For a moment you are torn—but finally, you shoulder your pack and head uphill, towards the servants’ quarter. Your mind-reading spell leads you through the district; some of the figures you pass idolise their masters, and some do not consider it their place to question them. But as you wend your way deeper, you sense again and again that feeling of disgust, and a hatred for unjust masters. ·↽✦۞✦⇀· You follow that scent to a large shared house with a basement overlooking the slave quarter, and overhear a hushed argument inside. “You’re as bad as that priest, Karim. Come on, be serious!” “I am,” comes a second voice; “can you not see the hypocrisy of the Sultan and his court? The whips they use to keep us in line? I tell you, we have more in common with the slaves. And if we do not join forces with them, and supplant this corrupt regime, we are no better than our masters.” ·↽✦۞✦⇀· The first man scoffs. “You must be realisti—” “Hush,” Karim interrupts. “Someone is outside the door.” The voices grow silent; slowly, the door opens. Before you stands a broad-shouldered servant in his mid-forties, his face stoic. “Good evening traveller,” he nods. “I am Karim, and these are my fellow servants.” He gestures to a dozen figures behind him. “Can we be of assistance?” ·↽✦۞✦⇀· You scan their faces: concerned, but they betray a certain boldness. How do you earn their trust, and broach the subject of helping you get into the dockyards?