<em>Their contact's answer to Dom's question was simple:<br/><br/>"When chased, you run.  And if perchance you happen to flee in the direction of the Tower of Smoke, the guards will be less likely to think you up to mischief.  Especially if you then manage to get yourselves brought in for questioning...but not arrest.  Surely a couple of bright and resilient young men such as yourselves can handle that?"<br/><br/>She slipped away, fan hiding her grin as the insults began...<br/><br/>And while the noblewoman in question glared daggers, and more that a few of the other partygoers looked on in alarmed amusement, nobody stopped them from exiting.<br/><br/>Instead, they were given a ten minute head start, possibly out of some sadistic impulse to make the matter more sporting, since otherwise five-to-one odds might seem overboard.<br/><br/>End flashback!</em><br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Style Awards</div><div class="spoiler_body">+1 Style to Diego for the insults, and +1 Style to Dom for doing his best to be chivalrously correct in the face of certain doom.</div></div><br/>Which brings them here, panting and gasping, to the very shadow of the infamous Tower of Smoke, in which a purported uncle of theirs is being held for the time being.  What that lovely contact<em>means</em>, of course, is that someone incarcerated therein would be highly useful to the Cause, if only they can be sprung from durance vile and convinced to help work the downfall of certain Barathian nobles.<br/><br/>Is Fate with you? For there is no sign of your approach being noticed, nor any alarm sounding, and certainly no more hue and cry than one might normally find...<br/><br/>Ah.<br/><br/>Look there, down at street level.  A party of Falcons marches forth, escorting a hooded and manacled man between them.  Perhaps he is the dubious relation you are meant to seek?<br/><br/>