Turn 122

Lynden nods in agreement, watching closely as they make their introductions. Noting the gold circlet which, Lynden observes, suggests a claim to high status at the least. Could this young dandy be kin to the Lord or just a pretentious whippersnapper? The latter seems more likely.
    Emmett has removed his cloak, and the holy symbol of Gond is clearly visible on over his shirt. "I'm looking for artificers who can match the quality of these works..." Emmett unravels his hook in the light, revealing its solid steel and keen edge, "but I am just as curious as to why this guildhall - and the local churches - seem to have fallen on such hard times."
    "Hard times?" He looks momentarily surprised, then gives that amiable smile, glancing around the room. "I can see why it might appear so, but nothing could be farther from the case where our guild is concerned. We manage quite well." He examines Emmett's hook -- not too closely. "Perhaps you have been misdirected? I should think that any competent smith could forge such an item. We are quite busy.
    "As for Brother..." he looks questioningly, as they have not given names, "the good brother's fellows in faith, I take it that your coming is not in response to any message? Alas. On what errand then, may I inquire? It has been a difficult year. A number of dreadful accidents, sad to say, took several men untimely. A few departed Toll early in the winter -- some mission of mercy to the valley towns, I believe. We have heard nothing of them since. And several months ago Brother Tomas, who remained, simply disappeared. I suppose he must have gone as well. So it is indeed a pleasure to see you here. His Lordship will be pleased as well--I hope you will allow me to introduce you to him? He certainly is better informed about the temples than myself. You," he glances at the hovering apprentice, "go up to the fort and let him know of this happy circumstance. He will be delighted to entertain you."
    A hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach tells Lynden all he needs to know about the 'hospitality' he can expect to receive at his Lordship's hands. "That won't be necessary. Your kindness already exceeds my expectations."
    Emmett has been dismissed from consideration, but both men can tell that this richly-dressed young man is very interested in Brother Lynden.
    "Indeed?" the man begins to say.
    Emmett glances from the the master to the apprentice to Lynden. _Oh hell,_ he thinks. _Better start our own machine than get caught in this one._
    The half man's artificial leg lashes out, aiming to strike the unsuspecting "master" artificer in the back of the knee. While the master's balance is off, Emmett catches his hook into the man's cloak and hurls him down to the floor, then plants his foot on the his throat -- not pressing, yet.
    Emmett's swift reactions were swiftly echoed by Lynden's own decision to act. Stepping free of his chair he catches the apprentice's eye as he gestures towards him, " _Stay_ here. No need to dash off."
    The "stay" works, but there's noting to keep the youth from yelling his head off while he's being tied up and gagged.
    While the man lies there stunned for a moment, with a word muttered almost too soft to hear a feral, inhuman light erupts from the half man's face. He glances at the apprentice "You. Stay put." and then down at the prone young man "And you. Any real Master who know what a Half-Man is, and what he represents. I don't know who you made deals with to arrange this little coup, but a Master Artificer you're not, and the good father here has already witnessed you pretending to status you don't have, and I can pass sentence right now. Now, where is actual Master of this house?"
    His little speech has given Semhar a chance to get his breath back. "Why, I am he," says the man with a thin smile. "Who else should it be?"
    Emmett applies the slightest bit of pressure, just enough to wipe the smirk off of this man's face. "The one whom you likely killed." He's seriously contemplating killing the man right here and now, and is sure that his face mirrors that. "Understand this: you've been caught. It's over. Now, try again." He seems disinclined to do so.
    Having successfully restrained the apprentice Lynden cautiously moves closer to the hallway door listening carefully to check whether the ruckus had attracted the attention of the other apprentices or the doorman they'd met earlier before venturing a quick confirmatory glance himself. It is empty, but for the sound of rapidly retreating feet.
    Quietly the young priest closes the hallway door and pushes the table across the entrance before starting towards the other doorway.
    It lets into a sort of quasi-room. To the left a hallway leads back along the length of the building, with several doors in it. Directly before, there's a rather messy storage area and a stair leading up.
    Although grateful that the room has no occupants Lynden suspects that the relative peace won't last for long. Calling back over his shoulder he apprises Emmett of the situation, a faint hint of annoyance apparent in his voice, "This way is clear but I've no wish for us to be compromised further by venturing forth on my own." He beckons to the half-man, "Bring the 'Master', I'm sure he can tell us what to expect and may be a useful bargaining chip besides."
    "No, he'd be too conspicuous outside." Emmett leans down to the prone man, illuminating his face in scarlet. "Besides, I want him to think he'll be safe if he gathers all of his cronies to him. That way they'll all be in one place, later. The Guild knows, boy, and the Guild protects its secrets -- you, and whomever sold yourself out to -- had better make your peace with the gods."
    With that the Half-Man shoves one of the table napkins into the Master's mouth, Then rolls him over. "Stay put, and you'll earn yourself another day or so."
    The Half man flips the chair that he had been sitting on onto the prone "Master" as he leaves, giving the man one more complication in his attempts to arise.
    Emmett leaps to his feet and joins Lynden at the door. His looks very clearly says, "Time to go."
    Once out of earshot of Master Semhar, Lynden hisses in exasperation," I didn't mean take him outside! I meant hold him hostage whilst we find our way out of here." And with that he stalks down the hallway with his mace drawn at the ready.
    There's a sheepish, whispered, "Sorry. Misunderstood. Still, we can get out of here pretty quick - the layout doesn't seem that arcane."
    And it isn't. Moving down the hall, they break down a couple of locked doors and find in one a dusty and clearly disused workshop, its contents nothing of interest, particularly when compared to the door to the outside world they find there.
    They make their way away from the building quickly, slowing as soon as they dare to avoid attracting more notice.
    "Sorry to throw you for a loop there, but as soon as he started talking I realized how much we'd screwed up by getting stuck in there. I didn't think we could convincingly talk our way out, or fight out if they'd had time to bar the doors. Now, however, they're scared of us, and think we're not who we really are. This means they'll jump the right way when a Victor and Sons ship turns up unexpected, and they won't think to link us to that."
    "Do you mean the Distraction?" Lynden's asks. He's having difficulty keeping up with Emmett's wild leaps of logic but supposes that as the half-man has had more experience of this sort of thing he knows what he's doing. At least he hopes so.
    Emmett glances back at the young cleric. "Yes. Remember, Ibn Fadil laid out the rough plan of the Distraction landing and pretending to be a Victor and Sons ship, with our very own Hextorian Cleric on board? Well, that little show in there didn't do anything to damage that, since they have no reason to suspect I'm an offworlder. In some ways it helped it, because now they'll be looking to get some extra offworld help thinking that some Artificers Inquisition has blown their cover."
    "Best I could do under the circumstances. Still we need to look different, then pick off one of their hunters. We did learn that the old masters are dead, and that they probably did the same to the other priests. We also learned that you shouldn't look like a priest around these parts, and that you definitely shouldn't look like a priest on the Distraction. So it wasn't a loss." The half man grins "Plus, now they're feeling hunted, and just a little scared. All good."
    The young cleric has no wish to join his lost colleagues in whatever sad end they had met and nods in agreement. "I suppose you're right." Pausing he quickly removes his outer robe, leaving him more exposed to the elements but less obviously religious. "You have coins to pay with then? I won't steal." The cold hits immediately and he wraps his arms around him trying to still the shivering. As they search for the required outlets he wonders if the other scouting party are having better luck than they.
    "Assuming the local lord isn't so arrogant he's changed the currency, yes - I have some change from the things I bought in the capitol, and given this world's central authority, I figure the coins have the High King on them everywhere." He nods at an establishment "This one ought to do. Keep that bundle wrapped up for later."
    The pair duck into the first clothier's shop they find. Not too long after that, the hue and cry goes up behind them.
    * * *
    Master Semhar is both uninjured and exceedingly angry as he regains his feet. He strikes the apprentice sharply across the face as Lynden's spell wears off. "Useless! See that the alarm is raised, then spread the word. We will meet at the mountain. I suppose His Lordship should be told. They will not remain free long."
    Whether they had been sent by the priests of those pathetic animal gods, the guild as the man had hinted, a suspicious neighboring lord perhaps -- no matter. They would die.
    Thinking about that, he smiles.
    * * *
    Meanwhile...
    It seems that the man had been found dead early this morning, his last expression one of horror--"just like the others." There is evil at work here, which may go some way toward explaining the citizens' fearful behavior, particularly in the absence of their priests.
    Not especially surprised, ibn Fadil abandons the sad group and tries to shake off the gloom that settles over him, then changes his mind and his tack once again. Carefully, he selects a tavern that looks well-kept but not especially wealthy, reviews his newcomer-from-Hicksville background details (prepared with the assistance of Mihal), and goes in the front door. Pausing with a show of mild uncertainty, he takes stock of the interior.
    There's not much to see -- long tables and benches, reasonably clean according to local if not civilized standards. A wide fireplace, the few logs currently burning low, a cauldron kept warm by the coals -- a small fortune in iron for this place. Barrels of ale stacked against a wall. A door to another room in back, from which comes a clattering sound and then a streak of cursing as someone drops something.
    Taking a few steps toward the kitchen, he says, "Hello?"
    The cursing crescendos, then dies away, and a short, stocky man in brown wool and an apron emerges from the doorway, scowling a little. "We're closed. What'ya want?"
    "Umm ... a place that isn't closed?" With the ease of many years of practice, ibn Fadil settles into his persona and launches the story of a vaguely naive young man from a hill village looking for work in town. Once he sees that ibn Fadil is quite harmless, Gemmert the keeper relaxes a bit.
    "Aye, there's work to be had in Toll, lad. Mind you, s'not the safest of places, you do hear stories these days, but I say that them as pay no heed to foolish words and keep themselfs well indoors of a night have naught to worry for, including bogeymen crawling out of the walls." He gives a gruff snort of amused disdain. "His Lordship's always looking for men, my younger boy is up to fort-way, got a horse now and wears more steel than I ever used to see in a week." He gives his slightly built visitor an uncertain look, clearly trying the idea on for size and questioning the fit. "Or, have ye any sort of trade? Pays powerful well for smiths and the like.... That Murphen as runs the Victor shop, he just had a clerk run off him last week, turned out the lad was helping himself from the till, if you can believe that. It's not like it was when I was a boy, seems there's naught to be trusted any more."
    Ibn Fadil learns that Victor & Sons ships have been coming to Highfort for five years now, that the ship arrives soon after the snow melts, and it has become something of a holiday occasion for Toll and those surrounding communities to which word has spread. Their local storekeeper is an offworlder and, according to Gemmert's hints, a bit over-fond of the bottle. It's all been very good for the town, no doubt about that; there's more money in Toll than ever before. And if you believe half of what you hear -- which he doesn't, of course -- more to come this year than ever.
    During the conversation, a couple of guardsmen stomp in and search the place, but since both of the men there have both eyes they don't pay them much attention. It seems a one-eyed, one-handed man has assaulted someone in the Artificer's Guild.
    

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