the curious thing, though... I don't think *he* ever expected to see those fine ladies again, either. He said he'd been up to visit him a time or two, and never saw so much as a twinkling shoe while he was there. Surprised as anything to see the boy with them, so he claimed. <Meek> I think he thought the old goat'd sold 'em off behind his back, or something. <Dawn> Ah, well, mages do have their nooks and crannies for hiding things in. <Meek> ::sighs and looks sour:: That they do. You can bet the girl never took a job like *that* one again. No truck with mages' things. ::grins:: Their gold excepted, of course. <Dawn> ::smiles:: Of course. <Meek> ::takes another swallow of ale:: That's about the long and short of it, then, unless there's something else you wished to know? <Dawn> ::considers for a long moment:: How big are the ladies? <Meek> Not small. ::measures up from the table with the flat of her hand, about 9 inches off the surface:: Nimble little minxes, too. Girl probably wouldn't have lived to tell me the tale, if she'd found the bloody things and the hour had struck while she had them in her pack. <Meek> Exquisite work, though. I can see why he wanted them so badly. <Dawn> So you saw them dance? How big a dance? Spin in place, or do they actually move around a bit? <Meek> ::smiles wryly:: Maybe better for him, this way he can show 'em off. ::grins:: And tempt someone else. <Meek> Saw one. ::puts two fingers pointing downward on the table, miming a dancer's legs, taking a few graceful steps to one side, the other, and then twirling and kicking up a leg, with a little curtsey at the end:: There's a bit of a flat bit they move on, but still... you can hear the clockworks move, too. <Dawn> Ah, I see. All right. ::he puts a small pouch on the table:: That's what Whistle promised you. ::he shows her a few more coins cupped in his hand:: Nightsorrow doesn't need to know I was in town. Until at least sundown. <Meek> ::nods:: She won't hear it from me. Can't promise other tongues won't wag, but as I said, her eye's pretty light this side of market. * Meek hefts the pouch once, nods, and makes it vanish from her palm with a faint grin. <Dawn> ::nods, and leaves the coins on the table:: Good enough for me. Thanks for the story. Give Whistle my regards, if you see him again. ::he stands, swallows the last of his beer, and heads for the door:: * Meek nods to him, settling back in her chair again as she raises her hand for another round of beer. |
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