Day Six-Hundred-Eleven: Tension

Dragomir's gone.

Jeffrey's in jail.

Libby's still hurt.

Plato and his... rat... have returned to the Dauphine to get help. (And to deliver my groceries.) We haven't heard from them since... and don't suspect we will. A huge  Imperium army regiment just showed up, and is camped on the outskirts of town.

Yep.

Going to plan, surely.

Libby might be injured, but she's determined to get her husband back. I think the fact that no one else is around to help has galvanized her resolve; hell, she seems too haughty to accept even my help. I've... insisted, as well as I've could, though this woman's ability to turn me down is pretty admirable. I can appreciate a stubborn jackass.

Better that than someone who's utterly clueless.

Not that... I can... blame him.

Uh.

Anyway.

Libby's injuries were a bit more extensive than we'd initially thought. When she woke up this morning she was hobbling badly on her left leg. She says she sustained the hurt while kicking her penguin assailant in the gut; I bet she did it by tripping over something on her way out of the black market. Who knows for certain, really, but I like to think she managed it doing something very stupid.

I might hold a thing or two against Libby. I might just. Hope she doesn't read this, or my beautiful brown complexion might be turned a bit too dark of brown. Y'know, by her... fist. Fists. Assorted flailing appendages.

When I wasn't being actively shunned by Libby, we spent our time formulating a bit of a plan. Libby tells me that the entrance to the black market is built into the base of a statue in the 'poor' section of town, and to get inside you have to whistle a tune from an old musical number. (No wonder Edmund found it, that bardy fool.) That path leads right into the main section of the market, where the preponderance of its stalls are located.

That's pretty much where the bounty hunters found them last time. We can't take the chance of meeting them again in the open. Consequently, we've been trying to locate an alternate route into the black market. Assuming they're camped out somewhere nearby, the hunters - at the very least the penguin - will probably recognize Libby, and immediately trounce us. Bounty hunters may be scummy in general, but they tend to have good memories.

Not that I would... know anything about that. Just, uh, assuming. You know? Bar wenches pick up on this shit. Leave me alone.

Something as seemingly large as a black market must surely have a thousand rear entrances. All we need to do is find one. Just one. Then the meat of the remainder of our plan can kick in. I doubt the hunters will be taking Dragomir anywhere while the army's here in such force, as Imperium officials and bounty hunters don't much like one another, so surely we have some time to get this right.

Surely.

There. My job's done for the day. Libby insists I write the entries, as her writing hand hurts from punching the penguin in the beak. Not the wisest woman in the world, that one.

Sincerely,

Bora the Bartender