One In The Hand

Damn. A bit longer, and this job might have been a walk in the park.

Quinn stood. Now that the moment had arrived, he admitted to himself that he wasn't entirely prepared for it. It wasn't the environment that unsettled his outward confidence; he'd talked a grieving son into leaving the funeral of his own mother before during the rites, and if he could do that, the Baladuri was confident in his ability to fast talk anyone. His eyes strayed to the young boy, shifting nervously as he awaited his father's reply. No, that was just it. Quinn, and Tamerlin by association, were removing this poor child from what should have been his right and proper home. No matter how bad that home was, no matter how poisonous and corrupting and dangerous it might otherwise prove to be, the fact remained that the two Thieves were taking him from his proper place. Likely by force or deceit. Or both. And though he knew the ends absolutely justified taking Travis away from Geralt and Winowa, still he felt bad about it.

Hell of a time to grow a conscience.

"Geralt? Cousin?" The door to the room had remained only partially opened, young Travis having left it so as he'd entered in hesitant curiosity. Flashing the lad an encouraging smile, Quinn stepped to the door and cast it open wide, arms extended in generous greeting. Before him stood the valet, bearing a look of equal parts bemusement and impatience. His hand was held forward, as if halted in the motion of reaching for the door latch, but he quickly regained his composure. Stepping aside, he gestured to the smooth faced Baladuri with a bow.

"M'lord, Serbin Vumahl of Manor de Vumahl, on the eastern shore of Lake Novae. Master Vumahl, Lord Poswell."

Smiling broadly, Quinn stepped forward, planting his palms upon Poswell's perimeter. He gave the man's shoulders a shake of overly familiar greeting.

"Cousin! Mother never told me we had such good stock in our family!" He paused to laugh, the sound deep and perhaps a bit forced. "How is it our mothers never made occasion to see one another when we were younger? It seems I may have missed a good companion!"
 
The man that greeted "Serbin" was gaunt and sickly, despite his finery. While his clothes were obviously of good make and finely tailored, there was an edge of disgust to him. His tunic was undone, his pants sloppy. His jewelry seemed slightly askew, and there were some stains on his clothing from wayward food or drink. However, beyond the state of his dress, his person seemed even more drab and ill-shod. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, telltale of a man who'd seen the Light Show and had finally stepped away from it, for however long he could stand it. His face was shaven clean, but there were telltale scabbed nicks where he had attempted to do it himself. His hair was perhaps the only well-kept part of him, coiffed, oiled, and heavily perfumed and the color of molding straw.

Geralt stared at the Baladuri for a moment in perplexity, as if just registering that he was there, and Tam bit his lip in apprehension, crouching ever so slightly, as if that would in effect hide him despite his garish get-up. However, Geralt finally seemed to accept this, and he grinned at the Baladuri slowly, like bacon fat spreading over water. He clapped the man on the shoulder and said, "Aye, this is so. Mother was always tightlipped of her kin. Sorry lot they all are. Travis!"

He shouted suddenly for the boy, and the young child ran to his father's side. He clapped a hand on the boy's head.

"What brings you for a visit... cousin?" asked Geralt, his eyes flicking to Tam.

The 'fool' averted his eyes away from the man, trying his best to blend into the background. He hoped that this discourse would not take long.

"Fool -- sit. I said sit down," the man barked suddenly, and Tam scrambled to find a chair. That seemed to calm the man, and Geralt looked up to Quinn.

"Good help, I see. Snaps right to," he stated, laughing a bit.
 
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"It can be so hard to find!" Quinn laughed in reply, giving Tamerlin a surreptitious, apologetic glance over his shoulder. It might all be an act for a noble purpose, but the newest Thief didn't deserve to be spoken to like that. He might receive a good ribbing from the taller man he'd arrived with, but Quinn tried to never shame him. At Geralt's side, Travis flinched at his father's raised tone, as if expecting a blow to follow. It didn't, but the boy still quailed. Quinn threw a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the now seated Tam.

"But Linny here is worth the effort. He plays, if not expressly well, with much enthusiasm, which both I and my children find very enjoyable." His hand reached up, stroking at a beard no longer present. Realizing what he was doing, he dropped his arm, shrugging. "Anyway, word came to my house that my cousin on Mother's side had a son of roughly my own daughter's age. Since I had business in the area, I brought with me a letter of introduction: I couldn't miss out meeting my cousin and my dear young nephew! And maybe to offer a gift!"

Quinn laughed again, looking down to the lad with a wink. From his breast pocket, he pulled a small ring of gold. A bright green emerald was set upon its surface, and it caught the candlelight brilliantly. It was, as was usually the case with the Cult, mostly fake: the band was as impure as anything, being actually only covered in a gold alloy, and the gem was simply polished stained glass. Yet within the low light environment, it would fool every casual inspection, and some focused ones. Dropping to a knee, the Baladuri proffered it.

"Here you are, lad; there's more where that came from!"

Looking down from above them, Geralt's eyes widened hungrily. The phrasing was not lost on him: Serbin had a cousin with a daughter his own son's age, a daughter who would almost certainly inherit some large amount of the apparent fortune her father owned. He must have such wealth, handing out such treasures as though they were trinkets. He stared at the ring, Tamerlin forgotten.
 
"If you don't mind, I'll go ahead and enter--"

"Yes, yes, go do that," Geralt assured, waving the two away without a second thought. "So, Cousin. You've a generous heart. That is good to see in a man."

Tamerlin did his best not to glare at Geralt. Years and years of practice trying to blend into the scenery and not let himself be seen worked in his favor as he sat on his haunches to look little Travis in the eye.

"Why don't you show me your chambers?" Tamerlin asked the boy, "we can see your toys and I can play you a song."

Tam was surprised that the man seemed less than concerned that someone was to walk off with his son, but then again, more often than not the children of the noble class shuffled their youngest onto nursemaids and governors until they were at an age that the noble thought them worthy of receiving a personal education from their parents.

Travis looked less than thrilled at this prospect, however, looking over at a hallway through which no one had come in or gone out of.

"My room is this way," stated Travis, pointing and walking towards the hallway, and Tam glanced back at Quinn in question. Should he go ahead and leave with the boy? He disliked splitting them up, but Geralt seemed intent to speak with his 'cousin' alone.
 
A bemused and vaguely disinterested smile on his face, Quinn watched Tamerlin pass, watchful eyes catching the questioning look the faux Fool gave him. The Baladuri held his poise, but his mind flipped: this was the chance they were waiting for! To separate the boy from his parents enough to spirit him away was of course the end goal, and Geralt's easy dismissal had neatly accomplished that for them. Regrettably, the two Thieves had not made plans about what to do should they split up. It was perhaps a foreseeable issue and should have been accounted for in Quinn's machinations. Yet the thrill of being involved personally had blinded him somewhat, and he'd yet not developed the skill to expect the unexpected. So at Tamerlin's look, unsure for certain what he might be asking through it, Quinn made a blind shot in the dark.

"Ah, Linny! Sing him that one song, Elora's favorite! The Rainbow Bridge to Faerieland or whatever it was called." Quinn grinned, chuckling at a supposed memory. "It always makes me want to travel, and it makes Elora so happy. Mayhaps it will do the same for young Travis!"

With a final nod of his head, he gave a dismissal. When the two had left the room, he looked back to Geralt. There was a hunger in the noble's eyes that was so characteristic of that lot; a desire for gain, for power, for betterment at whatever cost to others. He could not take his eyes from the ring, and even now stared at his unexpected guest expectantly, as if at any moment numerous such rings and finery might begin flowing from the man's clothes.

"Yes," Geralt repeated quietly, "you are a very generous man, Cousin Serbin, to gift such a blessing to naive and ignorant hands. It is fortunate he was not presented more; 'wealth in the hands of the foolish withers like the old man's staff', as the saying goes.

"Yet 'finances properly invested are as yielding as the farmer's field bearing the Maker's blessing'." A smile spread across his face, restrained and measured. And sickeningly amiable. "What business is it you do, that might bring you from...where? I cannot recall."

Quinn felt his stomach drop. If Geralt was asking about his cousin's manner of investment and employ, he would likely ply for details. And that would spell disaster if he was at all any savvy kind of businessman in the field Quinn might list. Suddenly the plan of 'play it by ear' didn't seem so wise.
 
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Down the corridor, Geralt's young son Travis led the way. Tamerlin took careful stock of each window, door, and alcove. They would prove useful if ever they should beat a hasty retreat. As he was taken by the hand further into the bowels of the Poswell manor, the disarray of the house became more apparent, especially where only the servants could see. While the housing itself was stately -- great beams of dark wood, walls of stuccoed brick, floors of hardwood -- the accoutrement therein was lacking, almost barren, as things were sold off to pay back debts to those hands which dealt the Light Show and its diversions. The great tapestries were sparse, the furnishings bare and mean, with little by way of decor. The only things that remained of Poswell Manor's grandiose history were the weapons that lined the walls.

"Have you sisters or brothers, Travis?" Tamerlin asked, a usual question.

"No," Travis stated simply.

Tam frowned a bit. It was odd for a family of good stock, even one in waning fortunes, to have so few progeny. Geralt was by no means an old man, but by his age, there were at the least quite a few children, and a child alone was a rare thing. It was compounded by the fact that the child of the good blood was only ever surrounded by their own brood, or the brood of other nobles, and the Poswells had fallen so far out of the graces of their peers, he could not see them mingling amidst their higher brethren, let alone Travis.

"Are you lonely?" Tam asked as Travis slowed. The boy looked at Tamerlin as if perplexed.

"Lonely?" Travis repeated.

"Do you feel sad because there's no one else to play with?" Tam elaborated.

Travis looked down to his feet and scuffed the dusty floor, no doubt left untended due to far too few hands and far too much space.

"A bit. It's quiet here... I listen to people a lot," Travis said.

Tamerlin bit his lip in thought, and he strummed a bit of a tune.

"Well, how about I play with you a bit?" Tam offered. "You dance, I'll strum."

In the meantime, he looked over his shoulder at the door they'd walked through. Hopefully Quinn was distracting Poswell without a hitch. Tamerlin still needed some time to figure out their exit strategy. At the least, the kid seemed happier. He was wiggling and dancing to Tam's awful playing, and the rare note he could sing.
 
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"My home is on the eastern shore of Lake Novae, as was mentioned in the letter." Quinn's mind raced, stalling as he attempted to fill in gaps he should have long prepared for. "You ought to visit sometime! Vumahl Estates is not expansive, certainly not by Faledrin standards, having only some one hundred and fifty acres, but it is beautiful. The hills rise and fall like the waves of the sea, covered in mile upon mile of green full grass, and the lake itself is smooth as a mirror.

"And bountiful! The lake gives the soil there a distinct fertility, despite the lack of level farming land, and our crops always do well." Ah, of course: wine. Eswayt hadn't been too aggressive in tutoring a young Quinn on the economies of settlements outside Windfeld, nor on the general topography of the country, but through his career he'd picked up through intention and accident bits of pieces, and his front as an innkeeper had given him a bit more insight into such things than he'd have otherwise. "It is, regrettably, not a widely known stock; it wasn't until late in life that Padre planted the vineyard, so I've only of late begun establishing agreements and relationships with buyers."

It was a reasonable story, and Geralt nodded his head. There was indeed a twofold market for wine in the city: the nobility was always eager to experience new and exotic tastes, seeking relief to their hedonistic desires; and sailors were a similarly reliable market, each seeking to spend his wages on the finer things in life whenever their ships made port. The nobleman tilted his head, inquisitive.

"I could perhaps aid you in establishing these connections," he said, maintaining a level business like tone. His intention was plainly obvious: Serbin had seemingly done well for himself even with the meager business he'd done. If Geralt could get himself involved with such a lucrative endeavor... "We should discuss it! Come: your fool is with the boy, which gives us time to plan."

"Oh, I am very grateful, but I do not wish to impose upon your-"

"Nonsense!" Geralt slung a suddenly overly friendly arm around Quinn's shoulders as best he could. At least, he tried to; the height difference made the position awkward at best, so Geralt passed it off with a laugh, giving his guest's shoulder a good natured slap. "We are family, and I'll be damned if I let you do this thing alone."

A broad smile of gratitude hiding a growing concern within him, Quinn allowed himself to be lead from the room and down the hall.
 

"You're an awfully good dancer, Travis! You should go join a troupe somewhere," Tam stated heartily, his fingers sore from pressing down on the strings of the lute. Now he remembered why he'd never picked the instrument back up.

"Really? You think so?" Travis asked, for the first time something like childish hope glinting in his large, blue eyes. Something about that tiny flame kindled something in Tam, a fire he usually kept stoked to warm him in the wake of the frigidity of Windfeld's nobles. Regardless of circumstances, he would do his best to remove this child from the home, come void or villainy. A child had no place around a Light Show or the trouble it brought in its wake.

"Yes, you've got the knack. In fact, if you wanted, I could even introduce you to some friends, have them help you," Tam stated. Travis clapped and jumped up in down.

"Yeah! Yeah, I wanna dance! Mum likes it when I dance, but we don't got the music anymore for it. Then Mum started feelin' sick, so now when I'm bored I..." Travis got a glint in his eye, and he said in a low voice, "... I play in my secret place."

Tam looked dubious. "Secret place?"

Travis nodded and motioned for Tam to follow. Then, with surprisingly alacrity, the child pulled back a panel. Tam's eyes widened as Travis crawled into a hollow between the walls. No doubt, this had once been a sort of secret entrance or getaway for the old inhabitants of the Poswell residence. Tam crouched down to peer at Travis, who had managed to go some distance.

"Shhhh. You wanna see? You can watch people talk, if you're quiet," Travis said in a whisper, and Tamerlin followed the boy. Soon enough, they were back in the room where Quinn was with Geralt, catching the tail end of their conversation.

"...are family, and I'll be damned if I let you do this thing alone."
 
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Geralt lead with a gusto that his frame and slightly emaciated state belied, arm about Quinn's reluctant shoulders. The man was clearly trained in business; as he lead his guests deeper and deeper into the house, he maintained a steady diatribe concerning the investment of finances, the forfeiture of assets of ill-return in favor of better if riskier income, and most often elaborating eloquently upon the many and varied spirits and wines he had tasted and preferred. Quinn did his best to match the man's enthusiasm, though he more found his mind distracted by trying to keep track of where it was they were going. He'd lost track of the turns they'd made, though at least he remembered that they were now on the second floor.

At last they arrived at a stately if aged door, in no more or less worse state than that of the rest of the abode. Geralt lifted the latch and ushered him within.

"Welcome! We may discuss in peace our doings here; none save a trusted servant or two are allowed within this study of mine, and I bring all my closest friends within its warm walls."

It was for such a large house a fairly small room, the intimate space somehow made all the closer by the warmth of the fire set in a brick hearth. Several arm chairs squated about, the black and brown leather worn and cracked from long years of constant use, and beside each one was a ready stand, the perfect size for a small plate and a glass. A table standing perhaps three and one half feet in height stood in one corner, bearing several carafes of various size and shape. Most bore liquids, most certainly liquor, but two contained a shimmering gold substance, appearing to be remarkably fine sand. Beside these two carafes, which were themselves set apart from the others, was a finely polished utensil. Shaped like a spoon, it was more flat surface than bowl, and the silver that comprised its body bore a shine that far outstripped the care with which the rest of the room and indeed the house apparently received. Geralt gestured to an armchair, indicating that Quinn should sit down. The Baladuri obliged, and looked about admiringly.

"I must admit, cousin," he cooed appreciably, eyes taking measured stock of the many tomes and scrolls that filled the shelf lined walls. "Your taste in literature is astonishing. I'll admit; I had not taken you for such a man."
 
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Tamerlin followed Travis through the tiny hallway that connected the rooms within the walls of Poswell manner, his breathing shallow and light as he'd been taught to do in such secret places. Travis watched curiously from a grate as his "uncle" was led away to another room.

"That's Papa's study. It's where he takes his friends and talks to them for a long time. It's really boring, actually," Travis whispered. He motioned instead for Tam to continue on through the walls of the house.

"Where... all does this go, Travis? How big is your secret place?" Tamerlin asked as they ascended a rickety flight of stairs, the grating now and again overlooking Quinn and Geralt in the study. Worryingly, Tam could feel his nose itch as the dust invaded his nostrils, tickling the fine hairs therein. He shook his head as if to dislodge the offending particles, but the urge to sneeze remained.

"All over the house. Sometimes, I come in here to hide from Madam Bova. She's my teacher and she's really mean. Mama says she weren't coddled enough as a child and a frown got stuck to her face that way," Travis confided as he continued down the narrow walk.

Tam stopped however as he saw on the other side -- across from the study -- a woman hurriedly approaching the door to the study. She was a wan woman, wearing the remains of finery in the form of a brocade day dress, in her arms a bundle of something held tight to the chest. Her hair was done in ramshackle form, oily and half-pinned, her eyes red and wide as she pounded on the door.

"Geralt! Geralt, the Dispensers are here. They want to know when we're going to pay them... I don't know how long Aran can hold them there at the door..." the woman pleaded. "Open the door, I need to talk to you. You'd best not be taking it right this minute, either."

Travis suddenly ran back towards Tam and pushed his face to the nearest grate to look down on the woman.

"Mummy," Travis whispered, and Tam knelt down next to him.

"Travis, what's going on? Who're the Dispensers?" Tam asked in hushed tones. Travis looked up at Tamerlin fearfully and shook his head, unwilling or ignorant to say. However, Tamerlin could guess who they were, given the panicked tone of voice and the sudden stricken look on Travis' face. It was apparent these people had been by more than once, with disastrous consequences.
 
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Geralt dismissed Quinn's observation with a wave.

"Save for some books of business and the occasional atlas, most sit where they are, more a decoration to curry favor with the more easily impressionable potential friends and allies to whom I show this room. Indeed," he said, smiling hungrily, "pulling them from the shelves would distract from our true purpose here."

The nobleman slunk to the corner table, almost as if he were stalking it. Carefully he grasped the silver spoon and lifted it from where it lay. Quinn watched, increasingly worried but very curious to what his host meant. With a deftness that spoke of practice, Geralt popped the stopper off one of the carafes holding the sand-like substance and poured a small amount of the stuff onto the ready bowl of the utensil. He opened his mouth, extended his tongue, and shook a bit of the dust onto it. As it met his flesh, it shone, emanating a bright if tiny flash of light for the briefest moment before fading again. Where once it had been the brightest gold, it was now a sickly gray. Yet not all of it; the dust had began to pile upon itself, and it maintained its hue where it didn't touch his tongue. He leveled the spoon, cutting off the flow of sand. His mouth closed, the dust disappearing within, and suddenly his cheeks and jaw began working, apparently moving the dust around his mouth with his tongue. Finally he grinned at Quinn. Geralt's teeth were stained the gray of the disempowered dust, yet even that began to slowly fade as it was absorbed into his skin.

"Ever attended a Light Show, cousin?" His eyelids had pulled back, exposing violently the whites of his eyes, and his pupils had nearly washed out the color of his irises with their increased size. "You must; it is a most rapturous experience."

Quinn stared, blinking in surprise as his mind struggled for a response. The Light Show. Of all the intoxicating substances that poisoned the minds and bodies of the people of Windfeld, Light was said to be the worst. Suddenly Lord Poswell's vaguely emaciated state made sense; he had been taking the drug for some time, comatose in its grasp as his body withered. But what was he to do? Geralt clearly expected him to join in, yet Quinn had no desire to lose the command of his faculties. He blinked again, and a line of sweat trailed its way down his face.

At least the kid got out of here, he thought ruefully.

Suddenly the door rattled, a dulled thud emanating from its surface. A voice, similarly muffled but still distinct enough to be understood, called through. She was distressed, clearly, but for all his connections, Quinn had never heard of the 'Dispensers'. Geralt for his part looked put out at the disturbance.

"Quiet, woman!" His equilibrium seemed to have taken a sudden downturn, for he only just saved himself by sitting in a nearby armchair before his knees buckled. "We are conducting business!"

Yet the pounding continued. Quinn stood up rather hurriedly.

"Here, cousin; I shall see what it is your-" He hesitated, trying to determine which assumption might offend Geralt less should he be wrong. "-wife needs so urgently."

The guess seemed to be right; at any rate, Geralt remained in his chair, slumped. His gaze had taken on a hazy look; he was present no longer. Shrugging to himself, Quinn opened the door, plastering a mildly disinterested expression on his face as he greeted her.

"Geralt is, uh, rather inconvenienced at the moment."

"Gods!" She stamped her foot, looking past the stranger with a mixture of anger and worry. She looked back down the hall, seemingly in the direction from whence she'd come. "He chooses the worst times! Gods!"

She hugged the burden closely, tears finding their way down her cheeks. Quinn cursed in his mind. They'd picked one hell of a night to do this. But no; even she was a noble, hedonistic and uncaring of the masses. Her fate was her own fault. He nearly turned away, intending to make his way free of the house.

And then the bundle in the woman's arms cried.
 
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It was at about this point in time that Tamerlin figured would be best for a getaway. The owners of the house were busy -- the child was in his grasp -- they were in a secret duct that supposedly only the child knew about -- it was the perfect string of events for a kidnapping. Tamerlin had never snatched a child, but he imagined that a better opportunity was not likely to present itself.

And then, as if Fate had looked down to shake its head and laugh, a baby cried in the woman's arms. Tamerlin's eyes shut tight as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Travis... I thought you said you had no sisters or brothers?" he asked quietly, and Travis looked confused.

"No... I have none. Why?"

"That is your mother down there, right? Who is she holding?"

"Well, that's the baby. Mum told me not to tell anyone about it. Mum was gone a long time and came back with it."

Tamerlin bit his lip. Things were quickly deteriorating. They had not one, but two children that needed hoisting out of this den. The child deserved a life better than this, with parents who'd sold everything to feed their proclivity, with debt-collectors and Light Showmen pounding down the door. Tam quickly ushered Travis down the tiny hall between the walls, before eventually finding a place to come out at.

He needed to speak with Quinn and soon. They had to do some coordinating, something, anything.

"Come, Travis. I think play time is over," Tamerlin stated. "I need you to do something for me. Could you go back to your room for me? Where is that?"

Travis quickly trotted down the hall and pointed to a door he recognized as perhaps a nursery. He nodded as Travis went into his room, and the fake jester stalked the halls to a hallway leading to the study. There, the woman stood, distraught, and Tam sucked in a breath.

"Um... madame. Have you an idea of where my liege went? Your son, he was tired, and I took him to the nursery," Tamerlin stated in his most demure voice, lowering his gaze.
 
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Both Quinn and the woman turned at the same moment in response to Tamerlin's interjection. Fear laced the feminine face before it was replaced by confusion. The Baladuri blinked, himself surprised by the sudden appearance, then smiled.

"Linny! You have done well. The boy was tired, eh? Secured him away?" Did they snatch the baby and run? Did they- Gods. Did they take a noblewoman with them to ensure she didn't cause a scene? How the hell were they to separate her from the child. Its cries had maintained their volume; it was likely hungry rather than upset. Quinn's mind raced, considering. Quick words had removed young Travis from Geralt's presence; perhaps they might do the same for the baby here. "You always had such a way with children, and my young cousin here seems upset. Perhaps a quick song might sooth? In a private room, I'm su-"

"No!"

The woman (Winowa Poswell, Quinn now remembered) clutched the bundle yet closer to her breast, as if she sought to push it within her to prevent their separation. Her eyes flashed in wild terror, and Quinn's mind screeched to a halt as it tried to make sense of her reaction. This was not a response a typical noblewoman would make regarding a typical noble child; servants regularly attended to the young ones while the parents conducted the more 'important' business of hedonistic pleasure. If Winowa refused to leave her child with another, then she didn't trust the servants. Which meant she didn't trust the Lord of the house.

Which meant it wasn't his.

Yet the facade had to be maintained. Quinn raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, observing Winowa with some disdain.

"Come, m'lady; Linny is quite good. Your hesitance is insulting to him and therefore to me." The Dispensers. Whatever they were, he didn't want to meet them. This needed to hurry along. He adopted a kind if vaguely patronizing tone. "Lady Poswell, please. You seem distinctly concerned and may I say flustered, and it does your otherwise beautiful features no favors. By my name of Lord Serbin Vumahl of Lake Novae, your child shall be perfectly safe. You and I have something else to discuss. Your debt to the Dispensors, for instance, needs handling, and I can assist you."

It was a gamble; there was no denying that. Quinn couldn't be sure Winowa didn't know what he and Geralt had discussed in secret, nor could he be sure that she would recognize that he should have no knowledge of the Dispensors. More so, perhaps, was the gamble that her preservation instincts would kick in enough to surrender the baby to discuss saving it. He had a plan, sort of, but it was dependent on such a volatile foundation. Her answer would tell whether it would stabilize.
 


Tamerlin watched Lady Poswell's face with bated breath. The woman's eyes flickered between her husband, the newcomer and supposed cousin-in-law, and the midgetish fool he had brought along. Tam licked his lips, wondering if he would have to intervene and speak on behalf of Travis, but the Lady finally seemed to crumble, her shoulders falling and face contorting to tears.

"Please. Please, do, I-I-I do not know how much longer we can keep them at bay like this," Lady Poswell stated, her words nearly out of control as she tried to hold herself together.

Tamerlin had only ever heard of the Dispensors -- a ring of Light Show peddlers known as much for their brutal methods of procuring payment as they were for the purity of their stock. He had never personally run into such a group, nor had he ever done a job against or for them. There was always a first time for everything, of course, but how was Quinn to talk his way out of this particular gamble?

Not to mention, was he seriously about to have this woman give him a baby and he would have to somehow squirrel both kids out while Quinnis did his silver-tongue routine on a Lighted noble and his distraught wife with drugmen at their door? This had not been a part of the plan, not at all, and Tamerlin was quickly growing displeased with the lack of a plan. He was a man who preferred fastidious and rigorous courses of action, not this willynilly by-the-seat-of-your-pants method of operation.

But what was he to do? This was the mess they were in.

"I assure you, the child will be in safe hands," Tamerlin stated, noting the irony in the statement as he approached Lady Winowa. However, over her shoulder he could see that the butler was backing away from someone with both hands up, and he quickly suppressed a grimace as the lady deposited the child into his arms.
 
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This was taking too long.

The pleasant demeanor that had hid Quinn's rising panic vanished from his face, and cold calculation replaced it. Diplomacy and negotiation had gotten them far, but they were out of time. Winowa was at least beginning to capitulate. It would have to do.

Quinn spun to face Tam, grabbing a fistful of shirt, fear giving unintentional force to his grip that the charade didn't exactly require.

"Go," he hissed, shoving Tam lightly backwards the way he'd come. Hopefully his comrade wouldn't take the gesture personally. "Take them to the beginning; you ought to be safe there until I or others can join you."

He hated being vague. The beginning. What nonsense. Absentmindedly Quinn prayed that Tam understood that he meant the hideout where they'd gotten their gear. It should be safe enough. But he couldn't wait to see whether Tam ran off, nor could he spare the time to clarify. Indeed, though he wouldn't purposefully endanger the woman's life if he could help it, Winowa was still a noblewoman taken to Light use. The Dispensers' presence tonight was merely a consequence of her expensive habit.

Without a thought, Quinn darted back into Geralt's study, missing being witness to a blade point blossoming from the butler's back in a splash of red. The butler gasped, seeking breath that his pierced lungs could no longer draw, and fell to the ground twitching. Geralt still sat comatose in his chair, face enraptured by the all encompassing Light Show he now drifted in. Quinn ran to the table where the carafe bearing the golden sand sat, and hefting it in his hands, he ran back into the hallway.

It was somehow far heavier than it looked, though it was unclear whether the weight came from the pitcher or from its contents. As he cleared the doorway, he caught sight of the butler's corpse lying sprawled across the wooden floor. A figure stood on its near side, apparently having just stepped over it. A curved sword was in the figure's hand, and a robe of dark violet covered most of his frame, its fringe ending at the knees. It was otherwise plain. Yet the face was obscured. A shifting blackness seemed to hide it, shading it from any piercing eye. Beside Quinn, Winowa blanched at the sight. Clearly, she knew far better than either Thief who this figure was.

Quinn didn't give a rat's ass.

"Seems like this is pretty expensive shit!" He raised his voice as loudly as he could, summoning every grain of the arrogant, spiteful little twat he'd been when he was a boy training under Eswayt. "Here! Take it back!"

With a grunt, the Baladuri lobbed the glass carafe in the figure's direction with all his strength. Then, without waiting to see how his action was received, he took hold of Winowa's arm and pulled, sprinting down the hallway in the opposite direction, hoping to the gods that Tam had managed to get the children out. Winowa glanced back as she was towed, torn between fear of the Dispensers and addiction to the Light.
 
To Tamerlin's credit, the man was already geared to run away the moment he'd caught sight of the butler. His eyes were about the size of dinner platters by the time Quinn had gripped his shirt. At his insistence, Tam managed to stammer out a quick, "W-w-way ahead of you."

With a stumbling run, holding a child in his arms which began to squawl immediately as he began a loping escape, he scrambled down the hall with the babe pressed tightly against his shirt. Frantically, he mentally retraced his steps towards Travis's room -- he couldn't leave the boy, not when he was their main target. Skidding around a corner and barreling into the room, Tamerlin glanced around the child's nursery, only to find that there was no one there. With a barely suppressed curse, Tam in a panic began pulling back toys, bric-a-brac, and furniture in his search for the young Poswell.

"Travis! Travis?" Tam called out in a half-whisper, half-hiss.

"...Lenny?"

Tam felt relief, hearing Travis's voice, and he looked for the source. Struck by a piece of memory, he looked up to a large vent covered by an ornate grate.

"Travis!" Tam ran up to the grate, where he could see the boy's eyes. "What are you doing up there?"

"There was a loud noise and I heard Markwell shouting something. I got scared..."

Realizing he didn't have the time to go into the secret space to get Travis out, Tam said, "Travis, I need you to listen. You must follow me. Can you get out?"

Travis, with a worried expression, shook his head. "I have to go down to the secret door --"

"-- near the study," Tam finished in a terrified huff. "Never mind. You must follow me as far as you can, Travis, until you can get out to a different door. We have to get out of here."

"Mum said not to go with strangers."

"We're not strangers, Travis, no... we know each other right?" asked Tam, trying to keep out the panic in his voice. The Dispensers could be on his trail right now and he'd never know...

Travis thought and then nodded. "Okay. Where are we going?"

Tam looked out the door briefly, one way, then the other, but back towards the study he could see a man in a purple robe, face swirling in darkness. Definitely not that way. Tam stated, "Go down the hall away from your father's study. Come, we must go quickly!"

With that, Tam tried to lead the boy quickly through the walls, turning the hall as quietly as he could manage -- and to his surprise nearly tripping into Quinn pulling along Lady Poswell.

"Quinn! Where the hell is the exit to this place?!" Tam asked. "Where's the Dispenser?"
 
It was the weightlessness that he enjoyed the best. Yes, that was it. You felt like you drifted toward the source. The source of ... whatever. Life? The gods? It didn't matter. All that mattered was the connection that the weightlessness brought. The shining around him was nice. Entertaining. Enrapturing. But not fulfilling. When he floated, he was a god. Untouchable. Unburdened by ... something. The constant illumination made it hard to recall. Responsibility? To a wife? A son? Family? Who cared. He floated, utterly Separate. Utterly divine. Gifted. Free.

Geralt Poswell had remained unmoved for the entirety of his wife's and his "cousin's" interaction. Even the removal and destruction of the precious golden powder brought little from him but a blink conveniently timed. He merely wore a stupid enraptured smile on his face, dead to the world.

So it was the figure with the shadowed face found him. Light powder lay strewn about the hallway, unsalvageable, and his boots tracked through it without a thought for the immeasurable investment it represented. For it was a serious investment indeed: beyond the simple ingredients of the stuff, most of which could not be grown or manufactured in Faledrin, the creation of it was exceedingly difficult and dangerous, as was the act of smuggling it, and such great risks demanded great reward.

Or great consequence. Poswell had been paying in increasingly small denominations. The Dispensers should have seen it coming. The Sellers had been too kind, too unobservant. They would be punished in their own time. But for now, Poswell. The curved sword still hung at his side, held in a practiced grip, and the butler's lifeblood still dripped from its point. The swirl of shadow that was the Dispenser's face seemed to stare passively at Geralt, assessing. There was little enough in the way of valuables in the house to cover the man's debt, and taking his life would not cover costs of operation. Yet it would still make a point to those to whom it needed to be made. The shadow faced man stepped forward to do the deed only to stop. He sniffed, the scoffed. The acrid smell of burning dust filled the room, spreading from the hallway. From the study's door, a fellow Dispenser called inside, curiously emotionless.

"Fire to cover escape."

The shadow faced man nodded in affirmation. The blade raised, and with little effort pierced Geralt's heart.

"Follow," his twisted voice responded, as equally as removed as his companion, who nodded and left the doorway. They were here to send a message, and with surviving members of the Poswell family, it was an incomplete message.

~~~~~

"Quinn! Where the hell is the exit to this place?! Where's the Dispenser?"

"Haven't a damn clue!"

The Baladuri's reply was curt, panicked. He'd pulled up hard as he'd reencountered Tamerlin, and Winowa had in turn nearly impacted him as well. A smoky smell clung to them both, and the woman had a vaguely frightened look about her. She kept throwing Quinn terrified glances. He hated using threats, but this was a uniquely awful situation, and they needed some way to slow their pursuers. Knowledge of the house was lacking, and even had he known, Quinn doubted anything of note would have been found to use against the Dispensers. Setting a fire seemed the best way. Winowa, concerned for her still comatose husband in spite of her nagging before, hadn't been willing to aid in this. Quinn had needed to be creatively persuasive. As it was, the fire now spread down the halls from the solar where they'd first met Geralt, heading in both directions from the fireplace there toward predator and prey. And they needed a way out.

"Where's the boy?" Travis was the important one. He was the goal of the whole endeavor. To be fair, the whole point was moot now: with the appearance of the Dispensers, Geralt was likely dead. If not, the fire would certainly take him. But still, Quinn didn't want an innocent to suffer such a terrible death, and few were more innocent than a child. "I can vaguely recall the way out, but we need him with us!"
 
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Tamerlin stopped dead, like a deer hearing the sudden crack of a twig. His eyes flickered to the walls, licking his lips, and he stated, "In there."

The smell of smoke met his nostrils, and he realized that their time was, indeed, quickly waning. The sand in the hourglass was rushing down as gravity and time took their relentless toll. They had to get moving, but could they with Travis still stuck in the secret passages? Was there another exit for the boy to crawl out of? Tamerlin couldn't very well break the thick stones that made up the walls to get to him. Perhaps those would shield him from the fire.

"There is a secret passage within the walls, and there are grates, but there are not many exits or entrances--"

"The escapes," Winowa breathed. "Geralt took me in there as a youth, to show me."

"Mum?"

A small, scared voice came through a grate down the hallway, and Tam ran over to it, an eye on the hall way for either flames or foes. Winowa dashed over as well, both of them kneeling next to it.

"Travis! Is there another way out? Do you remember?" Tam asked, a note of panic beginning to creep into his voice. They should never have come in without a blueprint. He always did his research before doing a job, and it had never led him wrong. He could choke their organizer for giving them this job under so close a time frame, but that said, perhaps the children would have been given up for naught by now given the fact the Dispensers were here...

"I-I think so. There's one what leads outside, but you can't follow me that way," Travis stammered. "Please don't leave me alone! I don't wanna go alone!"

Tamerlin's heartstrings plucked, but the fact there wasn't time to get him out.

"Travis, you might have to go on your own, boy," Tam said, a tremulous shake in his voice. It was hot in his get-up, and it would only get hotter. "Go out the secret way and run, run far away. I will find you, okay? Find a dirty child somewhere and ask for Mr. Tim, and they will lead you back to me."

"Al....Alright," Travis said, and with that his feet pitter-pattered off.

"Oh gods, oh gods," Winowa moaned as she pressed her face to the wall, behind her the smoke coming in thick. Tam turned her with a single hand, the other arm wrapped around her child, and asked with far less patience, "Tell us an exit and now."

++++++​

The men with shadows for faces walked through the house with heavy steps, breaking down doors methodically. Whatever valuables there were to be had, they took if they could fit into a pocket to recoup the losses the Poswell estate had incurred, though they were a pittance compared to the debt owed. One of the men in dark raiment turned the corner to see two men and a woman standing thirty feet away...
 
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Positioned as they were within the hallway, with Quinn staring ahead plying his memory desperately for the path to the front door and Tamerlin facing the same direction as he issued an uncharacteristic command, Winowa was granted a full view of their pursuer. The ready flow of tears never stopped; indeed, they increased in intensity. For where she had thought only of the safety of her eldest, now it seemed she thought of her own.

“Please no!” Despair laced her words, and giving little care for Tam, she shoved him aside, stumbled to her feet, and ran toward the Dispenser. It was a futile effort. Yes; she could see that now. The Dispensers would hunt her down no matter where she went. They would make an example of her. Make an example of her. No. No no no no no. It wasn’t worth it. Nothing was worth it. Collapsing at the Dispenser’s feet, she cried out through shuddering sobs. “No! Let us be! Let me be! I’ll- I’ll give them to you! You can have the men! They don’t know the way out; they’re yours for the taking! Just leave me and my children aside!”

The man’s head tilted, as if he was looking down to examine her. His expression was inscrutable, as was the silence that followed. At the sound of her shout, Quinn had spun around, hand seeking his now missing dagger fruitlessly. He cursed and stepping forward, took Tam by the arm.

“Forget the woman! Run!”

The Dispenser only observed Winowa laying prostrate, and he said nothing. Her cries, nearly hysterical, finally caused her body to wrack and twist.

“My- my children, then! T-t-take them! Have mercy on me, a-a-and I will do whate-e-ever you want! Please don’t take meeeee!”

A second Dispenser seemed to appear behind the first, and then a third.

“The rooms are clear,” the second stated mechanically.

“The Boy is in the walls,” the third observed, as a finger lifted to gesture to the point at which Winowa had been pleading with Travis. “We shall make patrol without.”

The third turned and left; the second remained. The first had made no motion; he continued to watch the Poswell widow, as if in contemplation about what to do. The curved blade in his hand still dropped with the blood of her husband.
 
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Tamerlin backpedaled as Winowa shoved him, doing his best to keep his balance as the woman careened towards a series of shadow-faced men, the Dispensers closing in to surround Winowa as she pleaded. Tam watched in something like frozen horror as she first threw -- not only them -- but her own children under the cart in a bid to save herself. Distantly, he heard Quinn telling him to run, and there was a brief moment where a choice was presented before him.

He could either endanger all of them to do help Winowa, or he could bail with Quinn and draw the attention of the other Dispensers. It did not take him long to realize his choice.

"Forget this," he spat, and he ran with Quinn instead, the child squawling in his arms at his jostling. Bounding down the halls on his short legs, he steered Quinn towards a servant's passage.

"There! Servants' quarters are small, access to outside unseen!" Tam said, old habits coming back. "We can bottle neck them in. Behind me, please!"

He threw open the door and ran into the narrow passage ahead of Quinn.
 
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