Unity 3, 6105

Piper has been continuing his work with the Zerda mapmaker for the last several days, and he's noticed one pattern to Jojo's behavior. When something happens that frightens him, the mapsmith avoids the location where it happened. This, coupled with the fact that the Zerda frightens easily, has led to a rather piecemeal approach to mapping the sewers. Still, if Jojo plans to do the whole system, presumably it doesn't much matter what order he does it in.

At the moment, however, Piper's employer has released his services for the day, since the Zerda needs to draft the progress from their day's work. It's still afternoon, but before the Gallah does anything else with the day, he's obliged to take a bath – or test the stomachs of every person unfortunate enough to encounter him in his present state.

The Gallah roughly scrubs at some sludge that has threatened to stain the fur on his left foot with a rough washcloth and a bar of soap. Considering a great deal of his fur is white, he enjoys every chance he can get to keep it tidy.

Though the washroom is relatively secluded from the front room of the inn, indistinct voices are audible still audible coming from it, even with the buffer of the door and the mostly-empty common room between him and it. As he bathes, the noise level grows. It sounds like some patron is stomping around, shouting. The Gallah catches a few phrases – "Where is he?!" and "Don't lie!"

Piper perks an ear at the noise, still a little on edge after the gang attack. He sneezes some soap from his nostrils and leans out of the tub, listening intently.

At least it doesn't sound like there's a mob out there – more like one person making a fuss. He can just make out the rumble of the innkeeper's deep voice, though the Rath'ani isn't shouting so he can't tell what he's saying. The stranger's reply, however, is several decibels louder, and almost piercing. "That Gallah! The one who claims – " The next few words are muffled, but the last one comes out clearly, " – pipes!"

The Gallah's tail sloshes through the water of the bathtub. He hastily rinses off the remaining bits of the soap and fumbles for his towel to get dried off just in case someone decides to go crashing through into the washroom. As he towels off, he sniffs at the floor to see if he can pick up who the louder voice belongs to outside.

There's a crash of a door slamming open – from the sounds of it, the one between the main and common rooms. Booted feet stomp forward, then abruptly halt. "Take your hands from me, sirrah!" the stranger's voice demands. The voice is high-pitched, and Piper would guess it belongs to a woman, especially based on the waft of Gallisian perfume seeping beneath the door.

Not wanting to pop out of the washroom in the fur, the dog dresses himself as quickly as he can. This results in his fur not laying quite right and his clothing sticking to him. He leans against the closed door and listens as he deals with his pants.

The innkeeper, Durog, is saying, "This is my inn. You won't be disturbing my guests."

"I will be disturbing just one of them, sirrah!" the irate newcomer says. Piper can hear some minor scuffing of boots against the floor. "Unhand me!" By now the Gallah's managed to get into his pants.

Piper chews on his lip. A Gallisian shouldn't be treated so harshly, especially not a lady. He swallows the lump in his throat and steps out of the washroom, water dripping in a neat little trail behind him from his wet tailtip. "Un moment, Messieurs! I am a bit soggy, but disturbable."

The tableau that meets Piper's eyes is of the large, heavily-built innkeeper with one hand around the bicep of a lean Saluki, trying to pry loose Durog's grip with one slender-fingered hand. At Piper's entrance, the Saluki's head spins about to look at him. "You!"

The Saluki is dressed in what Piper recalls as the height of Gallisian fashion at the time he left, and that, more than anything else, tips piper off after a moment to the fact that, despite the perfume and feminine features, this must be a male Gallee – for the man isn't wearing a dress. Gold, feathery-furred ears have been powdered almost to white, along with the short fur visible at back of his head, beneath a broad porkpie hat adorned by Creen feathers, secured by a broach. A blue velvet doublet covers a cream shirt with slashed, leg-of-mutton sleeves. Tights and suede knee-height boots fit over his thin legs. A set of ivory panpipes, delicately carved, hangs from his belt. He stares at Piper with narrowed eyes, and a snarling frown twists his aristocratic features.

"Oui?" the Gallah barks, reaching up to wring a few drops of water from one of his soggy ears. He rapidly tries to remember if he's ever had any dealings with a Saluki and what he may have done to offend one.

The Gallee draws himself up to his full height – almost as tall as Durog, actually, though he can't be more than half the sturdy innkeeper's height. "Hah! You are he, are you not? The unlicensed little cur who thinks he can play the pipes?"

Durog, concluding that the newcomer isn't immediately planning on beating Piper up or continue to physically make a pest of himself, releases the Saluki's arm. He folds his arms together across his chest, however, and stays with the two in the common room, rather than going back to serve his customers out front.

Piper shrinks down, treating the Gallee as though he were as large and formidable as a wolf. "Misseur, if you are with the bards' guild, I assure you that I play only as a hobby and because the pipes are useful in imitating the sounds of the animals I hunt. I do not play for money, only for play."

"Bah! I am sure your playing is hardly fit for entertaining vermin, much less more sophisticated ears. Do you know who I am, cur?" The Saluki puffs out his chest.

The Gallah shifts his feet in the puddle of bath water poolingaround him from his damp fur. "No, Misseur. I am a dog who works in sewers and basements. I do not experience nobility."

The Gallee sniffs indignantly. "Untutored dog. I" the Saluki says, self-importantly, "am Minstrel Piper, late of Gallis." He stresses the name heavily, and his sharp glare at the other canine becomes even more pointed.

"Une telle coincidence," Piper gulps. "I cannot help what my name is, Misseur. Surely a mongrel with no last name should not be of any concern to you."

"Bah!" The minstrel barks angrily. "My name is my livelihood! And you, crass, cretinous, Gallah, are sullying my good reputation! The other day some mistaken fool even had the nerve to suggest that I was 'Piper, the Gallah.'" He repeats the words with great distaste, looking like the very idea that he might be a Gallah was a mortal insult.

The Gallah whimpers. "Misseur, I cannot change my name! It is like asking me to become a Kavi. Whomever spoke harshly to you must have done so out of jealousy or spite. We could not possibly ever be mistaken. It is unthinkable!"

The bard sniffs. "You would think so, wouldn't you? Yet, the parallels are still drawn by the uncultured barbarians of this floating island, who could liken your pitiful Creen-imitations on a reed to my elegant tunes, and who could mistake your mongrel shape – " The Saluki's stare makes Piper acutely conscious of the difference between his dripping, hastily-clad form and the Saluki's immaculately groomed appearance. " – for mine. This will not do. You must take some name more fitting to your career. Be 'Ratter' or 'Creen-catcher,' I care not. But you cannot continue to so abuse my name."

Piper's eyes widen. "Misseur, I cannot. My name is important to me and I cannot change it over such a thing." He hastily bows several times as though he's gravely offended an important diplomat. "Besides, it would not change the minds of the people here. They knew me as 'Piper' since I came to Rephidim. If I tell them I have changed it, they would only laugh at me and call me 'Piper' still. You are a noble, Misseur, surely you could put all your pretty titles and family names around your own to show how much better your name is than mine, and how the people are fools to compare it so?"

"I have always been Minstrel Piper!" the Saluki barks, his voice sliding into a whine at the end. "You must give way before me, cur. I am licensed by the Bards' Guild under the name Piper, and if you persist in using my name and playing your silly 'instrument,' then I will bring the wrath of the whole guild down upon you!"

The Gallah lets out a pained whimper. He puts his hands on his belt where he usually tucks his pipes, although there's nothing there at the moment (he wouldn't bring them into the bath after all, unless he felt the urge to blow bubbles). "Then that is what you will have to do, Misseur. I am no minstrel, and no bard, and have never claimed to be anything more than a vermin catcher. I wish I could please you, Misseur, but if you wish for my name you will have to take it from me." He's shaking a bit, but that could easily be attributed to the fact that he's standing around with soaked fur as much as anything else.

"Oooo!" The Saluki is trembling, too, but with rage. He takes a step towards Piper, hands reaching out in claws as if to strangle the Gallah. Durog clears his throat loudly, and thumps one foot against the floor, and the Gallee glances over his shoulder at the burly raccoon. The Saluki drops his left hand to his side, but waggles the index finger of his right at Piper threateningly. "You've not heard the last of me, insolent cur! I will make you pay dearly for this insult!"

"I am sorry, Misseur." The Gallah twists at his belt nervously and fixes his gaze on the floor. "But you ask for something I cannot give."

"Bah!" The minstrel barks in anger, then spins around and marches for the door. Piper notices as he turns that April has been standing there, watching the confrontation. She steps to one side to make way for the Gallee … but her fluffy tail stays behind. The storming Saluki doesn't notice it until he's tripping over it. "Wha – aigh!"

The Rath'ani serving girl hides her expression behind one hand, widening her eyes as if upset. "Oh! Sir! I'm so sorry!" She turns to help him up.

Piper flinches at the bark and then lurches forward to the other side of the Gallee to try and help him up as well. "This is all my fault. I am sorry to be of such trouble, Misseur."

Durog clears his throat, loudly, again, and April carefully sets the mug of beer she was carrying on the floor, before she continues "assisting" the irate Saluki.

"Clumsy girl!" the Saluki barks, shaking off both their hands. "You'll rue this day – you – mongrels!" He straightens his doublet, and hurries out the front door.

An equine patron drinking at the bar brays in laughter. "Ye should've doused him and tripped 'im, girl, ye missed yer chance," he says, while April picks up the mug on the floor. "Man could use a good beer in 'im, an' if not that, on 'im would do for me."

The Gallah lets his breath out as the Saluki leaves. "I wonder if this means I will have to give up playing the pipes if I wish to keep my name?"

April ducks her head, glancing at her father. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ashab," she says, stiffly. With a glance to Piper, she shakes her head. "Don't do that, Piper!"

"But he is a noble! He can take anything he wishes from me." The dog wrings his dripping tail out. "He is probably going to fetch the guild as we speak."

"He can't just take your name, though!" April protests. She carries the mug to a customer and sets it down. "Can he, father?"

Piper looks at Durog questioningly, as though he has some kind of deep insight on the matter. His expression is practically a twin of April's.

Durog gives a non-committal grunt and heads behind the bar, to serve patrons neglected while the confrontation went on. The Black Rock's clientele appears more diverted by the exchange than anything else, chattering among themselves.

One Skreek announces loudly, "You tell 'em, girl! Just cuz they gots fancy clothes don't mean they ownz us!"

"Right!" April takes heart from the rat's comment. "You're in Rephidim now, Piper, not Gallis. Anyway, I bet he's not a noble at all. Just a puffed-up fop. What would a noble care about being a minstrel?"

The Gallah looks incredulously at the Skreek and then at April. "But … but he's a pureblood!" He rubs his head, causing the half-dry fur to go all spiky. "I should not have spoken to him so, but he asked for the one thing I could not give. My mother named me, and that was all I left Gallis with."

"You did just right, Piper. He got no cause, storming in here and demanding a name change of you! You've been in Rephidim longer. Let him change his name!" April says. The tavern murmurs general approval of this sentiment.

"Good thing his name's not John or Harry, eh?" a Skreek sitting with the first squeaks. "He could spend his whole life just walking around telling decent folks not to be using 'his' name." His companion chortles.

"Ooo! Ooo!" the first rat says, standing and holding his wrists limply before him. "Look at me! I am ze Minstrel Pip-er! Zere can be no oz-ers wit' ze name Pip-er! If zey do not all change, zen I will … I will … throw ze temper tantrum!" The rats at the table with him burst into raucous laughter.

Piper wipes his hand off against his shirt. "You are all such brave people. I wish I could be as strong as … ngk!" He chortles out his nose at the rat's impression of the Saluki, and then covers his muzzle with his paws and blushes scarlet though his fur.

The rat minces around the bar. "I will bring out ze Bardz Guild, and zey will … zing off-key!" More laughter. "Zen we will make all your inztrumentz out of tune!" While the customers thump tankards against tables in their approval, Durog stands, sober and thoughtful, wiping the bar down with a rag.

The Gallah pulls his drying clothing away from his fur and fans at it, watching Durog nervously. "That part still smelled of a true threat, mon ami. I would not be surprised of the guild came here and demanded that I stop playing, or that I pay them money if I wish to continue using my pipes when I frighten Creens or vermites."

The innkeeper nods, solemn. "Aye. They could do that," he agrees, while the rat continues his Saluki-impersonation, with a steadily worsening mock Gallisian accent. "Reputation counts for everyone. Bards are a bad enemy to have."

Piper chews on his lip a bit more. "Misseurs, as much as I hate to stop your fun … I think I have heard enough about the pureblood for tonight. I am also still Gallisian, and hold no hatred for my homeland. It would make be extremely grateful if this was not spoken of any further, at least not in jest."

It takes a few more tries on Piper's part, and finally a bit of "encouragement" from Durog, but the rat finally gets the idea and gives up his imitation, to the disappointment of the others in the tavern. "You're no fun," the Skreek says good-naturedly, slapping Piper on the back before going back to his companions and his dinner.

The Gallah tries to force a smile. "He was just acting like a pureblood, mon 'ami. I do not fault him that. But you have to be Gallisian to truly understand." He shakes his fur out. "I think I should change into something a bit more dry now before I catch cold." He sneezes as emphasis.

By the time Piper has finished drying off and changed into his spare clothes, the tavern has settled down considerably, most of the late-lunch crowd having moved off. The Gallah is settling down to an early supper when a silver-grey Khatta, her hair in a thick braid over one shoulder, strides through the door, hips swaying. She looks around, then squeals "Piper!" in delight, after spotting him.

Piper is busy trying to lick a droplet of stew from the side of his muzzle and is doing some of the oddest lookingtongue-contortions to try and get to it. "Mmmph?" he hums, looking over his shoulder at the Khatta and then breaking into a grin. "Mam'selle Cynthia? Bella dame!"

Cynthia slips up behind him where he sits on a stool at the bar, and wraps her arms around his shoulders in a hug. "How're you doing, sweetie?" she asks, after giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Seems like a Kavi's lifetime since I last saw you."

The Gallah's tail noisily thump-thump-thumps against his stool. "I am doing just fine, mam'selle. I had a disagreement with a noble earlier today, but I have had time to rest and take my mind off of it. I have still gotten a great deal of work thanks to you and Misseur Torn-Ear, and in that respect I have been doing better than I have in a great long while. A Gallah should count his blessings, non?"

"That's the spirit, Piper," the feline mews, patting his shoulder before slipping onto an empty stool next to him. Behind her, April is sweeping up, and Piper notices her making fake gagging motions as she looks at Cynthia – but then the raccoon gets back to her work. "What's a noble doing in your neck of the woods – or maybe I should say, you doin' in theirs, Pipe, that you'd be gettin' into a fight with one?"

Piper folds his hands in his lap. "Misseur is a minstrel of the Bards' Guild, and his name is the same as mine. Misseur was being compared with me, and he came to demand that I change my name to stop this. I could not. My mother gave me my name and it was all I took with me out of Gallis." He blushes. "It was not a fight, mam'selle. I would never fight with a noble."

"Lemme get this straight – there's a noble named Piper?" Cynthia giggles. "And he wants you to change your name? Here I thought that Rephidim nobles were high-handed!" She pats the Gallah on his shoulder. "Maybe you oughta get into it with this guy, then. Minstrel, you say?" Her eyes take on a far away look.

"Get into it?" The Gallah rapidly shakes his head, making his ears flap around noisily. "I wouldn't dare! He may already be getting the Bards' Guild set against me as we speak. They could sing gongs all over Sinai about how horrible I am, or keep me from playing music ever, or … " He whines, imagining all sorts of other punishments.

Cynthia flattens her ears back against her head. "Oh, could they, now?" she purrs softly. "I think I'll just have to go look up this 'Minstrel Piper.'" She leans her back against the bar, arms bend behind her to rest on it as she sits on a backless stool facing the room, while the fingers of one hand drum against the wooden edge. "Oh … say, Piper, aintcha workin' on a … special project, now? In the sewers?" She lowers her voice, glancing around the room.

"No no no no no no, mam'selle! Don't meddle with nobility. I will only regret it later." He tugs at his collar and swallows. "Oui, I am working on a secret project with Misseur Jojo. It is taking longer than I thought it would though."

"Is it? Anything I can help you with, maybe, sugar?" Cynthia mews, glancing sidelong at Piper. "What kinda troubles are ya runnin' into?"

"Not unless you know how to repel large sewer creatures. I am not sure if it should be treated like a fish or a lizard." The Gallah scratches the back of his head in thought, and his wagging tail hints that the Khatta's charms are working just fine.

"Mmmm. You're the vermin expert, Piper, but large creatures … " Cynthia looks thoughtful, twisting on the stool to lay her chin against her arm. "I'll ask around. Torn-ear's interested in your project, sugar."

Piper puts a finger to his lips. "Just remember that it is a secret, mam'selle. But finding a way to deal with the beast would make things go much faster."

"Whatcha know about it so far, sweetie?" the feline asks, her voice a husky whisper. "And don't you worry. Believe me, I know how to keep a secret." She gives a languid wink, her tailtip twitching.

The Gallah holds up one foot. "Misseur beast likes to eat shoes, and has a strong grip. I think it has tentacles, but I cannot be sure. It lives in the sewer water, and it is dark and murky there so it is difficult to see properly."

Cynthia giggles. "So we can lure it out with shoes for bait?" she suggests. "Maybe it's a Gooshurm and after your foxy little friend."

Piper rubs his nose. "A Gooshurm. I hadn't thought of that." He blushes. "Misseur Jojo seems very frightened of it. I shall have to go to Little Babel sometime soon and see if anyone there can give me advice on what repels Gooshurms."

"I'm sure somebody can. You can find everything on Rephidim, if you look hard enough," the Khatta mews. "To be honest,I was wonderin' if your problem might be a li'l more … sentient in origin. Ya know. Torn-ear was thinkin' somebody might not be wantin' you to … " She lowers her voice further out of deference to Piper's "secret project," and leans close to finish, "… map out the sewers."

The Gallah nods, and then does a double take. "Misseur Torn-Ear must have hearing better than an Eeee's." He nods again and lowers his voice. "If that is the case, mam'selle, they are doing a very good job. Misseur Jojo does not like going near any area where we have spotted the creature. I have considered going there myself some evening and trying to trap the beast myself, but I do not know how large it is."

Cynthia gives a startled mew. "Sounds risky, sugar. Maybe you better work out what you're dealin' with, first. Like I said … I'll ask around for you. But, sugar … if you think you can do it, or can get Jojo to – me 'n Torn-Ear would really like a copy of those maps, when they're done. Even if you could just … y'know … borrow the original, for a little while. We could get it back to ya in a night."

"Why would Misseur Torn-Ear want such a thing?" Piper takes a sip from his mug of water.

The feline doesn't answer for a few minutes, then says, "You remember how the Blood Kings used it to get 'round?" She watches the mongrel closely. "Seems like it'd be good to know that sort of thing – give you a head's up on what you could expect, and from where. 'S never too early to be ready for trouble, ya know?"

The Gallah nods. "I can make no promises, but if I can I will try. I do not wish to make Misseur Jojo or the Temple upset with me, but if I can get a copy of Misseur's map I will make sure Misseur Torn-Ear is the one to see it. It is the least I can do after your help with the Blood Kings."

Cynthia beams. "I knew I could count on ya, Piper!" She leans forward to give him another buss on the cheek, and a big hug. April lolls her head back and rolls her eyes, wrapping her hands around her throat as if choking on imaginary bile.

Piper goes all blushy and practically curls in on himself at the attention. "Mam'selle is too kind."

"She sure is," April grumbles under her breath, sweeping some dirt out the door.