The long voyage was most tedious. Then again, Benold always found sea travel droll. He realised how much worse it was when you could not communicate adequately with anyone on the ship. Whatever language that smug scientist was teaching him, it was not what most of the crew spoke. The only other person who seemed to understand his infantile speech was the engineer. But he was often busy and had little to say.

It was a triumph, at least, to make it to harbour a sane man. Nose in the air, the first few steps on a solid ground were a wondrous, albeit somewhat disorienting, experience. It took him a while to stop swaying as he'd learned to do to compensate for the rocking of the ship. He cast a surreptitious glance around, eager to see he wasn't the only one. Alas, most of the crew who went ashore adapted with relative ease. But spotting Baldovo, who was speaking with some important looking person - Benold had an eye for such - swayed a little. A half smirk crawled onto Benold's face with smug satisfaction.

Baldovo looked up from a document he was holding, to see Benold. Their eyes met, and Benold almost looked away to feign disinterest, but it was too late. Baldovo was beckoning him over. While Benold considered his use of the language had improved, he still needed to admit that it wasn't quite polished enough to strike out on his own. With a grim countenance, he approached the snide researcher.

"You'll need a place to stay. Come."

Benold could not deny this fact. He had no money, no contacts, and no influence with these people. He didn't even have his gun or status to bully or intimidate people to provide him with the necessities. It took all of his willpower to not sag his shoulders after slink after Baldovo, who turned and began his stride across the pier.

"Trosyn. Is she here?" Benold wasn't going to let his goal slip out of his sights. He demanded that this harrowing trip had its payoff.

Baldovo gave a shrug of his sloped shoulders. "All in good time, my waterlogged friend, all in good time. First, let's get some real food in us." He picked up his pace, moving quicker than a man of his shape ought. But perhaps that was because food was involved.

Benold didn't exactly know everything that Baldovo said, as he often slipped in words that were unfamiliar. For all he knew, the man was making up words just to confused him. Although, Benold could not help but reflect how often he spoke in complex terms to Caorain who could not hope to understand all of them. Still, she seemed to understand enough to surprise him. He certainly had a new appreciation for her situation. Although Benold considered his current predicament far worse. At least Caorain had a conscientious husband teaching her patiently and kindly.

Well. Benold believed he was kind. Certainly kinder than the paunchy, pompous man he was stuck with as his instructor.

Aromatic smells managed to break through the stench of fish and fishermen, and Benold's attention was piqued as his stomach made a rather ungentlemanly sound. Baldovo did mention food, and while he was uncertain if these foreigners could provide anything inoffensive to his delicate palate, the smell wasn't too awful.

"In you go," Baldovo said, holding the door open.

The building didn't look anything special, having strange pale walls with odd bumpy patterns in it. It reminded him somewhat of a messy layer of meringue. Benold walked in, head held high, trying to ignore the fact he had been wearing the same clothes for days, and hadn't had a proper shave and trim for weeks. A quick glance around the other patrons, however, told him he needn't worry too much about his appearance. The men here were all shamefully shabby.

"Ah Baldovo, you mud-faced whore! Come in, come in. Who's your rugged friend there?" A man even broader than Baldovo greeted them, slapping Baldovo on the shoulder with gusto. His red face was pinched and pushed with a wide grin, that made his close set beady eyes barely visible. Benold quickly stepped aside out of this man's formidable reach.

"Ladio, you porcine skunk! Ah, just some flotsam picked up on the voyage. Now then, how about two of my usuals?"

"Two fried squid, coming up!"

Benold was relieved when the man in the apron wandered off. There were some unusual smells in the area, to which Benold could not decide whether they were enticing or off-putting. But he decided anything would be better than the hard pucks of grain served on the ship. Baldovo led him over to a small, round table with a brightly patterned cloth, lacking in any elegance or style. Still, it appeared mostly clean. Benold gently brushed the seat he was offered with his sleeve, then sat down.

"What is 'fried squid'?"

"You'll find out, and thank me later." Baldovo leaned back and rested his chubby fingers on his stomach.

Benold was sceptical. He glowered at other patrons, elbows on the tables, talking with their mouths full, and every meal etiquette sin he could imagine. He quickly looked back at Baldovo, the lesser of evils in the room. The din of clanging steins, laughter and talking was already feeling too much like the crew's mess. "We eat. Then you take me to Trosyn."

"Simmer down. I need to get her address first. Floratti is too large to just knock on doors. In the meantime, relax. Enjoy yourself. Have some wine." Baldovo straightened up, lifting a hand to summon a grizzled yet spry fellow. "Wine, my good man! I'm not picky so long as it's red!"

"What is..." Benold began to ask, but seeing Baldovo's eyebrows raised, he knew it was a prelude to mischief. There would be no straight answers to get from the difficult man. Benold shook his head to signal he withdrew his question. "Waiting... to find Trosyn. Ah." Benold rolled back his shoulders, sitting erect. "Where can I..." again he trailed off, finishing with stroking the unkempt scruff growing along his jaw. He then added in his own language, as if speaking it could unwind and relax the stress of speaking Lomanian. "It's just as well finding Trosyn will take a while. I wouldn't want her to see me like this."

Baldovo squinted at Benold a moment or two, rubbing his own chin. Then his eyes widened and he smiled, lifting a finger. "Ah, of course. I'll make sure you see a barber and get you to a bathhouse. Hmmm... do they have bathhouses in Siperon?"

Benold squinted as he mouthed over some of the syllables he heard but did not understand. Teasing out what he did know, however, he knew he was being asked if they had something where he was from. "Bathhouse?"

"Hmmm..." Baldovo rubbed his chin in thought. "Ah. Right. I didn't teach you bath, did I? I used the word washing. Hmmm. So a place where we scrub, uh, wash, then go in warm water. Soak. Relax. We come out clean. We wash ourselves." Baldovo rubbed one shoulder, then the other, and finally scooped his hands in the air and flung it to his face, pantomiming splashing himself. Benold arched an eyebrow, but gathered the gist. Which was a relief. He needed a bath, badly.

"Ah, yes, a bath!" Benold blurted excitedly in his native language. He then cleared his throat and straightened up, relaxing his face to erase any sign of his uncomely eagerness and repeated in Lomanian. "Bath." He rolled back his shoulders, pleased. "I have bath in my house."

"Good for you. But a bathhouse is a not a home. It is a place people go to have a bath. Many people use it."

Benold canted his head to the side, eyes narrowed. He wasn't sure if he was understanding Baldovo correctly, but if he was, he was not liking what he was hearing. Bathe in a public place? Scandalous! Just as he was about to try and seek clarification with the limited vocabulary at his disposal, two tin cups were set down. Benold gazed at the dark liquid, hard to really identify in the dim lighting.

"Drink up, you persnickety coxcomb, drink up!" Baldovo grinned and raised his cup. Unaware of the constant insults slung at him, Benold hesitantly raised his as well. He watched Baldovo quaff the beverage with abandon. Benold brought the cup to his lips and gave it a tentative sniff.

Wondrous! Benold's eyebrows shot up and his face relaxed in a near swoon. He recognised that bouquet immediately. Wine. Beautiful, lovely wine. It was almost too good to be true, and he decided perhaps these Lomanians weren't so bad after all. But now knowing what was in the cup, her looked at Baldovo rather perturbed. How could he chug a luxury back like that? And serving it in cheap tin cups? Blasphemy!

Benold took a dainty sip and savoured the experience. After living off of watered down ale, it was bliss. It was a bit weightier than his preference, but it was still an oasis in the recent slew of mishaps he had to endure.

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"Ha! You really enjoy that, eh? Trosyn said you were quite the wine bibber." Benold ignored Baldovo's chatter, twirling the contents of his cup and staring off into space. It wasn't until Baldovo leaned forward, clasped hands on the table, that the man afforded his attention. "Now then. I said I will help you find Trosyn. But you will also help me. With Trosyn to translate, I need to know how you came here." Balvodo held up a hand. "And please, don't give me your life story. Just how you got dumped in the ocean for us to find."

Benold took a long sip of his wine, sharp eyes on Baldovo. He did not understand everything that was said, but he understood enough. Strings would be attached. This did not surprise him in the least. He had been waiting for the man to try and strike a deal with him. He shrugged his shoulders and set the cup down. "We find Trosyn. Then we talk."

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Smooth as butter. Benold ran his hand over his own freshly shaved cheeks. The barber that Baldovo recommended worked nothing short of wonders. Benold wistfully recalled when he used to have a barber on retainer who came to his home to pamper him. But those days were gone. He also missed having a bath in the privacy of his own estate. While he had no qualms about having a trusted servant run a bath for him and wash his hair, the idea of soaking with a bunch strange foreigners was off putting. He spent most of the time with his eyes closed, trying to imagine himself at home.

At least he had some fresh clothes. Benold looked down at the shirt that did not quite fit right. A display of a tailor's work in the shop windows was not necessarily strange to him. What he discovered, however, were clothes that had been made ahead of time. One could walk in, select a shirt, pay, and walk out. The notion had some appeal for convenience, but the execution was poor. The sleeves were too long, and the breeches were too short. He still had his original boots, which were ruined by the seawater, but still serviceable, but they did not quite reach the hem of his bottoms, which irritated him.

"Where now?" Benold asked as he trailed behind Baldovo, who strolled at a leisurely pace through the crowded streets. The people around him wore such bright clothes and the women all had their hair down. He thought perhaps it was because all of the married women were at home minding their households, but then he saw several of such women openly kissing or hugging men in the streets. Certainly, they must be married to carry on in such a way in public. He wasn't sure how he felt about all women dressing like maidens. And with flowers in their hair, too!

"Now I shall take you to my humble abode," Baldovo responded, pausing at a stall to eye some sort of confection. Benold huffed lightly, scornful at the man. Not only did he down a large plate of that gritty, chewy monstrosity he called a delicacy, he ate half of Benold's as well. It was a valiant effort to keep eating the ringlets of indecipherable flesh out of politeness, but the battle was eventually lost.

"Your... humble abode..." Benold repeated uncertainly.

"My house."

"Ah." Benold frowned. As much as he looked forward to some place where he might get some quiet time and put up his feet, he was not keen on sharing space with his guide much longer. He had little choice.

Upon entering a building with smooth arches, framed with tasteful hanging plants, a woman was upon them in moments. Out from her apron she took some letters and threw them at Baldovo. He fumbled to catch them, one or two flipping out of his grasp and landing on the ground. "Mister Danaudi! You-"

"Bah! Woman! Enough with you! I can't get in the door without the harpies descending!"

"Your rent is late. Until you pay, no supper." The woman was old, wiry, and her face dominated by a large noise and tiny, dark eyes that peered out like a hostile rodent. She gestured a gnarled finger to Benold. "And who is this!? Another tramp? Or is this one an actual investor?" The woman paused, giving Benold a more critical eye.

Benold straightened his posture and lifted his nose. He did not like the tone this woman was using, nor the way she was sizing him up. The shrew reminded him somewhat of his housekeeper, but with far less decorum. "He's a foreigner in need of bed. I assure you, Mrs. Checci, he will not be here for long."

"See that he isn't. I don't like the look of him." She turned directly to Benold, pointing a slightly curved finger, like a talon, at him. "Keep your airs to yourself. This isn't a hoity-toity hotel."

Benold jerked his chin back, frowning deeply at the woman. Her tone conveyed much more than her chattering. "Now see here madam..." Benold began, then remembered she wouldn't understand a word of his indignant speech. Instead he nodded and added a begrudging, "right you are."

"You'll get your money when I've had a chance to settle in. I told you I would be at sea," Baldovo grumbled as he picked up the fallen epistles.

"And I told you to pay in advance!" The woman put her hands in her spacious apron, pulling out a parcel. "There'd better be money in this!" She tossed it at Baldovo who dropped the letters in his hands to catch it. "Next time you go to sea, I'll throw your things in the street."

"Do that and I'll poison you like the miserable rat you are!" He eyed the parcel in his hands. "This had better not contain anything fragile, house wench!"

The woman bared her teeth and made an awful noise, between a scream and a hiss before she turned and stormed off. Baldovo turned to Benold and smiled pleasantly, as if he hadn't been in a row with a feisty termagant. "Do not fear her temper. She comes by it naturally, being my cousin."

"Cousin?" Benold tilted his head, wondering if that were the word for wife. He hoped not.

Baldovo did not elucidate, preoccupied with picking up all of the flung papers that littered the ground. "Well, let's head up."

Humble abode was an appropriate description of the one bedroom apartment Baldovo lived in. Benold looked around with a wrinkled face at the sloppy, cluttered room with no rhyme or reason to its furniture or other items. There was a desk in the room, not squared against any of the four walls, but angled and off centre. It was covered in papers, and there was another table just under a poorly shuttered window, beams of mote filled light sneaking in through the cracks. Instruments of unknown purpose lined wooden shelves, and two mismatched chairs were placed near a tiny wood stove. Another corner was occupied by a settee, but several coats and other outer garbs were tossed over it. The walls were papered with various charts and maps, all of which meant nothing to Benold.

"Sit. Make yourself at home," Baldovo instructed absently as he shuffled through the post. He set the letters aside and untied the twine from the brown paper parcel. His face bespoke disappointment as his lower lip stuck out petulantly, but his eyebrows drew together in consternation. He lifted a stack of even more letters out.

Benold looked around at the seats available, and gingerly lowered himself into one of the chairs by the stove, although it was not in operation. He glared at the blackening on the wall above the stove, reminded of his own home, ruined by fire.

"Damn." There was a shuffling of paper. "Damnation to the darkest nights. That puts a screw in my plans."

"What?" Benold asked, turning slightly to look at Baldovo.

In his hands Baldovo held two different letters, eyes darting between both of them, lips moving. He glanced up briefly at Benold then at the letters again. "I guess I won't be taking you to Trosyn after all. She's missing."

Benold took in a breath, his heart beginning to race. He felt that tightness across his chest again. "What is 'missing'?"

"Gone!" Baldovo barked back. "Not here!" He frowned and set the letters down, placing his hands on his hips.

"Not here? Where?"

"I don't know! No one does! She's gone."

Gone? Dumbstruck, Benold stared. It was most fortuitous than he was already sitting, for he felt as if he might fall. He had taken for granted that he'd be reunited with Trosyn at last, only for her to be yanked out of his grasp yet again. A sharp pain jabbed in his chest and his hand groped at his shirt. "Gone..."