The crowd at the Quicksand was busy, as it had been every time Malin had visited in the past few nights. Without her uniform, nobody paid her any real mind; a somewhat slight-looking Midlander woman who didn’t draw attention to herself with ostentation and armor could blend in easily amidst crowds of adventurers too busy with their own intrigues to pay attention.
At first she had thought this would make finding her quarry simple; he enjoyed standing out, if not to the point of ostentation. But for the past few nights she had returned home empty-handed. How Verad Bellveil could possibly hide himself, when all reports indicated he was out of hiding and back to “work,†eluded her as much as the man himself. Tonight would be the last effort before she grabbed whatever Blades her limited authority in the Ul’dahn division could muster and stormed his estate. If what Donnell told her was true, however, that wouldn’t be necessary.
A sour look crossed her face, and she sought out the leggy blonde who always served drinks in order to get an ale. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust what her husband had told her; working as a retainer, he no doubt brushed shoulders with the same lower circles as Bellveil. It was just that it was so . . . stupid. It couldn’t possibly be as easy as he said to get the man to reveal himself. Nobody was both smart enough to avoid capture and stupid enough to walk into it that easily.
And then there was just . . . what she’d have to do. Her ale arrived and payment was provided before the look could get any worse, but once she received it, she took a very long pull. It made her feel sick, considering it. She considered moving to assault the estate now, but the memory of a week ago, of that Ishgardian zealot tearing through good men and women like so much trash, made the sick feeling worse. Try this first, at least.
So decided, she found a space at a table, bumping shoulders with a Highlander off to some anonymous liaison, and had a seat. She took another drink. The ale didn’t feel strong enough, so she drank again.
And then, leaning forward and heaving a large, heavy sigh she tried to make as breathy as possible, she spoke, raising her voice over the crowd. “My, but I am in such dire need of goods of dubious quality! But all the local merchants will only sell reputable things. Whatever am I - “
She heard the rapid patter of footsteps behind her before they came to an abrupt halt. “YeshellomadamIamtoldyouareinneedofdubiousgoods?â€
She fought to hide the smile, fought to avoid looking over her shoulder right away. She didn’t want him to see her face right away, and she was afraid that she’d see a dust-cloud in his wake when he approached. Then she’d be laughing too hard to catch him, and off he’d go again. When she was sure she could remain composed, she turned to face him with a smile. “Indeed I do.â€
Seeing grey skin turn white, she felt, was worth the stupidity.
---
Despite having a good fulm’s height and fifty ponz over her, Bellveil was surprisingly easy to capture once lured into the open. He managed a half-hearted attempt at fleeing, got taken down at the legs by a seated tackle before she got too far (to the frowning disapproval of the barmaid, but while Malin did not bring her uniform, she had remembered to bring her seal of authority to quell serious protests), and, once wrangled with wrists placed behind his back, was led out of the Quicksand towards the Pearl Lane entrance with surprising compliance. Perhaps he had seen this coming.
There was an old rug a few yalms down the street, and it seemed as good a place as any to deposit him. A quick shove of her arms and Verad tumbled onto the ground. She thrust a finger at him before he could right himself. “You sit there,†she said, a cautioning note in her voice, “and listen. Run and I’ll call for help.â€
“I - I assure you, Ser Greaves, that I haven’t a thing to do with the buyers on the markets. Those relics are well out of my purview, you see, and - “
“Did I say talk? I didn’t say talk. You listen, Bellveil. You can talk later, but for now, listen.â€
Ever the protester, Verad opened his mouth, but another look from her clamped it shut. He seated himself in cross-legged fashion - seemed oddly comfortable on that rug, thought Malin - and gestured for her to continue.
“A week ago and a few dozen yalms from here I caught one of those Ishgardian meddlers harassing the local merchants for artifacts. You’d know her I think - V’aleera Lhuil? You met once at the Footfalls.†What a mess that had been, she thought. An Ossuary researcher injured and traumatized and a pair of the Rose Order’s guards brought to death’s door. Worse still because it now seemed mild in comparison.
When Verad nodded in recognition, she continued. “She’s had a bounty for weeks - resisting arrest from the Flames for refusing to yield weapons, you know. And she’s been terrorizing the markets for longer. Harassing merchants. Beating people who talk back. And when we arrived to apprehend her?â€
At a downward glance, she noticed she was clenching her fists. She tightened her grip. “Five men and women dead. But just Blades, of course, so nobody minds. You can get a dozen to the gil if you dredge the bars around closing time. Still, five dead at her hand before we called it off, and she’s still out there, on her ‘holy mission’.†She smiled a razorblade at Verad. “And what do you think that mission is?â€
He didn’t respond, just sat there scratching the scruff of his beard in a kind of nervous tic. She didn’t need him to do that. “Looking for artifacts. Relics. The same relics that led her to damage a museum with a priceless, er . . . “ What was a Tardaftigops, anyway? “A priceless skeleton, intervene in the city gaols, fight and kill and bicker her way around our city. The same relics that led to the aevis at Highbridge, and the Ossuary explosion - oh, don’t think I don’t know, Bellveil, you wipe that look off of your face - and some idiot in a trenchcoat convincing the locals anybody with an Ishgardian accent is the enemy. And with people like Lhuil around, I almost believe him!†Her voice rose as she spoke, the tired tone of her voice that Donnell always joked made her sound bored rising to a higher and higher pitch. She didn’t realize she was shouting until she saw Verad flinching at her words. She didn’t care. “And why, Mister Bellveil, why are all these relics out in the streets of Ul’dah? Why are people dying over stupid gems and trinkets?â€
She stopped, catching her breath. To her surprise, he responded, his head lowered. “Because I stole them,†he murmured. “Or if I didn’t steal them, I let them be stolen.†His head rose his chin jutted out, a momentary defiance. “But I had reasons for - “
“If you like,†she said through gritted teeth,  “You may take your reasons to the families of the slain and explain them as best you can. Mayhaps they’ll forgive you. Twelve knows so many of your friends have with that tongue of yours. Not one would give you up, and I can’t even get you out of the estate without that clan in your house coming at me spears drawn.†She threw her hands up. “I can’t even arrest you here, alone, because I’m half-sure they’ll stage an escape.â€
There were other problems, to be sure. The evidence was flimsy; the only item linking him to the scene was a report of his Imitation Fool’s Gold being used as a weapon, and even that hadn’t been found. If she left it to an honest inquisition, she had little. Yet he was flinching, Twelve, even his beard seemed to be wilting. Let up for a moment and he might come to the same conclusion.
“That’s why you’re getting a choice, Bellveil. You can turn yourself in for negligence leading to interference with trade routes, head high, and take what’s coming. What we both know you deserve, and probably less. Nobody comes with you, nobody tries to break you out, nobody pleads about how badly you feel. That’s one option.â€
He swallowed. “And - and the other?â€
“You stay holed up in your estate, and I pass word to the Goblet Housing Authority that you’ve been implicated in this business with the relics. I don’t even need to say much, I think, but I have more than enough.†His eyes widened. “They’ve been itching to evict you, haven’t they? The Dubious Duskwight? He’s not a real adventurer. This is some kind of fraud. It would be more than enough for them to act.â€
“I-it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve lived hand-to-mouth - “
“Mayhaps, but your guests? All those friends? Do you want to see that little cub without a home?†His mouth gaped in horror. For a salesman, she thought, he wore his emotions too freely. “I thought not. You give yourself up, and I’ll keep them off your back. I’ll give you that much. And that’s all I’ll give you.â€
Silence passed between them before she spun on her heel. “You have a week. Turn yourself in at Highbridge - or be prepared to start packing.â€
At first she had thought this would make finding her quarry simple; he enjoyed standing out, if not to the point of ostentation. But for the past few nights she had returned home empty-handed. How Verad Bellveil could possibly hide himself, when all reports indicated he was out of hiding and back to “work,†eluded her as much as the man himself. Tonight would be the last effort before she grabbed whatever Blades her limited authority in the Ul’dahn division could muster and stormed his estate. If what Donnell told her was true, however, that wouldn’t be necessary.
A sour look crossed her face, and she sought out the leggy blonde who always served drinks in order to get an ale. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust what her husband had told her; working as a retainer, he no doubt brushed shoulders with the same lower circles as Bellveil. It was just that it was so . . . stupid. It couldn’t possibly be as easy as he said to get the man to reveal himself. Nobody was both smart enough to avoid capture and stupid enough to walk into it that easily.
And then there was just . . . what she’d have to do. Her ale arrived and payment was provided before the look could get any worse, but once she received it, she took a very long pull. It made her feel sick, considering it. She considered moving to assault the estate now, but the memory of a week ago, of that Ishgardian zealot tearing through good men and women like so much trash, made the sick feeling worse. Try this first, at least.
So decided, she found a space at a table, bumping shoulders with a Highlander off to some anonymous liaison, and had a seat. She took another drink. The ale didn’t feel strong enough, so she drank again.
And then, leaning forward and heaving a large, heavy sigh she tried to make as breathy as possible, she spoke, raising her voice over the crowd. “My, but I am in such dire need of goods of dubious quality! But all the local merchants will only sell reputable things. Whatever am I - “
She heard the rapid patter of footsteps behind her before they came to an abrupt halt. “YeshellomadamIamtoldyouareinneedofdubiousgoods?â€
She fought to hide the smile, fought to avoid looking over her shoulder right away. She didn’t want him to see her face right away, and she was afraid that she’d see a dust-cloud in his wake when he approached. Then she’d be laughing too hard to catch him, and off he’d go again. When she was sure she could remain composed, she turned to face him with a smile. “Indeed I do.â€
Seeing grey skin turn white, she felt, was worth the stupidity.
---
Despite having a good fulm’s height and fifty ponz over her, Bellveil was surprisingly easy to capture once lured into the open. He managed a half-hearted attempt at fleeing, got taken down at the legs by a seated tackle before she got too far (to the frowning disapproval of the barmaid, but while Malin did not bring her uniform, she had remembered to bring her seal of authority to quell serious protests), and, once wrangled with wrists placed behind his back, was led out of the Quicksand towards the Pearl Lane entrance with surprising compliance. Perhaps he had seen this coming.
There was an old rug a few yalms down the street, and it seemed as good a place as any to deposit him. A quick shove of her arms and Verad tumbled onto the ground. She thrust a finger at him before he could right himself. “You sit there,†she said, a cautioning note in her voice, “and listen. Run and I’ll call for help.â€
“I - I assure you, Ser Greaves, that I haven’t a thing to do with the buyers on the markets. Those relics are well out of my purview, you see, and - “
“Did I say talk? I didn’t say talk. You listen, Bellveil. You can talk later, but for now, listen.â€
Ever the protester, Verad opened his mouth, but another look from her clamped it shut. He seated himself in cross-legged fashion - seemed oddly comfortable on that rug, thought Malin - and gestured for her to continue.
“A week ago and a few dozen yalms from here I caught one of those Ishgardian meddlers harassing the local merchants for artifacts. You’d know her I think - V’aleera Lhuil? You met once at the Footfalls.†What a mess that had been, she thought. An Ossuary researcher injured and traumatized and a pair of the Rose Order’s guards brought to death’s door. Worse still because it now seemed mild in comparison.
When Verad nodded in recognition, she continued. “She’s had a bounty for weeks - resisting arrest from the Flames for refusing to yield weapons, you know. And she’s been terrorizing the markets for longer. Harassing merchants. Beating people who talk back. And when we arrived to apprehend her?â€
At a downward glance, she noticed she was clenching her fists. She tightened her grip. “Five men and women dead. But just Blades, of course, so nobody minds. You can get a dozen to the gil if you dredge the bars around closing time. Still, five dead at her hand before we called it off, and she’s still out there, on her ‘holy mission’.†She smiled a razorblade at Verad. “And what do you think that mission is?â€
He didn’t respond, just sat there scratching the scruff of his beard in a kind of nervous tic. She didn’t need him to do that. “Looking for artifacts. Relics. The same relics that led her to damage a museum with a priceless, er . . . “ What was a Tardaftigops, anyway? “A priceless skeleton, intervene in the city gaols, fight and kill and bicker her way around our city. The same relics that led to the aevis at Highbridge, and the Ossuary explosion - oh, don’t think I don’t know, Bellveil, you wipe that look off of your face - and some idiot in a trenchcoat convincing the locals anybody with an Ishgardian accent is the enemy. And with people like Lhuil around, I almost believe him!†Her voice rose as she spoke, the tired tone of her voice that Donnell always joked made her sound bored rising to a higher and higher pitch. She didn’t realize she was shouting until she saw Verad flinching at her words. She didn’t care. “And why, Mister Bellveil, why are all these relics out in the streets of Ul’dah? Why are people dying over stupid gems and trinkets?â€
She stopped, catching her breath. To her surprise, he responded, his head lowered. “Because I stole them,†he murmured. “Or if I didn’t steal them, I let them be stolen.†His head rose his chin jutted out, a momentary defiance. “But I had reasons for - “
“If you like,†she said through gritted teeth,  “You may take your reasons to the families of the slain and explain them as best you can. Mayhaps they’ll forgive you. Twelve knows so many of your friends have with that tongue of yours. Not one would give you up, and I can’t even get you out of the estate without that clan in your house coming at me spears drawn.†She threw her hands up. “I can’t even arrest you here, alone, because I’m half-sure they’ll stage an escape.â€
There were other problems, to be sure. The evidence was flimsy; the only item linking him to the scene was a report of his Imitation Fool’s Gold being used as a weapon, and even that hadn’t been found. If she left it to an honest inquisition, she had little. Yet he was flinching, Twelve, even his beard seemed to be wilting. Let up for a moment and he might come to the same conclusion.
“That’s why you’re getting a choice, Bellveil. You can turn yourself in for negligence leading to interference with trade routes, head high, and take what’s coming. What we both know you deserve, and probably less. Nobody comes with you, nobody tries to break you out, nobody pleads about how badly you feel. That’s one option.â€
He swallowed. “And - and the other?â€
“You stay holed up in your estate, and I pass word to the Goblet Housing Authority that you’ve been implicated in this business with the relics. I don’t even need to say much, I think, but I have more than enough.†His eyes widened. “They’ve been itching to evict you, haven’t they? The Dubious Duskwight? He’s not a real adventurer. This is some kind of fraud. It would be more than enough for them to act.â€
“I-it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve lived hand-to-mouth - “
“Mayhaps, but your guests? All those friends? Do you want to see that little cub without a home?†His mouth gaped in horror. For a salesman, she thought, he wore his emotions too freely. “I thought not. You give yourself up, and I’ll keep them off your back. I’ll give you that much. And that’s all I’ll give you.â€
Silence passed between them before she spun on her heel. “You have a week. Turn yourself in at Highbridge - or be prepared to start packing.â€
Verad Bellveil's Profile | The Case of the Ransacked Rug | Verad's Fate Sheet
Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine
Current Fate-14 Storyline:Â Merchant, Marine
