(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

her tongue and rubbed two fingers together. “Jink-jink, aye?”
“’Jink-jink?’”
“She means money.”
“Oh.”
“Aye...” She glanced at Morte, then shrugged. The girl’s temper was quite
fickle, “What the skull said. Hard coin.”
“All right. How much?”
“How much is it ta yeh t’know, aye?” She studied me, then folded her arms.
“C’mon, I haven't got all day, I haven’t.”
The harlot had needed nine gold for her answers about Pharod, and that
took a little charm on my part. I smiled again, standing up straight,
confident. My words were like honey, “How about ten? If your information’s
good enough, it could be more.”
“Aye, all right then...” Some of the tension in her melted and she pocketed
the money. It was gone so quickly, I had no idea where it vanished to. “Look
for him in the Alley spireward from the Mortuary... that’s ta the south an’
west of the Mortuary, aye?”
I nodded, “South and west of the Mortuary? Thanks, and farewell.”
“So... where to now? To find Pharod, that is,” I asked Morte as we walked
down the street.
He sighed, resigned to the fact we’d be getting straight to business, “The
alley south and west of the Mortuary right? Just like the tiefling said.”
I shook my head, “I know, but the harlot said we could find Pharod at
Ragpicker Square, due west. So did Pox, now that I think about it.”
“Come on. Are you gonna trust a common streetwalker and a plague-bearer
or are you gonna trust gams-and-melons squeezed in leather there?”
I thought about it. There was something about the tiefling, the way she
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