Date: Eleventh of January, year 810 Post Seminal War (810 PSW)

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Job Set his teacup down. “Sly, we need to know. It doesn't have to be everything, but when a fucking Altheim Crown Agent drops in on breakfast specifically to say hello, you need to give us at least some explanation.”

Sly buckled the rapier to her belt, “Elfyr was just telling me to keep my nose clean while working with you is all.”

Job looked at her hard. He knew she wasn’t saying everything, not by a long shot. “Alright, I’m going to make some guesses then. One: songbirds are Sirens, which means the two dwarves at the dock are Sirens. Two: ‘hounds’ are city guardsmen, ‘black dogs’ are the Ironbark Regiment, and ‘spotted cats’ are Crown Agents. Am I on track so far?”

Sly nodded, “aye.”

“So what in the seven hells is a ‘black cat’?”

Sly shook her head, “never heard the term before today, but it means a spy for the Ironbark Regiment, or a Crown Agent working directly with them. Not sure exactly which.”

Index nods and reaches for another apple, “the Cant is both simbol-laden and contextual then? Hounds for guards, Dogs or war-dogs for army forces, and cats for agents, with the color indicating affiliation. So by mixing black for the Ironbark Regiment with cat for an agent…”

Sly tosses her head. It is neither a nod, nor a denial, “good as far as that goes, but there’s a few more bits and bobs. ‘Cats’ not ‘cat.’ Means there’s more than one.”

Enra finishes her bacon and cuts into a hard-boiled egg, “all the more reason we should get to the Lower Archives soonest. I’d rather not be caught up in the wake of the Sirens or the Ironbark Regiment again.”

Job sputters out his tea, spraying the table, “what do you mean again?”

Sly fingers the hilt of her rapier, “the hammer’s come down on them hard, so they should be running.”

Enra finished forking her bacon into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “As despicable as The Sirens are, we have our own objective. Let Elfyr deal with them. We have kobolds and traps to worry about.”

Several hours later: just after noon.

Job looked at the map, then at the intersection in front of him, then back at the map. “This is supposed to be a T-junction, and we’re supposed to take a left. Instead it’s a four-way intersection.”

Sly picked up a rock and tossed it down the unmapped tunnel. It struck something in the gloom and a large section of the roof caved in. “It was a trap, and now its a T-junction again.”

Enra blinked dust out of her eyes, “you do realize that every kobold in several miles will be coming to investigate that.”

Sly tossed a shoulder, “they can stare at a cave-in all they like Prancer, we’re not sticking around to be found.”

Job took the left hand tunnel, “only two more turns to the Lower Archives, perhaps another seventy feet.” He didn’t have to look back to know Enra was smirking.

“And our searching of the Lower Archives won’t be silent either Pillows, so you get to stand first watch.”

Job almost stumbled, “Pillows?”

“Well, the room only had a single bed, and she does make for a good pillow, so…”

Job did stumble for a moment, and kept his eyes firmly fixed on the tunnel ahead. That way the rest of the party wouldn’t see him blushing, and he could pretend that he didn’t see Sly blushing too.

Three hours later…

Job looked up from the scraps of scrolls on the stone shelf, “nothing here. Moving to the next one.”

Index looked up from her calligraphy work; transcribing the contents of the nine broken stone tablets that the group had found, “just as well, because transcribing these is taking some time.”

A Message cantrip wormed its way into Job’s ears, “don’t be startled, but take a look up and left. What’s that red shape at the top of the debris pile?”

Job slowly turned his head, trusting the hood of his cloak to keep the motion subtle. He spotted the red shape Enra had messaged him about and whispered back, “looks like a kobold but with wings. An Urd, perhaps an outcast?”