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

... --- ...

Job promptly jerked his thumb at Index, “She’s with me, the two of you can pair off.”

A trio of ‘What!?’ came back at him.

Job rubbed the back of his head, “best thing I can think of is to put both of you bio-girls in the same room for privacy reasons, which leaves Index with me. Try not to tear each other’s throats out before we find Elfyr in the morning?”

Enra nodded thoughtfully, “that is logical, if nothing else. And Elfyr will find us long before we find him.”

Sly looked down at Enra, sizing things up, “so, which one of us gets the bed, you or me?”

Enra thumped her on the hip with a fist in response, “that is an inclusive or, so the answer is ‘yes’.”

Sly blinked, grinned, blushed, and bit her knuckle to keep from bursting into laughter.

Job shook his head, “whatever works for you two. Index, you can have the bed when we get there.”

Index bowed, “I don’t actually need sleep, so I will…”

Job pointed a finger at her, “you have the bed. Just, bah… I can’t sleep without my back to a wall, and somehow I don’t think the bed will be against the wall. So you have the bed.”

Index cocked her head sideways “o...kay…”

Sly tapped Job on the shoulder, “lead on to the Iron Harp, we can talk while we walk. Index, it’s a gutter thing. With nobody to watch your back, and nobody you can really trust not to steal the few things you have…”

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

... --- ..

Job wrapped his hands around a mug of hot black tea and sipped slowly. Index was happily munching on a piece of fruit, her square silver teeth methodically turning it to mush with obvious enjoyment. Sly had a shelled hard-boiled egg shoved into one cheek as she sipped water. Enra was daintily using a fork and knife to eat bacon, a glass of mango juice at her elbow.

Job waited for her to finish chewing before asking his questions, “ok, where exactly are the ‘Lower Archives’, and why are they so important?”

Enra fished another piece of bacon onto her fork, “nothing of supreme importance or value. If it was, the Mage Academy or the Crown would be sending an expedition. This is Graduate-level field work, going over a site expected to hold some value, but nothing major. The Lower Archives are in the lower reaches of the Varr Barak undercity, named for the fact that it is underground. Were this an elvish or human library, we would not expect to find much; paper and parchment do not hold up well to thousands of years. But dwarves have an interesting tradition: if a document is valuable enough, it is carved into stone for permanence. We are tasked with finding any and all stone records tablets in the Lower Archives.”

Sly swallowed most of her egg whole and picked up another, “sounds like a lot of work.”

Enra nodded, “it would be, if the Lower Archive was intact and complete. It’s not. The section we know about ends where the roof caved in, leaving us with about a hundred and thirty square feet of intact shelf space to work with. Given the age of and damage to the area, I figure we will find twelve to fifteen intact tablets.”

Job sipped more tea, “and the kobolds?”

Enra nodded, sipping her drink, “the fools in the deck. Numbers are expected to be ‘low’ in the area, but that means nothing. They are crafty beings, adept at setting and using traps.”

“Indeed, I would expect more traps then kobolds.”

The appearance of the old half-elf took the entire table by surprise. “Elfyr, at your service Lady Thallia. Just stopping by to pass on an updated map of the area as well as some equipment that miss Malon left behind.” He tosses a short bundle of cloth across the table.

Sly catches it with the soft clink of metal on metal, a worried look on her face.

Elfyr winks slowly, “Ye put a right scare inta the songbrids at the gate, and they flew on back to their flock before flapping for the trees. The spotted cats had a merry old time chasing them down, and we black cats appreciate the help.”

Sly’s face went white and her eyes huge.

Elfyr nodded, “the cats know, and the cats don’t care Sly. Long as ye keep your fingers clean, it’ll stay that way.” with that, he stood, bowed, and vanished into the swirl of the Iron Harp’s common room.

Index swallowed her apple paste, “ok, who wants to translate and explain that?”

Sly pulled a rapier and shortbow from the bundle of cloth, “not me. Not here and not now.”