A Venture South XI: Plans and Poison

How in the blazes are we going to pull this off?
Ameren stared down at the parchments neatly arranged on the table. Stacks of paper with details on the noble families of Linhir, maps of the various estates she had gained access to through the young noblemen she was hired to protect, and of the city itself, the routines of city officials she had observed over the past four weeks since arriving in the Linhir, of couriers and important traders, the patrols of the city guardsmen and the habits of their officers, piles of notes with rumours and gossip, anything and everything about Linhir and its more notable inhabitants that might be of the slightest use. Information that in the right hands, or wrong, depending on how you look at the matter, was worth far more than its weight in gold. She reached for the stack of parchments with all the details she'd been able to get her hands on about the upcoming summer banquet at Lord Idhren's estate. An event which a horde of the high and mighty of southern Gondor were going to attend.
The best chance we have of getting in.
Ameren had at first entertained the notion of trying to get a hold of the Lord himself at the banquet, but quickly dismissed it. Seldorien watched him too closely, and with good reason. If Havaldr got a chance to speak with the Lord, Seldorien would lose his head. So when she found out a few days ago that Lord Idhren wouldn't be attending his own banquet she didn't think it more than a minor setback. Marshal Levain had already become the new focus, a man who despised Seldorien with a passion and was completely loyal to the Lord. Having him as an ally in this would be invaluable, provided he could be trusted. But any attempt she'd made to get in touch with the Marshal so far had failed. The unruly state of the countryside and the upcoming festivities with so many nobles arriving in the city had him working around the clock, much like Ameren herself, and catching him alone had proved impossible. 
But from all that I've heard of this man, he will take the night off to enjoy the banquet and the fine company of the nobility. 
Getting an invitation this close to the event wouldn't be an easy task. Only the nobility were allowed in, so she couldn't hope to tag along with Lord Denien and his sons under the guise of Branson, and all the servants were the estate's own staff, if one went missing and was replaced the others would notice. 
Leaving us with the options of sneaking in, which would make it difficult for me to move around as freely as I'd like, or impersonating a noble. 
Ameren put down the stack of papers again and rubbed her eyes, the long nights were starting to take their toll. She glanced toward the large bed, its clean sheets and soft pillows beckoning her to come lie down. 
Tomorrow, there's still too much to be done tonight.
With a weary sigh she stretched out her back and reached for the parchment on which she'd written down the routines of the upper class' couriers, one that had been of particular interest to her, the man that carried the mail from the surrounding towns.
Luckily he's a man of habit. Comes into the city every three days, always arrives in the early afternoon by the southern gate and switches horses at one of the stables there, but not before sharing a wineskin with one of the stable grooms. A relative of his, it would appear. With the right type of poison... Aye, that would work, if I can find it. 
She pushed aside some of the papers until the map she'd drawn up of the city was on top, trailing the 
familiar streets with her fingers. Some districts, the ones she'd spent most of her time in, were far more detailed, and it was one of these districts she was searching. 
Lhoerion's Apothecary, said to be one of the best in the city, and master Lhoerion himself is rumoured to move in more... unsavoury circles as well. With luck he has exactly what I'm looking for.
Footsteps in the hallway outside her chambers caused Ameren to look up from the map and stare at the bolted door. The patter of soft soles came and went as the head maid locked up the servants' quarters before going to bed. 
Time to go.
Ameren carefully folded the maps and gathered up the papers, sticking them in a notebook and putting that in a light pack made out of dark, worn leather. She took a hefty purse filled with silver coins, wrapped it in a cloth to silence it a bit and stuck that in as well, then slung the pack onto her back and tightened the straps as she stepped over to the window. Pushing the heavy drapes aside, Ameren peered out into the garden, waiting for the guard to move away before opening the window and climbing out. 
The apothecary first, and then down to the docks to speak with Havaldr so we can get this plan moving in earnest.