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A sleazy joint like the Starfield Club would always have more than one way in or out. Thus far, I had always entered by the front door and, despite a close shave, always left by the same route too. This time I was planning on using a less public doorway, which is why I was sitting quietly on a noxious dustbin in an alleyway behind the club. The furtive rustling of rats and the near-overpowering stench from the bin itself would disguise any slight noise I might make and my own distinctive body odour. I was relying on the invisibility glamour, which seemed to be holding up at the moment, and my only real risk was some drunk stumbling unpredictably into me. There was nobody about, no sign of movement or any Goblin presence. The key to successful snooping is endless supplies of patience, in my experience. I had resigned myself to a long wait this evening. I was pretty sure that there was a secret back entrance somewhere hereabouts but it was sufficiently well disguised that I could not easily find it. The non-secret back entrance - the one used for deliveries and for the ejection of drunks and malcontents - was in an alley on the other side of the building. The stage door, for the musicians and the myriad of waiting staff, was right next to it. I had cased them both out earlier. I was sure that certain of Hosh's more private affairs would not want to be exposed to the speculations of the hired help, so there would be a more private entrance elsewhere. The evening wore on and the alley grew darker still. Sounds of musical entertainment and revellers having a riotously good time could be heard, reverberating dully through the walls and getting noticeably louder. Nothing stirred in the alley - nothing big enough for me to worry about, anyway. My backside was beginning to go numb from the chill of the dustbin and the stink of the refuse was threatening to overpower my own limited tolerance of such things. Worse still, I was beginning to wonder if I had guessed wrong. To my considerable relief, my patience was rewarded when a shadowed figure appeared from the gloom of the alleyway entrance, silhouetted against the glare of the streetlights beyond. Even in the dim light I recognised the blocky figure of Drummond, Hosh's sidekick who had approached me on a previous visit. He looked like a Goblin who had the street smarts and the hard-edged nous to be able to follow me without me being able to give him the slip or even, at least sometimes, for me to realise I was actually being followed. Now, however, his bearing was slouched and despondent, his body language much less cocksure that hitherto, I fancied. He had the shoulder-shrugging appearance of one who feared a severe and unavoidable tongue-lashing - or worse - in the near future. Drummond approached an apparently blank part of the wall perhaps ten yards away from where I was sitting, carefully attentive and trying to make no noise. The other Goblin drew himself up straight and spoke a spell - inaudible from my location, of course - using the complex hand gestures that some glamour manufacturers insist upon, although exactly why escapes my limited understanding. The wall appeared to shimmer and writhe, as if a sheet of dimly-illuminated water was suddenly coursing down its surface. Underneath the simulated film of water, a narrow wooden door could be seen, rippling as if it was at the bottom of a clear and shallow stream. It was a cheap glamour, but nonetheless effective; one widely available in the Lower Realms and which had been overlaying the now-visible entrance that had been temporarily deactivated by Drummond's invocation. Drummond looked around furtively, left and right. He made no attempt to disguise his movements or to masquerade as normal behaviour. Then he knocked on the door with his knuckles, a surprisingly economical movement which drew a series of muffled thuds. After a few seconds, Clathy's slender figure appeared in the doorway. She looked around equally nervously, at first barely acknowledging Drummond's presence. Then, she beckoned him in and - much to my surprise, but evidently not to his - delivered a fiery and passionate kiss, holding him firmly to her body with her hands pressed on his neck and waist. There was no mistaking the heat, the fire in her embrace and the impression that ripping his clothes off was only seconds away. Her sexual magnetism - powerfully apparent and electric in its effect - was detectable even at my range, a pale shadow of which had been projected in my direction during several earlier encounters. It seemed that, once again, I had been misled by a pair of flashing eyes. The two lovers - it was obvious that they were so - disengaged with apparent reluctance on the part of both parties. Again they looked around, watching the alley, almost theatrical in their reactions. Then Drummond sidled inside, his bearing now erect and his movements assured. I stayed where I was. There was the sound of urgent conversation from within, although I was not able to make out any words. The door closed and I heard no more. It went quiet. Even the rats had called it a night. Again I waited, the rippling water effect fading and the door disappeared from view as I watched. Nothing to see. Then the door reappeared with a faint snap, and Drummond's face peered from a crack. The door swung open slowly until it was wide open, even so showing nothing but blackness within. As I watched, Drummond manoeuvred a large, heavy shape through the door, ineffectually assisted by Clathy. It was a shape shrouded in some dark cloth, awkward and difficult to handle. It was a shape that looked uncomfortably like a body in a bag.
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Part 49