Swamped

Perhaps it's safest if you downplay what you know. He still might think you're hiding something, but he shouldn't get the wrong idea at least.

"Do you happen to know what murderflies look like?" you ask. "Because I found a strange dead insect in the donated clothes. I didn't know what to make of it."

He looks at you, concerned.

"Let me see," he says.

You show him. He examines it closely. His eyes widen in surprise.

"It's had its blood drained? If it's still intact, that can't have happened all that long ago." He pauses. "I've still got to do what I can here. But if he got a full dose of murderfly blood..." He pauses again. "Well, we don't know anything. When did you find that?"

You think back. You woke up. You snuck into the records room. You put a flyer into your pocket and found the insect...

"After I woke up," you say, with realization dawning. "So anybody could have slipped it in there while I was asleep."

"Not anybody. Somebody in this hospital," the doctor mutters. You can't tell what exactly he's doing. "Thing is, this might actually be a mixed blessing. A lot of the worst stuff that happens with murderfly blood is body processes going wrong. If he's out this hard, it might actually be keeping him alive. Though if he stays like this, it might be the sort of alive that's no better than dead."

"You sound like you're getting at something."

"Sorry," he mutters. "Trying to concentrate on the patient, and trying to think about the problem at the same time. So here's where we're a little lucky. There isn't really an antidote for murderfly toxin, but we do know of a treatment that helps the body pass it through. It's just hard to get ahold of in the swamps - but a lot easier in a port town. We might need a way to wake him up, though..."

He nearly skipped past the most important part.

"You didn't mention what the treatment was."

"Right, sorry. Distracted. What you need is..."

Fine imported wine

"Sevethrian wine," he continues. "Small island a bit to the northeast, if you weren't aware. There's something very potent in their grapes, and it only seems to get stronger as they ferment. But it's also very sensitive, and if you get it cold enough and someone drinks it... well, their body becomes very eager to get rid of it. And that usually takes quite a few other things out as well. Patterson across the street reserves a bottle for emergency use, let me just make you a quick note so they know it's official. It'd be best to send one of the nurses, but I'll need them both here if things get worse."

It takes him a few minutes to get to the note, because he's still poking and prodding at Flame. What is he even doing?

"Sorry about that. Breathing was slowing down. I can keep that under control, but not all night. Hurry. And I guess we'll need to think of a way to wake him up... but one thing at a time."

He doesn't seem to be very good at sticking to one thing at a time right now. All the more reason you should help out. Quite aside from your interest in both Flame and in whatever's going on at Patterson's place.

Not that you'll be in time for the show, but perhaps you can ask about it while you're there. You walk out, and the nurse soon confronts you again.

"Where are you heading now?" he asks. Still skeptical, you see.

"The doctor needs something from Patterson," you say, holding up the note. "Sevethrian wine, I think?"

The nurse glances over it.

"Why send you and not me?"

"He thinks things might get worse here. You can help more than I can if that happens."

"Well, if you're on the up-and-up he's definitely worried. Totally forgot to mention how much ice we'll need," the nurse says, grabbing it and scribbling on it. "We don't ask for this often, so I doubt Patterson knows the amount by heart. Now, we do got a lot more patients than usual tonight, so I guess it is better if I'm here. But, I got one quick question before I agree to let you go over there."

Of course he does. Tonight is the sort of night where there's always one more little thing to deal with.

"What's your connection to our new clerk, exactly?"

You can't say you were expecting that particular question, though.

You don't like the thought of an implausible denial, an even more implausible truth, or outright deception. About all that leaves is deflecting with questions of your own.

"Why? Does your clerk have a health condition, and you think I might have it too?"

"You look an awful lot like him. The ears and chin, especially. Older, of course, and he doesn't have a beard, but other than that, I keep being struck by the resemblance."

When did this nurse see your younger self closely enough to know your features that well? You don't even remember him, which isn't that surprising considering he's on a different shift from you. This is unsettling.

Wait, no... a month before this, you fell unconscious. Turned out to be a strong fever. They said you were out for a day. With such a small staff, this nurse might well have tended to you and you'd never have known it.

"I suppose we could be blood relatives. Doesn't mean we know each other, though. For all I know, I could have had a twin who was adopted by a childless couple before I was a year old and my parents never told me about it. What does it matter?"

The nurse holds his bracelet carefully.

"It matters because a month ago, Nual told me how to heal that clerk's fever and now you come in here, claiming to be acting on his behalf. I do not think this is a coincidence."

Wait. Nual intervened to save you? You simultaneously feel grateful and like much of your life is out of your own hands.

And you suppose that means there's no sense hiding anything.

"I am that clerk," you say quietly.

The nurse nods, evidently needing no further explanation, and hands you the note. Sometimes it's easy dealing with believers.

"Go. Nual be with you."

You walk out without any further interruptions. Then you start making your way to Patterson's.

You just barely catch a glimpse of someone going in the door ahead of you, but even in that brief moment, you notice something striking.

A fuzzy tail

A tail. But you also saw the person was quite clearly too tall for a grebling.

Perhaps you saw something different and it simply looked like a tail? It did seem a bit thick for a grebling's, but that might have been your imagination. Well, whatever the story is, you might have a chance to find out inside. You keep your eyes open as you head towards the bar.

You notice quite a few unusual characters, though none with an evident tail. One of them has a wooden leg, with a brush at the bottom. He seems to be scrubbing the floor.

This isn't the sort of place you went when you were younger, though, so you have no idea if any of these people are regulars. Perhaps they're less colorful in the daytime.

Regardless, you're here for a specific reason. You head up to the bar.

"I'm here with a request from the hospital," you say. "Who do I speak to about that?"

The bartender grunts.

"Someone needs a late meal?"

"No, we need some wine for a special treatment. And ice. I've got a note," you say, waving it carefully.

"Ah. Yeah, that's one for the boss personally. Doesn't trust the barkeeps with the good liquor." He seems annoyed. "Wait right here until I get back."

You're doing a lot of waiting tonight, it seems. Maybe it would be best to make the most of it by looking around, or striking up a conversation.

Ask your bar neighbor if they've seen the show that's supposed to happen tonight.

You look at the nearest person. They seem to have ordered quite a few sandwiches, and are slowly making their way through the pile on their plate. No drink, though.

"I heard there's a show going on here tonight," you say calmly. "Would you know anything about it? If things calm down for me, I might be able to catch it."

"Plannin' to go home first," they say, taking another bite. "Seen a show here once and it just wasn't my thing. I only come here for the food."

How many sandwiches is that, exactly? Eight? You're having trouble counting.

"Oh? What put you off it?"

"Well, the actors were good and all, but the material was weak." They chew on this bite for a while before continuing. "They tried their damnedest to sell it, but the plot's just too dull and the characters ain't likable, or even all that funny. Then again, I guess any half-decent playwright can find a more stable job at a real theater. So maybe it's not too surprising."

Hmm. You find yourself curious about where they developed their taste in entertainment.

"Do you watch a lot of shows?"

"I did before the theater closed down. That was, what, eight years ago now? Most of the shows there were pretty solid. Acting was a little uneven, but that's to be expected when you hire a lot of first-timers like they did. The writing was a treat, though. Wish I'd paid more attention to the programs so I knew who did it, but oh well. Whoever it is has probably moved on."

You'd like to know more, but it's probably more practical to find out what you can about the show here. You find yourself wishing you'd paid more attention to the theater scene here in your youth, but it can't be helped now.

Well... now that you think about it, you did see a poster for a play that stuck in your mind for a while. And as you recall the title, you realize that it might not be entirely irrelevant to tonight's events.

It's just a hunch, but this person here might know enough to help you confirm it.

Wasn't there something about "The Gods of Atlantis?" That doesn't seem like it would have a dull plot, based on the poster you saw.

"I think I heard something of one of the plays before they closed," you say carefully. "It was called something like, The Gods of Atlantis, I believe?"

The sandwich-eater suddenly brightens up.

"Oh, that was a marvelous one! Takes place on this island kingdom. The Monarch, Atlantis, starts putting up statues to a new group of gods, and orders the people to worship them instead of the real ones. The story focuses on a fish seller, who refuses to worship Atlantis' new gods and goes through grave ordeals. Starts with people refusing to buy from them, then spitting on them in the streets, eventually being imprisoned. And then, just as the fish seller is about to be executed, they're given one last chance to repent, and there's this absolutely beautiful scene."

They're so enthralled they haven't even taken another bite of sandwich.

"They get this vision, where the new gods themselves call for the fish seller's conversion. Thing is, all the gods are very clearly the other actors in the play wearing masks. Sure, it's a way to save on hiring more performers, but it's also bloody brilliant, as it shows how the people just view these false gods as extensions of themselves. And so, after this parade of gods speak of all the wonders that the fish seller can have, just by worshipping them, the leader, who is of course played by the same actor as Monarch Atlantis, walks right up to them and asks, will you convert and be saved? And the fish seller just spits right in their face. Then, and I nearly jumped when I saw this... the gods all just take their masks off, and become the audience at the execution again. Same positions and everything. And Atlantis is reeling."

They finally manage to take another bite, and pause before continuing.

"Anyhow, the real gods then send a storm to condemn the island, which sinks to the bottom of the sea, and the fish seller is miraculously saved. That part seemed a bit unrealistic, not like the gods ever do that much for most of their believers, but I can buy that they'd sink the bloody island. They do tend to get upset at that sort of open defiance."

Well, whether that information was helpful or not, in and of itself, asking about it has put the sandwich-lover in a good mood. That might help you find out more about what's going on tonight.

"Oh, there was one thing," they continue. "Was a bit weird, but one of the new gods was actually sorry for the fish seller. Said he didn't want to see them suffer, but the rest had spoken. The corresponding character was just a ship captain who'd done business with them before the whole thing started, so I guess it was supposed to suggest that he felt sympathy but was too afraid to really stand up? I dunno, it could have been interesting if it was developed a bit more, but I guess there's only so much story you can fit into forty minutes. Still, really solid overall."

You should probably get your question in quickly. It seems they're only too happy to fill silence with their own thoughts now, so you'll want to direct those as much as you can.

Remember that you're looking for an unbeliever.
"Sounds like the old playwright had a strong sense of respect for the gods. How do the new plays compare on that count?"

"I wonder who wrote that. Were they devout? Or perhaps one of the churches sponsored the show?"

You're not that interested in it, but you think you can use the subject to lead things a little.

"The churches here never cared much about the theater one way or the other. Outside of some of the grebling actors catching some kind of trouble with the Church of Reth... not any official sort of trouble, but the kind where they very pointedly have as little to do with you as possible." They take another bite. "Don't know much about that business, myself. Not a grebling, after all."

"Well, it sounds like a good show for a believer, at least," you say calmly. "Can't recall seeing one that puts the gods front and center too often. Don't suppose the shows these performers do are at all decent in that regard?"

They put down their sandwich. It seems they're actually struggling with the question.

"Now, maybe this is just the sloppy writing, and I did only see the one performance so maybe it's different most of the time," they say after a pause. "But there was one scene about the gods. It seemed basically respectful, if a bit tacked-on. Just the main character realizing all the harm he'd done, and begging them for forgiveness. And they were telling him back, you've got one more chance, don't mess it up, pretty much. Could have been moving if they'd put more work into the dialogue, even if, again, it feels like more than they care about most people."

They pick up their sandwich again and finish it off. When they're done chewing they continue.

"But there was one thing about the scene that was weird. Really weird. I was pretty bored at the time, so I didn't think about it much, but now it's really striking me how strange it was."

There was an extra god

"There's sixteen gods, right? There were seventeen of them in that scene. Most of them just stood around and they just had plain masks that didn't really help with identifying 'em, so I've got no clue who the extra was supposed to be." They pick up another sandwich and take a bite before continuing. "Y'know, if it happened anywhere else, I'd figure they just didn't realize Brume and Nual are two names for the same god. Easy mistake to make if you're not a churchgoer. But here? This town's big into Nual. There's statues explaining the two names everywhere. Hells, just ask for directions and it's fifty-fifty on if you hit a worshipper eager to explain it to you. You'd have to go out of your way not to know."

Another god. The exile, perhaps?

But that doesn't make much sense. Nual told you to look among those who despised the gods. This is a scene glorifying them, making them arbiters of right and wrong. And it seemed rather tacked-on. If Goan's believer hates the gods, why include them at all?

So maybe they didn't write the scene. Maybe they just slipped into it, to make sure Goan was included. It seems pointless, but these are gods you're dealing with. You don't exactly know how they do things - perhaps it helps Goan if an audience sees him as a god, however indirectly.

You hear some creaking stairs. Perhaps Patterson is coming to deal with your prescription. If you want to ask the sandwich lover anything else, this might be your last chance before you have to get back to other matters.

Any idea why the old theater closed?

And when did they start doing shows here?

"So why did the theater close?" You have some idea of this - you weren't the most social person in your youth, but you weren't that isolated. Still, you only know a bit of the story.

"Money, mostly. People just stopped going to the shows. Not everyone, of course, but they just weren't making their expenses back. After a few months of that, they just gave up." They let out a sigh. "A shame, really. Suppose it's better than turning to some shady outfit for funding, though."

Now that has you curious. But something more immediate does, as well.

"So how long has this group been doing shows?"

"About a month, I think. Travelling groups usually come in for about that long, unless the money's looking especially bad or especially good. They don't have as high a budget for their shows, so mostly they just try to get enough for supplies to hit the next town." They bite into the sandwich again. "Oh, of course, there's a few places that just chase 'em out. But they know where most of those towns are by now, so they don't stop by... unless they're looking to recruit runaways, of course."

That answer drifted a bit. But you did get the information you asked for.

"You were sent by the hospital?"

A rather large, annoyed lady with an eyepatch is standing behind the bar.

"Yes. They're a bit busy, so they sent me rather than proper staff." You show the note.

"Wine and ice," she grumbles. "Right, I'll fetch the wine from the cellar. Ice is safe enough. Monty, put down the sandwich and go fetch some."

Your neighbor at the bar groans.

"Boss, I'm on break."

"This is for the hospital, Monty, so you can stay on break if you want to tell the patient's family you were too much of a lazy arse to fetch some goddamn ice."

"Why can't Les do it? Barely anyone's at the bar."

"No, but he's got to handle the tickets now. So you fetch the ice."

Monty lets out a sigh, and puts down their sandwich dejectedly as Patterson heads to the cellar.

"I can help," you suggest.

"You probably can't. This ice comes in pretty heavy bags and you're getting on in years." Monty grumbles. "Because Patterson's too cheap to get smaller chunks. Best thing you can do is make sure nobody else lays a hand on my sandwiches - and you better not, either."

Well. It seems you're waiting for just a little bit longer, but with Monty gone, you'll have to find a new conversational partner if you want to talk.

Then again, perhaps there's something you can do here besides talking.

Ask Les if he thinks the show is worth the price.

Before you give the matter much thought, you spot the bartender from earlier walking out. He's carrying a box - tickets, probably, given the earlier conversation.

You decide to follow him as he heads over to the front and sits down at an empty table.

"Expecting a lot of interest?" you ask.

"It would be nice to have the extra money, but I can't say that I am," he grumbles. "The troupe doesn't have the best reputation. Still, I suppose there are some theater diehards, so we might get the ones who don't want to miss their last chance."

"What do you think of their performance?"

"You're asking me when I'm selling tickets," he chuckles. "Obviously I want you to buy one, and tell anyone else you can about it! If you want an honest answer, wait until the show's over."

"No, just your personal opinion."

"Not much for the theater. Haven't seen them in action for myself. Patterson seemed impressed, though." He opens the box and starts tearing tickets off.

"Speaking of which, I hope she didn't give you too much trouble."

"Just the usual amount." He seems to be counting the tickets and putting them into piles. "She's not bad to work for, really. Just that she's had a few employees who tried to run off with one thing or another so she's a bit, protective of the more valuable stuff. I think it's also made her wary about what she spends."

Monty called her cheap, now that you think about it. You also feel a little guilty about wandering away from their sandwich pile, so you take a quick glance at it. Nobody's near it and you see the same number of sandwiches.

"But on the other hand, she not only works wonders with the food, even with the low-quality ingredients she buys. She's done a good job of teaching the cooks how to follow her example. My sister worked the kitchen here a few months back and started making the best meals. It's how I learned about the place. Pay's pretty good, too, that's one thing Patterson doesn't skimp on."

Well, that's interesting information about Patterson, but right now the troupe seems like your main lead. You're not entirely sure what you should be asking about them, though.

What tarnished this troupe's reputation? You'd think any publicity would be good publicity in this line of work, so it couldn't be a minor scandal.

"What do you mean by a bad reputation?"

"Oh, just that the theater critics don't care for them. No idea if that's a fair assessment or not, since I don't watch." He pauses before continuing - seemingly focused on a pile of tickets. "Of course, there's always rumors with traveling performers, that they're just in town to steal things. Mind, that's usually just the first week or so. If they don't leave town and nothing big actually goes missing, the sort who gossip about that tend to move onto something else."

"Is that what happened this time?" you ask. You have a strange hunch.

And he does seem a bit concerned about answering.

"Well. There have been some thefts this month, so the rumors are flying a little harder. Of course, most of those were resolved - the thieves were found, the items returned - but that doesn't stop the rumormongering." He's making a show of looking down at the tickets rather than at you.

"Most?" you ask. "Have you been following the thefts, then?"

"Ah, you could say that. My cousin's in the town guard. Says they've been taking the thefts seriously so as not to disrupt the festival." He starts putting a few of the ticket piles together in one spot before pulling more off. "It just seems to be the usual, greedy people, often out-of-towners, grabbing something that looks valuable and trying to skip town. Never very sophisticated jobs, so they haven't been hard to track down. Well, there's still the..."

He suddenly stops.

"Never mind, it's nothing important. I expect the boss will be back with your liquor soon, you should get back to the bar."

Hmm. Maybe his cousin told him something and he's not supposed to share it. Maybe the city doesn't want the people to know it's gone missing.

But he does have a point, you shouldn't linger here long. Still, if you think you can wrangle any more information out of him about the mystery theft, this is probably your best chance.

Once again, you find yourself wishing that you were a little more attentive in your youth. Then you might at least have some idea of what in this town might be significant enough that they'd want to hide its theft.

Of course, it couldn't be so significant that its absence would be obvious. Something important, but not prominently displayed...

A book.

Just tonight, you saw someone stealing a page, and you're fairly sure someone tried to steal a whole book. And books can hold spells. If a book was stolen, but it wasn't widely known it held a spell in it... that's the kind of situation where authorities would want to keep things quiet.

But he's probably on guard for you asking directly. Maybe you can say something else as you're heading back, and see how he reacts to it.

You can mention that someone was seen snooping through old books at the hospital tonight but that they got away.

Well, you can just drop hints about what you know.

"We just had a thief at the hospital. Seemed they were looking through old books or something. Might be worth telling your cousin about, we've been too busy to file a report yet."

He hesitates ever so slightly with his ticket counting. So maybe you are on to something.

"Unfortunately, I'm probably not going to get a chance to tell any guards until the morning," he says. "Still, I'll pass along the message once things are settled here, in case you don't have any time yourselves."

You suppose that's all you're getting. You head back to the bar. Monty's sandwiches are untouched, and Patterson is returning with the wine.

"Where's Monty with the damn ice?" she grumbles. "Can't be taking that long, can it?"

"I'll go have a look," you offer.

"Best if you do. Can't take my eyes off this wine or someone'll pinch it, and I can't pull Les off tickets when they're going to start selling any minute. Check the kitchen, it's over there."

She points to a door behind the bar. You walk over to it, and open it up.

Mortimer?! What are you doing in there?

You walk in and find Monty kissing Mortimer Flame. They both seem rather embarrassed.

"Sorry," Mortimer mutters. "It's just, after everything that's been going on tonight, I needed to see Monty. Was worried things might go wrong and I wouldn't get another chance."

"Well, things will almost certainly go wrong if your uncle doesn't get this ice," you grumble. "And since you've got to get back to the hospital anyway, you might as well help with carrying it."

"Uncle Leo? Damn, I'm sorry."  Mortimer glances around. "Where's the ice?"

"It's over in that room. Specially cooled. But we need a lot, so I'll fetch a wheelbarrow."

"I'll grab some and meet you outside," Mortimer says. "Maybe that will save us some time."

You follow him in. Monty was right - those are big bags. You don't think you could handle even one without throwing out your back - not unless you risked using magic. And given what happened the last time you took that chance... no, you're not going to until you understand more.

It then occurs to you that Mortimer might have information about some of the things you've heard lately. He might have heard about what's been stolen, or watched one of the shows. Maybe he even knows something about what happened to the old theater. You think for a moment about what you've learned since your last conversation with him, so you can settle on what to ask.