LOCATION

Azralen Street(#7239RntJ)

The sounds of the bustling crowds abate somewhat here. It seems a less well-traveled street than it's northern sisters. A few shopfronts are here, but mostly residences of the merchant class and older folk of Umbar. Here can often be found things that are hard to come by in the city, and so it has a less than reputable clientele than the more wealthy of the people. No noble would be caught in this area after nightfall, yet they are often abroad in the light of day. Tis told in the taverns and barracks that strange things go on in this part of the city.

Contents:
* Merchant's establishment(#7611Ven)

Obvious exits:
* North leads to Gimilbatan: At the Fountain.

Merchant's establishment(#7611Ven)

This red sandstone building is one of several in this street used as shops. The ground floor is given over to a shop that ostensibly sells antiques (though some would say bric-a-brac). Those in the know are aware that many items more valuable than those on display, and sometimes obtained by more doubtful means, can be purchased by a word in the right ear. The middle floor is occupied by merchants' offices. And on the top floor treasure of a different kind may be found - that of knowledge. There the scribe Sapthanar resides, spending his days drawing up new documents or copying older ones. The well-informed know that he can produce work in a variety of different hands as required, is expert at removing and replacing seals, and has a keen interest in ciphers. Sapthanar does not advertise his services, but somehow he never seems to lack for business.

The guard at the foot of the stairwell looks you up and down, then moves aside with a nod to let you pass. You trudge up the long flight of stairs.

Sapthanar's Office

A long attic room, lit by a row of wide windows on one side during the day, and several ceiling lanterns at night. The other side of the room is taken up by shelves, on which sheaves of parchment, bottles of inks and paints and sticks of sealing wax are stacked. A bookcase occupies the far wall, with separate sections for leather-bound tomes, scrolls and loose-leaf documents. A table by one window holds a large array of scribing tools - quills, brushes, charcoal and the like. A heavy wooden desk sits at the centre of the room, and this is where Sapthanar himself can most commonly be found, head bent over his latest job.

[Inzilgadin:] A brisk, almost bitter chill blows through the City this day, accentuating the cold feeling citizens have. As Inzilgadin passes through the Fountain Square, he notices several folk with their cloaks drawn close, eyes warily casting this way and that, stressed and uneasy, hurrying on their errands. His own cloak is also clutched close as he veers southward toward a street leading off into dimness. Entering the street, he begins studying the shops, one by one, until he comes to one guarded. Smiling to himself, he steps before the man and murmurs, "The shopkeeper sent me. He said I could get things copied here."

[Sapthanar:] The burly-looking man who blocks the doorway frowns at Inzilgadin, muttering, "He did, did he? Just which shopkeeper was this, then? And things to be copied, you say?" His arms remain folded, but judging by his suspicious look he will not shift unless he is satisfied with Inzilgadin's answer.

[Inzilgadin:] Inzilgadin does not blink at the obstinacy of the man, but simply nods, "Aye, Arszhgan, the winekeeper. He and I have done some business and when I mentioned this little task, he offered Sapthanar's services. That would be you, perhaps?"

[Sapthanar:] "Aye, very well, you may pass," the man replies, stepping out of the way and indicating the stairs.

[Inzilgadin:] Climbing the stairs and pausing at the landing, Inzil looks about him for a moment, checking the vicinity. A few passersby cross at the street, but all are hunched against the cold, with no interest in any business but their own. He notes this grimly for another moment and then turns to study the door. It is featureless, other than being of wood, with nothing to recommend it nor make it memorable. He shrugs and knocks.

[Sapthanar:] The door is pulled open by a tall, dark-haired man; clad in overalls - perhaps he is an assistant of some sort? His right hand rests by his waist, and he says not a word as he regards Inzilgadin steadily.

Behind him, a long attic room can be seen - on this gloomy day, a lighted lamp sits on the desk to provide some illumination. The scribe Saphanar - for it can be no other - is about his work as usual, a lens of glass held to one eye as he peers at a document. At the disturbance he rises to his feet, hastily sweeping a blank sheet of parchment over the article he is working on. He peers at Inzilgadin, frown lines appearing on his brow as he says politely, "Good day to you, master. You have business here? I don't believe you had an appointment?"

[Inzilgadin:] "And the rest of the day to yourself, goodman scribe. I did not manage to arrange an appointment, but came on referral. I have a document or two here that need copying, a fair hand and no questions. Arszhgan said many could do it, but only one could be trusted to be discreet. In his opinion, that person was you. Have you leisure for this task?" The man at the door has not introduced himself and his garb is nondescript, being simply an unadorned cloak over a dark tan vest, dark brown trousers and a pale tunic. He stands easily and straight, indicating nobility masked.

[Sapthanar:] Sapthanar rolls his eyes. "Leisure? And what exactly do you think I do here all day? I am a busy man, and especially so of late." He lets out a long-suffering sigh. There is silence as the scribe's sharp glance flicks over Inzilgadin, as if weighing him up in some way ... and then Sapthanar shrugs. "But very well. I can at least discuss the matter with you," he pauses, notes the clear eyes and unlined face, "young man. Orroth, show the gentleman in - and make sure you close that door tightly. It's a chill day." His assistant, Orroth, takes his left hand from the door-knob just long enough to gesture that Inzilgadin should enter. Sapthanar himself clears some papers off a nearby stool and places it in front of the desk. "Do be seated, master."

[Inzilgadin:] Inzilgadin follows the scribe into his establishment wordlessly, though he does acknowledge the assistant with a slight incline of the head, stepping to one side so the door can be closed as quickly as possible. He glances about the shop, which is well-lit by the row of windows and nods, murmuring somewhat to himself, "Proper lighting, good show, that..." as he moves to the stool. Examining it for a moment, then giving the top a quick swipe, he seats himself and lays several rolled up parchments on the table. "I have little 'leisure' myself, goodman. Indeed I would copy the documents myself, had I the time. Well, gold I have, but time I have not." He gestures negligently to the documents. "You will not be able to interpret what you see there. It is not important that you be able to, of course. Only to repeat the patterns and form you see. How long would it take for your schedule to permit this to be completed?"

[Sapthanar:] Sapthanar reaches for the topmost sheet of parchment, and carefully unrolls it. He spreads the sheet out so the light of the lamp can fall on it, blinks, picks up his eyeglass and bends to examine the document more closely. "I see," he says levelly after a short pause, straightening up and rerolling the parchment. "That is certainly possible. However, unfortunately I am working on one or two prior commissions myself, and I do not disappoint my customers. So I am afraid you would need to wait three days at least, preferably more. Perhaps you will find you have some leisure after all?" He peers at Inzilgadin, then falls silent as he waits for the reply. Meanwhile, Orroth has clearly decided the stranger poses no obvious threat, and is busy with the contraption in one corner - a parchment-pressing device, maybe?

[Inzilgadin:] Inzilgadin pretends to be distracted by Orroth, but notes Sapthanar's change in expression from the corner of his eye. When addressed, he turns fully and nods, "That will do, if it must. Still, tis a bit of a shame. These are part of a larger consignment. Important they are, but one of their mates is more so. Tis an odd code they are written in and this other is written in the same. You would notice such a parchment for me, should you come across it? Finding it would substantially increase the emolument I will pay for this work."

[Sapthanar:] Sapthanar regards Inzilgadin blandly, though perhaps the spark in his eyes indicates that he is aware there may be some hidden motivation behind the man's request. "I guarantee absolute confidentiality for my clients," he tells Inzilgadin with a touch of asperity, "you and all others. So I am afraid I could give you no information about any similar documents, even should I come across them. And as to emolument ... well, let us discuss the terms." He coughs, then swiftly continues, "How much did you say you would provide in the way of renumeration? I'm sure you will understand that I have a business to maintain - and these are expensive times we live in." He shakes his head sadly.

[Inzilgadin:] Inzilgadin smiles faintly at the mention of confidentiality and turns to idly push the documents about the table with a finger as he answers. "I would not have come to you, had I thought otherwise, goodman. The work I have in mind here can wait a few days, but no longer. Perhaps enough coin to buy yourself a new table and shelving?" He gestures without looking at the shelves. "These seem worn. That can be advantageous, if one truly wishes full anonymity. Still, there is no need to let the furniture wear away from overuse." The eyes swivel directly to Sapthanar's. "The payment would double, were this other document to be found. Learning how or with whom you saw it would be of no interest to me. I am only interested in locating and recovering it." He glances toward the door, the gaze slightly slewing toward where the street would be, "And this is no inquiry. If you do have the skills I suspect, then helping you maintain your obscurity would be in my interest. There is no profit in a skilled workman deterred from his work by officious bureaucrats, now, is there?"

[Sapthanar:] "My tools and furnishings are adequate," is Sapthanar's swift reply, though it there is a noticeable glint of cupidity in his eyes, and at the same moment Orroth drops one of his press-blocks on the floor - clearly he has been listening to the conversation. Clearly the price is deemed suitable. However, the scribe continues, "I repeat, that even should I come across this document you so value, I could tell you nothing - about it, its owner or its location. And I do not steal from my clients." The scowl that follows this statement deepens as Sapthanar ponders on Inzilgadin's final words. "Deterred by officious bureaucrats, you say? Well, I would hate to think of any of my clients inconvenienced. It would be a pity if any who had come to visit me, asked for my services, had their reputation damaged in any way, would it not? And it would be a pity if items they considered /of value/" - he stresses the last two words slightly, "fell into the wrong hands, hmm?"

[Inzilgadin:] Inzilgadin is not at all abashed by the scribe's response, even smiling crookedly when he emphasizes values. He withdraws his hand, however, and folds it with his other in his lap. "Of course. This task I set you is itself to be criticized, should bureaucrats learn of it. How shall I find the wherwithal to expose others when I seek the same as they do. Still,..." here he leans forward slightly, the hands coming apart to lie on his thighs, "...you do well to honor ownership. That other document is mine, and if someone had come across it, then I tell you that they have it by foul means and without my permission. Our business relationship could be a long and fruitful one," he continues, leaning back, "but if it is to be, then I would strongly prefer to be able to entrust you with my documents and know they will come back to me, for being mine. This other is also mine. I would not strain your charity in this by further increasing the price. A word to the discreet should suffice."

[Sapthanar:] Sapthanar busies himself with tidying the documents that Inilgadin has disturbed, carefully setting them on the floor where they will be out of the other man's reach. Then he answers carefully, "I return papers to those who gave them to me. But, since this matter concerns you so deeply, I can assure you that I have no similar documents in my custody at present. I hope this information is not ... disappointing." He pauses a moment, then enquires idly, "These documents," - he waves a hand towards the ones Inzilgadin had given him, though the question presumably includes the hypothetical others also," they are of value, you say? I wonder what they contain?"

[Inzilgadin:] Inzilgadin watches Sapthanar arrange his documents and then clearly take possession of them. His lips purse momentarily, his brows coming into a point, but he leans back, resting an elbow on the table and smoothing his features. "So we will leave that other, then. As for these," he gestures to the papers now arranged on the floor, "you may wonder at your leisure as you work with them. I am somewhat disappointed you cannot see your way to help me on the other business, but I should be very disappointed if what is here were to be understood beyond the range I myself select. Of course, curiosity in this might be satisfied, were my curiosity also satisfied. But then, as you say, you have no knowledge in the case and so I must depart unimproved." The tone is so wry as to drain the moisture from sand.

[Sapthanar:] The answer is noted, and Sapthanar's lips twist in a wry smile for a moment, before he replies in turn, "Perhaps at times it is better for curiosity to be left unsatisfied." Then, as he runs an ink-stained hand through his hair, he adds in an entirely different, more abrupt tone, "Now, if you will excuse me, master, I really do have work to attend to. Come back for your copies in three days time - and I will need a name to file the work under. Doubtless you already know mine." The room is silent once more, save for Orroth's slow steps across the floor to collect something from the shelves.

[Inzilgadin:] Inzilgadin pauses for a very long moment, then nods, clearly very unsatisfied. "So must it be, so it shall be. I shall detain you no longer," he says, rising from the stool even as Orroth begins his transit of the room. He glances toward the assistant. "You may put me down as Elenduren. The name is unknown to any, so you could be assured that if someone shows up and your assistant here were the only one present, that no misdelivery could ensue. May your custom, thrive, goodman Sapthanar." he finishes, bowing slightly and moving toward the door.

[Sapthanar:] "Elenduren," Sapthanar repeats, picking up a quill and scrawling the name on a handy scrap of parchment - doubtless it will be filed later. "Very well, your work will be ready in three days, and I can assure you, you will be satisfied with the quality. Orroth, be so kind as to show Master Elenduren out." Sapthanar favours Inzilgadin with a slight smile once more, while the assistant, his errand left unfinished for the moment, strides over to the door and holds it open, giving Inzilgadin a blank, seemingly incurious, nod.

Participants:

INZILGADIN

A tall human, of highly noble birth but on first view of uncertain age. His light blue eyes are clear and a silver overtone makes them bright at all times, even when drawn close in anger. Dark hair frames an unlined face, drawn back into a silver thong thrust through a black leather catch to hang down between his shoulderblades in a single pony-tail. The face is well-marked, with a prominent, though somewhat sharp nose, echoed in a sharp chin. Upon a slim frame, his garb is tan, set off by a black leather belt and finished in black boots, well-shod.

SAPTHANAR

A bird-like creature of a man, small-boned and delicate-looking. His shoulders are slightly hunched from years of sitting at a desk, his brown eyes narrowed from peering at manuscripts. His skin is the colour of the yellowed parchments he so often pores over, legacy of a tan that has long since faded to the merest suggestion, and is cris-crossed by tiny wrinkles. These are most obvious in the crows-feet round his eyes. Those eyes are still bright with intelligence, however, and their gaze continually darts from place to place. His hair is brindled in streaks of brown and grey, and has been neatly trimmed close to the head in a circular fashion. He wears a long robe of dusty brown, its sleeves carefully folded and pinned to keep the cloth free of his lower arms. A ridged scar scrawls its way across the knuckles of his right hand; those who look closely might notice a scribe's callous on his left hand.