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The lefty branch has shophouses for shops, quite poshy looking, selling baccy and booz, the good stuff. The sellers continue until about the middle of it, then the cobbles turn nicer and bigger, and the shophouses become just houses, a compact terrace row.
Seafood counts out the houses, waits at one particular side door. When a gruff Rhea housemaid opens it, he palms her the wood token.
She secrets it, giving YOU an ugly look as she does.
"Using <span class="mu-i">children</span> now. <span class="mu-i">Beast.</span>"
You want to sock her, but Seafood's pinching the back of your hand, so you keep your Moron Face on.
She hurries you both in, bolts the door. The back and frame are iron.
•••
She leads the two of you into a coal cellar, another iron door leading downwards, then a narrow brick tunnel. She passes you what the Rheas call a Thief's Teacup: a lidded tin cup with a hole cut out the front, so that the candle or oil wick inside projects a beam just forwards, leaving the user's eyes partially adjusted to the dark.
You don't need it, having Dark-Peek, but you leave it on.
When you reach the other end, another iron door, Seafood knocks. An eye-slot opens.
"Pretrichor," says Seafood. The slot closes, the door opens.
So this is a Thieves Den. Bare walls and floors, wood furniture. Card and dice gambling is happening here and there, with sandwich components for ante. There's drinks being served from a small bar; no ale or beer, only clear shots from dark green bottles. Smells like mealy apples.
You're under watch the moment you're through the door. Unlike the reffijjees of Camp Everdote, they don't hide that they're watching, or that they're armed.
One of them, the doorwatcher, points you to a table at the far end of the cellar. There's a Rhea sitting at it. You see his eyes without meeting them. He's Fighty for sure.
