After a long night spent at the golden dragon's palace, which was almost certainly an experience less relaxing than most of its tourists enjoyed, Bambridge returned home with an ominously black-clad Skreek, Kilri… Morning light peeks over the skyline (such as it is) of Darkside as the Shiga and the 'associate of Faraon's' return home, the hour finding some Kavis beginning the day's work already with frenetic bustling after water from rain barrels that makes one tired to look at it.

Yellow Feather looks up startled to find his master returning, and perhaps just a bit guilty, or more likely that's the expression that he always wears after the long years spent in the Missing Shekel. He always looks worried.

Kilri looks shifty-eyed. She's never even once let Bambridge out of sight, and moves with, not exactly grace, but a lanky, angular speed that stirs no pebbles or sticks, from one shadow to the next. She narrows her eyes at the Savanite.

Bambridge, for his part, just looks tired as he plods into home-sweet-home. After the opulence of Faraon's dome, 'be it ever so humble' could not apply any better to his ramshackle apartment. Still, it's comforting to be back in familiar surroundings. "Hullo there, Feather," hisses the shiga. "I've brought a visitor. Kilri, this is Feather… my, uh, assistant. Feather, this is Kilri, my… something." The lizard scratches his head through his hood, then shrugs his shoulders and dusts off his costume trunk, gesturing for the Skreek to have a seat.

Yellow Feather ducks his head, servile as befits a proper slave. He doesn't sign anything, even though Bambridge can understand his language, either because of Kilri or because he's still nervous about 'finger flicking'.

Kilri looks around Bambridge's place as if judging the thief by his quarters, then hmfs. "Don't keep a lot of gear, do you? Get rid of the spotty cat, I don't want to talk in front of him. They still hear, even if they can't speak."

The Skreek flicks her naked tail side to side nervously.

"Ohh, cut that out, Feather," hisses the shiga, rolling his eyes. He nudges his spotted comrade with one elbow. "If you really want to follow through with that old schtick still, take this tenner and go get us some mateh from Tropo's Mateh shack in the bazaar." The reptile continues in sign. "If you want to stretch your legs a while, go ahead. I doubt being cooped up here was much fun."

Yellow Feather bows to Bambridge, then signs, "I haven't died yet… I wonder when my spots will turn green?" His ears flick as if he had almost laughed Savanite-fashion, and then he soberly trots out of the cramped quarters.

Kilri nods. "Good. Now about those papers. D'ya still have them? Didn't make any copies for 'friends', didja?" She keeps looking around.

The Wooden Shekel watches his friend leave with an amused smile on his scaly muzzle, then turns to regard Kilri once more. "I haven't had time to make copies, so I've kept them secure here. It takes a thief to hide something truly well, yes? But we'll have to wait until two hours after sun-up to get them."

The Skreek leans against a dusty wall, but her body looks taut as a harp strung too tight. "Just remember, our mutual friend is going to pay you a great deal to make sure those papers get turned over to him. All of them. He wouldn't appreciate some of it going astray, or to the wrong eyes. Get what I mean?"

"Have a little faith, Kilri. When the tenants upstairs start arguing over who was supposed to pay the bar tab the night before, I'll be able to get them," replies the lizard. He tilts his head back to look at the ceiling. "It shouldn't be long now."

Kilri looks up at the ceiling and at the hatch. "Oh. Oh!" She chuckles. "That's clever, Wooden Shekel. Very imaginative. I've never yet heard of a lightpaw who regularly took a stepladder about with him on his walk." The glint in her eye suggests that Bambridge just moved up a notch in her estimation.

"Tut-tut, my dear associate," hisses the shiga. Muffled grumbling can be heard upstairs, as the rickety walls do little to quiet things in the apartment. "A stepladder would be far too bulky." He waits a little longer, and the grumbling upstairs becomes shouting, then thumping and rattling. A little dust streams from cracks in the ceiling as it vibrates, and the small hatch door shivers open about an inch. After a few tries, Bambridge manages to jump high enough off his costume trunk to pull down the hatch. A sheaf of papers tumbles onto his bedroll.

The Skreek grins. Her teeth aren't terribly straight, but they are all there.

The Wooden Shekel recovers his balance, and stoops to pick up the small bundle of parchment. "Now, are we to meet our Vartan escorts somewhere to return to the Dome?

"No need. Gimme." Kilri holds her hand out for the document.

Bambridge holds onto the papers for a little bit, eyeing Kilri. After a moment, he haltingly places the end of the papers in the Skreeks paw. "Sorry… force of habit."

The Skreek nods, but snaps up the papers quickly and leafs through them. "Hmmm. Hmm. Great Dagh! Falling cities, this guy was a nutcase."

The Wooden Shekel folds his arms, nodding. "No kidding. Whatever those drugs were, they seem to have done a number on old Moffat's brains. However, one doesn't become an Arch-Inquisitor by being a Moz Ezley case. I'm concerned as to how much of that stuff isn't hallucinated."

"Yeah, he really wigged out. Didnt like S'Lezan much either, did he, hmm. Well, the lech's always been a Kavi at heart," Kilri says icily. After a read-through, she puts the papers down to one side, then takes a firestarter, a thick wooden stick with a lump of something red on the end, and scrapes it against a wall to light it. *Fsst!* It sparks into a fitful yellow flame.

"Well, I'm afraid I came onto the scene a while after Moffat's famous affairs in Darks-… " The lizard startles at the spark, and reaches out for the documents, hissing, "Hey, what do you think you're doing?! This place is one of the few that didn't get burned during the Darkside sweep! It's a veritable tinderbox!"

Kilri swats at Bambridge's hand, then takes the papers and sets them alight, holding on to them by one corner. "Don't joggle my hand," she says. "Wouldn't want me to drop these."

Bambridge jerks his paw back, still looking incredulous. "But that's my proof to Faraon!"

"He knows. Who do you think 'F' is?" Kilri looks at Bambridge a bit incredulously. "Or didn't you realize that when you offered these to him?"

Flames leap brightly from the papers, releasing a sweet smell as they burn. To a historian, this would be theft of the worst sort, valuable papers that will now never be seen in a museum or form the grist for scholarly studies.

Kilri pinches out the match once the papers are burning steadily, and tosses the small stick into a corner.

"Of course I did! But I don't think he's going to be happy if we bring back ashes," hisses the shiga, placing one paw on his forehead in disbelief. "He already knows about his own dealings in those papers, but what about S'Lezan? And N. of the Bridge! What's a k'huan, or kankerkoon, or whatever it was?"

Kilri sighs. "Relax, Wooden Shekel. Do you think I'd be doing this if this weren't what he wanted us to do?" She watches the flames crisp over half of the sheets, the light reflected darkly in her eyes.

The shiga's shoulders droop, and he watches the flames consume a find he'd broken into a shop for, hidden under a bed for, and worn a dress for. "I certainly hope so… " He pauses, and falls to musing. "You've read over the memoirs, then… maybe you can shed some light on them, without firestarters this time. 'N. of the Bridge'. Could Moffat have been referring to Nimiss?"

"Ah! How do you know Nimiss?" Kilri darts a suspicious look to Bambridge as she tosses the scrap of burning paper to the floor and scrubs it into the boards with her foot, extinguishing the flame neatly and leaving nothing readable.

Though the flame is quite out, the reek of autumn is still in the air.

Bambridge eyes the black smudge on his floor, but dismisses it. "I know the name because his desk is my target, according to Faraon. Bridge Officer Nimiss holds the papers our employer desires." The lizard's scaly snout wrinkles into a grimace. "Either in his claws, or ground into my floor, I imagine."

Kilri nods, confirming the guess. "That's the one. I wouldn't speculate too much about the contents of the papers if I were you, either. People've been killed for knowing too much before, and I get the feeling Faraon is kind of fond of you."

"Hum. Delightful," murmurs the reptile, sitting back down on his bedroll with a thump. "Well, I know better than to cross the Friend. My lip-equivilents are as sealed as I'm sure yours are expected to be." A lockpick finds its way into the burglar's paws somehow, and he idly taps it against the floor. "I'm hoping I'll be able to use some of that information, though, however dated. The bits about guard movements and schedules in particular interested me."

Kilri fehs. "Probably long outdated by now. Don't worry, you'll be paid richly. Here." She takes out a small, but heavy pouch, and hands it to Bambridge.

Bambridge's paw dips under the weight of the pouch, and the lizard emits a brief hiss of surprise. Undoing the drawstrings, he looks inside… and stifles a choking noise. In the blink of an eye, the pouch vanishes. "Indeed… well! You must occupy a very high position in Faraon's organization to be trusted so."

The Skreek nods, wiggling a hand as if the amount were of no great consequence, then continues, "Now, we can get maps and blueprints, and I think I can even get you some of the outer guard schedules, but once we're in… " She shakes her head. "Can't do anything about insomniacs and people who just forget their schedules. You'll go farther in life if you don't rely on people being like clockwork, Wooden Shekel. To start with, we'll set you up with an appointment to see Nimiss… "

The Wooden Shekel's head bobs. "Not to worry. 'Improvisation' is the name of the game, and I've got a few cards in my cloak." He rubs his jaw thoughtfully. "An appointment to see Nimiss himself? Under what guise?"

"Make up something. You'll have information about a smuggling ring," Kilri says efficiently. "One that's been running artifacts right under the inspectors' noses, enough Expedition stuff to keep the Technopriests drooling until they drown in their own spit. And you'll hint that for a suitable fee, you can provide more information of the kind."

Bambridge tilts his head slightly his slitted eyes contemplative. "And then?"

Kilri says, "Get an idea about the layout of his office. Memorize it, and then we'll compare it to the official specs. See maybe if there're any hidden rooms. He's supposed to be the compulsive type, he'd keep anything important close to hand." She pauses. "Then we plan your breakin for real."

The shiga considers this. "Sounds good. How accurate is the smuggling ring information? Something not affiliated with the Friend's operations, or just a bluff?"

"It's real," the Skreek says. "The operation looks like it won't hold up much longer, so we're going to… " She pauses as footsteps approach the door.

Yellow Feather steps in, holding two mugs of steaming mateh. He sets these down on a trunk and bows, then signs, "Master, I brought you back the change… "

The thin Savanite holds out five shekels to Bambridge.

Bambridge watches the Savanite enter, and takes his change with a smile. "Ahh, thank you, Feather. Did the fresh air do you some good?" He takes the mugs, and offers one to Kilri, hissing, "I think that'll do, then. I just want to be sure the Temple doesn't choose to detain me for… ah, petty reasons."

Kilri sniffs a bit at Bambridge's coddling of the Savanite. "They might, but they'll change their tune. Do you mind?" She gestures toward Yellow Feather. "We're not done yet."

The lizard sighs, then takes a moment to sip the mug in his right paw. "He's a good assistant, Kilri. I wouldn't worry about him at all… but if you insist… Feather, would you please wait for me at Dali's? I'll come by after my business is concluded, and we can get some breakfast, eh?"

Yellow Feather looks resigned as if he had expected it, and nods to his master. He opens the door and closes it quietly after himself.

Kilri sips from her mateh as well, and then says, "They make me nervous. They pretend they don't mind being slaves, but iffen I were one of them, I'd be plotting every night how to cut my master's throat. They've got a secret organization, you know."

"Kssshh… they're just misunderstood, Kilri," hisses the reptile, clasping his paws around his mug to warm them. "I met… er, obtained Feather under special circumstances. I'd trust him with my life." He doesn't elaborate on any of that, instead choosing to ask, "I'd heard some rumors about unrest amongst the slaves since the announcement from the Nagai Empire… but a secret organization? Come on, you're pulling my tail."

"I got it from some pretty good sources," the Skreek says darkly. "And there've been those recent 'al-ter-ca-shuns' with some upstart slaves too." She pronounces the word in a way that suggests bureaucrats covering up something they can't explain. "Some may think it's just because of the Naga Empire freeing their slaves – hah! I wonder who's behind that? – but I've heard that there's always one of those spotty cats stirring them up. You'd better be careful, one of them might get to your slave and then he'll start sharpening the cutlery with a funny look in his eye."

Bambridge waves one of his paws dismissively. "Well, if one of my utility knives ends up sticking out of my own back, then I'll only have myself to blame. Living in Darkside, I'm used to keeping my back to a wall anyway. If you could though, tap me into the pipes on this spotgrunt uprising business. It's good to stay informed."

Kilri nods. "It may be your business sooner or later," she says with a slight grin. "So where were we, then?"

"Smuggling ring, scouting the office, Temple not detaining me for this knowledge," prompts the Wooden Shekel.

The Skreek nods again. "Don't see as that's likely, they wouldn't keep many informants iffen they insisted on it, but if it happens, they'll turn up something real. Stuff Faraon can afford to lose. Iffen you're going to win big, you have to be prepared to risk big, y'know? The Friend's puttin' a lotta trust in you." She frowns, not evidently fully happy with this fact. Still, there was the hatch trick, that proves that Bambridge doesn't think conventionally.

Bambridge takes another sip of his mateh, and wraps his cloak around himself. What can be seen of his muzzle beneath his hood has a grin on it. "I won't let him down. Keep the Temple off my back, and that thorn in Faraon's paw is as good as gone. I've learned a trick or two, and now I'm properly armed." The reptile's snout crinkles as his grin widens slightly, and gold jingles somewhere beneath the shiga's cape.

Kilri grins, showing off her intact (if not pristine) dental work. "That's the spirit. All right then. We can go find your slave again and then buy a bedroll. Until we finish this, I'm living in your back pocket."

The Wooden Shekel is in the process of taking a sip of his beverage when this registers. "Pffzt!" he exclaims. Fortunately, he managed to turn his face away, and only sprays one of his ill-gained trophies with mateh. The lizard wipes his mouth on the back of one arm while he hisses, "You're what? Living here?! But… !"

"You don't have any problems with that, do you?" Kilri says in a low, dangerous voice.

"I… uh… that is to say… " begins the reptile, but he simply trails off with a resigned grunt. "We'd better find you a fuff'nar fur-lined bedroll then. The floor is lumpy, splintered, and cold, and Feather is already sleeping in a pile of my disguises."

Kilri nods. "Our friend wants you thinking about nothing but this job. He's paying you enough you shouldn't feel like you need to case someone else's joint on the side to pay for rent. Got it?"

The Skreek slugs back the rest of her mateh and makes a face. "Wretched stuff. I'm going to have to buy some mateh roots and a hand-grinder and make some proper stuff."

"Understood," sighs the Wooden Shekel. He hefts his money-pouch, looking reflective. "At least I can afford a little living up before this ordeal starts. I'll need to get some supplies anyway, my disguise trunk needs some padding. We'd better go get Feather, there's a whole day ahead of us." As visions of his apartment transforming dance before his eyes, trophies replaced with coffeegrinders, he thinks to himself. {A long day… }