After some debate, it was agreed that Jerrill and Cadeyrn would go ashore to see if they could find out which direction the City of Spires was. They had sailed around the large islands and dropped anchor outside what everyone agreed was a local trading port. Thugard had wanted to sail right into the main port and bluff their way through but Moiril had talked him out of it.
"My people are suspicious and demanding. Not a good combination for a ship that wants to lay low and not attract attention. Remember how it was on the island where we met? Foreign ships had to port on the eastern side and have all goods shipped by Eastern Island caravan to the western ports. Why take the risk?" Moiril had stood arguing, hands on her hips, until Thugard had finally listened to reason.
Jerrill and Cadeyrn took a small crew of five in a tender and a dozen water casks to be refilled. That was to be their excuse to go ashore. It didn't hurt that they could use the water for the next leg of their voyage anyway. They also took some coins that Moiril and Cha'rai had approved to try and purchase some food as well. Their cover story was that a storm had broken open some provisions, requiring them to re-provision. It should hold if no-one looked too deeply into their story. Moiril was helpful in providing them clothes but it was Cha'rai that walked them through the behavior that she had witnessed among ship and dock workers.
Even then, after Jerrill and Cadeyrn left the ship, Thugard had the crew clear for immediate departure and, as covertly as possible, insure the ship was ready to fight. Moiril looked at him curiously but Thugard just shrugged. "Best prepared for anything!" he said.
From the description Cha'rai had provided, it didn't take the two men long to indentify who was in charge of the docks. The negotiation was much easier than either had expected and soon the empty casks were being filled and provisions stowed away on the tender. Jerrill asked directions to a pub and was rewarded with a finger pointing at a nearby sign. Cadeyrn walked with Jerrill to the sign where the found a low cut door.
The pub they entered shared most of the same features with harbor establishments everywhere. A smoke filled room was filled with men and women in various states of drunkenness, some singing badly, engaged in telling wild stories and the newly arrived who were settling in for a good drunk. Unlike the pubs in Grale, there were no wenches serving tables. Instead, the table cleaners were all young boys and drinks were purchased from a central bar. Behind the bar was a burly man with a patch over one eye who eyed them casually as they came in. Cadeyrn headed for the bar right away while Jerrill sought out a table. Cadeyrn ordered two ales and carried them to where Jerrill was already seated.
This went on for hours, with all the appearance that Cadeyrn and Jerrill were getting as drunk as the rest. If anyone had been watching carefully, they might have noticed that after three ales the drinking had almost stopped but the two kept lifting their glasses and cheering on the occasional song as loudly as the next table. Finally, when Jerrill felt it was safe, he stumbled back from the bar and sat at the wrong table with his refill. It took the drunk sailors a few seconds to start pushing him and complaining and Jerrill made noises as they did. Then, full flagon spilling all over his clothes, he allowed himself to be pushed backwards onto the floor.
This led to laughter from the sailors and, as Jerrill hoped, a helping hand reached down to pull him up again. Within moments they were all best friends and drinking each other's health. Cadeyrn watched the former master bard play the table with an expertise few could match. He caught their songs and sang with such skill that no one would have guessed he had just learned them. After the singing had died down, at least at that table, Jerrill began to subtly pry for stories. Within moments, the stories became more outlandish and impossible, which led to more arguments and, inevitably, more drinking.
This was where Jerrill's skills as a Master Bard could do what no magic might have accomplished. Jerrill made a boast about ravishing a maiden on the island of the City of the Spires. This was met by immediate denial and condemnation by his drunken table mates.
"Sure," said one husky woman, "They aren't bad fighters but they never let their maidens out any more than we do."
An very drunk response from Jerrill, waving vaguely in the direction of the port was met with further cat calls. "Sure I did. Travelled for months. Shipwrecked and washed up on shore, I was. A maiden saved me and took me as her own! I swear!" Jerrill's feeble defense was laughed at.
"First, young pup, it's clear you ain't never been there. It's that way, not that way! And second, it only takes three fortnights not months. Month and a half at normal sail. I know. Trade there all the time! Finally," and with that the big woman smacked Jerrill across the head. Even sober and ready for it, the blow made Jerrill's head spin. "Finally, this side it's all cliffs and rocks and mountains. The other side there are no beaches, just rocks except where the port is. Nice story, pup." The woman laughed and smacked Jerrill so hard he fell onto the floor.
Cadeyrn had been careful to mark which way the sailor pointed. When Jerrill fell onto the floor, Cadeyrn staggered over to him. "Idiot. Didn't the captain tell us not to get into trouble? Come on." Cadeyrn reached down and pulled Jerrill up, who was having no trouble pretending he couldn't stand on his own. That last blow had made sure he couldn't. To the laughter and a few derisive calls the two made their way out of the pub and back towards the tender. Once aboard they had the crew row towards the ship right away.
In an alley near the pub a lone figure watched the pair carefully. He noted with a grim smile that they didn't seem as drunk as they had been mere seconds before. Marking the ship they headed towards, the figure slipped into the shadows and up the hill to the garrison to make his report.
