Upon their return to Osprey Hall the squad had only one real priority and that was bathing. It was a fortunate thing that the plumbing standards in Jestriff were up to snuff. Proper, if a little basic, porcelain baths and toilets marked a great improvement over the wooden-seated hole in the ground and the communal puddle. It took some time for enough hot water to be drawn for the six returning men but soon enough all were clean again and the air was thick with fresh, floral scents. At Alter’s request upon their return, messages had been sent to both the main house and city hall. As the squad reconvened in the Hall’s briefing room they were joined by Oliver who was eager to hear their report. A few minutes later they were also joined by Howard, the leading administrator that had taken the young lord to task the other day, he carried with him a number of rolled up parchments in his arms.

“Thank you both for coming so quickly. Let me bring you up to speed.” Alter began.

The two men listened silently as their findings were presented, their faces a mixture of curiosity bleeding into resigned contemplation. The confirmed report of the antagonizer's main infiltration route yielded no expressions of great surprise. In fact, at the mention of their exit destination Oliver snorted and shook his head.

“The Last Flourish, of course.” He chuckled grimly with a slight shake of his head.

“There’s a story here.” Riptide perked up as he looked at the lord expectantly.

“How to explain. The Last Flourish is what is referred to as a ‘Known House’, every city in the nation has at least one. Think of it as a place where less egregious illegal activities can be undertaken or enjoyed without the guard kicking up too much of a fuss. A necessary evil.”

“Why are they allowed to operate?” Alter asked.

“Because they’re inevitable. When you gather such a large amount of people together in one place there is guaranteed to be a criminal underbelly formed. A Known House allows the city to provide a place for the inclined to indulge within a controlled environment. Drinking, gambling, drugs, the works.” Oliver began.

“That just sounds like a seedy pub with extra steps.” Whim snorted.

“A fair point.” Oliver agreed, forestalling Alter’s hushing. “Other than being an outlet, the owners of the House are carefully selected for their strong code and strict boundaries. They make sure no overly destructive substances enter circulation, that the more abhorrent crimes don’t become reality, and that rival syndicates from out of town can’t set up shop. I like to think of it as hiring a gardener. We provide the lawn space, they keep the grass cut and tidy, and we work together to get rid of any malicious weeds that try to take root. It’s by no means a perfect system, but it’s much better than leaving the garden unchecked.”

“I see why you’re not surprised this place is involved then.” Alter commented, the possible logistics of such an establishment made his head spin.

“Actually, I am a little surprised. It’s so … unsubtle. To the point that it feels too obvious. My Uncle’s men are much more comfortable than I thought.” Oliver admitted, one hand reaching up to idly scratch at his chin.

“It saves us the pain of having to sniff out a more discrete safehouse. We’ll have to organise a meeting with the Foreman to determine his loyalties.” Howard spoke with a grimace.

“No need, he’s picked his side, and given the way the wind has been blowing up until now it was a prudent choice. There will come a time when we have a nice sit-down chat with the man once this whole mess has been sorted out.” Oliver promised.

“Should we add this ‘Foreman’ to our list of opponents?” Alter asked.

Oliver pondered the question for a moment. “I don’t think so, no. The man may twist and bend to pressure like the world’s most stubborn reed but he won’t completely break no matter how hard my uncle digs his claws in. He won’t do anything directly damaging to us, using the Flourish as a base is likely the most he’d allow. Still though, that doesn’t rule out giving him a gentle reminder, does it?” He smiled.

“Very well. Moving on, Two, tell us about these weapons you caught sight of.” Alter matched his expression before shifting the conversation onward.

“Three, Seven and I had been following a pair of suspicious individuals whose conversations we’d been listening in on at the canteen. After a short walk they stopped at a large tent a short distance off the main road. They spent five minutes inside before leaving with another man, fortunately they forgot to leave the door flap down so the interior was visible. Inside the tent was a young man and half a dozen large wooden crates. We watched as he opened one of the crates before retrieving, inspecting and replacing ten short swords, he then moved on to another crate which contained some type of short halberd. All of them looked new, unfortunately the lad realised he was visible and quickly released the flap.” Riptide reported.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

His words were met with silence by the wider room, broken only by the faint clatter of kitchen preparations from the floor below. It was Howard that was the first to speak, his voice slow and clear.

“Were you able to determine where these weapons were being moved to? Or any other details?” He asked.

Riptide shook his head apologetically. “The men we were following were alert to their surroundings once they left the canteen. We couldn’t risk getting close enough to overhear them, I'm afraid. The only other detail I saw was that the crates had a picture of a green lion stencilled to their sides.”

Howard turned to Oliver. “My Lord, the report we received from Breakdune. Do you think?” He asked with trepidation, but Oliver’s worried face painted a seemingly bleaker picture.

“Even if the shipment we caught wind of was able to make ideal time it still couldn’t have arrived here by now. This is another one. An unknown, earlier one.” Oliver sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Gods I wish those shipping manifests I’d managed to get copies of hadn’t burnt up in the carriage.”

“Did you report the tent’s location to the Watch Lieutenant?” Alter asked his tracking team.

“I did.” Pavejack nodded. “He promised to get it looked at this evening but I don’t know if I believed him.”

“Which one?” Oliver snapped back into the conversation sharply. “What was his name?”

“Sturgill.”

“Then you were right not to believe him, he’s one my uncle’s cursed tree stumps that I can’t seem to uproot.”

“Then why was he designated to assist us?” Alter asked, frowning.

Oliver gave him a defeated smile. “He wasn’t. The Watch Captain is married to my uncle's second daughter, and both of them enjoy fiddling with assignments. It's a safe assumption that no inspection will take place, in fact I suspect those crates have already made it through the gate. Frustrating, isn’t it?”

It was indeed. Alter bit his tongue, knowing full well that any questions regarding how this captain was still in office would yield no satisfactory response. Subdued conversation continued for a while longer before he decided to reassert control over proceedings.

“Is it reasonable to assume that these weapons will be moved to the Last Flourish?” He asked.

Howard, his arms crossed, drummed his fingers against his forearm. “It’s certainly a strong possibility, but even if they’re keeping their arsenal somewhere else then it’s likely someone in there will know where that is.”

“Then it sounds like we’re busting in there and knocking some heads together?” Alter turned to Oliver who nodded.

“I’ll make a surprise inspection at the gatehouse late this evening. If I can confirm that those crates have indeed passed through then yes, I want you scouring that building tonight.” The thought of taking a proactive step forward seemed to buoy his spirits.

“Serious question. Why us? Surely there are forces available more suited to this role?” Walross spoke up.

“Because we’re the only ones who Oliver can trust not to immediately tip them off.” Riptide answered, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips at Walross’ discomfort.

“Also, we’re the only ones they won’t see coming.” Alter cut off any brewing arguments and motioned to Howard who spilled his clutched parchments onto a nearby table.

“These building plans are more than fifty years old, the best I could manage at such short notice.” He began. “They will not be accurate, the Flourish has seen many renovations over the years, but the general structure should still be the same.”

So began a lengthy discussion and introduction to the wonderful world of architect’s drawings. The Last Flourish was a three-storey end of terrace building, rectangular in shape but would be considered square after a heavy meal. Grounds to the rear of the building contained a sizable stable, paddock and carriage park. The front of the building was mostly given over to large, smoke-stained windows complimented by boxes packed with enough flowers to make you forget its more dubious purpose. The ground floor was mostly taken up by the bar, rounded out with a generous kitchen and waiting rooms for the servants and drivers of its wealthier patrons. The first floor was nearly all private rooms, the real meat of its subtler pastimes. Two staircases, one large spiral at the front and a small service set at the rear linked it to the entrance. The top floor was members only, with the front-facing third of the space taken up by a sumptuous terrace. Other than that, more rooms, more corners to hide in. Finally, an extensive basement stretched under the rear grounds and, if more recent reports were to be believed, had seen multiple extensions in nearly all directions. It too had multiple staircases, from both the kitchen and the stable.

The Last Flourish was a full storey taller than its neighbour, as such rooftop access would be impossible without a little climbing. After Oliver pointed out that the Flourish always has two sets of eyes stationed on the terrace that idea was dropped. They would be working ground up then, two teams of four. Simultaneous entries from the front and kitchen doors would hopefully cause enough confusion to make the late-night staff and patrons easy to control. From there it got more complicated, everyone was in agreement that this was too much for them to handle alone. Therefore, a team of Oliver’s most trusted guards would follow them in without being briefed, with on-the-spot orders to contain anyone already caught and to ensure the stairwells were kept secure. Ground floor secured, the two teams would go room to room on the first floor, again followed by guard teams to escort any further caught individuals downstairs. Repeat the process for the top floor and the basement and it would be job done. Hopefully without firing a bullet.

Plan concluded, Oliver and Howard went their separate ways leaving the squad alone to hash out more precise arrangements. Alter gazed wistfully out of the window, watching the fading daylight paint the sky a comfortable orange as firelight took the leading role. What he would give for a decent set of night vision goggles and a conveniently unguarded powerswitch. Unfortunately for him these people hadn’t invented electricity yet.

How very inconsiderate of them.