"You're too kind, Captain," Avernius demured as he began to move again, toward the rear of the crowd, where the growing shadows cloaked those in the square in darkness. "And were it another occasion entirely I might be so inclined to agree. But alas, I think it safe to say that were we in need of someone to play the pitifully distressed while we perform some deft sleight of hand," he gesticulated vaguely with his free hand for emphasis, "Neither of us would quite suit the bill."

"A scholar though, you say," he considered, stopping short. "Genius. I'd say we've two options then. Shall we flag down a carriage and make haste for the University to try our luck getting one to take an adventuring sabbatical? Or shall we instead delve into the back streets and make inquiries of the gutter prophets? Their writings are often difficult to disseminate, but one can hardly expect straightforward scholarship of those who freely share the Correspondence; I imagine they might take a bit more coaxing to join us as well but I demur to you, my dear companion in arms."

Catching sight of himself in a smudged shop window, Avernius pauses to adjust the cravat under his throat just so while waiting for Colette to make the final decision on how to proceed.