Boose unconsciously reached down to grab the papyrus marked in charcoal, then looked to his twin. "Did you do that?"
"I don't know." Replied the Ixxar, fixing his red irised eyes on the paper. "What is it?"
The two were in sync, each holding one edge of the paper. It was, of course, Amythra's map. They didn't need to discus the fact that this map lead to a well known sword-smith who was exactly he kind of Borc they needed, but couldn't use. His name was Arrow the Smith and his work was strong, prolific, practical, and more importantly, legal. Arrow made the swords in individual pieces in the city, then shipped them outside to finish assembly then shipped them wherever needed. Technically, the pieces were not swords while in the city.
"A clever borc..."
"...who doesn't like us."
"Regardless, this stroke of luck is relevant. Coincidence like this couldn't be coincidence."
"Agreed. Perhaps we should search for the owner of this lost map." Both began to search through the crowd, but who would need such a map when the streets of Annalow were purposefully layed out by Ixxar design to make it easy to find anything.
All the rooms of the Borc's Slumber, all ten of them, were upstairs past a hallway that was barely big enough for Drory to fit in, let alone him and his guest. He mumbled something about inconvenient confusion of islanders before unlocking room #5. "There it is, then. Toilet's on the ground floor, 'course, and and it's too small for my kind, but you'll find the bed's nice an' soft, I suppose."
"Thank you." Amythra tried to squeeze pass Drory, brushing her nose on his shirt. He smelled like sweaty leather and incense. Popping out the other side of him, she bowed. "Really thank you for the room."
"T'wern't noth'n, I suppose. Just don't be too loud after sunset."
"Just Drory, womume."
"Sorry. Drory, what's the festival for?"
Drory's eyes looked left, as if reading the reason off the wall. "Near as I can tell, it's Celebrate-for-no-Reason day." He shrugged. "Mumes are weird." And left her to her room.