Turn 119
    He leans back against the wall and continues, "As far as the town, Lynden, do you think you'd be comfortable providing some sort of cover story in case anyone does question us in town? I can do a fair convincing cripple if need be, and Ibn Fadil has passed for a beggar before - assuming no one looks too close at the ears. That ought to get us into town for a little bit, ask some questions about how often the magic flying ships come in and out and other wonders. That's a safe way to get some more information without revealing much of anything."
    "I'm sure I could come up with something suitable," is Lynden's dry response, "but they may question my being there regardless."
    "I had hoped to snag one of the guards, or maybe find a Hextorian, but one of them going missing as we question him would just set off too many alarms." He looks over at Pham, "Plus, I don't know how capable he'd be at making pretend - no offense, Pham." He looks back at Ibn Fadil "There are an awful lot of differences between the sects, and while it might work for the ultimate "We're landing in our unexpected ship" mechanism, I don't think it'll hold up to any sand in the gears."
    "I was thinking of using the 'headquarters wants a status report, don't ask *me* why,' ploy, but you're right. That's why there needs to be an escape plan, too."
    The Half-man nods. "That's a better plan. I don't know about an escape plan, but maybe we can find out something that'll work in the first recon."
    Emmett looks back over at the pilots "Do you two have any magical divination spells? Something like what we saw on the hunting trip, only without the fire and smoke? Any way we could feel this place out from a distance?
    Pham shakes his head. "Nothing so dramatic, I fear. I could attempt to determine a general omen for the endeavor, but I'm afraid I am not prepared to do so at present." He looks at Lynden.
    "Similarly I could attempt a simple divination though I am not able to at present." Lynden acknowledges his limitations without hesitation. "
    "I would prefer not to wait," Nyala opines. "I believe the half-man's plan is sound. We should certainly be cautious, but the pitfalls that snared Valarin and the others in Myrr, I think we can avoid." She glances at ibn Fadil. "Shall we venture forth and examine this structure of theirs? A look inside the Victors' storerooms, if that is what those buildings are, may prove interesting. Lynden and Emmett, and perhaps one more? can venture into the town. I like the thought of gulling this lord." She had after all become friends of sorts with the man's daughter. "The more we know of what Durrell plans before we speak to him, it may be easier to sway him that we can be of use."
    "Caution first, then boldness," ibn Fadil shrugs, sounding like he's quoting someone. "I've always wanted to learn how to sneak through freezing, snowy forests without getting caught." And if you didn't already know his feelings about cold weather, you'd *believe* him, too.
    "Who wouldn't?" Nyala asks innocently, garnering a snort of either amusement or disgust.
    "Well, it looks like you'll get your chance. Alais, I thought I saw a landable clearing a little closer - can we make use of that?" Emmett is already lamenting the lack of good aerial maps, but his memory was pretty attuned for these things - griffins sometimes were particular in where they'd set down....
    Seeing Alais's look of assent, Emmett glanced to Yestin for approval before going forward, "OK, so we make for that, drop off the elves, and pick them up in, three hours, I'd think. We'd still be far enough from dawn that the chance of a sighting is minimal. Lynden and I will find out what they saw, then head in tomorrow at dawn. Ibn Fadil follows separately once he'd gotten some rest. Pham, you and Alais prepare any divinations you have for tomorrow: it'd like you to know that we're getting into trouble in there before we know it."
    "Captain," ibn Fadil says carefully, "would you mind looking through Valarin's things to see if he owned, I mean owns, such a thing as a dark lantern, that I might borrow? It might come in useful." There is indeed such an item among the missing captain's possessions; he likely wouldn't mind the loan.
    With no lights showing, Alais moves the ship closer to the town, finding a spot near the main road where the first of the away teams can disembark. The night is still and clear, with an astonishing number of stars, and quite cold.
    From this perspective, they are at the bottom of a long slope that leads up toward the fortress, massive even at a distance but dwarfed by the mountains to each side like a wall. The town lies somewhat to the left of their position as they look straight at Highfort. From the town, the road curves up toward the fortress for a steep half mile, and the spaceport is to the right of the road, between town and the wall.

    * * *

    Nyala guides ibn Fadil toward the town by a roundabout rout. The ground away from the road grows rough and rocky, with patches of wood--pines and other hardy trees. Downslope, the moonlight reveals cleared fields and animals grazing. Still some way from their destination, they cross a rill of water and ibn Fadil pauses, his attention caught by a slight change in temperature. He hunkers down and waves a hand over the surface of the water; it's warm. The source is somewhere off to the right, in the mountains. They continue on toward the port, moving more carefully now. An owl hoots in the distance.
    The two come up around the far side of the landing area, opposite the short spur of road that joins the one between Toll and Highfort. The road is flanked by two long, low, windowless buildings. Nothing moves. Above, lights flicker in two of the fortress's towers, and in the cold, clear air a distant exchange of voices can be heard. Sharing a glance, they creep closer. Once in the shadow of the warehouses, as the buildings seem to be, they relax a trifle.
    The buildings are often visited; there are deep paths worn through the layers of snow upon fallen snow. Both buildings have a large, heavy door that slides on tracks, with a smaller door cut into it. The small door is locked; the larger one is presumably opened from the inside to allow a cart to enter. It's a decent lock that would certainly deter a casual thief, but not beyond the bounds of his skill.
    Ibn Fadil has Nyala to go back to the far corner of the warehouse while he listens for any sound from within the building, then attempts to pick the lock. 
    Not beyond the bounds, but very near, and minutes pass while all is silent but for the faint scrape of tools....
    ... and the spy makes a mental note to *practice* this lock-picking thing, since it's been coming up so much more lately ...
    And then another sound. A faint, steady click-click-click, coming not from inside the building but from the main road. The sound of metal on metal. From the shadows he watches it pass, a spider-thing, the body something less than a foot across, the jointed legs moving smoothly over the snow. Most of it is black, but a glitter here and there shows in the moonlight. It appears to pay no attention to anything around it, moving in a straight path toward the town. It seems to have come from the direction of the fortress.
    When it is gone, the silence is again complete.
    The half-elf reminds himself that breathing is important, and turns back to his immediate task. He also starts mentally ticking off the time it ought to take for something moving at that speed to get to the village, turn around, and come back. He wants doesn't want to be caught in the open by it. 
    The lock surrenders; the door opens. Within, all is darkness--a darkness populated by crates, sacks, casks, and barrels, all from off-world. It's a shock to see familiar marks and names, the shape of tongues spoken on other worlds than this. Most of it is a more prosaic line than V&S is known for, but then this is not the most sophisticated of markets. There are lots of metal goods, including some weapons and armor (not enough to supply an army, but those would presumably under Durrell's personal watch in the fortress, not out here where he can't play with them), cloth [pretty but cheap stuff, he'll note if he looks closely], foodstuffs, alien wines.... The warehouse could easily hold a great more than it does right now; it's reasonable to assume that it's been some time since a shipment came.
    He takes a rapid look around, enough to ascertain that it's all pretty typical trade goods, nothing outre like, say, a mechanical spider, and listens at the door before going outside again and making sure the door is locked behind him.
    Rejoining Nyala, he breathes, "Lots of ordinary offworld goods. Didn't like that *thing* - but let's hide somewhere and watch it come back?"
    It's a long wait, but eventually they hear the soft sound of joints in motion as the thing clicks its way back up from whatever errand it was about. Rather than returning to the fortress, however, it strikes off the road, past the landing field, traveling as straight a path as it may around rocks and scrub. If it continues straight, its course looks as if it is set to intersect the mountainside some way from the fortress.
    With extreme caution, the two scouts partly parallel, partly follow its expected track, and find that it leads toward a wall of rock with a rubble of boulders about the bottom. The spider seems most inclined to travel in straight lines, and its faint, dimpled path through the snow is not easy to follow, as it simply walks up and over massive rocks that the bipeds must go around. They find themselves at the foot of a pile left by some ancient rockslide, above which rises the nearly sheer face of the mountain, weathered and split in places but overall forbidding.
    Somewhere among the boulders, the thing has vanished, and diligent searching eventually reveals a crevice that could admit it--or a man, were he inclined to crouch down and venture into the darkness. It's unlikely that a human would have noticed the opening, at least at night.
    Can the thing see in that total darkness? ibn Fadil wonders. The two withdraw out of presumed earshot to consult: it seems more important to him to return with news of this thing than to risk exploring its lair. 
    There is not much of the night remaining if they are to return to the rendezvous point. The two make their way back down the slope, once again striking that peculiar stream, and thence to the ship.
    "Lots of ordinary trade goods in one of the warehouses, but not enough to fill it right now," ibn Fadil reports, having taken a sea nearly on top of the galley stove. "I kind of lost interest in the second one when this mechanical spider went by." He rubs his hands together for a moment. "It's body was about a foot across, and it seemed to come from the fortress and went along the road to the town. When it came back, we followed it to a crevice at the foot of the mountain, and then we had to come back to meet you."
    Though it had stopped happening after he took the ring off during the hunt, now Ibn Fadil once again feels quite refreshed after the few hours sleep he got before their expedition, so after warming some of the chill from his bones sets out again with Emmett and Lynden. The road is much easier going than the woods were; there's been some traffic since last it snowed here, and indeed when they look down from this relative height there are a few wagons (or possibly sledges) on the road in the distance.
    They split up before reaching the town, and an unaccustomedly-unarmed (hook, spike, and whip barely count) Half-Man and the priest of Gerik enter Toll a bit after dawn. There is a sense of space most unusual for this world; the buildings are not rammed together but have spilled out from the town center in a haphazard fashion, the streets wider and the houses lower and more expansive than those in Myrr or Narain. The streets wind considerably, with frequent small squares and courts. There is less decoration on the buildings here than Lynden is accustomed to seeing, and as they walk something further begins to nag at him, tugging insistently at his mind until finally it strikes him: there are no streetside shrines. Perhaps, he tries to convince himself, they follow different customs here.
    There are not a lot of people up and about yet, and those they see keep their heads down, speak little, and move with seeming furtiveness at odds with the cheerful morning light. The only ones who appear relaxed and at ease are a group of soldierly-looking sorts who have clearly spent the night roistering; they attempt to swagger and end up staggering along the street, shout-singing several songs at the same time and insulting one another affably. The spies can't help but notice that they're all wearing swords. The few citizens who are about vanish from their path and do not look at them, as if fearing to give offense.
    At Emmett's suggestion they locate what looks like the guild center of town. The Artificers' building has dusty windows and an air of disrepair; the paint on the fox and spider symbols is faded and cracked.
    "Now that," says the half man, "is unexpected. I had thought they'd be using similar covers. Unless out here they're more in the open?" He cocks an eyebrow at the young cleric at the disturbing thought, then raises his arm to knock.
    After a few silent moments the door is opened by a teenager with an apprentice's badge on his shirt, who stands blinking and sleepy-eyed for a moment. "What do you--good morrow, good sir," he corrects himself in a more polite tone. "And to you, Brother. Can I be of service?"
    

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