Private Birds of a Feather

[Cardinale Cartegeña]

A missive most obscure found its way to Bloodroost, home of House Cartegena.

Seek the talons wishing to strangle the Port.

Prospective yet ominous in the same breadth, very much Cardinale's vintage. Patience once again provided opportunity. It was no surprise to him that White Port could be the solution to his problem. He'd made a deal halfway across the world and the coastal city was an epicenter of trade. Merchants aplenty yet that was a problem in its own right. Too much fodder and little quality.

The gates of the Sinclayr estate ceded to Cardinale's carriage after his identity was quickly confirmed. Two weeks since the vague letter with most spent on the journey here. The noble had sent a missive of his own, stating his desire to make a personal visit to discuss potential business. Cardinale had clearly stated that this was not related to matters of the Crown or Council. An official visit from the Viscount rarely ended well for the other.

Flightless they called him; better his feet on the ground than thrown off a cliff.

He stepped from his carriage, shroudcane thumping dull against the cobbled ground. What manner of welcome awaited him?

 

[Eden til Sinclayr]

Barking dogs greeted the Viscount as he stepped from the carriage. Two beastly black hounds snapped and scrabbled against thick chains, kept back only by the might of a man tugging on the other end.

"Back, back! Behaver y'rselves, ya mongrels!" The man shouted. Despite his middle age, he had a sailor's strength. He wrestled the hounds behind a garden gate and the metal latched shut with a rusty creak. The barking turned to disappointed whine as the hounds finally settled.

"Sorry about that, m'lord, they only listen to the Lady of the house," the man said as he stepped up to greet the Viscount. He took off his green woolen cap and pressed it to his heart in a bow. "Come inside to the parlor, please. I'll let Lady Sinclayr know you've arrived."

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Drafty, was the first word that came to mind when describing the Sinclayr estate.

It was not an unwelcoming placed; a serviceable amount of furnishings lined the halls and guest rooms of the lower level. Enough to make the place comfortable, but not so much as to be gaudy. High windows let in the sun, and plants growing in shallow basins - in bloom despite the winter sun - sat in every unoccupied corner.

But it was cold. The place had an emptiness about it that could not be cured by orderliness or decoration. The only person around seemed to be the groundskeeper that had first greeted the viscount. No other servant appeared to attend Cardinale.

The groundskeeper opened the doors to the sitting room for the viscount.

"Just in 'ere, m'lord." He did his best to stay out of the lord's way, but he was a squarish man, and lacked a maid's manners. "Do you be needing anything?"

 

[Cardinale Cartegeña]

"As any proper hound should,"the Viscount responded without flinching. Intimidating though they were, chained beasts no longer elicited fear. Cardinale witnessed un-tethered savagery in the north. A noble's pet, vicious still, was a far cry from the dogs of war.

Cardinale followed the groundskeeper through the Sinclayr estate. The older man kept pace with the noble despite his gruff demeanor. He was either well-trained or conscientious, either spoke to the quality of his master. Shroudcane dullclacked as the Viscount strode through the casually-adorned but not ostentatious hallways. The lack of staff had not escaped his notice but Cardinale's information spoke to House Sinclayr's eccentricities. He'd been privvy to similar sentiments.

He stepped into the parlour and found the room's ambivalence matched his own. The Viscount strode to the nearest seat and found quiet relief from the dull ache of existence. Neither his posture nor expression gave any indication of discomfort "I've heard much of White Port's vintages, your Lady's preferred would do well."

 

[Eden til Sinclayr]

It was known that the Eden Sinclayr only had ten men in her employ. Most conducted their business outside of the estate, leaving only the old groundskeeper to tend to domestic matter. The groundskeeper's name was Janin Anmore, and he'd served the Sinclayr family for decades. Before that, he'd been a sailor, and before that he'd been the son of a washerwoman. Such details would be readily available to anyone with the mind and the means to look.

Mr. Anmore was not gone long. He returned to the parlour with a dark bottle of wine and a single glass teetering atop a wooden tray.

"Forgive me, m'lord-- I know preferred means I'm s'sposed to guess at what might impress ye, but I gave up gamblin' a decade ago." Mr. Anmore said. He set the tray down on a table next to the viscount's seat. "Miss Sinclayr's favorite is Middle Valley ale an' lemon juice, so's the Lady's no help neither."

The wine rippled smooth into the glass, bottle held steady with both hands. "334 Bercene, friend of the vintner who makes it." The wine was a dark garnet, with a gold halo round the edge of the glass where the drink thinned. "A right bastard, treats the vineyard like the field of battle. But damn if it don't make a good pour. May ye' taste the Labors."

 

[Cardinale Cartegeña]

Cardinale wagered that most nobles would find the old groundskeeper's blunt manner to be offensive. The Viscount admittedly was finding the servant's demeanor to be rather disarming. He spoke crudely but not without proper deference. Ofttimes it was better to play to one's strengths than attempt the gamut. Pretty words couldn't replace substance, despite what noble society would have one believe. Cardinale wasn't entirely immune to playing that particular game even if he recognized its superficiality.

"I did hear Lady Sinclayr had a penchant for collecting rarities. It seems the rumors were true," the noble remarked vaguely as he held the glass aloft. He studied the wine's color appreciatively before glancing towards the groundskeeper. "I've never known a sailor to turn their back on that particular vice."

The Viscount took a measured, experienced sip of the vintage before allowing for a more complete taste. "It seems your friend is in the right line of business..." He did not say anything more but made a note to look into the vintner further when time allowed. Cardinale suspected there was a prospective opportunity there, even if only to diversify his personal cellar.

"I imagine you have other duties to attend. You needn't wait on me. I've no inclination to wander, lest I run into one of your Lady's hounds."

 

[Eden til Sinclayr]

A bow dipped Mr. Anmore's head low. He knew when no new words were needed, and ducked out of the room with little affair. Cardinale would be surrounded by silence for a few moments. Broken, sharply, by the bellow of the old sailor's voice from down the hall.

"EDEN!" he called out, so used to shouting over the chop of waves and the wail of wind. "COME DOWN 'ERE AND GREET YER GUEST!"

"I'm in the middle of something," came the lady's voice in return. They were several rooms away, but the house was quiet, full of thin glass panes, and the empty halls carried the slightest sounds far. "Tell him to come up here."

"Now, you know how his leg is, don't be making the mister climb up all these stairs--"

The conversation dimmed, voices lowered. Only the sound of a heavy wooden door creaking open could be heard. Then, sure footsteps pattering down a staircase.

Eden Sinclayr appeared in the threshold of the parlor. She wore a heavy canvas apron over the green silks of her dress, and black surgeon's gloves that came up to her elbows. A smudge of something dark and greasy stained her left cheek.

"Lord Cartegeña," she said with less ceremony than a man of the courts was usually owed. They were peers, after all. "You've come a long way for a social call."

The gloves, she peeled off finger-by-finger, as she strode into the room. Draped them across the back of a yellow armchair. Did not sit yet, only rested her hand there, still gripping the gloves.

"Shall I listen to the details of how your journey went, and ask after your sisters? Or would you like to speak more plainly?"

 

[Cardinale Cartegeña]

Not so muffled voices carried well enough for the waiting noble to hear. Where others may have been chagrined, Cardinale was simply amused. What he heard was indifference borne of irritation, nothing more. There was no thought to his, or anyone else's condition for that matter. It seemed that servant reflected master in their blase manner. Cardinale was no stranger to the petty torments of his noble peers. They never seemed to realize that their shallow assessment of his ailment sought only to strengthen his position.

He'd not ascended the stairs but did find his feet as his fellow Viscount entered the room. Cardinale arrived unannounced and deemed Lady Sinclayr worthy of her position. One may have normally been appalled at her current disposition but he hardly blinked. This hardly registered among the various vagaries and insults to which he'd been subjected.

"My apologies, I seem to have found you in the middle of other things. And yes, I prefer to move to more pertinent matters. Though, my sisters are doing well," he added with a vague smile as he took his seat.

The noble leveled his gaze at the other, "As you know my domain is entirely removed from any accessible waters. Recently I've managed to negotiate a rather interesting trade deal with our brethren in Suldaza. What I need is to ensure that the consignment is unmolested and not disproportionately...taxed upon arrival to Whiteport before being sent along to Bloodroost." He let his words settle in stagnant air. "My underestanding is this very much within Sincalyr's capabilities."