Mobs of Shoanti and Varisian people, shouting at each other about murder and arson and stolen bodies, broken up by a harried squad of the guard with a wand-charge used to fill the street between them with a globe of inky darkness. 

Two mothers talking in hushed whispers about a butcher in North Point, giving out free meat to the people in in the know. 

Gamblers singing a drinking song about spiders and dice, on their way to Eel's End.

Tavern debates over who killed the king. His wife? One of his many lovers? A secret child, a secret brother, the seneschal, the high priest of Asmodeus, the headmaster of the Acadamae? One of the Catsdew Lofties, setting their sights on scaling the castle instead of the homes accessible from the Shingles in a burglary gone wrong?

Speculation about which of the funeral and coronation traditions will be upheld by the new queen. The commandant's pledge? A regnal name? A general amnesty? Will she favor the church of Asmodeus, coming here from Cheliax as she does? The masons fret about whether the statues of the king will suffice or if they will have to hastily convert them into depictions of the queen before the crown releases the promised payments.

Soot-fingered workers conspiring over drinks, whispering about a shutdown of the Ironworks to compel the new queen to amend the city charter to permit their secret and currently illegal guild.

Bitter complaints among a group of noble teens about other nobles sneaking off to the elven enclave for illicit liaisons.

Four people engaged in vigorous debate over whether to pawn everything they can to buy a lawyer who can save one of their number from being tried by the Hanging Judge, Zenobia Zenderholm, or whether he should not burden his peers and throw himself on her mercy with a tale of the desperation that drove him to looting during the riots. They have lots of advice on how to sound pitiable and sympathetic.

A worker with a paste-bucket putting up posters for Exemplary Execrables, promising gruesome spectacles of strange specimens in jars, staged violence like the theaters of Cheliax, and a functioning guillotine imported from Galt.

Lifelike ball-jointed dolls, moving as though alive to welcome and serve shoppers visiting a shop selling figurines and toys.

A beggar with a terrible cough alternately cursing and praying to Urgathoa between hawking phlegm onto the cobbles. 

The sense of the city washes over her. Criminals and artisans and nobles and ordinary folk worried about the future.

She says a brief prayer to Ragni, for the sick beggar- Prayers for herself are one thing, but for others... Perhaps less objectionable-

Maybe she should offer more such darkness items to the guard, used for peacekeeping. Good will and good public order. Later, perhaps.

And she stops by the ironworkers whispering, a sudden grin on her face, currently disguised as a generic rogue type. She approaches their table and 'whispers' to them- 

"O stout laborers, a union is a worthy cause. I'm an adventurer now, but hearing such talk reminds me of home. There they said 'divided, we beg, united, we bargain'. I'm not one of you lot, but how might I help?"

"You and your big mouth -"

"Hold on, this could be an opportunity -"

"A opportunity to get us all killed, this could be the gods-damned queen for all you know -"

"Would the queen ever say that?"

One of them gets up and storms off, whipping round at the exit to point a soot-stained finger at the other two. "If either of you two loose-lipped idiots say one thing more..."

With him gone, the two who remain invite Weiss to take a seat and lean in to speak quietly. 

"Obviously we can't tell you anything about our plans -"

"Whatever plans those might be, existing or not."

"- but if you did want to help us, out of solidarity or Magnimaran spirit, well... if you do hear about the queen or any of the great houses having plans that need a big order of foundry iron, that's something that the people who'll be asked to make it ought to have forewarning of, no?"

"And if the Ironworks do get shut down, for whatever reason, nobody wants brutes like the Dusters or the Sczarni breaking in and blundering around and beating up innocent laborers, bringing their own substitutes in to get the fires going again when they don't know how to work the forges. Stopping that sort of crime and violence and wickedness would just be good citizenship, you know?"