Turn 74

    "You are not from the city. No sane man travels in such gear, and no fool is given care of so much steel. I am told your speech is strange, but you are not emissaries, and if you are spies you are most inept. Who are you, from whence do you come, and what are you doing here?"
    Val grew up where it snowed each year and he rarely owned anything warmer than his current attire, so the comment about his attire takes a moment to click. As for the steel, he'd have to remember that in the future...
    "We are definitely no spies, Captain," Val replies calmly, slipping into the familiar role of his past vocation; he's talked his way out of worse before. "We are...lost, and in need of boots for my friend here," he indicates ibn Fadil, sticking to the original story. Must remember to plan better next time...
    "We work for a merchant and are long way from home. Of course, traveling can be dangerous," he says, glancing at his sword but making no moves towards it at all. "I am Captain Ehrendrin and these are my companions, ibn Fadil and Zeremin. The Mad." In a hushed tone, he adds to the bearded man, "He's a good man, just a little...strange." He gives the man his best helpless smile.
    Ibn Fadil nods politely when introduced, cultivating a calmly interested expression while thinking Valarin's answer was a touch too evasive to get past this man. More information, less waffle, that would be his own approach, but Valarin is still in charge ... and he'll learn. Probably.
    Alais is displeased by the libel, but obviously the unscholarly members of the party are playing one of their little games again, so he won't interfere just yet.
    "Indeed." He looks skeptical. "Captain?" His tone invites further explanation.
    "Of a small vessel," Val replies matter of factly, "she's grounded some ten miles away, so we walked."
    Changing the subject, he asks, "Listen, are we in some sort of trouble here? We come seeking to buy goods and warm ourselves by a fire. Is this too much to ask?" Val does keep in mind the spies comment, however; is there something worth spying on here?
    "Not yet," is the -- relatively amiable -- reply. "Your ship ran aground ten miles from here, eh?"
    "We put in, yes," Val tries not to take offense at the presumption they ran aground. "She's small enough," he says by way of explanation.
    "So now you know us," he continues in a friendly manner, "and you know that we intend no trouble. Who might you be, friend?"
    "You may call me Captain," he says with a thin smile. "As I am charged by His Lordship with the maintenance of order in the city. So you put in ten miles from our harbor and walked to the city to buy goods for your employer, as if on a summer's outing and with a madman in tow." Beat. "And I'm the High Queen." He reaches an arm out and thumps the wall twice.
    Well this is going swimmingly... And people call Val dense?
    "We put in because of the weather, and we are here to buy boots for my crewman," he repeats calmly, keeping alert for whatever is to come next. A thump to the wall would surely summon others... "And we would not seek to warm ourselves by a fire in summer." An edge of exasperation is starting to creep into Val's voice. He casts a glance at ibn Fadil and Alais to see what their reactions are.
    And it does, in fact, cause the door to be opened behind them, with a few of the guards there.
    "If you truly mean no trouble, you'll hand over your weapons and spend a night here as guests," the captain says pleasantly. "And if you speak truly, in the morning you will have my apology, but I'm sure you'll agree that in these times one cannot be too careful."
    "Well," ibn Fadil says sourly to Valarin, in Elvish, "that could have gone better." Hopefully Val does not understand Elvish well enough to grasp the depth of disgust expressed in those apparently simple words. Careful not to make any sudden movements, he hands over his sword.
    The foreign words earn him a *very* hard stare from the captain.
    "Sorry," he apologizes for his rudeness. "I only remarked that this visit could be going better." He starts fishing out and giving up the three knives he's carrying, including the two hidden ones. There are a couple of surprised glances exchanged between the guards.
    Val hands over his sword belt as well, careful to handle only the belt itself. He understands ibn Fadil's words, but the expression on the Zakharan's face is somewhat elusive. He can't be taking it this well, can he?
    "Times like these?" he asks the Captain innocently enough.
    "Indeed."
    The three are conducted to a small room on the same floor. It has no windows and the door bars on the outside, but it's clean, there are pallets and blankets and a stub of candle stuck in a holder on the wall. They don't seem particularly worried about anything the three might do.
    "An orderly sort of people," ibn Fadil remarks, sitting on one of the pallets and wrapping blankets around his still-cold feet. "So tell me, Valarin, how is that you never learned the first rule of negotiation?"

* * *

    "What do you make of that?" the captain asks one of his men when the three... visitors have been removed and the details related.
    "Smugglers," Stian shrugs. "Or else they *are* spies. Could be they thought they could slip in through the gate without being noticed."
    "Carrying all this? May as well have a brace of heralds. And giving up just like that? They must know what'll happen. Unless there are more of them out there, but for what...." He looks at the collection of weapons on his desk, wondering what to do with the damn things for the night. He'd noticed more than one covetous look among the men. He picks up the mysterious "captain's" sword, draws it a few inches and grunts in surprise. "Ever seen this mark?" He indicates the maker's stamp in the steel.
    Stian shakes his head, puzzled. "Not one I know, sir."
    "Odder and odder this becomes." He sits back in his chair, thinks for a few minutes, sighs. At this time of year, it's rare for the guard to have more to do than break up fights between bored townsmen, and that's fine with him. "All right. Send out a few men, see if you can find out where they *actually* came from and exactly where they were today. I'll update His Lordship in the morning, and we'll keep an eye out, in case they have friends out there."
    "Aye," Stian nods. "I'll put Tomek to it, with your leave. He's keen," he adds with the mild dismay of the middle-aged surveying youth. "And he got a good look at them this afternoon."
    "That'll do." * * * Back at the _Distraction_: Hiro vaults to the ground and takes off in pursuit. The light is dying, but whoever it is, they're making enough noise that it's not difficult to tell which way they're running. And it is "they" - there's two of them, running upriver. Probably from the village there. Although the snow makes footing treacherous, he catches up easily enough with the slower of the two. Emmett is too slow to stop Hiro before the nimble kensai is out the hatch and in pursuit of their watchers. "If it runs, chase it," he mutters, considering yelling for Hiro to stop before changing his mind. "Hiro, invite them to come out," he calls after the rapidly vanishing figure "Let's just talk to them!" To Pham, he adds "Giant bug lands in their woods, I think they're going to wonder. We need a way to hide this thing. Crap! It's cold out there." Hiro can see that the two are human and apparently male, dressed heavily for the weather but not obviously armed. He tries calling out, ""Please wait! Do you have need of us?" "AAGGH! Demons!!" They try to run faster. Still behing them and beyond their gaze, Hiro discreetly draws a knife. He then bolts in front of them. Making his way in front of them he stands stock still. The shock of being cut off gives him the moment he needs. "We are not demons! We are men." He cuts his own palm slightly to prove his point. One breaks left and keeps going. The other stops rather than run into Hiro, and yells in half-surprise, half-fear, staring at him in confusion and some panic. "Hiro! Any luck?"
    

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