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"I am sure Lady Cousland is a wonderful woman, and plenty brave. But even I was a bit scared by Frick and Frack, and I’m sure I’ve been around the block a few more times than she has.
Any road, I’d never actually bring the gnolls to dinner. Perhaps I lack Junior’s high ideals, but I am perfectly happy treating monsters as monsters. Fun to think about, though. Might be good fodder for a puppet show – Dinner With Monsters. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?

"You needn’t clear the cell on my account. I have an aversion to any place with the lock on the other side of the door."

Martin doffs his hat, reaches for Geraldine’s hand, and bows gallantly, pressing his lips to the back of her hand in a most gentlemanly fashion. He knows the courtesy game, and can play it like any true nobleman. The effect is ruined, though, when, after releasing her hand, he gives a quick series of rising toots on the siren whistle on his ring, smiling as he rises.

“Fare the well, until the morrow,” he says, and heads back to the tavern.

Geraldine laughs. "You are a very funny man. Good night then." She turns and heads to the constabulary for a last check before turning in.

When he comes back to the inn, Martin finds it nearly cleared up, with only Tel and Nezza remaining. They look VERY tired.

Martin walks in quietly apart from the occasional jingles from his hanging bells, and sets himself wordlessly in the nearest booth. It’s been a long night, and hopefully one that will be longer still, if he can get some time alone with Nezza. ‘I must be slipping,’ he muses, ‘Forgot during the show to secure companionship for after. Rookie mistake.’

The cell at the constabulary was available to him, of course, but as he mentioned to Geraldine, he has a marked aversion to rooms with the lock on the other side of the door. Bad enough he is on a first-name basis with a constable. His friends in the city would be appalled to see that. Of course, he could have tried to talk his way into Geraldine’s home, but that relationship was far too critical to muddy the waters with ‘country matters’.

He sits quietly on his bench, singing a classic drunken, get-me-to-my-bed song quietly under his breath.

On his last tour of the tavern before turning in, Tel passes the booth Martin is in. He stops in front of the jester with a harrumph, then says gruffly: "The room next to the stables is unoccupied tonight. You can sleep there, free of charge." The man is obviously tired, but leads Martin to the room in question.

It is moderately large, well kept, with a number of bunks covered with blankets. Tel opens a wardrobe near the door and takes out a sheet and pillowcase. "Here. This is the room for the caravan men. As no caravan was expected, the beds are not made. But I'm sure you can help yourself."

"Very kind of you, my friend. My only other offer of a room this evening was one with a lock on the wrong side of the door. Go get some rest yourself. I have a few errands to run in the morning, but will see you afterwards."
Before retiring, Martin takes care to drink a large quantity of water, to reduce the chance of a hangover and to ensure that he gets up in time to meet the Seagull.

we've played out Martin's goodbye to the seagull, what will he do next?

Martin sings his way down the pier, a jaunty, silly little song of an ill-fated sea voyage which marooned a wealthy merchant and his lady, an actress, a sage, a farm girl, and the ship’s crew of two.

When he reaches the landward end of the pier, he looks back over his shoulder. He’s about to wish them ‘good luck’ when his stage training stops him. You never wish good luck before a performance. Instead, he says simply, though nobody can hear him: “Have fun.”

Stepping off onto the strand, he takes stock of his situation. ‘Let’s see: shopping, check. Parting gifts for the travelers, check. Piss off Junior, check plus.’ He pauses, deep in thought, wondering how far is too far. ‘I suppose I’ll know it’s gone too far when he takes a swing at me. Meanwhile, I shall continue killing all of them with kindness and pointing out when Junior’s being less than gracious.’ Martin grins. ‘Noblesse oblige has to come into play at some point, hasn’t it?'

That settled, he continues striding back into the village. So many things to do today. Where to start? As he walks, he picks up three stones from the path and begins juggling them, since juggling always helps him think.

Getting paid. There’s a good starting point. Tel owes me ten percent. Have to pick that up first thing.

And speaking of money, ‘follow the money,’ they always say. So who’s getting rich in town off smuggling? That will bear investigating.

Merchandise, unusual merchandise, if it’s going through the town, somebody must be selling it or transporting it. Look into shipments overland.

The smugglers themselves – they can’t be holing up in the ship and never visiting town. So look into strangers who come in when there is not a ship in port. Visit the local round-heels and ask around.

And of course, children. Few people realize it, but children are always underfoot, and are always hearing things, and are ridiculously easy to bribe. He’d need to find the kids from yesterday and start his own Irregulars; his own Bloodhound Gang.

But that would wait. He headed back to the Cobweb to see Tel about his money.

When Martin arrives at the inn, a smiling Nezza points him to a door next to the kitchen. "Tel's in there" she tells him.
The door opens to what seems to be a combined storeroom and office. Shelves with jars and bags line the walls, and there is a larger board that serves as a counter right next to the door. Tel is standing in front of it, sorting coins in three groups, humming softly.

When he sees Martin arrive, he grins broadly. "You were right, I haven't made that much money in a single evening for a year." He points to the stacks of coins in front of him. "All this is what came in last night. I'm just separating what it will cost me to replace everything the people have drunk, then we can split the rest. Ten percent for you it was, wasn't it?"

Martin bows and doffs his huge hat. “Didn’t come just to see him, gorgeous. Will you take breakfast with me, or are you working?”
[OOC]Whatever she says, he will head in to see Tel, and afterwards have breakfast wherever he may find it.[OOC]

Martin pulls up a chair, or a barrel, if no chair is available, and looks at Tel and at the coin-laden table. “You know, Tel my excellent good friend, you really need to be less chummy with the entertainment. If you had been, less chummy, that is, I’d have had no way to know how much we took in last night. Now I know how valuable I am, which could put you in a poor bargaining position should I try to renegotiate our agreement.”
He lets that sink in for a second and says, “I won’t do that, though. We had a deal, and I will honor it. Ten percent of the profits from the bar to me, ninety to you. Just do me favor and don’t try to tell me that last night’s event has caused a shortage of hootch in town, driving up replacement costs, because that would seriously damage our budding relationship. Capsice?”

"No, no, why should I do that" Tel asks with a frown. "I've calculated the normal price, we had a good harvest last year, both in apples and barley, so we have a lot of cider and can make as much beer as we like." Then his eyes narrow. "Or do you want to tell me you think I would cheat you?" he sounds like someone about to get angry.

"Be at ease, my friend. I have absolutely no fear of you cheating me. It's just that I've just met too many promoters and theatrical agents over the years not to twitch a bit when I hear the words 'replacement cost'. It's a dangerous phrase, one that promoters often use to take advantage of struggling artists. Look at it this way: I'm sure you've been dealing with the same butcher, baker and green-grocer for years, but you still want to know up front what your order is going to cost before you accept a food delivery, do you not?"
Martin cocks his head the other way.
"But then again, maybe you don't. I keep forgetting people are friendlier and more trustworthy around here than where I'm from. In Niole Dra or Hookhill or Rel Mord they'll steal your eyeballs if you're not careful. And in Greyhawk or Rauxes they'll come back the next night for the sockets. And the ones who rob you with words are twice as dangerous as the ones with knives.
"Any road, how did we do?"

Tel looks at Martin, a look of non-comprehension on his face, but then he shrugs.

"Well, we've taken in more than a thousand silver. One thousand, two hundred and seventy-seven, to be exact. Most of it is from the sale of ale and cider, some from wine and mead. Wine, I need to get from over the sea, that's expensive for me. Mead, I buy here in town. Cider and ale, I make myself. I need to buy the apples, barley and hops" he says pompously. "So the earnings of the night are seven hundred and thirty-one silver."

He pushes the smallest heap of coins, seven gold, three silver and one copper, towards Martin.

(OOC: How did I get these figures? Well I assumed the tavern could hold about 300 people,and everyone consumed about two gallons of drink over the evening, and then tweaked the numbers a bit.)

"I'll have that in silver, if it's all the same to you, my friend. Wouldn’t want to be seen spending gold in town, lest folk start thinking me a wealthy man. People won’t tip a man if they think he has gold in his purse, but they might try to roll him, if you get my drift."
This much coin on the table, and the temptation is strong to help himself to it. It'd be easy, like taking candy from a baby. But it's already counted, and would be missed. Besides, there are less obvious ways of taking money from others, ways that aren't even illegal, technically.
“So what will you do with the vast sum of coin I brought you? After you replenish your stores, of course. And speaking of which, where do you get your hooch – what you don’t make yourself?
“I mean, suppose a customer might want something out of the ordinary? Like uisge, or orangecello, or brandy, or schnapps? Have you got a local source for such things? I mention it because I have a friend up north who sells exotic liqueurs. I might be persuaded to broker an arrangement between my two friends, should you be interested.”

At Martin's words that he prefers silver, rises an eyebrow in surprise, then exchanges the coins as requested. "I thought I did you a favor, so you could travel light" he explains. "And I'll ask you to leave the room before I store this" he says with a smile.

When Martin talks about ways to procure exotic liquors, Tel cocks his head. "I don't know if I really should buy them" he confesses. "Those in town who are rich enough to afford them have them in their homes and drink them on their private parties. What would be interesting, though, would be if you knew someone who could come here and teach me to make that schnapps out of cider. I think they call it calvados. The guy in town who makes the mead and pear schnapps for me tried to make it, but it became clear instead of yellow."

“Alas, I am a people person, not a brewing person. Best I can do is make orangecello, which is quite a nice drink, and fairly uncomplicated to make, if you can get the ingredients. I could show you how, if you like.
“Perhaps I might interest your meadmaker in a deal with my friend up north. Naturally, I'd prefer that you make the profit, but as long as I get my taste, I don't mind letting him earn. I could set him up as a distributor, if it's all the same to you.
"And what about brandy? By which I mean the drink, and not the lonely tavern maid from the song. Does this meadmaker of yours deal in brandy?”