Guilds, Children, and White Eyes (City of Splendors #4)

Our first night in our tavern was not ideal. We all slept poorly. Noises woke us up several times, but we could never find the source of the disturbance. We roused ourselves with a notable lack of tranquility.
 
Abruptly, the air went cold and the cellar trap door got *mysteriously* stuck. Flynn had to help Pete open it for him to emerge from the cellar, and oh what an entrance he made! Pete is a changed man, Zloton, in more ways than one. There...is this power about him that was not there before, and no, it was more than just a feeling from poor sensitive me.
 
Pete had *eyes*. They were milky white and did not appear to do anything, but they were *there*, and I swear upon my grandmother’s bones that they had not been there before. Even Ristrien was like, “are we going to talk about this new Pete?” I have always known he had magic. But it felt different. *More*. I mean, he cast something that allowed him to detect the ghost! He said there was something undead upstairs, localized and moving. I mean, isn't that...a priest thing?
 
We perhaps needed a priest. We weren’t sure what the proper procedure for dealing with ghostly tenants was. Apparently, a priest of Kelemvor or doom guide as they are also known would know the most, but we’d need a connection in the City Watch, so that we could look through logs to find one in Waterdeep. A ridiculous plan, but we are growing restless. As Flynn said, “I need to sleep through the night.”
 
Pete was more wry. “I’ve heard you don't do much sleeping at night.”
 
Flynn smiled, protesting that he did “intermittently.”
 
The Guilds showed up to give us a quote. Carpenters examined the roof, Chimney sweeps checked the fireplace and so on. Final flat fee, taking all the damages together?
 
1350 dragons.
 
This of course does not include any furniture or enhancements we want to make like Nettie’s revolving stage. Or the price of food and upkeep. We have almost seven hundred in silver bars, so we need to double our liquid assets, and we have to do it fast.
 
It was North Ward’s afternoon rush hour when we opened the door to the street. Servants and workers rushing home. That was not what took up our notice today though.
 
I wasn't the one who heard them first, but as we were opening our front door, there was a hissed argument. “No you go in. No you go in.”
 
Three young kids were daring each other to grow closer to our house, but they scattered when we opened the door, a lanky girl and a fat Turmish boy ran one way, a red tiefling accidentally ran the other way. Nettie exclaimed, “What are you doing?”
 
I heard Ristrien mutter “and stay out,” but she must have immediately changed her mind because she ran after the fat Turmish boy, crying out in her best librarian voice, “Stop. No Running!” and Zloton, when Ristrien uses that tone, and that volume, you better bloody stop.
 
The Turmish kid stopped and so we caught up to him. His name is Janks. He wore a threadbare cloak, and some sort of stick as a makeshift weapon. He had a stuffed animal in his pocket, but I could not make out whether it was in the likeness of an owl, bear or owlbear.
 
The lanky tall girl had slowed, but not stopped. When she made to run further, Pete cast and then immediately dispelled a skeletal rat hand right in front of her, yelling “Begone, foul spirit!”
 
I have to appreciate his sense of humor. The girl was less amused, skidding to a stop in a comical fashion. She looked back at Janks, and he gave her some sort of hand signal, which convinced her to warily approach.
 
Her name is Nat. Unlike her companion, she carried a wooden sword. A more notable fact about her was her hearing, or lack thereof. She was deaf, communicating with Janks through this hand sign language they may very well have invented themselves. Hatchlings are resourceful, after all. I would say they look three years old, but human children age slower than ours, so it is difficult to tell.
 
Alright, I just asked Ristrien and she said that a dragonborn three is equivalent to a nine or ten. So, what I mean to say is that the kids look nine to ten years old.
 
We gave them each one shard to watch the house, one as an advance, and one when they reported. They held them with awe. They probably do not see shards lawfully very often. We did insist that the companion of theirs that ran in the opposite direction get his share as well.
 
“You mean Squiddly," Janks clarified. He asked Pete many questions. "Are you a wizard? Are you blind?”
 
Pete's reply was something like: "I see through the will of Lord Ratikins. The Baron here is Emissary of rats, a Demigod, but Lord Ratikins is lord of vermin brethren and defender against Feline overlords." He showed off the Baron expounding on the virtues of rats.
 
"You want to know how I lost my eyes?" he asked them and then told them a story utterly different than the other versions he has regaled in my presence. The conversation turned to the ghost. Pete told the children not to worry. "I control the spirits," he said.
 
"I find that doubtful," was Ristrien's dry response.
 
Pete summoned the rat claw thing again and told her to "talk to the hand."
 
Janks saw Ristrien's purple cloak and white hand brooch. He asked yet again, "are you a wizard?
 
"No," she said bluntly, clearing that up for me.
 
"How do you do it then?" was naturally his next question.
 
Her reply: "You know." Does a hand gesture. "Pshoo." Yes, that was actually the sound effect she used as an explanation, and yes, I struggled to restrain my laughter. Ristrien also told him. "If you get in trouble, we probably can't help you, but ask for Ristrien.”
 
Nat was the stoic, distrustful kind, but Nettie was the only one who could shine through the ice. First, she told her that she liked that her name was Nat, because her name was Nettie, and they sounded similar. That prompted the girl's first smile in our conversation. She was less impressed when Nettie conjured sparkly butterflies out of Janks’ stick, and let him think he had done it. Janks was delighted, and Nettie, being the thoughtful woman she was, didn't let Nat be left out. Nettie gave her a mechanical butterfly music box. She could not hear the music of course, but she could feel the vibrations. Nat seems like the type of be be wary of gifts, but something in Nettie's face must exude the depth of her sincerity for Nat responded with sincerity in turn.
 
She unsheathed her wooden sword and did a flourish as she bowed. She signed "Thank you very much "
 
Nettie learned from Janks how to sign your welcome back.
 
They eventually left us. I really liked them. I should stop saying that like that's insightful information. I like practically everyone. It's hardly a distinguishing feature.
 
We decided to split up. Pete and Flynn went off to find Volo to see if he had anymore jobs for us to help us pay for the expenses he incurred on us. Ristrien, Nettie, and I decided to pursue inquiry into our separate problem: the ghost.
 
We went to *Dove’s Cry*, the local Broadsheet office and tried to get a peek at their records for information on Leaf’s suicide. But all the guilds trampling through our tavern had taken most of the day and by the time we arrived, they were about to close. The Halfling clerk sorting paper behind the counter said that for 5 shards, he could get one of their employees to stay over and find it. Or we could come tomorrow and for 2 shards, do it ourselves. Ristrien, not wanting to pay someone for something she could easily do herself, made the consecutive decision that we were not paying the 5 shards, and we left.
 
I don’t really have much to say about that excursion, except that when the clerk was getting vague about the fee for looking through their records, Ristrien ended up saying the phrase and I quote: “so it behooves you to give us a rate.” I don’t really have anything witty to say about that; I just thought the way she said it was hilarious.
 
We decided to meet up with Flynn and Pete at the Yawning Portal, since Nettie said she had something she had to check there. We caught a coach and while riding it, that paper bird we found in the Zentarim warehouse flew right into my lap.
 
I should explain that by musing on its transmutation spell’s properties overnight, I discovered at least some of the Paper Bird’s properties. Basically, it’s a form of communication. You unfold it, write a fifty word or less message, say the name of the recipient, and then it folds into a bird and flies to the specified person. It can only be read by the specified person. If you write a new message, the old one gets overwritten. Curious of what may have been the message before it came into our possession, I didn’t want to overwrite it.
 
Pete clearly had other plans. Perhaps he wanted to test if it worked or not. Well, it worked. I have *no* idea what he was trying to write, but it technically worked. Actually, going by the illegible shakiness of the handwriting, the rodent print at the end, the smell of rat piss, and the simple truth that Pete can’t read or write to begin with, I assume that the Baron tried to write what he dictated for him, a literal rat scratch if you will...and now I can’t get the image of a rat trying to hold a quill out of my head. Oh, how I wish I could have seen it!
 
Anyway, we got to the Yawning Portal and lo and behold: Volo and Renear were there! They were hard to notice, since Pete took everyone’s attention singing shanties with a rowdy crowd. Naturally Nettie immediately began to direct it, wrangling the harmony into some form of order through sheer force of character and telling certain people to sing louder and others to quiet down. The amazing part is she does it so charmingly, somehow no one gets offended.
 
When there was a lull in this impromptu choir practice, Nettie cheerfully reported all our information on the ghost to Volo. In the meantime, Flynn brought me up to speed.
 
Like us, they came to the Yawning Portal by coach. He was the one to flagged it down, as no self respecting coach would let in Pete without the incentive of Flynn’s family sigil on his cloak. Apparently, Pete used that opportunity to give nibs to beggars he knew along the street. You know, I have a lot of respect for Pete’s intrinsic generosity. Many would be far more stingy after his ordeal.
 
Take notes, Zloton.
 
He does, however, seem to expect that generosity in other people. When they joined Volo and Renear’s table he apparently ordered...a lot of quail with the assumption they’d pay for it. Lucky for him, Maloon Wardragon, some tall gruff northern axe wielding mercenary that’s worked for the Manthar a couple of times joined the table and proceeded to order more food than even *Pete* knew what to do with. We actually had leftovers. Do you know how rare it is to have leftovers when Pete is within twenty feet of you?
 
Anyway, time to talk about the important information they wrung out of Volo. Regarding the history of the house, the first owner was 67 years ago: Jaharna, a half elf mage of the Order of Mages and Protectors and a friend of our neighbor: Tobias. She’s still alive, but she’s reclusive so no one knows where. Apparently at the mention of her being "reclusive" Pete exclaimed "Just like me!”
 
I only tell you in the hopes that it entertained you as much as it entertained the waitress that Flynn says was passing by. Flynn always notices the waitress.
 
Pete moved on, asking him what we sought Volo out to ask, “do you know anymore rich folk like this fine gentlemen,” he pointed to Renaer, ‘who need saving?" Volo did not, however Renaer was quick to recommend a friend of his: "Mirt the moneylender.” He assured that he would get him to come by our manor tomorrow to discuss.
 
You can probably tell I’m wincing just writing the word “moneylender.” I don’t like the idea of involving myself in any sort of loan again. My last experience, as you know, was not...ideal. Don’t bristle. I do not mean to insult you. You were undoubtedly the most pleasant part of that ordeal. I mean, technically. You were also the worst.
 
I advised against getting a loan from this “Mirt.” I pointed out that if the tavern for whatever reason gets trampled by devils, we would be unable to pay him and might have to resort to desperate acts to settle the debt. Pete said that was an oddly specific scenario. I feel like that’s irrelevant. Specific does not mean implausible. In any case, Renear assured that this Mirt had more money than he knew what to do with and often liked being paid back in services and not coin. That intrigues me enough to admit it's worth at least listening to him.
 
We went home. It’s weird calling it that. We hadn’t been there long before there was a knock on our kitchen door. It was the kids, all three of them this time. Squiddly the red tiefling was proud that he was “too fast” for us. He carried a makeshift bow, similar to the weapons of his companions.
 
They knocked on our door of course, but clearly what really happened was one of them ran up to knock and then ran away because they were 15 feet from the door when we opened it. We got them to come up to the door, but nothing could convince to enter the threshold.
 
"Why do you live in a Haunted house?" one of them—I think it was Squiddly—asked.
 
“Sport,” was Flynn’s natural reply. He went on to say that we planned to deal with the ghost, whether that meant “remove, tame, inlist, etc.” it didn’t matter.
 
They had no information for us, but we gave them their shards anyway. We also gave them the leftover quail (that was how we tempted them to door in the first place). They ate it all with gusto and gratitude. I think they were delightful company. Pete showed off a thunder fart; our guests were very amused, and everyone was happy. We invited them to come back.
 
When the kids left, we decided to stakeout in the tavern like we did the night before. I don’t know how the spell reacts with ghosts, but I put an alarm on all the doors and stairs as Pete was telling Nettie, and I quote: “I get hot and throw up; you want to sleep down here with me?”
 
Her response was a firm “no.”
 
I really should get some sleep. We decided on a watch order and my turn will be in a couple of hours. If you do not visit, I’ll write tomorrow.