Several hours have passed as a rather-bundled up shadow sits at a table in one of the nastier dives to be found in Darkside, if not the nastiest – the Wooden Shekel had heard that there was some kind of job in the offing. Unfortunately so far, apart from the shaving of a Kavi and the quick demise of a Skreek in an argument over the division of booty from a 'quick-chop' job, the night remains uneventful. Or at least, it remains so until a silk-clad rat swaggers into the bar, accompanied by a glowering black mare dressed in something that might be pink and feminine on anyone else and looks like unnecessary frillery on a lethal weapon on her. Tagging along slightly behind them is a caracal-styled Khatta whose boots make thin tick-tack noises against the wooden floor.

The Skreek and his two bodyguards drift down the aisle between booths and tables, their eyes scanning the pirates and thieves and other shady types who are boisterously celebrating another day that they haven't been killed.

The shadow in the corner sits hunched over a dirty mug of rotgut, which has remained untouched. His right paw idly flips a ceramic coin and catches it, over and over. With a slight turn of his head, Bambridge adds the newcomers to his field of vision. The coin he was flipping disappears in his paw, to be replaced by a rather roughly carved wooden one. He jerks his head at the rat and mare in a "c'mere" kind of motion.

The waitress appears to recognize the overdressed rat on sight, her cervine ears dipping. She hurries to clear the heavy wooden mugs and spills from a table, a gesture which he and his companions accept as if they received this sort of conduct every day – the Skreek passes over Bambridge's head-motion as disdainfully as if a Kavi had presumed to make rude faces to one of the noble poodles that infest the higher-priced quarters of the city.

"Bring me a bottle of Wild Turkey Black," the rat calls to the waitress peremptorily. "And two mugs!" The Cervani doe scurries off immediately. Odd. She didn't even make him pay in advance.

Quietly, another patron enters the bar. A Kattha with siamese coloration, beside her is a smaller female Naga with a wooden drum slung across her back. The new pair take a seat nonchalantly in the back of the bar.

A moment later finds a clay bottle standing on the Skreek's table, the cork stained with an ominously black substance. The Skreek glances about toward the misshapen heap of clothes that might be Bambridge, and then raises one of the glasses, pours into it the thick sweetish black liquor, and does the same for the other. "A toast to the Wooden Shekel," he calls. "Long may he live… If he will join me in a drink."

The two bodyguards, the Rhian woman and the Khatta caracal, stand by quietly.

Bambridge narrows his eyes. ( I'm being drawn away from the wall… I wonder if he knows how uncomfortable that makes me… ) The lizard rises from his booth, rolling his coin over his knuckles, and shuffles toward the table with his mug in his other paw.

The Naga hisses something to her Kattha companion, prompting a nod from the feline.

At the crowded bar, several pirates laugh between each other as they recount the details of an assault against some village. The word 'Fire' seems to figure prominently into their tale.

"A toast then… may he and his associates profit in the future," hisses the lizard. "Who would be seeking the Wooden Shekel?"

The rat looks up at the lizardish figure. "I, as any of these black-booters would be able to tell you… " He says this with a glint to his eyes that suggests he rather enjoys his position. "Am S'Lezan. A humble Skreek, who assists his brethren with the difficult task of finding some sort of work in this city… " He does not, however, look like a simple employment counselor.

"My associates: Carousel… " S'Lezan gestures to the black mare standing behind him to the left. "And Slyboots." The caracal.

Bambridge's eyes shift between the caracal and the mare, before the reptile bows stiffly. He remains standing, however. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, S'Lezan. And those of your associates. It seems you know my moniker, so the pleasantries are out of the way." The coin disappears into Bambridge's thick robe. "What can the Shekel do for you?"

S'Lezan continues, "You must be the light-hand they call the Wooden Shekel. I've heard about some of your exploits lately." He gestures for the heavily-cloaked Shigai to sit and take up his mug. "I assure you it's not poisoned. It simply wouldn't do to poison someone with whom I am certain that we will have many more… Dealings." His eyes glint.

The Kattha approaches the bar and orders a drink, her poise and bearing almost like that of a noble – up until the point where one of the pirates makes a grab for her. The Kattha makes a banshee screech and slashes at the pirate with her claws, bloodying his hand. Resuming her poise an instant later, the cat walks back to her table with her drink while the jeerings from the pirates echo behind her.

The Skreek takes a healthy drink from his mug as if to emphasize that he's perfectly willing to swill down this stuff called 'Wild Turkey Black'.

With some hesitation, Bambridge sweeps his cloak out of the way and sits across the table from S'Lezan, resisting the urge to constantly look over his shoulder. He takes a token sip from his mug, mostly able to disguise his grimace at the flavour. "It's got an … interesting aftertaste," manages Bambridge. (Tastes like a privy after three years without maintenance, that is… )

The rat chuckles. "Well then. So tell me, Wooden Shekel, do you know 'Uncle'? How is he doing? Or are you… new to the family?"

Bambridge's right eyeridge quirks upward. "'Uncle'? I suppose I must have missed the family reunion, I'm not sure who you're referring to."

The Siamese sips from his mug, she looks vaguely disinterested. Her Naga companion has pulled out her drum and is starting to play out a soft percussion melody.

"Ah! Then you must indeed be new to our fair city… " S'Lezan leans forward. "We haunters of the night, we who earn our livings through small deceits, little games, the occasional solving of certain… puzzles… We are a very close group. Very like a family. So we refer to one or other of our kinds as, for instance, brothers and sisters. We solve our little problems together." He smiles genially. "For instance, as to who is allowed to be light-handed at a certain time in a certain place in the Bazaar… "

"Naturally of course, anyone from our family who moves here from a different city is expected to seek out an 'Uncle' and let them know that they are available and willing to do 'work'," the rat continues. He sips his Turkey Black, the vilely sweet and thick liquor blackening his lips.

"I see… that sounds delightfully cozy, yes," hisses the Wooden Shekel, carefully keeping the suspicious edge out of his voice. "Those of our profession are hard-pressed to find comrades, much less family. I certainly hope my business hasn't caused me to inadvertently tread on the toes of a sibling."

Slyboots leans forward, hands resting on the back of an empty chair. He glances toward the Siamese and then back to scanning the crowd.

The Siamese has begun to hum along with the Naga's percussion. Her voice is rich and gentle and its melody soft one, a voice that seems very out of place here.

"Ah yes indeed, being part of the family offers many benefits," S'Lezan says with a smile. "Our sources of information are many, and those who have need of services that are, shall we say, disapproved of by the Temple, come to us. And it is a great relief to know that when one is in trouble, there are others who may be able to help, for only modest fees. A sort of… insurance policy, one might say." He glances over the Wooden Shekel as if to suggest that the Shigai currently lacks any of that insurance. "But times are tight. There really isn't all that much work to be done in Rephidim. Which means… " He looks at Bambridge expectantly.

Bambridge disguises a quick scan of the bar as a casual glance at the siamese, unable to help noticing the contrasting tones. He returns his attention to S'Lezan. "… which means it must be dreadfully inconvenient to find work with a freelancer around," finishes Bambridge, a note of resignation in his voice. "Well, I'd certainly hate be the cause of such a thing, and having someone at one's back is a good idea. And certainly, for the sake of politeness, a visit with my dear old Uncle would be in order, yess?"

S'Lezan beams. "Ah, I can see that you will go far in our family, Wooden Shekel. Think of me as your friendly neighborhood uncle then. Always around when you need a shoulder to lean on, a little helping hand, maybe a word or two in the right ears. Of course, I'm afraid that times being so difficult… " The Skreek shrugs and takes another swig of the black liquor. "There is the minor matter of a fee. But I'm sure a clever light-hand like you will have no difficulty with the money, no?"

Bambridge shifts uncomfortable in his robes, his nose wrinkling somewhat. "Well, brother S'Lezan, I'm somewhat tied down by a few niggling problems that have been dogging me." The lizard gives Carousel a brief sizing up, and decides that size must be 'Extra Large'. With a slightly more strained hiss, he continues, "… but I'm sure the details of my current assignments will bear fruit. Your fee should not be long in processing."

Soft drumbeats continue to sneak into the ears of the bar patrons as the Naga plays on. The Kattha's humming has become a gentle singing now, but the words are whispered so softly that they simply tease the ears with their meanings.

"I'm sure that these problems will prove quite easy once you think about it in a different way, my friend. So then, shall we say… " The rat swishes the dregs about the bottom of his mug as he considers, then freshens it with another pour from the bottle, and refills Bambridge's mug as well. "Two golden shekels. In case one proves wooden, you see." He laughs, eliciting little giggles from Carousel and a guffaw from Slyboots.

The Cervani waitress sashays by, lifting her tray over the heads of several pirates, then strategically uses the heavy wooden board to thump a third on the head as he gets too bold.

In the middle of a sip from his refilled mug, the reptile chokes at the named figure. Some Wild Turkey slops over the edge of the mug as he sets it unsteadily back on the table, coughing, "Two *cough, cough* golden *kack!* shekels… ?" wheezes the reptile, his pupils dilating into vertical slits.

A small Skeek flies overhead! He crashes against a rafter and falls to the ground, out cold. Several patrons nearby start frisking his clothes.

"Indeed," S'Lezan says with a sharp grin of rat incisors. "A trifling amount for one as adept as you, of course, Wooden Shekel. Or do you take your familial obligations so lightly… Nephew?"

The Kattha's ears perk ever so slightly at the mention of the money, but she continues to sing on.

The knuckles of the paw gripping Bambridge's mug whiten. Whether it's the scales, or just the grip, is hard to say. "Well… one of my thrift isn't one to take such sums seriously, and really, my abilities are quite over-rated. But I suppose my brothers and sisters would be most disappointed if I didn't take my obligation to our 'family' seriously, Uncle." He pauses, taking another rueful look at S'Lezan's companions. "I imagine my siblings probably play rough. How long have I got to produce my 'contribution'?"

Slyboots grins fangily. Carousel plays with a small but sharp-looking chitin throwing knife.

"Oh, shall we say… A week? I shall look forward to presenting you to our grandfather after that time," S'Lezan says. He finishes his mug, clearly on his way to concluding his bit of business here.

Bambridge blanches. "A week? Ah… my obligations really are quite time-consuming. After all, my take is rather meagre… wouldn't a month really seem more reasonable?"

S'Lezan pats Bambridge's shoulder. "Ah, Wooden Shekel, I'm certain that you underestimate your own abilities. Try for your Uncle, won't you?" He stands and then gestures to the Wild Turkey Black, "You may keep the bottle if you like. Good night, nephew."

The rat grins sharply again, showing off his incisors, and nods to his bodyguards. The crowd almost magically parts before them as S'Lezan walks out of the Missing Shekel.

The Siamese continues her song, but her eyes follow after S'Lezan as he exits. The moment she sees that he's gone her mouth snaps shut and her melody abruptly ends.

'Nephew' starts to ask what sort of resources his new-found family might offer during his period of grace, but rather doubts they'd take their obligations to family as seriously as he's supposed to. With a grunt of disgust, he jams the stopper back into the bottle of Black Turkey, taking it to his booth to think and fume.

With an irritated sounding hiss, the Naga leaves the table and exits the bar, while the siamese leans back in her chair, sipping from her mug. She stares directly at the Chameleon, as if studying him or sizing him up for something.

A snarl announces the start of a fight to the far right of the tavern – instantly a crowd tightens around a cougarish Khatta pirate and a notch-eared Jupani, voices shouting bets. A Lapi bookie starts writing down numbers and names, taking shekels.

The instant Bambridge feels a wall at his back, he feels comforted, letting the shadows blanket him. It occurs to the reptile that the pleasant melody from before no longer smooths over the drab grumbles of the bar. Feigning interest in the bottle of liquor, he takes a sidelong glance at the siamese, then abruptly looks away he notices her attention.

Bambridge watches the crowd disinterestedly, thoughts of "The Jupani looks more experienced, and has reach on the Khatta, but he looks less likely to go for blood than a pirate… " providing a grim undertone to thoughts of "Two gold? Where in Sinai am I supposed to get two gold?!"

The Siamese stands, using the fight as a distraction to approach the lizard. She leans against one of the outside corners of the booth, her voice the faintest of whispers, "I know where." she purrs, a slight grin playing across her delicate lips.

"So… your ears are as sharp as they look… " hisses Bambridge, without looking up. He waves an open paw at the opposite side of the booth. "Please, by all means, have a seat. I'm open to suggestions. It beats being cut open, period. Who have I the honor of addressing, madame?"

"My name is Lilith." she answers. "And you are the infamous Wooden Shekel, I presume?" She seats herself in one swift movement and casts a quick glance at the patrons outside. "I see you've just learned that infamy has a price in Rephidim."

The Jupani and the cougarish Khatta pounce upon each other in a frenzy of snarls! The noise level rises.

Bambridge sighs, returning to his nervous habit of coin tricks. "It certainly does, madame Lilith. Infamy was not my aim, but what can one do if not what he does best? What I do best just happens to spawn rumors amongst those merchant ninnies." The coin turns over in his fingers, coming to a stop on the back of a blunted index claw. "Lately, it's seemed I've picked up even more than rumors. Insane zelaks, mad Cervani… curiosity has its price too, eh? But I'm sure you Kattha are all too familiar with the woes of a curious nature."

Lilith folds her arms against her chest and leans back in her seat. "In my younger days I was curious, then I lost my fortune because of my mistakes. I have made a point of not allowing myself to be known when I am… er… working, and it has kept the likes of that rat from my coat." She cradles her mug in her hands as though it were some great jewel. "I have caused fools to blindly walk into slavery, and stolen information from the Rephidim Temple itself. All the while seeming to be just an insignificant little bard. You of all people should know about appearances."

The coin slides down Bambridge's bony finger, now perching on the knuckle. "Certainly, my dear. Going incognito is typically very high on my list of priorities. However, circumstances of late have made such efforts nearly impossible. Either way, I'm living with the consequences." Bambridge flicks the coin upward and snatches it away, leaning back in his seat and peering at Lilith from beneath his hood. "Surely you had more on your mind than a scolding for bad form. Why concern yourself with the fate of a cutpurse who's seen too much?"

"Ah, getting down to business, that's very good. You have skills that I need." the cat purrs softly. "You see, although I have learned the art of disguise, my touch is not so light. I wish to have something stolen from a shop in Darkside, a Sylvanian wedding dress. It is worth a fortune in more ways than one." She steeples her hands over her mug and smiles, running her tongue across one tooth. "I chose you specifically because I've heard you might have a… special interest… in causing a bit of grief on this particular fellow."

The crowd chants two unfamiliar names, urging on their respective contestants. Streaks of blood coat more than a few shirts.

Bambridge's eyeridges flatten over glossy orbs. "I've a lot of grief to spread around at the moment, madame," murmurs the Wooden Shekel. "Who might this chap be?"

Lilith's ears cup forwards as she tried to filter out the sound of the brawling. "His name is Achimed. A horrible man, perhaps you've heard of his name by the fur coats he sells?"

"I recall the name, yes. 'Honest' Achimed, I believe. Purveyor of man-portable eyesores." A little of the flesh beneath Bambridge's right eye twitches for a moment at the memory of one such vestment. "Other than a general dislike for his wares, however, I can't recall a specific reason for wanting to cause him woe. What's a rag merchant like him doing with a Sylvanian wedding dress, anyhow?"

Bambridge hisses, "From the frozen north to Rephidim is a long way for such a delicate item to travel, after all."

"You have not seen the fine noble ladies strutting about in their Savanite fur coats then, I take it." Lilith says, looking into the liquid of her mug as though she were looking at the future. He deals in antiques mostly, the coats have been a new item… since he has found a niche by investing his funds into purchasing old and crippled slaves at very small prices. The dress has been in his possession for a long time, and it would make both of us a bit of gold."

Bambridge freezes, the skin beneath his scales going ashy. "Savanite… fur… coats?" he grates.

Bambridge lowers his head, the shadows obscuring his face completely. He touches his fingerpads together, his voice quieting to the point where even Lilith's ears must strain to pick up his words over the brawling. "The butcher. Oh, yes… he'll pay all right… he'll pay a damn sight more than shekels… "

Lilith takes a long slow drink from her mug, taking her time to respond. She studies the chameleon carefully. "So the stories I've heard are true. You see now why I've come to you, don't you?"

The lizard looks up again, and nods silently. He unstoppers the bottle of Black Turkey, and takes a swig before he speaks again. "So then, Lilith… you've learned of my search for members of the Dusty Tear, and my… kinship with Savanites. Just how long have you been studying me?"

"Dusty Tear? Well my dear sir… I know of it now." Lilith says. "I had heard that the Wooden Shekel was sympathetic to slaves, that is all."

Bambridge swears under his breath, cursing his stupidity. "The drink is loosening my tongue… I may have just poisoned myself, telling you that. Stupid folk don't live long in Darkside, and I may have just shortened my lifespan."

Bambridge rolls his eyes, sighing. "Consummate professional, oh yes. That's the Wooden Shekel, all right."

One of the contestants goes down with a curiously wet gurgle, and the winner raises his gray blood-streaked hands. The crowd erupts into a noisy clamor, as the bookie runs around settling bets and several thuggish Rath'anis scoop up the dead pirate and toss his body out the back.

Lilith glances sidelong at the dead Khatta. "Your lifespan will be even shorter if you do not raise two gold by the end of the week. There is nowhere you can go that is safe from S'Lezan, not even the Temple some say." She takes another sip from her mug. "As for your secrets, we shall see. I have no use for slave or blackmail in my life, especially not blackmail against someone as useful as yourself."

"Do not expect me to hold my tongue should your secrets endanger me in any way." she adds, the hint of a feline hiss trailing at the end of her words.

Bambridge relaxes slightly, but visibly. "Very well, madame Lilith. My services are at your disposal. From what you've been able to tell me or guess at, I'd imagine one day I'll be finding your assistance quite useful as well." He raises S'Lezan's bottle of liquor. "Here's to a profitable relationship." ( And preferably a non-fatal one. )

The Siamese raises her mug, clinks it softly against the bottle and drains the remaining few droplets inside.

The reptile takes another pull from his drink, making his nose scrunch up again. "I think I may be developing a taste for this stuff… " He stoppers the bottle again, which disappears into his cloak. "Now, what can you tell me about my target?"

Nearby, several gamblers play cards, each adding a few more shekels to a pile – the unmistakable sheen of copper speckles the pot here and there, and even a dull gray iron. One suddenly cries out upon drawing a new card to fill his hand, "Full dragon!" The others groan as he rakes the pot in.

Lilith wrinkles her nose at the bottle. "Achimed runs an antique shop in the Scholars' Quarter, and he will be our target. He is rather harsh with thieves, and you will not be stealing some small bauble. It will be very difficult, so I will come along to provide a distraction for you."

Bambridge nods slowly, a slim bone lockpick having found its way into his paws. He taps it idly on filthy glass forgotten in one corner of the table. Ting, ting… "Then he's well-to-do, I take it. What has he got in the way of guards? What's security look like on his establishment? I suppose a stolen floorplan would be too much to ask… " Ting, ting, ting…

"Do you know what Beasthounds are? Achimed keeps a pair of those – probaby fed off of the meat from his skinning." The cat furrows her brow. "There's a rather complex lock upon the door, but nothing that you can't handle, I'm sure."

Lilith purrs softly, "Unfortunately I have no map. Achimed might have suspected if I had started drawing diagrams in the middle of his shop."

"I'm sure the lock will be no trouble," hisses Bambridge, somewhat smugly. "The Beasthounds though… I've not met one, but if their sense of smell is as good as a Zelak's, they could pose a problem for me, unless there's some way we could poison them, or mask my scent."

This time, Lilith wears the smug grin. "Dear sir… I have mastered the arts of disguising scents very well. Not even Zelaks are strong enough to escape my skills. I'm sure I can some up with something to aid you there. It will only be good for one or two applications though."

Bambridge rubs his scaley paws together. "Ahhh, excellent! You must certainly be a master indeed. I'll have to ask you for the recipe sometime… in the meantime, however, I'm sure whatever you provide will be far more than adequate for our purposes." With a wink and a smile, and a slowly returning good mood, the chameleon hisses, "The gown is as good as yours."

"Ours." Lilith says, smiling. "You will find that it is a most valuable prize indeed."

The Wooden Shekel nods agreeably. "Ours. Time's a-wasting, and we've preparations to make." The berobed reptile stands, and flips a pair of scarred ceramic coins onto the table for the Cervani doe.