Still soiled slightly from their undignified tussle with a surly mob of drunken pickle farmers, Sir Horace Gunderson and Alexandros Callimachi slip off into the darkened streets of Lepidstadt while Andris and Solis retire to the Lightwarden estate — the latter badly in need of rest and mental recuperation to bring himself back to spellcasting trim in time for the early morning burglary of Vorkstag & Grine chemical works.
Even in the pitch dark, Lepidstadt never truly sleeps. Dogs bark, beggars grumble, lovers . . . love. The two adventurers move silently, however. Sneaking would attract attention from those with the wits to notice, so they move directly and with purpose, but silently.
At length, they arrive at one of the finer homes in the city. Ringing the bell summons a figure to the door, words are exchanged. They wait, eventually they are admitted into the chambers of Embreth Daramid, the judge who discreetly hired the group’s services in the first place. Gunderson goes over the items pointing to the involvement of Vorkstag or Grine in at least two of the crimes attributed to the Beast. Unfortunately, it’s all too circumstantial to serve as grounds for issuing a search warrant or writ or cocktail napkin of poking around or whatever it is the laissez faire legal code of Lepidstadt calls for.
However, Daramid does offer this alternative: a pseudo search warrant she keeps in her possession, one that shows she signed off on the adventurers searching the chemical works. This is, somewhat surprisingly for the frontier justice of urban Ustalav, considered illegal. If the investigation of the chemical works reveals something substantive, Daramid will reveal the warrant to her fellow justices to keep the investigators and any evidence they uncover in the clear and admissible in court.
The judge goes so far as to throw them some further bones in the form of a tip to check out sewer access to the factory through Surgeon’s Flats or Anatomist’s Alley, plus a sampler pack of potions, including invisibility and spider climb. Thus armed with knowledge and goodies, Gunderson and Callimachi depart into the night. They can grab an hour or two of shuteye themselves before rousing the others to descend into Lepidstadt’s aromatic labyrinth of waste.
 Well, not so much Callimachi. He stayed above the rabble wielding a disappointing wand of hold person. I wonder how Iomedae feels about that.
 “‘Junior Force Four’ (or whatever the fuck you call yourselves),” as Hunter phrased it.