Turn 125

The Half-Man gathers together a set of lockmaking tools, wrapping them around the last of the guild business letters and putting the whole into his inside pocket - the one between his first and second skins where he keeps his wallet. _That,_ he thinks, _should be safe enough._
    The rest of the building proves to be empty of life. The other rooms downstairs are much like the one he has just seen, and there is also a larger chamber with a magnificent table, where they probably met in council. Upstairs is a large common work area for the guild's junior members, and where the guild appears to have stored several centuries' worth of accumulated things of no apparent utility. In the room where he and Lynden were entertained, the fire has almost burned out. It is quite clear that however many of them are still alive, they are not using this building for anything important.
    He picks up a few more likely-looking tools as he searches, and the poker from the common room, then returns to the room he had entered through to wait and see who appeared.
    More of the day has passed than he realized, between their first wait here, the sudden flight, the cautious return, and his search of the building. Only about an hour passes by his estimation before the light begins to fail. Perhaps they are not going to return today at all? He has to get to his meeting with the others....
    A faint sound catches his attention and he jerks slightly, wondering if he had almost dozed off.
    [blown Listen check]
    Click, click, click.
    _Spider,_ he thinks. There is the sound of glass breaking and four small objects -- not creatures -- make their way swiftly through the window to the outside.
    Emmett wastes no time in bolting for the door back into the main part of the building, which he then slams shut, hearing the faint clicking through the thick wood. Then it fades away, but if they're seeking him specifically then they can surely find another entrance. He heads for the stairs.
    In the room behind him, there is a series of clicks and whirs as the machines find the way blocked beyond their strength and reorient themselves.
    Emmett thumps his way up the stairs to the large, cold chamber where apprentices and journeymen once labored. The spiders are making their way inside through the nearest window to meet him.
    "Man, you're tenacious little buggers. I sure hope you don't spit acid."
    He picks another one and performs a headlong dive through it, artificial hand in front, and picks up a small collection of nasty cuts on the way. He does not however collect any bruises, as he finds himself floating rather gently the ground in front of the guild hall.
    "Ha. Good guess."
    He can hear them following; a glance up shows the black shapes moving smoothly down the wall. Fortunately, no one was on the street to see his exit. Speed would seem to be of the essence; a horse would help. He moves off down the street at his best possible speed; the spiders follow. The shadows are growing longer.
    There are people on the next street; they stare at his fleeing figure and the tireless machines he does not seem able to shake. He hears someone shout something; in a matter of moments they're going to realize that he is the one most of the city is now searching for, and the guards will converge. There are not a lot of horses used for riding in the city; he does spot one down the street as he skids around a corner, hitched to a wagon from which two boys are unloading firewood.
    Emmett makes a running jump towards the horse's back, spurring it into motion right now, wagon and all.
    The animal snorts and jerks sideways, startled, then lumbers into a trot. There's quite a bit of yelling going on in the vicinity now - to which the boys are adding shrieks of "thief!"
    Once in motion he swings the sharpened interior edge of his hook to sever the harness traces. [I'm pretty sure that a draft harness requires a collar, but I'm not sure what the question was directed at?] Wood spills from the wagon's open back, and then the wagon itself drops behind, momentarily stymieing the scurrying spiders, which then crawl over it. It does more to slow down the mob that is forming to pursue.
    Unfortunately, it does nothing to slow down the quartet of guards in the street ahead of him, who gape briefly and draw their swords....
    The half man again mutters a word under his breath, igniting the fire inside his eye-socket. "Make way! In Gerik's name, make way!" and then he slaps his heels into the beast's flanks and moves forward, hunkered down, best speed towards the most likely gap between the soldiers. _The horse will have to more faster than this to stay ahead of those spiders. I can't afford to waste time._
    The people stare and murmur at this invocation of the god's name, and some of the crowd does draw back. The guards look startled and slightly uncertain, but they don't move. His mount is no warhorse; it snorts and plunges a bit, but is unwilling to charge the men. He lost the poker during his plunge through the window, which leaves him short on options.
    Two black birds--ravens?--are circling overhead as he attempts to rally his unhappy mount.
    * * *
    Somewhat relieved, ibn Fadil falls into step with the priest. "This way," he says briefly, and leads Lynden along streets and alleys to a part of town that's already been searched. At last he stops in a windowless alcove along a side street. "What happened?"
    "I think I was more honest than Emmett liked so he decided a more direct approach was called for and assaulted the lordling. We abandoned the guildhouse but the guards caught up with us all too quickly. Emmett insisted we split up and for all I know he's still running." Lynden's summary is brief but provides the information that ibn Fadil needs.
    It's impossible to tell what the half-elf thinks as he listens, and this is not the time for criticism. "Right," he says when Lynden finishes. "You go over to that taproom over there and wait while I see about getting you out of town, and whether they've caught Emmett. Try not to look so anxious, or if you can't help it, claim your mother's ill or something. Have you got any money?"
    "No. I've no money but I won't need it as I'm not going in there. If you think I'm going to sit and drink beer while you risk life and limb searching. You can think again." It is apparent that he is determined not to abandon the search for Emmett without an argument and has no wish to sit in plain view himself.
    "Very well," ibn Fadil responds, forbearing to point out that no one is looking for *him* yet. "Then stand up straight and look like you've got a right to be here. Nothing attracts authority's eye like visible guilt." He observes Lynden's efforts with a cold eye before adding, "Your life may depend on this. Think about your god; you know *he* approves of you, and that should be good enough for anybody."
    "Guilt? You presume much." If the rogue meant to stiffen Lynden's backbone by rousing him to anger then he was well on the way. "Those charlatans back there have already murdered without a thought given and you dare to speak of Godly approval? It is not my standing in Gerik's eyes that should be of concern to you but theirs." The unspoken *And yours* hangs in the air between them for a moment.
    ... and doesn't seem to bother ibn Fadil one whit.
    Lynden takes a deep breath and assumes a more confident stance. "However, my argument is with them not you so I suggest we begin our search quickly. The half-man may be imbued with Gerik's strength but I doubt he can hold off the pursuers for long."
    "That's better. Just don't overdo it." It occurs to Lynden, as ibn Fadil turns to lead off, that the little man's demeanor - usually unassuming and unaggressive - is at odds with his words and behavior, which hint at a towering inner certainty and self-confidence. It is a puzzle.
    There are pairs and trios of guardsmen searching, but ibn Fadil's skill is sufficient to hide himself and his companion when they draw too near. It should be possible to get out of town now, if they're careful about it, and probably prudent to do so; from the bits of conversation they've been able to overhear, it sounds as if the locals have lost Emmett's trail, which means ever-increasing numbers of searchers as regular citizens are recruited in the effort.
    After a whispered debate as they huddle behind some stacked barrels Lynden is finally convinced that he would best serve Emmett by making the arranged rendezvous with the Distraction leaving ibn Fadil to search out the half-man.
    "Take this," ibn Fadil says, giving Lynden the figurine Yestin lent him. He debates giving up the knives and lock-picks that are hidden on his person, but decides that he may need to have them more than not have them. The ring, of course, is going to be essential over the next hours. "Tell Yestin that if they catch Emmett they'll most likely take him up to the fortress, so we may be looking for help along that way. If I can't find him or what happened to him, I'll go back to the rendezvous point by morning." He checks to make sure his knitted cap is pulled down securely over his ears, and tries out a reassuring smile. "Maybe Emmett will have made his way there by then."
    Lynden takes the figurine and places it carefully within his belt pouch. "I will do this. I will wait for their arrival and pray for your safe return."
    After seeing Lynden to the meeting point, ibn Fadil returns to Toll and without much trouble gets himself recruited into a search party, endeavoring to give the impression that he was very up-country and quite possibly not very bright. This works well enough; he doesn't look enough like either of the men they are seeking to arouse suspicion.
    Evening shadows are falling when the hue and cry goes up again from a few blocks away. He joins the flow of people toward the sound, planning to watch and wait. He sees the red flash of Emmett's eye-gem and catches a glimpse of the man himself on horseback.
    Emmett again attempts to convince the horse to make a break for freedom, but the beast is still having none of it. [Still on board, though.] And then... the half-elf squints in the gloom as four small, black things swarm up the animal -- spiders such as the one he and Nyala saw the previous night. *Now* the horse kicks up, spooked by the pricking of their metal feet.
    [Spiders out-init Emmett, I'm afraid. Their attacks: hit. hit. miss. miss. poison checks: failed the first one.]
    Most of the crowd is backing away now that the spiders have appeared. Ibn Fadil watches Emmett lurch and fall, and the mechanisms pause as if registering their quarry's lack of motion before drawing off a few feet. Above, the birds continue their circling. One of the guards moves off through the crowd on some errand, while two others bind Emmett and the fourth glowers at the people curious enough to continue watching. Gerik's name is murmured by one or two.
    "An imposter and a spy," the guard growls, overhearing this. "Be off, the lot of you!" The arrival of more guards a few minutes later encourages their dispersal.
    They do indeed appear to be moving Emmett up the road toward the fortress.
    * * *
    Having bid farewell Lynden scans the area for a sheltered place to sit and wait for the Distraction. The boughs of an overhanging tree provide some protection from the biting cold and the surrounding large rocks ensure that he can see but not be seen easily himself. After listening for a while, just in case, he settles down for his evening prayers.
    As concealing full darkness falls, the ship drifts gently to the ground nearby and someone drops the ladder.
    He quickly relates the day's events to the waiting crew taking care not to omit anything, however trivial it may seem to him, and finishes the sorry tale with ibn Fadil's message for Yestin.
    The giff's evident worry is momentarily transformed into an angry snort. "Quite a cautious reconnaissance... we've learned a few things ourselves this day, about what His Lordship is up to here. It seems there is little we can do until ibn Fadil returns to inform us of Emmett's fate. Pilot, take us back up."
    Far below the ship, small black things move swiftly across the snow, searching.
    

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