"The gangs are touchy about their territories," Mother Lardner said idly, after she'd gotten herself settled into the padded booth.
"Always," Vallista Greycloak agreed. She had no idea how much of Mother Lardner's frail old woman act was genuine, though she suspected the grey-haired woman was far more spry than she let on. It didn't matter too much, either way; Mother Lardner was dangerous for other reasons, and while they Greycloaks might be the stronger of the two gangs, the Beggars could do them a lot of damage if they really put their minds to it. That was part of the reason why Vallista hadn't sent any threats or demands their way; she wanted the people who had killed her father, not a pointless and wasteful gang war.
"That's why I came up to see you." Mother Lardner turned her head and smiled genially up at the server. "Do you have a hot mulled wine, dearie?"
The server -- a young human woman, unaffiliated, with a professional smile on her face -- considered that for a brief moment. "Well... nothing prepared, but if you don't mind waiting a few minutes we could make it happen."
"That would be lovely," Mother Lardner said. "It eases my joints, you see, and at my age anything that helps is, well, something to be appreciated."
"Hot mulled wine," the young woman repeated, then focused on Vallista and frowned slightly, then swallowed. "And what can I get for you?"
"Cider," Vallista decided. "Whatever you have. And -- a bowl of those crisps you serve with meals."
"Cider and crisps, and hot mulled wine. It'll be a couple of minutes, but I'll get it out." She backed away from the table, turned smartly, and didn't quite run into another server as she headed for the back of the Copper Pot.
"Territory," Vallista said idly, tapping her fingers on the table. "My father died in yours, in the midst of some kind of business deal with an upper-city merchant. Not one he told me about. Do you know anything about it?"
"I knew he was there," Mother Lardner said softly, leaning forward sympathetically. "My people told me. And then they told me he was dead, so I came to see what I could do."
"...Do?" asked Vallista, momentarily puzzled.
"He was Anderlin Greycloak, and he died in my territory -- in one of the establishments where we don't touch the clientele. I tried to bring him back, but I don't think I got there fast enough. Then I tried to question his spirit, to learn who killed him, but that didn't work either."
"How did he die?" asked Vallista, half-numb.
"Stabbed," Mother Lardner told her. "A dagger through the ribs and straight into the heart -- poisoned, too, I'm reasonably sure. A single blow, and if my hunter is to be believed then it took him by surprise. His bodyguard likely died a moment later, then the merchant and his bodyguard. Whatever exchange they were making, everything involved was gone. So was his swordbelt, or I'd see it returned to you. I tried to locate it -- magically -- but it's either hidden or out of range."
Vallista took a long moment to digest that. She'd learned of her father's death from Tavik, who'd been overseeing her father's bodyguard detail -- minimal, for a meeting like this, and apparently completely insufficient in the moment. He'd stood before her in his tattered clothing, explaining something about flying snakes and people bursting into the Overlook and then the unexpected discovery that everyone in the back room was dead. The intruders were gone by then, and somewhere in the chaos he'd apparently been set on fire; it was only later that he'd been healed and cleaned up by a passing bard.
He'd offered his life as penance. Vallista had pretended to consider, but had of course refused. Tavik might have failed, but he was loyal.
She shook her head. It was too much to take in all at once. "I'd like to see."
"I'm sure you would, poor dear." Mother Lardner hadn't quite broken character, but she was close. "May an old woman make another suggestion, though? To help keep the peace?"
Vallista tilted her head. "Go on."
"It's your father," the old woman said simply, and not without some genuine sympathy. "Of course you want to come see. But you're in charge now, up here. Send one of your lieutenants, and... let's say a half-dozen of their people? They can come down, ask questions, look at everything we looked at. As long as they don't stab anybody, you have my word that the Beggars will leave them alone." She paused. "And if they do need to stab somebody, well, let us know and we'll arrange to cover it. When they're done, they can bring your father's body back up, and you can look at it for yourself."
"That's..." Vallista swallowed. "That's very generous."
"I know a thing or two about losing parents," said Mother Lardner, and this time all pretense had dropped; she was off in her own memories for three full breaths.
Then she said: "It's a bad business, all else aside. The Overlook brings the Beggars more money than most people realize. We make it look Lower City but keep it safe, the Upper City brats come slumming, Owin overcharges them ridiculously and pays us a decent cut. Everybody benefits. But it all depends on keeping that balance between making them feel like they're really slumming, and keeping them safe enough to come back."
"Yeah." Vallista drew a breath, then decided to forge ahead. "Almost as if somebody is trying to set us against each other."
"Ha!" Mother Lardner snorted, then looked up as the server returned.
"You're in luck," said the young woman, who was now carefully avoiding meeting either of their eyes. "We got the heater going immediately, and here's your wine." She set the ceramic mug down, its contents steaming. "Your cider... and the crisps."
The server straightened. "Anything else for you?"
"Not for now, Dearie," said Mother Lardner. "This is delightful."
The girl's grin turned momentarily genuine. "Good to hear it." She looked at Vallista. "Anything else for you?"
Vallista felt herself chuckle unexpectedly. "No, you're doing fine. We'll wave you over if we need anything else."
"As you will," the server said, picking up on that immediately. "I won't bother you unless you do."
"You've noticed that too," Mother Lardner said, once the young woman was gone. "It's mostly passed by us, until now."
Vallista nodded. "Whereas we seem to be a target, of sorts."
"Huh," said Mother Lardner. "I hadn't looked at it that way."
"I'm having a hard time not looking at it that way."
Mother Lardner sighed. "I suppose technically we're rivals, but... you're new, and you're grieving, and you're stepping up just as thing seem to be changing. That's a lot to take on all at once. So I'm going to give you a piece of advice, one that's served me well over the years: don't assume it's personal."
"Somebody murdered my father," Vallista Greycloak said quietly. "That feels pretty personal."
"Yes," agreed Mother Lardner. "My dear, I'm not saying you shouldn't take it that way. I'm just saying that you shouldn't assume their reasons for doing it were personal. It would cloud your judgement and make them harder to find."
"Ah," said Vallista. "Yes. That makes sense."
