Vhalar 46 718
Morning
PreviouslyMorning
“Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry,” the merchant said, shaking his head. He gave the Eídisi an apologetic look, then moved away to serve one of the customers checking out his stall. Yana simply moved to the next one.
“Excuse me. Have you seen this woman?”
She raised one of her arms, a sheet of paper clamped between her fingers. The girl tending to the stall took it gingerly, studying it for a couple moments, a frown creasing her brow.
“Perhaps this one might be more familiar?”
The Yludih handed over a second sheet of paper, but it was met with the same reaction as before. Just a furrowed brow and squinting eyes. The girl shook her head, then tapped the woman next to her on the shoulder to get her attention. Yana’s expression soured momentarily.
“Ma, the Knight wants to know if maybe you’ve seen this person,” she interrupted the older woman’s chattering with the customers. Just like her daughter though, the woman couldn’t tell Yana anything. She just stared at the document for a brief while, then shook her head and handed the papers back.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” the woman spoke, “what’s this about?”
Ah, there it was. She’d expected as much. Mongering gossip as well as vegetables.
“She ran away from home,” the Yludih lied smoothly, “we are pretty sure she left wearing a hooded cloak.”
“Her family must be pretty important for you lot to be out and about yourselves, huh.” Gauging the expression on her face, the vegetable dealer believed she had it all figured out. “But I guess they must be worried sick. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of help. Best of luck, though.”
As she turned away, Yana caught the start of a hushed conversation starting up, gossip already beginning to spread under her very nose. While she and her colleagues were doing their best to search quietly, there simply was no way to stop the turning of the rumor mill. If people wanted to talk, they would, no matter if they were paid not to. Or if they were contractually bound to zip it. Since the containment of information was out of the question, they’d decided on misinformation. Perhaps she’d get in trouble for it, but knowing how rumors got out of hand, she could easily dismiss it as the truth being twisted along the way.
Besides, it was better this way. If they wanted a chance to find this criminal, they couldn’t make a fuss before she was in their sights. Just quietly follow the tracks, closing in one step at a time, and pounce when they were close enough. Slow and steady won the race. Haste made waste. All that jazz.
For that reason, Yana had asked one of the artists hired by the Hand to draw up five copies of the criminal’s description, provided by one of the Storm Breaker’s crewmembers more than happy to see the tormentor be chased by the long arm of Justice. It had taken a while to get the initial drawing right, with the artist constantly having to edit and change certain details as they popped back into the sailor’s mind, but eventually the end result had been satisfactory. Another five copies had been made of the drawing, this time hooded, as it was very likely she’d be trying to keep her face hidden.
Ironically, that only made it easier to find her.
While cloaks were common enough, people only ever wore the hoods during rain, snow or hail, more often choosing hats or bonnets when temperatures dropped. Hoods were just one of those articles of clothing that were generally accepted as a cheap way to hide your identity, just like a scarf wrapped around the lower half of the face. No doubt both plays and stories had something to do with it, since almost all thieves and other shady figures wore either one or the other. Sometimes both. It had become visual shorthand for ‘hey, this character is up to no good’. And hoods in particular screamed ‘I am trying to be inconspicuous’, rather than full on criminal, but that didn’t change the fact that it attracted attention.
Speaking of, the woman they were after really wasn’t good at laying low either. The Black Cat Inn had been trashed, the owner harassed and beaten up. Furniture had been broken, pewter mugs dented. According to the innkeeper he had been visited by a fury in a hooded cloak. A fury looking for a certain Francis Higglebottom who supposedly would be staying here. Yet, when he told her he didn’t know who she was talking about, she’d grabbed him by the shirt, spewing threats of violence. When he said there wasn’t a Francis staying here, she had gone to town on his face. He’d shown her the ledgers then, intimidated enough to just want to get her to leave. Sadly, the absence of the name she was looking for, the fact that the poor man had been telling her the truth all along, well, it hadn’t done him much good. The tavern had suffered for it.
More damages to add to the list. More assault, more battery, more vandalism. No arson this time.
In all honesty, it was surprising that Francis Higglebottom wasn’t staying at the Black Cat’s, but on the other hand it really wasn’t. People assumed that the Black Cat’s reputation came from the fact that the Knights didn’t come there, but nothing was less true. The Inn simply promised the anonymity of the customers renting a room. They didn’t tell any Jim or Joe who asked whether or not a certain person was or wasn’t staying there. Even the Knights weren’t exempt from such treatment, unless they had a warrant. Reputation or not, obstruction of justice wasn’t worth it.
It seemed that Francis hadn’t been satisfied with just that, which implied that the man wasn’t entirely pure and innocent either. However, as long as he didn’t start causing trouble as well, there was no real need to go find him. If the Knights couldn’t find him, then the one hunting him wouldn’t either.
Well, should it become necessary to go talk to Mr. Higglebottom, Yana had a couple locations in mind he could be hiding at.
Though that wasn’t a priority at the moment. Finding the woman, however, was.
