Traveling

I sent the information I'd accumulated to the caste leader, to do with as he wished. I'd gone to the tavern three nights in a row in order to speak to him, but there was no sign of his presence, and I didn't have the time to wait any longer.

I'm back with the caravan, and we should be reaching the fairegrounds in a day or so. The actual events begin three days from now. I plan to spoil Lilah while we're there, and then go on to Port Cos, where I plan to stay for awhile. The original plan had been to go on to Schendi, but it can wait. I think Lilah and I are both weary of Ar for now, and the change will do myself, and my cousin, some good. My last stop in Port Cos was brief, but there is a lot to do, especially with the district wars in progress. I had a note from Furius, and I am curious what the man has to say.

On the Move

A certain amount of reconnaisance work had been done when he left the tavern. Going through the streets at this time of evening meant there were fewer about, though the Anbar could never really be called empty by any means. Going to one of the smaller brothels, he touched base with the owner, making a deal regarding a certain free woman that was the companion of the owner's present lover. It wasn't anything of the ordinary, a simple job of drawing the woman into an incriminating situation, fitting her with a collar, and then having her hauled to the brothel in exchange for a few simple facts. It had gone well, and he'd gone home to find his sister in the main room, Smith showing up not long afterward.


Out of hatch number five. Once in daylight again, he turned the crank, then used his knee to roll the rock back over the top. The line of bushes did the rest, and he looked around before stepping over them to go into the streets. A
few moments later, he was in the Square, clad in layers of dull, drab, and dusty brown. Head covered, and mud smeared onto his hands. Going toward the fountain, he sat on the edge, waiting:

Time ticked by. To an onlooker, he was just a man taking a break from toils at some filthy job, and the free woman who came in her expensive robes a few ehn later much above in his station. She stopped to rest as well, dropping her
fan at her feet. Leaning down slowly, he picked it up, saying something to her. Holding still to the device, he looked down at it, the woman flipping her head round as if offended by his jest. He'd a smile breaking on his
countenance, though it was largely hidden from the nose up due to his brown hat:

Handing her back the fan, and given a sound smack on his arm, the smile faded. Mainly because the need for it had come to an end. The free woman reached upward, adjusting the covering over her hair, and while her hands were by her
face, whispered a few swift words. A concealed wink too there, and then she whirled about, slipping back into the crowd on her lofty heels. Successful interaction, he didn't look around to see if they had been noticed. Or if he did,
it was also hidden as he bowed his head down, arms folded:

Once the main flood of mid day persons had passed him by, he smoothly stepped forward from off the ridge of the fountain, mingled back into the crowd. It took no small amount of effort to keep the limp out of his gait, but he
accomplished it until he was around the next corner. Cutting a line down the street, he ducked into one of the more meagre inns, and would remain there for some time:
What went unseen unless one were in the inn...His going toward the back, where a private room was located, and pushing a side panel on the fireplace. A descent made down into the basement, and retrieval of a few notes hidden under
the stairs. From there, he went back into the main room, having his lunch since breakfast had been skipped. He didn't examine the notes in public, but would instead wait until he was either back in the tunnel or at Stylus:


I have been working on the project I agreed upon with the head of the Black Caste, and two nights ago finished. I'd walked to the house, and was almost there when I heard steps behind me. Turning and grabbing the women I saw outlined, it turned out to be the slave, who'd been out running and rounded the corner too quickly. I released her, and had her follow me to place across the street from the Warrior's residence. He exited not long after, and I watched him go. He eats his evening meals in a tavern nearby when his companion is working late at her shop. It gave me time to speak to the slave, though she did some acting so our standing there would not seem out place. When the Warrior returned, I pulled her to her feet, and grabbed her ass. He commented on that fact it was fine, and I agreed, albeit it not out loud since I was also at the time kissing her. There is a ball in her tongue, which of course I have seen many times while she was speaking, but never had in my mouth as well. It's a very curious thing.

Change of Mind

In my last entry I finished by saying that house being quiet is always a problem. I've changed my mind. Aside from one night in the tunnels two nights ago, I have been sleeping exclusively at Stylus, and without the usual round of problematic dreams. I eat alone. I read alone. I write alone. It isn't a problem at all.

If I have a problem, it's with the Black Caste. I believe they think I intend to steal Rio, the Assassin's slave that poses as a white silk. I don't. As I have told her many times, I like my head where it is, and she is just a slave. I don't lose my social standing or my life over women, even beautiful ones.

I had the opportunity at one point to join their ranks, but did not take it because I like not having enforced codes to live by, and I wouldn't lower my caste standing.

Daylight

I've emerged, and I remember now why I have never liked confronting daylight. It's one of the few things I can undermine only so far, before I have to admit defeat. The tunnels were a form of solace, as much as a way to get around the city without being seen, and now I am out of them.

Only a couple of days have past, but much has already happened. The fortune teller came across me at the arena, and using her skills, determined my destiny. Well, at least what my destiny would have been, had I managed to keep to my plan not to make any plans at all that night. It seems her former in-laws are holding her daughter hostage, so I told her to look up Guenther at the Bronze Urt, and to let him know Jacque had sent her. He'll have the child back soon, I'm sure of it. She offered me free readings for the rest of my life, or hers, whichever came first. I was slightly annoyed that everyone always feels I expect payment for whatever kindness I might show. Then again, there was that voice in the back of my head saying I should demand a great deal more than a reading. Instead, I hired her as my cook.

Just last night one of my former pupils found me. She's grown now, and I feel old. I've agreed that when my business is done in Port Cos, I will go with she and a group of friends to Schendi for a visit. I've not been to see Merrick or those of his city in awhile, and it will do me some good I suppose.

I've been keeping an eye out for Ostia, Lilah, and Bonnie, but so far none of them have surfaced. It's not unusual, however, since they all have their own business. Still, Stylus is rather quiet again. That's always a problem.

Deed Done

:After leaving the temporary reprieve of relaxation at the springs behind, he had gone in search again for the second man. Knew where he would be at that time of night, the man was a complete creature of habit. The fellow went into the offices he rented above a paga den, a place where he could make whatever deals he wished, and the Scribe waited down below. Lurking as usual, a shadow among many, and not terribly interesting to look at if one were to pass by.

When the lamplight died out in that room, he finally moved. On stairs, stealth was not his strong suit, but he made it up to the next level and found the man was half drunk anyway. A nice bottle of Arian wine, something the man probably didn't buy for himself, was still on a rickety table that was a makeshift desk. The Scribe pushed the man out of his chair, and the fellow came up, ready to fight. Not a boxer, but with the man already inebriated, the Scribe was able to knock him out with a punch to the jawline. The man's feet moved to one side, and he swayed, then fell down. The Scribe was too busy swearing to notice most of it, until the man hit the floor.

With the man out, an injection was given, just enough to keep him asleep while the Scribe worked. His hands and feet where tied with binding fiber, and those then strung up to a ring by the fireplace. The man's sandals were taken off, one tossed in the fire, and the other forced into his mouth. Clean scalpel this time, the Scribe never used the same equipment more than once, and both daggers-the one from Strophe and the one from Idgie. First, he cut off two fingers, putting them aside. Then, while perhaps not with the precision of a Physician, but he managed to use the scalpel easily enough, and removed the man's toenails by cutting away at the flesh surrounding them. The Scribe was performing the action on the second bound hand by the time the man woke up. Yes, a good degree of blood flowing from his appendages since hands and feet had more vessels and capillaries that many other parts of the anatomy. His eyes bulged, and he wanted to scream, but not much came out due to the shoe stuck between his teeth.

The Scribe, who by this time was annoyed more than anything else, reached up and dealt with the man's eyelids for him. Cutting each one away, and adding them to the growing pile near his own booted foot. Next, the lips. By this time, there was enough blood to be an issue, so the Scribe picked up the bottle of wine and poured it over the man and the pools gathered around him. There was choking sounds from behind the shoe, but the wine doused most of the blood that had not coagulated, and the Scribe handled the clotted matter with a few scraps of cloth laying around the squalid interior. His tools were similarly cleaned, and put away as they should be. Dosing the man again, and packaging the items he had accumulated, the body was pushed down the outside stairs.

Dragged to one of the hatches, which was opened, and the drugged man dropped into a pool of water. He'd drown, but he'd be asleep while it happened, and thus the worst was over. The scalpel was clean, but tossed in after him as well, the daggers remaining with the Scribe on his way back to the school.

Going back down into tunnels, his package with him, the Scribe left it on the table by the sleeping Slade. A short note:

Slade,
The fingers are for Strophe and Idgie. The nails, lips, and eyelids are yours to keep. The deed is done, and I hope you are faring better now. I will be sleeping no doubt until evening. See that the items are given to the Physician and her sister.

Lucian

On the Trail

:The Scribe had received the answers he needed from Markus just previous to the kajirus's demise, made a final check on Slade's condition, then left the slave in charge of the latter. Out by nightfall, he had followed the trail out of the underground tunnels that ran beneath the city, through a garden belonging to one of the Ar's senior officials, and ended up at the man's offices near the Central Square.

Watching from cloistered shadows through the night, the man had finally emerged on the steps right before the break of morning. Losing track of time. It was what Scribes did. Whenever immersed in their craft, in whatever form it took, they were oblivious to its change. Aware only because he finally snapped to at the man's exit of the building, the Scribe noticed the slice of daylight awakening on the horizon, then followed the man back to his home. When he needed to, he could be silent. It was trying, and his muscles tended to protest, but it could be achieved.

Just before the man reached his home gate, the hand went around his mouth, cloth soaked in the capture scent a slaver would use to bring down his prey. Dragged some hundred yards or so, the Scribe pushed him down into the cavernous area beneath, then checked to make sure none were aware of his activities by giving a searching look around him. Dropping then down into the hole, the hatch sealed from inside so there was no way to access it from the outside world, the limp figure continued to be dredged along the cobblestone flooring of the subterranean world.

One of those door like hatches opened next, in Tunnel 646, and the body left strapped in a chair that was bolted to the floor. Small slices had been made in the man's flesh, and the scalpel then tossed down a drain into the abyss lower down. The Scribe made his way out, locking this chamber as well behind him. Climbing up one level, he entered a secondary chamber, and turned the aged crank there to allow a measure of water to enter the room where the unconscious man had been left.

Allowed to spill in long enough to reach the man's waist, the flow was then stopped, and a chute opened by the drawing of a lever. Bints, the carnivorous marsh eels he had come to know in Port Kar, flowed too down into the chamber. From there, the Scribe just watched. The man awakened, and the eels began their feast. Now, he tracked the time, waiting...:

Night Watchman

:Skulking Scribe had gone back down into the tunnel area through another route this time, and while it took longer than before, it did get him to Tunnel 753. Working on the locking mechanism like before, he entered the subterranean chamber, finding that Slade looked drawn and more pale than when he had left. Unconscious, but restless, the man turned a great deal in his sleep over the course of the night. Or, at least tried to do so. When it would come to almost laying on his right side, he'd turn back the other way with a few sounds that summed up he did need to be looked at.

The Scribe has his chronometer with him, and when it told him that the night was only half gone, he added wood to the fire then left the chamber. Through the tunnel system once more, he entered the chambers he used, washing his face at least before setting out to find an old acquaintance. When he emerged again, he was on the opposite side of the city, in an area not known for its medical professionals. And yet, he found the man he'd been looking for, and dragged him down into the tunnel as well with promises of a couple of Cosian's finest wine when the work was done.

The man had been a Physician once, but was relieved from duty when it was discovered he had been convincing poor free women their children died in childbirth, selling the children to richer couples for a nice profit. Not the most moral fellow then, but more than capable, and he saw to Slade while the Scribe went back up to his rooms to bathe and change clothes. He marked the progress of the work on the school as well, then met the male Physician outside the chamber once more. A few ehn later, the man had been dispatched in a way that meant the wine would never need to be paid, and the body disposed of efficiently.The Scribe did not want the man knowing about the existence of these chambers.

Meeting Strophe and Aella as they arrived at the school, he might have looked like he was tired, but he was used to nights with no sleep. No dead giveaway then on how long it had been, and he checked the injured man's face as guards took him off the palanquin to get him in the Scribe's own set of chambers. Getting the makeshift clinic set up, and Markus settled in, took a couple of ahns. The Scribe had already worked at getting more furnishings in the suite of rooms beneath the school, so it looked like any other house, save for the lack of windows. Fireplace blazes kept roaring, and the kitchen well stocked, he only went to move Slade into the area once all was prepared. The man was unsteady on his feet, but the progress was eventually made, and the man installed in a room next door to Markus's. He did not want them both in the same chamber, fever being as it was.

With both men taken care of, the Scribe went to his office in the underground channels, and waited for Strophe and Aella to finish the work at hand. Again, no windows from which to look out. But then, he had never been a day person anyway: