Dropping in on some Criminal Contacts

You never ran with the Apple Filchers, but your run-ins with the Handsome Bumpkin and his crew have been pleasant in the past, and they are usually well-informed on the goings-on of the underworld. They now lair inside Chuck’s, a press and tap house in the outskirts.

The main area is empty at this time of day. A bored-looking bartender pauses polishing the spotless counter long enough to point you up a set of stairs and towards the Bumpkin’s office. You step up to the youth guarding the door. The man in the rustic outfit wields a fist-sized metal ball fashioned to a length of rope as a weapon but steps aside on recognizing you.

You noticed the sweet apple smell as soon as you entered the establishment, but the scent is overwhelming inside the large room overlooking the presses. The Handsome Bumpkin has his desk in front of a large window, with workers carrying apples and juice below and working the levers, wheels and pulleys on the large machines, surrounded by sweetness and steam.

He has done well since you last saw him.

A warm smile plays on his lips as he motions you closer, but he does not rise to greet you. ”As have you. A Captain, eh? You always were a hungry one. We both were. And look at us now, eh?” He shifts forward in his seat and groans.

You hear a wet slap and see his grin widen.

”An’ I suppose we’re hungry still.” He smacks his lips. ”Thirsty, for sure. Cider’d hit the spot, right? C’mon filly, git. A mug for my friend an’ some for me!”

A woman emerges from underneath his desk, licking her lips. Her chestnut hair is matted to her head, and she wears nothing save some messing-clasped leather rings around her neck and wrists.

”Do you like them horses?” the Handsome Bumpkin asks, fiddling with his belt. ”We’ve done well, eh?” He rises and offers you his hand. ”Cider for my friend! And you look like you’ve got questions, mate. All will be answered, and what’s mine is yours.”

You hesitate for a moment and then bump his fist with yours.