The three women moved into positions atop some of the crates at the edge of the large overhanging awning, to gain better vantage of what was happening beyond.

The scene below was chaotic. Three men stood in a semi-circle around a figure lying on the ground. The figure was wearing leather armor and had carried a short sword, but he'd been struck on the head and was bleeding. It was hard to tell if he was dead or alive.

One of the men was human, he carried a longsword at his hip and had a small shield strapped to his arm, and wore a long studded leather cuirass. He looked like a professional fighter. Next to him stood a gnome, wearing similar armor, carrying a small longspear. Sitting about ten feet behind them on top of some boxes was an elf wearing a long tunic, his head covered in a cowl. He had a book in front of him and several scattered pieces of paper nearby; he was working on something, and seemed irritated that he was being distracted by the violence that had gone on nearby.

"Should one of us go tell them?" the gnome said.

"Fug no. What's wrong with you? Raam's not going to give a goblin's arse about fuggin' Holt. Come on."

"I know that, idiot. But whoever that was could have friends."

"Don't worry about it. Eberk and his dog'll bring him down."

"Yea, no s#$t! That's not the point! If Holt's hear and there are mercs crawling around the dock, what are the odds that Dench and his moron friends are still drawing breath? They could have men coming this way right now."

"You're drunk." the elf snapped, "And loud. Lucius Fox can't afford to recruit a housecat to help him now, much less an entire band of sellswords. Now shut up for fug's sake, if I have to start this over one more time I'm lighting one of you on fire."

"He's right Dimble. Don't worry about it. This job is a done deal."

The thieves still have no idea that the party is nearby. So far, no one's moved.