You almost overlooked it, this unassuming door in the wall of one of the many narrow alleyways of Spite, but you’re sure this is the place. You knock thrice and kick the bottom of the door, just like the Shifty-Eyed Urchin showed you, and wait as the three bolts are drawn and the door opens before you. Once inside, you are surprised to see how much it looks like Caligula’s, albeit far less crowded and more dimly lit. As the Shifty-Eyed Urchin had described it to you this is a place for people from the more Shadowy walks of life to gather and share tales of their heists and burglaries, be they profitable or ill fated, all while enjoying fine spirits at a low cost and avoiding Mr. Wines’ taxes.
Lucan Ashfield sits in a corner booth with a bottle of smuggled brandy and a tale from his time in New Newgate to share with anyone willing to listen.
"They had just put me in a cell with a scarred-up Rubbery Man when the word was passed that there was going to be a riot. My new cell-mate made a nervous fluting noise and I turned to see what it was on about. Several of its scars seemed fresher than the others, no doubt from the last riot, and it had pleading look in its eyes. I wondered if this was the one that I had heard about, the one that had killed one of the Governor’s boys the week before."
"What’s wrong?" I asked it "A lot of people out there want you dead or something?" It twitched its facial tentacles in confirmation.
"Tell you what," I said, "I’ll look after you out there, when it all goes up, if you can help me get a weapon." It perked up then, contorting its tentacles and making an off-putting noise like someone sucking loudly on a peppermint humbug. I was about to ask what it was doing when it spit out a chunk of amber shaped like an ice sickle or a stalactite, warm and sticky but deadly sharp. "Well that was faster than I expected." I laughed. "Just keep your back to the wall and stay behind me." It nodded and we waited for the guards to come take us into the mess hall. Now, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how bad riots can get up there, and when it started it seemed like half of the prison was out to get my new friend. The shiv it had made me worked wonders, though and I had sent five sorry louts to meet the Boatman when I heard a triumphant fluting noise from behind me. I turned just in time to look it in the eye as it sunk a second amber shiv into my belly. The last thing I saw before joining those five on the Boatman’s ferry was it clapping hands with the prisoners I had been "protecting" it from as they congratulated it on its fine deception. The moral of the story is this: A Rubbery Man can make you a fine rib-sticker, but trust in New Newgate will get you killed."
Lucan refills your glass and looks at you expectantly, waiting for a story in turn.