An hour passes before the front door opens once more. Tyrion shakes from his nap and sits up, peering over the edge. First out is Amadeo, talking in a low voice with Anna and Hope close behind. He watches them head down the street, though he can't make out what they're saying. Then comes the gnome, Rina something-or-other. Then the tall humanoid with the weird presence to them. Each of them heads in a different direction. "No Serenity or Niara. Guess they're staying at the Margrave's place. Fancy digs."

Finally, the halfling steps out, Lord Autumnsong with his dark hair and eyes. A carriage pulls around and he steps into it. "Oooh, that's not good." Tyrion moves to the edge where his stack of boxes rests. "Good thing I've got this." He hops over the ledge, maneuvering down to the ground as the carriage driver snaps the reins. The carriage begins to move and he exits the alleyway, undoing the hook with one hand and sliding underneath the carriage to hook onto the bottom. "Close call." Pulling himself up, he moves his feet into the low rung of the step, using the hook and step to keep himself suspended under the carriage. As they begin to pick up speed, he sighs, thinking of the party for a moment before shaking his head. "Sorry, guys, but this is one job I need to take alone."

The carriage makes its way through the streets at a decent pace, not sauntering but not barreling either. After about ten minutes, he hears the driver call out as the carriage pulls to a stop. "Woah! Woah, boys!"

"What is the problem, Samwise?" Lord Autumnsong calls out from within the carriage.

"Please, spare a few coppers." Tyrion hears a separate voice, ragged and stuttering with coughs. "I jus` need a lil` bit, enough to get me children somethin` to eat, sir."

"A thousand pardons, sir. It's a man askin for coin to feed his family." Tyrion looks from under the carriage, spotting the stranger's dirty feet.

"I have neither the time, the money, nor the inclination to give away my earnings to a beggar. Move along, Samwise."

"Sounds just like you, 'milord'." Tyrion snorts as the driver snaps the reins again. Before they pick up speed, he reaches quickly into his purse and drops a few shillings, watching the stranger stoop to pick them up from the ground before the carriage heads on its way once more.

They continue onward, turning this way and that before finally coming to a halt. "Fifteen minutes." Tyrion judges the time they took, removing his feet from the rung and undoing the hook. He lays there under the carriage as the driver gets down to open the door.

"Very good, Samwise. You may yet survive your trial and become my permanent driver. But the next time we are harassed by the poor, continue onward. Don't even stop to associate. We cannot fraternize with the filth of this country." Tyrion rolls his eyes at Lord Autumnsong's words, taking deep breaths.

"Of course, sir. My apologies, sir. I'll see to the horses, then be in to check on the Madam."

The halfling seizes up. Lady Autumnsong? Here? Of all places? What rotten luck!

"That will do nicely. A pot of tea would do nicely as well, something to wash the taste of that bird out of my mouth."

"At once, my lord." The driver holds the door open for the lord, then closes it and guides the horses and carriage away as Autumnsong steps into the building. Tyrion waits for the carriage to move away before standing up. He looks up at the building and huffs. "Wesley's Rest? Of course you'd choose this kind of place..."

He moves to the door, peering inside. Aside from the innkeeper at the bar and the steadily moving form of Lord Autumnsong heading upstairs, the lower floor is filled with people talking, gambling, eating and drinking. The well-to-do air makes Tyrion gag inside. "Gotta find out which room he's in." He takes a deep breath and snaps his fingers.

In he steps. Immediately, all eyes are drawn to the well dressed halfling in his fine nobleman's silks, who bows his head low before sitting at the one empty table. He keeps his sight on the lord, spying him entering a room on the third floor, three doors down. "Ok...Out of seven floors? Stupid big people buildings...Sorry, lad." He mumbles an apology and leaves his seat, moving up the stairs with haste before shimmying along the wall until he reaches the third door of the third floor. Seeing nobody around, he leans into the door and listens carefully, though the sound is somewhat muffled.

"Darling, you've returned! How was your meeting?" A female voice calls out.

"Fairly dull. There was the Margrave, a gnome from a guild out of Sumai, a lord belonging to the Loremasters who are funding this expedition, and a group of adventurers calling themselves 'Leur'."

"I've heard of them. Apparently, they did good work in Kaina."

"Quite. A human, a devilkin, a halfling, and a dark elf. They seemed quite the ragtag band."

"And what did you make of them?"

"The elf was a child, the devilkin and human seemed quite smart and asked some good questions pertaining to the expedition. The halfling barely made it through dinner before he politely excused himself and the devilkin escorted him out. He seemed an odd one."

"How do you mean, love?" A chair creaks from within and the lord sighs.

"The moment I sat down, he was on edge. His name was Tyrion Summerwind, I think? I didn't recognize him, but he certainly avoided looking at me the entire time we were eating."

"Did you give him your usual dirty look?" The woman giggles. Tyrion raises an eyebrow. Something is off.

"I have developed resting dwarf face, I suppose. But no, I thought I was rather pleasant tonight, or at least cordial." If Tyrion could roll his eyes any harder, they'd fall out of his head.

"Perhaps he simply wasn't the social type, love." The woman yawns, and there's a moment of silence before she speaks again. "Would you mind getting us some wine? I'd like a night cap before bed."

"Not at all, dear. Samwise should be up soon with some tea as well. I'll be back in a moment." There's another creak as footsteps come toward the door.

"Crap." Tyrion mumbles, looking around the landing. Where to hide, where to hide...

The door opens, and Lord Autumnsong steps out, closing the door behind him. As he passes to the stairs, Tyrion looks down at the main floor below him, holding tightly to the side of the landing and pulling himself up. He doesn't have long until the lord is back, but the idea of speaking with this woman won't leave his mind alone.

He climbs back over the railing and sighs, approaching the unlocked door and carefully opening it so as to not make any noise. Inside the room, the woman sits in a chair with her back to him, humming a little tune and working a pair of knitting needles on some yarn. He closes the door, locking it and pulling up his hood to cover his face. As he approaches, the woman stops knitting and looks over her shoulder. "You came back awfully qu-" She locks onto the figure that is not her husband, and before she can cry out, Tyrion whips the bone-handled dagger around her neck.

"Call for help and you'll bleed." Despite his normally calm demeanor, the malice in his voice is palpable. "You're going to answer a few questions for me. Lie to me, and I'll know. Lie to me, and I'll hurt you in ways you've never before imagined. Tell me the truth, and you'll go unharmed aside from whatever trauma this evening produces for you. Do we have a deal?"

The woman nods slowly, breathing accelerated but steadily calming at the possibility of leaving this 'conversation' without a scratch. Tyrion lowers the dagger somewhat.

"Wh-What do you want to know?" She looks directly ahead, brown eyes and blonde hair reflected in the window.

"You are not the real Lady Autumnsong. You don't look remotely like her. Your faces don't even match. Who are you?"

"I-I-I-" The woman begins to hyperventilate, her breaths coming quick and shallow.

"Calm down and answer the question."

"I-I am Lady Uma Autumnsong."

"Don't you lie to me. The wife of Phinneas Autumnsong is named Breia. You are not her. What happened to the real lady?" His grip tightens on the dagger and he growls.

Uma shudders and shakes, trying not to quake too much for fear she'll cut herself on the rogue's blade. "I don't know anything about her! I married Phinneas six months ago, and there was no Lady Autumnsong at that time. Please, just let me go!"

"One more question..." The door knob jiggles a bit, and the lord's voice comes from outside. "Uma? Did you lock the door?"

"Answer me." Tyrion hisses. "Or I'll leave a ruby necklace round your throat for him to find."

"Wh-What do you want t-to know?" She faces ever forward, even as the door is banged on. "Uma, can you hear me? Open the door!" The lord's voice speaks up, annoyance now filling it.

"Did he tell you what happened to-" The door bursts open, and Tyrion turns, the light from outside shining on his face.

"You!" The lord calls out, drawing a knife from his side. "What are you doing here?"

Tyrion growls and lets the woman go. "Having a chat. I learned it from being sent to the Cube."

"What do you want? Money? My life?"

"No, Lord Autumnsong. I want to know what happened to your first wife, Breia, whom you had a son with." Tyrion draws the Gust Shot, a bolt loaded into place in an instant, and aims it at the older man. "What happened to my mother?!"