J

Jaakko

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Weaver
Beneath the patter of the ongoing torrent and hoofbeats, the men were cursing. And for good reason, he had to admit, if only this once. There had always been plenty complaining no matter where they went and for how long, but this past week had been particularly rough. Everywhere was flooded and soaked, proper miserable, and whenever it wasn’t pouring it was drizzling down a fine mist. The damp wool of their cloaks adorned the whole procession of ten with a sheepish stench, which mingled harmoniously with the tang of mud and drenched horses. Jaakko, at the head of the retinue on his large cremello warhorse, rolled his heavy shoulders against the chill. The woman riding right behind him coughed something rough and painful, struggling through the clearing of a throat.

“ The rain is unnatural. “ Spoke First Scout Aino, voice rasping more than it usually did. “ It’s wetter than a bogwife’s cunny, out here. “
“ Figure you’d know. Can’t say I’ve ever seen one. “ Jaakko countered, a crescent of teeth shining amidst the bristles of his dark beard as he glanced at the woman sidelong past the edge of his hood. The First Scout didn’t meet his look, just spat.

“ Bodes ill, all of it. No autumn’s been like this in my entire life. “ Aino droned on. Jaakko pursed his lips with not quite annoyance at the same old tale, pretending to take in the middle distance. Not much to see there, but the bend in the road.

“ Wizard’s been saying it’s fine. “ He tried, belatedly. Aino hacked out a laugh that quickly died as a fit of coughing took her. They waited it out.

“ That’s not a wizard. You actually talked to him? “
“ Not much. “ He admitted, extending no effort to seem subtle as he rotated on the saddle to spy the rest of his congregation. The titular wizard was sat on his grey horse, on the third row, head bowed and shoulders tense against the rain.

“ You sure that’s even a— “
“ Jaakko. “

He whipped back around, brows arched as stare bounced to First Scout, then along the length of her extended arm and off the tip of her pointed index. Into the bend in the road, wherein a mounted squad had rolled to view. Armed and armoured, bearing a banner. The hazy shape of the leading officer rose a hand, shouting through the rain.

“ Halt! “

“ Patrol. “ Aino announced, slowing down at once, which he mimicked in a tug of reins.
“ Well, thank the Moons for that! “ He retorted, sharing none of her wariness, despite the stern looks about the approaching men. If they weren’t pissed, in this weather, himself was the fucking Queen of all Altalusia. Shit was bound to go both ways too, did he know his own any.

Better cut in before anyone else gets a chance to fuck us over. Donning his best smile, he craned his neck and spoke.


*​


The alehouse was cramped, but at least it had a roof and a fire. Only five of the Chapoilière retinue were in attendance alongside the noble son Joutsentierna, the rest having gone to try and secure both lodgings and rations. Or so he had to assume, the lot having disappeared the moment they’d lost the patrol that’d insisted on chaperoning them all the way to Arpa. The First Scout had been in a worse mood ever since, as if she’d suffered some insult, reduced to sitting gruffly and puffing smoke like an angry lavalizard. Jaakko sat across from her, a little straighter so he might keep an eye on the door.

Too obviously looking for someone. Someone pale, straight-backed, straight-laced. Strange, haunted eyes. Inky hair.

There was supposed to be a meeting. Joanna had sent word, personally, if only for she knew the baron Thornley from before. Well, more knew of him — She’d met him once, years ago. In passing, at some party.


‘ He is— Eccentric? Quiet, reserved. ‘ She had appeared sure when she’d said it, in that distant, businesslike way. Turned sideways from the window.

‘ We didn’t have much to talk about, but that was years ago. ‘ A bit of amusement had been in that tone and she’d finally deigned to meet his puzzled look. ‘ I will write to him that Chapoilière is honour-bound to come to his aid, as per Mother’s wishes. She hopes to also mend the relations betwixt our houses, as Father left them a little— ‘

She’d clicked her tongue then, glancing at the tapestries that billowed in the draft.

‘ You’ll investigate. Whatever you can. But make friendly. ‘


Easier said than done, he had to figure now, what with the baron failing to show.

“ Man is late. “ He lamented, shifting on his seat. Aino rose a brow, watching him sternly.
“ As is his right. You going out to find him? “ She asked, the shade of her grin suggesting she'd find nothing as entertaining as that.

“ Fuck no. “ He chuckled outright, miffed to the gills, which willed vigor into the rate at which he lumbered up and unclasped his cloak. It was unceremoniously left on the bench, still dripping off the hem. A great weight off the shoulders.

“ I’m going to get another drink. “
 
The leg was still healing when he had to dismount. Morning between dawn and hours before noon when the audiences were planned to start promised at least three, four hours of sleep. Given the healing wounds permitted. Breathing came as a labor, struggling through the aching tug along the entire left side of the back, echoing sharply in the ribs, pulsing along a vertebra that snapped into place back when he was laying in the mud and counting stars in his field of vision.

Reginald reached out to help him, and Walter intended to dismiss him until he'd almost fallen on the man. Teeth grit and aid begrudgingly accepted, the two started off down the main thoroughfare - not for abundance of choice as to where they were going.

"Careful, My Lord." Moments later, it was just a careful support under the arm, opposite the leg in which he now sported a fresh painful limp. "I'll see you to your quarters and bring the usual."

"Thanks, Reggie," the baron whispered, rubbing his eyes with his cleaner hand. Mud, blood, including his own, and gods know what else. Those eyes still trained on the drakehorse handler taking Geist's reigns, only for a dizzy moment before his gaze faltered and turned towards the ground. "Tel Ilyn it was a good call."

"Very well, my lord." They had to traipse a distance yet, to that small half-bepuddled square plot and the houses surrounding it. Down the main street, for now, and Walter strained what remained of his will to keep the posture, besides the limp that he could not help. "I will send for the usual. Papers have been passed. The noble second child arrives today."

Oh.

He was that close to asking 'who?' rather incredulously before a memory snapped into place. Before this moment, Walter's mind hung onto the notion that his physical prowess mattered little, for this morning would once more be of barn building and chasing phantom chickens and their ne'er-do-well abductors - things he could still do, and would prefer to being bed-bound. The letter from heiress Joutsentierna had arrived a couple days ago, with a pivot after reaching Thornhall first and then being sent to the nearest town outside the afflicted lands. He read it, put it away into a desk bin related to scheduling, sent back his condolences - and forgot about it completely.

Didn't remember much of the family save for their crest and words, perhaps the general outline of the latest couple generations. Remembered less of Joanna, other than the vague features of her face and that he thought he liked the unusual cut of her features. Rather lovely. Very indirect.

His body could not feel more leaden, and yet, it was like the sky became a low ceiling of an oubliette, pressing the last of life from him.

"Accommodate the noble guests, contain their curiosities," he instructed, under his breath, as they passed the boarded bridge towards his door over the large puddle around the better part of the well. "The census that we made due to the doppels... use it. I need some time to mend."

Father was not fond of the three-swans of the marshes. This sudden answer to a call of duty did nothing to assuage suspicion, of course. And yet, they were one of the potential victims for the spreading stain - now that worked better to veer away from the paranoid track of thought.

By the time he was done scrubbing clean, Anthea's brew waited by the bed upstairs - he could sense the herbs. Going up the stairs, however, was utter bull's arse.
Four hours of sleep awaited.


They put up the two chairs, just like yesterday, onto that same elevation that would hold the elder and the lord present to listen to the concerns and complaints of the folk. The alehouse was fuller for that reason, and yet, two Huntsmen, the same who guided the noble procession into safety among Agatha's mercenaries, idled by. That made the common folk give these guests space, unspoken - not wary but distancing politely.

One of the two loomed - tall, bulky for a human, slouched and heavy, grey hair poking in short, thick brushes from beneath the tricorn leather cap. Ilyn was his name. He was sweaty, muddy and wet as the rest, and also smelled faintly of valerian for some reason. He didn't talk much. Surprisingly limber on his feet. The brush-tailed drakehorse was a copper-red, aptly named Rost, and he seemed even faster on it. He was not going to fetch the lord, but he did look to his compatriot, who'd offered to get a hold of the lord's attendant to address the issue.

The other, a young man with mousy-dark hair and sharp, light eyes, departed to return with a lanky young man, tall, pale, of a pleasant face save for a scar running down the middle of his jaw. Greens and greys of Bremen civil folk became him, and his smile was schooled better than a commoner's - or a natural talent, perhaps.

"Welcome to Arpa, Your Lordship," he bowed politely once he'd reached the man, without mistake, too, his eyes trained just off the man's face and lowered politely besides the shoulder, save for the occasional glance. "My name is Reginald, Lord Thornley's attendant on civil subjects, an honor to meet your acquaintance. My lord is on his way to hold civil court, and the quarters for you and your people are prepared. Gwynn will see you to the place once you are ready."

So that was the mousy-hair man's name. Suddenly to be found besides the attendant, he inclined his head quietly.

The doors were pushed open. A whirl of icy, damp wind erupted into the warm hall, and with it came a man who strode from that egress directly to the procession. He was not wearing greys, or greens. A cloak that seemed less soaked than it rightly should have been fell wide about his shoulders. The leather doublet ran black, patterned above the chest with oak leaves, glimmered with polished bronze sweetbriar buttons. The shirt, barely peeking in the gaps between the buttoned up sleeves, shimmered plain, thick-woven pearl-gray fabric. The right hand of his was clad in a thin glove that ran beneath the sleeve, occulting the quite rumoured origin of the man's acquired magic decrepitude, mayhaps. The heels of his boots measured the floor in a cant that ate up distance yet conveyed resolve instead of haste. Things to get done. Places to be.
A slight limp betrayed some recent injury he was clearly attempting to dismiss.

Lord Thornley was in his mid-thirties or so if one were to judge by the face or shared history. But silver threads glistened in the light along with a few specks of moisture, and crow's feet ran in early lines outward from the shaded eyes. They looked dark, but a hue picked through when lit. A shade of violet-blue. Those eyes felt like they were taking measure of anyone, and anything they fell upon, gaze keen and heavy.

He'd been quite a gem in his youth, that one. A prodigy, artificer, a touch eccentric, excellent with a rapier - partial to his own flower shape, if one were to believe his former fiancée, not that he'd ever been spotted with anyone in particular. Right up until the moment he'd ruined his chances to marry into more wealth - Laetitia, that poor girl, was lucky to find herself quite better of the two seventeen years later, wife of a Duke or some such. The young Thornley, meanwhile, fell of the face of the earth - evil tongues said, he'd run away to the Free Cities with mercenaries. A couple years ago, he'd resurfaced, spending time sick in bed for a few months, to emerge against a lot of naysayers only to bury his father who'd been wasting for a while, and be named heir ahead of his twin sister, despite the scandalous absence.

A while ago, a rumour came and went, that Laetitia's children, in her absence, deemed it proper to harass the baron during Glitterwake ball, and one of them was soon sent home with a broken nose. The correspondence between the two has been allegedly restored since some thugs attempted to accost the baron in his own domain, and have been schooled, and the timing belay the implication.

All those things considered, the last two years have changed Bremen. The barony came to life. Roads were built. Trade was reinvigorated. Local administrative laws were passed and heads were rolled to plant dread into some officials. They were working, intensively, and the lord has been seen supervising and holding court in person - just like his ancestors before him.
They had a few things of note to trade, too. Least of them, the herb sourwisp and a particular liquor with it mixed in, has been making rounds in the neighboring markets with great success. Then there was something about the oaks, and something about a geomancer ancestor of the noble house having tread the shore in the shallows, altering it - from somewhich they apparently made a couple very bright pigments, with the hue unique to the region.

Baron Thornley looked like a fighter, despite not carrying a sword. He had the quietness of a man who did not kill for sport, but who did kill. His garb felt like it was armor, poised from intensity of ornament to stitching.
Right now, however, he offered a polite smile, and inclined his head just so.
"Jakko Olavi Joutsentierna, I am pleased to greet you in Arpa. I hear that, save for this ever-present deluge, your journey was without incident - a rare stroke of luck, indeed." Measured. Calm. Those eyes bored holes, though lacked malice. "Would you prefer privacy or urgency?"
In other words - 'why are you here in this hellhole with the rest of us, does your sister not like you, and would you like somewhere quieter to sit down and dry out first', put as politely as he could on pain ointments, focus-restoring herbal brew, and four hours of sleep.
 
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He was caught betwixt standing up and sitting down, when someone he didn’t know deigned to address him at long last. Lordships and all. The First Scout, too familiar to ever bother with formalities, snickered into the stem of her pipe at the sound of it. Jaakko remained standing to listen, a tad awkwardly beside the bench like he’d been caught red-handed in something, face blank. The confusion slowly melted away once the pleasantries sank in.

“ Quarters, huh — You hear that, Aino? “ He spoke in that self-satisfied tone of a man who’d made a bet and won. The First Scout merely hummed, smiling a close-lipped smile at the attendant through another exhale of smoke.

“ Pleased to meet you both. Reginald— “ He tipped his head and rose his drink modestly first at attendant, then the quiet one beside him. “ Gwynn. Great health to you and this entire damn house. “ His hideous smile was eclipsed by the rim of the cup as he drew from it, making no hurry. Aino and two of the men-at-arms sat in her company tapped a palm on the table, five times over, and drew from their cups in turn. The merriment was cut short as a nasty gust was let in, slashing through the warmth and candle flames. His Lordship Joutsentierna did not seem to notice any of it, but what he did notice was whom was fast approaching.

Fucking finally. His posture assumed a leisurely ease, half-drained cup hovered at chest level and free hand braced against the sliver that was visible of his swordbelt. Lips remained bowed to a pleasant, habitual smile as he accepted the greeting in a sideways nod.

“ A rare stroke of luck — “ He chuckled, smiling wider. “ Suppose I’ll take your word for it, my good Baron Thornley, even if the very sound of it puts me at unease. Some great troubles you must have indeed. “

He paused for a swig, seeming to mull the question over. In truth, he was rather shamelessly taking the measure of who stood some paces from him, similar to the things he’d heard and yet — oh so different. It had been years ago, alright. The man had a stare to disquiet both superstitious and modest men, but Jaakko liked to think he was neither, so he looked back openly. Locked in.

“ Well— “ Shifting on heel, he spoke rather decisive, if careless. “ I’d rather not impose you with urgency, as you’ve no shortage of that at present, eh? “

A resisted wink sparkled in the corner of his eye.

“ So I’ll have the privacy, if you’ll be so kind. Must be the first time in bloody years I’ve been in a position to have some to begin with. “

And Hells, if it didn’t sound great to take on that sweet sweet offer the attendant had dared plant in his mind. Investigating whatever the fuck it was that was going on would certainly not be going anywhere in the meanwhile. The baron, though—

“ Do seek me out, once you’ve the time, Baron Thornley. I’ll share of mine gladly, for whatever end, once you do. “

With that, he toasted at the man and drained the rest of his drink. The cup was put on the table in a hollow plonk.

“ And strength to your day. The house looks pretty full. “
 
Both nodded in order of addressment, and moved almost in step to let lord Thornley through and remain at his right side.
The word-peeling antics did not seem to amuse, but the lord's face did not twitch a single muscle - no shortness of a puffed inhale to indicate bruised ego, no narrowed eyes to sign irritance. The smile lingered in the corners of his mouth without reaching his eyes.
"It would be foolish to deny so," he responded.
Only a fool would willingly go towards the fire, a fool or a fox.

To the mention of urgency, he shook his head, the smile remaining. "Duty. What an imminent thing."

The announcement prompted a nod. The man and his sheepish soggy cloaks would be taken care of elsewhere - and disallowed from scattering about, of course. One of the stone buildings just opposite the main square, and on the other side from the scholars' and his own quarters. Fewer have been completed on that side, but the one that was - was decent enough to house a bored middle son seeking to poke about for curios, and his merry band of misplaced souls. Was a matter of time until something like this occurred.

"Gwynn, attend to the noble son of Joutsentierna and his men. I shall see you once this is done."
With that, he handed his cloak to Reginald, and made towards the seat, steps falling at precisely even intervals.
Didn't feel that much. Not the scent of lamps and the mixed odors of people and their garbs and their drinks. The orange lights had little halos. How could he have forgotten?
The chair creaked under his weight, and he could feel the elder glance over with inquiry.


No cats, no dogs unattended. A lot of birds, but all the nests were new. Few livestock. A lot of scaffolding, but no digging sites. It was like they were trying to pull the place out of the mire after a seven-year-old dirt nap.

To the guests, food and drink was soon provided in their designated indoors, Gwynn clearly seeking to find out who - surely not the scout - would behave as lord's attendant. The hearth tentatively lit by the same locals that stocked the pantry, polite caution was turning into curiosity for the onlookers, still quick to depart and not too quick to strike a conversation. These were another lord's men. And lords, they were a quaint sort.

Outside filled with the loathsome hiss of a downpour. It came, and it went, a rider passed carrying letters towards Arpa's gate, and the sky began to darken before when the hall of the former - counting house, in such a small place? - echoed the creak of its front door, and the familiar clean sound of heeled boot passed the threshold to the the arabesque masonwork of the main hall.

The old house groaned low and short under a squall of wind that broke against the windows.

He did not know how Percy elected to put up the rooms, only that it was done shortly after dawn, when the scouts returned bearing news of the arrival, and Reginald remembered. Walter stood downstairs, eyeing what was wrought, ears trained to the noises of movement. Reginald moved to announce him, and the baron was feeling... the way he'd always felt in these situations, he supposed. Dolores was better about the social graces. He got things done.

Inhale, exhale.
Civilians. Sensibilities.
The man was a noble, though.

He pinches the bridge of his nose with his good hand. Would it be a good idea to start over? Be bloody civil?
He did want to know if the man had come snooping. The primary instinct was to ask directly. He got lucky - they lost people even on the main tract, because of the disregard for rules.
...well, seemed reasonable to check if all of them were still them.
Without a plan. For fun. Madmen.

"Good afternoon," he uttered once seen inside, instead. And stopped, to survey the circumstance.
 
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They’d settled in smoothly enough — even found all the men that’d gone astray upon entry to Arpa. The First Scout, with help from the wizard that’d seemed to perk up a little after a spell of warming up at the alehouse, had shepherded them by the third hour into what would be shared quarters. For safety and to keep everyone at arm’s reach, even if it did feel like living in a damn animal pen. Himself the cock lording over the henhouse — but at least it had a roof and a fire, even generous windows.

It was in one of them that he’d sat, smoking with the First Scout, staring at the unending rain and the alehouse goings on. Court. Whispers.

“ The staff are skittish. “ Aino begun into their silence, or what little there was with how loudly the men were playing cards downstairs. “ There’s been executions. “
“ For stealing food, I hear. “ Jaakko filled in. “ The wizard caught one of the more talkative scullery maids in the hall. It isn’t really a secret, here. “
Aino puffed out a cloud at that, keeping her prickly retorts to herself. That was a first. Once she spoke again, it was more thoughtful, and quieter.

“ A little extreme, no? “
“ My mother would call it ‘wasteful’. We’ve always been more on the side of hard labour and exile, but perhaps the baron finds himself with a surplus of people. “ Jaakko responded as light and malleable as justice usually was. “ It is autumn. “
“ All the while the lord and his closest enjoy coffee and other luxury in their parlours. “
“ There are no parlours here and the wine we do have is watered down. “ He shook the half filled cup at her, offended. “ But a little luxury does keep the men in line. The ones that matter, anyway. “

The both of them stared down at the armed men, marching swift past the house. Onto patrol. Everyone knew the Blackshields the kingdom over, as well as what and who they worked for at any given time. Coin. Highest bidder. Even if everyone and their mother had hired mercenaries in their time, for whichever little thing, there was still a specific piquant distaste to be had towards them. Loyalty that could be bought and lost at the turn of a gold sovereign was no loyalty at all.

“ You have to be careful. “ Aino continued after the lull, stonefaced. Jaakko, who’d been in the middle of a sip of wine, sputtered.
“ I’m always careful. “

It was Aino’s turn to laugh. He joined in on it, for the absurdity of frankly everything.

“ Why, you think the baron will eat me alive? Have my head, too? “
“ You did see how he looked at you. “
“ Oh, yes. “ He smiled wider and bobbed his head. “ But people have been looking at me askance my entire life. Perhaps this time is warranted. “

Aino wasn’t terribly amused by this, the glare in her tired eyes sharpening. There was a question in them that she wasn’t in the position to ask, so she didn’t even try. She’d find out soon enough — the First Scout always did, gone to char or clay.


*​


They’d all gathered downstairs to the largest room with the roaring hearth, when finally the baron Thornley’s attendant came in to announce his lord. Jaakko shot up from his chair by the fire, with it’s piled on plush sheepskins, and promptly clapped everyone to attention.

“ Alright, it’s Lords’ business now, so you lot make yourselves scarce. I need the room. “

The order was heeded in a whole lot of hassle, the creaking of stools and last-minute emptying of winecups. A whole lot of things were pocketed in a hurry, from ends of loaves of bread to the stacks of cards and loose change. They’d surely fight about whose any of those things actually were, later.

They’d just about filed out, either upstairs or the adjacent kitchen and pantry, when Reginald let the much anticipated guest in. Both the wizard and First Scout, who yet lingered by Lord Joutsentierna in the room, gave their respects in a unison bow. The First Scout straight backed and the young Wizard in a bend of knees, the hem of his thick grey robe kissing the floor. He never rose his gaze, keeping it hidden behind a cropped mess of thick, dark hair.

“ Afternoon, my dear Lord Thornley. “ Jaakko begun in a great welcoming gesture, arms open. “ Do proceed in and seat yourself down — Wine? “ He rotated on heel to indicate one of the nicer chairs left vacant by the fire, other hand gesturing vaguely at the wizard, who hurried for the nearby cabinet. New cups were produced onto a tray, careful and quiet, thin ashen brown hands barely visible past sleeves meant in their volume for the arms of someone much larger. From there, the lad hurried on to the table, where their evening’s supply of wine lay in a pewter ewer.

Jaakko remained standing for the bit to watch the youngster go, listening to the huff of drawstring shoes and soft cursing as wine was spilled in the hurry. The back door gave a creak as the First Scout let herself outside, having made no other sound.

“ If you’ll allow me to spare us all the niceties in interest of time, I’ll just cut to the chase, Lord Thornley — “ Jaakko’s look bounced to the baron, easy tone persisting. “ It remains largely a mystery to me what is going on here, truly, but I’ve heard enough to have some idea. My sister, I believe, has offered you the nebulous concept of ‘aid’, but left it upon my judgement to figure what that would entail. “

The wizard had finally scampered along to loft the tray betwixt the men, offering a cup first to Lord Thornley.

“ So — As I like to think men themselves know best what they need — “ He stole his own cup from the tray, unceremoniously, and threw himself down on his own broad chair. Leaned back, heavy, and stretched a leg out.

“ I figured I’ll just ask you. What is it that you think would help, now, immediately, the conditions here? I understand they aren’t ideal, at present. “
 
After those seven years of half-starving at best, the common folk have been eating more than properly. A bit of fiddling with the books, within the margins, within the knowledge of where the supplies came from, allowed for rations that, he was rather certain, most would call generous. These people were exhausted, haunted by losses, undead and horrors of a Blighted kind. They needed all the reprieve they could get. The rules have been made just as clear. There would be no slapping of hands on the matter. The folk would eat well, the ones who did not adhere to civil order would be made an example out of. The ones who tried to desert would be made an example out of. Best learning examples, as morbid and unfortunate as it was, for those few who thought they could get away with it.

But there would always be the malcontent. As with any order, even the one that fed them, defended them and tended to them.
His supplies, meantime, did not hang on the Crown's coin, directed from Bremen, where he could easier requisition more than food and leave no paper trail behind. Besides, the excess harvest from the internal trade would travel here, just as well.

He only hoped that Reggie commanded the maids serve the horned lord as he coded, from the correct supply until an alternative would be established. Reggie was a good lad, clever.

The rules would be made abundantly clear to the lord's men, just as well. Walter glimpsed Olivier passing through the door as Gwynn slipped out, them exchanging a few two-handed gestures in a silent cant.

As the greeting was extended, in that same easy, pleasant voice that conveyed even less of true disposition than his demeanor worthy of a frigid iron spike, Walter exhaled slowly, sinking into the chair opposite.
"Thank you," he murmured, and accepted the hospitality by taking a small sip. The air shifted. This was, temporarily, the other man's home to reign over. He was a guest. Unless the hospitality was violated, he was bound to civility... not that he planned on anything besides.

He glanced into the 'wizard's' face. The gaze lingered for a little while, thoughtful, but not hostile.
Civilians. Sensibilities.

He listened.
The rancid smoke scratched at his lungs and up through his nose towards his forehead. Horrendous. Gods, he hoped he wouldn't get withdrawals from... whatever this was, from breathing it alone.
"I would appreciate you stating your intent, Lord Joutsentierna," he offered a brief smile with the corners of his mouth. It held little humor, but it was a smile for a change. "Your sister has been very polite in sending you here, which befuddled me. I thank you for your understanding in our prior exchange. It was a grievous mistake in scheduling, and I do owe you an apology."
A head inclined, and he eyed the wine. A glance to the attendant, a quizzical glance back, a subtle shake of the head, a nod, and Reginald slipped out, quiet as a ghost.

Walter, meanwhile, settled with his posture still idly upright, one leg shifted slightly behind the other - not for getting up quickly.
"Gracious of you. I will attempt to be direct, as well, in such a manner," he offered.
Eyes closed, in thought, processing everything said.
"Ideal - no," the glanced to his cup, "but I would have little to complain to you about, Your Lordship. The routes are secured. The plans are laid. Perhaps..." He fell quiet, eyes turning from the man's face to the ceiling in thought.

"...I could use an additional influx of building supplies. At fair prices, of course, we would be the primary byers. The closer route would make it most fortuitous, too. We are awaiting an architects' guild of modest renown but splendid quality due to their geomancy inclinations, and thus - stockpiling materials of such nature.

The end of autumn is coming, too. I wish to treat the common folk, now that the granaries are settled nicely for the winter. Dress it as you like, it's going to be some time before anything is farmed locally again in survivable quantities. Either way... If your land has any excess to that festive effect, I would even lend ice boxes to the effort."

He studied the man, quietly.
"What would you say if I suggested that we merge our personal supply routes, until such time that you intend to leave? While the main route across the afflicted land is secured, I am not too amenable to taking risks."
Of course, it also meant that what the residing lords desired of additional comforts, they could arrange, exchange or trade. And it all would travel down the main tract, guided by the blue-lanterned Huntsmen.

"But first and foremost, I would ask that you adhere to our laws. Even drunk, even merry. Do not venture out at night unless it's vital need. Do not travel alone outside the walls."
He was about to say something else, but didn't. Lips pressed tighter, for a moment. Brows knit ever so slightly, two stubborn lines creasing up the forehead.

"Otherwise - in which capacity would you be willing to help? The lands are neighboring your own, I understand." It would do well to gain reputation with the Crown, on such a perfect occasion, not to mention warding off danger and protecting what was theirs. "And yet, our fathers would have little to say to one another." And he wondered if anyone remembered why, exactly. Victor wasn't always an... easy man. Dolores would have handled this better, of course, but she was keeping fort in Bremen. Quite a lot of paperwork of her own, begrudgingly, but autumn has always been a busy season.

"Now, I see a letter from your sister, announcing your answer for aid, and, to be truthful, I am utterly flummoxed to see people wandering into the former battlefields without concern for their own safety, for the safety of their own noble line. What exactly have you heard?"

Eleven. It's been eleven in entourage at the gate.
...no, it's always been ten. Ten that could probably be named. Ten with faces, plain, but ones that got all too familiar over the week's trip.
But the guy whose horse died, he walked on foot right before the patrol showed up... right after the patrol proceeded through the gates.
 
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Little to complain about? it strummed a strange tune, rattling the bars — things to not be examined or pressed on, not now, when it was so late and yet so early. So politely he would accept the words, from beginning to end, just smiling and tilting his head like a dog trying to make sense of what exactly it was hearing. There were secrets here, that much was certain, but the business betwixt them for the time being was plain enough. He could deal with all things as they were and only as such.

He let it all sink in, bobbing his head and humming thoughtfully at whichever part; supplies, suggestions, laws, the mention of ‘our fathers’. He broke into a chuckle at the last question, the admitted flummoxation, breaking the spell of personable petrification. A little treat for himself, to laugh at things not considered laughing matters.

“ I wish it had been a risk taken knowingly — I would’ve loved to claim having aimed to impress you, Lord Thornley, by such bold daring. “ He responded, shrugging one shoulder. “ But alas — me and mine ventured here skeptical about the things we had heard. And I will say the fortuitous uneventfulness of our journey thus far barely cured any of us of it. Until now, anyway. “

He paused for a sip of his wine, watching the man intently over the rim of his cup.

“ To my unweaving understanding, it has to do with the Shroud. Something is out of ‘alignment’, whatever that means. Death claims and then spits men out, to walk again more than they already do and have since the Dead Wave. And you, personally, are working on fixing all that here, so — “Giving the impression of a gullible idiot, or perhaps a man wise enough to not concern himself with whatever he had little ability to actually grasp, he vaguely gestured at bare air.

“ How’s that for intentions and reasons? I’ll even admit to unsurmountable curiousity, if you like — my sister is the heir to our house, so I come because she cannot — “ He tapped at his temple. “ Her eyes and ears. And her willingness to help, in whichever way, I’ll add. “

What happened to him hardly was to hazard any which noble line, but he left that unsaid. Mother had plenty spares to replace her eldest, should she perish.

“ I hear your need for building supplies and note them. We have timber, brickburners and quarries of greystone, but rocks are among the more painful to transport long distances, let alone in conditions as they are here. “ The mud, the dead, the works. “ I would suggest you send a Master Mason to find the needed material and establish a quarry here, preferably nearby, if at all possible — There ought to be enough Blackshields to spare for their protection, no? “

If it’s important, there usually was. All projects had their expenses.

“ Other than that, with the winter coming, I’m much inclined to have victuals and other vital supplies brought in, whatever we’ve to spare. Mainly dried rye and woven fine wool — they’re practically imperishable, if stored well, and the need for them will persist as long as people need to eat and walk outside. “

His look dipped to the man’s boots, traveling up the seated shape of him anew. Himself spent that time to mull on what he had missed — ah, the trade of it all? Right.

“ You can consider the supply routes, for the time being, merged. As for fair prices, I cannot promise them as I’m not the actual Lord of the House, but will vow to do my best to vouch in your favour. The continued stability of our immediate neighbour hangs off your shoulders, after all, does it not. “

He examined the mans face at that, considering whatever expression he had chosen to wear for the occasion. One had to wonder if he felt the weight, the enormity of it. Surely there was no way for a man to not do just that.
 
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It seemed, at first, that the middle son of Joutsentierna was nodding along without a real understanding - but then, there was that focused glint to the eye that made one wonder. And yet, nobles were good at pretending in that way that proved perilous so often when time came for the claims to meet ground.

A chuckle came, quiet and non-committal, as if the baron was bemused by the very notion that someone would seek to impress him. Ask for a complete set of instructions, maybe, or expect for him to draw the outlines, and then get bored with coloring them in. Most people preferred a spectacle, a kaleidoscope, a forbidden sort of fruit. Walter merely stood on his feet rather firmly, got up every time life kicked him in the teeth, and worked in a persistent, structured way. He expected the same of anyone he'd show true respect, just the same. Could still find it in himself to hope for a good future - at least so far as his reach spread. That hope was doubly invigorated now that someone touched his aspirations for artificery - the part of his youth that he loved tenderly. Just as he'd thought he had sentimental wrung out of him for good.

But most people, they would find him rather boring. Some would even go so far as to call him naïve, to boot.

"You may come with me to the gates at the witching hour, and I will show you what the watchmen see every other day," he offered. "There is no need to trust my word when I can demonstrate what happens when our warnings are not heeded. And, your understanding is mostly apt. The undead are a part of it. Things are out of alignment."

He sighed slowly. Forced the shoulders to loosen. Pondered the wine.
"That makes two of us who can't shape the Shroud in ways it doesn't bend, hm? I see no reason to keep most information, especially that which is necessary for survival - but it must also be understood that, in this matter, not all secrets are mine to divulge. I serve at Her Majesty's pleasure. If you should like, we may talk more once you have gained a little bit of understanding."

What was said next gave him pause. Walter blinked twice, as if he was not certain hearing was still true to him. By the end of proposal, he leaned back in the chair, his dark eyes keen to the details on the man, from the features of the face to the detailing of his clothes, taking him in as if it was only now that he was committing him to memory in truth.

He was not used to people making sense in the pleasantly structured way. Felt like a comfortable road devoid of guessing - from such statements, results arrived, or they did not.
And yet, nobles tended to lean on being bored, and full of lies.

He smiled. Lips only, before they parted, showing just the edge of teeth, eyes squinting, framed in early lines from the outer corners. It was humour, of sorts... a little bit of mischief. He knew that Jaakko didn't know what he knew. His eyes were almost teasing to find out, especially with such a thorough inspection of his person.

At the mention of stability, his eyes trailed to the side from the lord, first. His smile faded, settling a little bitter, a little sterner. As if the reminder hit him with all the weight materialized. Wasn't just Arpa. Wasn't just the deadlands around it. Wasn't just the spread. The thing in the sky and underground. The enemy. The things beyond undead. Also - the neighbours, who could be plunged into the same nightmare. Thousands of lives.
"It is so."

There was silence, for a moment.

"You will be granted access to some of my supplies present, within reason, to make your stay here more palatable. There are two fighting pits, if your men are curious about that sort of thing, fisticuffs and blunted blades - and a brothel, though it mostly consists of the camp followers of Captain Agatha's granted more pleasant lodgings."

His eyes fell on the wizard, again, quiet as a shadow, reminding him of Yvain. A draft came from the window, warding off enough of smoke. A slow intake of breath, like a predator taking scent, a bristling sort of air as he took the measure again, though his eyes remained dark for the moment. He did not ask for specialty. The name would have to be given. It would be given, willingly so, after.
"Your Lady sister is far away, and you, her eyes and ears, the bearer of concern and duty of your House..." dark eyes, velvetine, the color of deadly nightshade and violets, sought the gaze of the man opposite, "...what do you want?"
 
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Witching hour at the gates did sound terribly titillating, plain upon his face when the idea was floated so wantonly. He’d not seize the offer outright in the midst, what with how pleasant it was to just chat indoors for now, but bobbed his head all the same. Deal, memorized, committed. As for secrets and that other promise, that they might talk more later on the goings on —

“ Nothing would please me more. “ One more thing to hold onto, which he sealed by raising his cup at the man, toasting at a yet another curio he hadn’t had to even ask for. It felt too easy, somehow, not having to fight the local Lord over every petty detail, let alone the larger ones. The extended generosity with blunted blades and loose individuals he’d smile pleasantly at, even through the shake of his head.

“ It will serve my men to keep attendance here, at this house, and stay away from both of those things — whoever watches over the two establishments probably already has their hands full with the Blackshields. “ There wasn’t exactly disdain in it, just the general wonder as for what the day to day here really looked like, once one lingered on. What with how the single mercenary company greatly dwarfed most other parties present at the town. Probably like Crorefell, and that shit still stands, somehow.

“ The supplies will be appreciated, however. Keeps the morale up, a little something something while yours truly holds the leash tight. “ He made a fist and yanked upon reins imagined. His look had drifted to the window, watching the blurry shapes going about their day beyond the modest little yard and garden out back. The First Scout’s dark figure hovered in the midst of it, a lone pillar. Or perhaps a chimney, for how smoke kept drifting off her. The serene, watery swirl of opaque air. He considered it for the moment the whole room merely breathed out and in again, until more words would pry at his attention. Which he would give, promptly.

His brows arched, creasing up the dull grey of his forehead, a curious thought and a half in his look as he regarded the asker. Good questions, really, ones he may have wanted to ask in turn. His initial response was but a lopsided smile and a not-quite-shrug, a little too cute for his general looks that usually made such things appear the tad sinister. Or ridiculous, at best.

“ Apart from all these creature comforts, which you’ve so well provided for? “ He peered into the dark of his wine, then back at the man and what intently stared back — all that inquisitive violet.

“ You’ll have to forgive me, Lord Thornley — It does not respect the circumstance for me to act coy, does it? “ Tone shifted, as did he in his seat, surrender in the openness of his chest.

“ We both understand duty. Mine lays with my house, ultimately, and their wants are mine as well. Which, I’ll admit— “ He stroked the side of his curls back, deflating deeper into his chair as a lungful of heavy breath left him.

“ Were not divulged to me in full, before I left. My family knows I speak too much, I think. “ He put a bit of humour into that, smile luminous. There were the things committed to paper, but that was never the whole of it, not ever. Joanna’s right was to secrets and machinations as any other future head of a house. She already acted the part, being everything their parents had asked for and more.

“ These are things for us to know in due time, of which I will speak with candor no sooner than it is afforded to me. “ He continued a touch more seriously, if not unamiable, the corners of his eyes creased in friendship.

“ Until then, I have but your patience to want, to request, if you’ve that to give? “
 
He bore no ill will at secrecy, and observed the display which conveyed nothing but openness with a slightly detached mind.

The same way he observed Laetitia d'Aullimont sending her suitors to seek trouble with him when she was bored or thought that he was - back when they were still engaged, that is... goodness, that was almost two full decades past.
The same way he doubted that some boys from her youthful retinue ended up in conversation with him by happenstance.
The same way he was not concerned with other nobles largely avoiding him at Glitterwake, save for Laetitia's son who came out of trying to harrass him with a broken nose. It led to her husband sending catspaws after him with an order to catch him on the road and teach him a lesson - a funny story, that...
The same way he simply accepted the arrangement with Leysa Caretarius falling through, the thought of mutually loveless marriage to preserve their public face fading with the reignited friendship that faded into the background.

Lord Joutsentierna had the same air. At least he had the common decency to be direct, or to pretend to be direct.
He smiled politely, finding the manner pleasant. His own face, if it reflected his internal works, did so mildly. Hearth light and dark attire outlined the sharper features of his face, the sleepless shadows and stubborn glimmer to his eyes.
"Well," he put after a small pause, "if you consider yourself accommodated, and wish not to divulge what of your house, and of myself your request is patience, I would be glad to leave you further to your own devices, until the time that my man would come collect you for the trip towards the gates. I do, however, have a curiosity."

There were faint wisps of light in his eyes as he directed attention at the 'wizard'.
"Who are you? Don't lie."
 
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It seemed to go over well enough. He responded the politeness with his own, a nod and a smile, that good old ease bleeding back to his shape. It lasted but the bit that it took for the man to finish their settlement, until pivoting rather harshly. Away from him and to—

He rotated quickly on his spot to peer at whom the Lord Thornley was addressing in such a tone as to make him convinced there was some wanton trespasser in the room. But nay, there was just the familiar shape of—

The wizard? The lad also appeared confused, standing some paces behind his Lord’s chair by the cabinet with no more clean cups to spare. The tray and wine ewer had been laid on the table next to it, put aside. Empty hands were looped at the pleated front of a loose robe, exposed wrists decorated with bracelets twisted out of red and blue yarn, off the loops of which hung little woodland bones, dry knots of midsummer rose stalks and hawthorn spikes the length of darning needles. A chin lofted from where it had lain tucked to the warm folds of a downturned hood, as the youngster’s flinty eyes whipped first to Lord Thornley, then to Joutsentierna. Jaakko couldn’t quite tell whether it was blooming panic, or a plea for permission.

“ Is this necessary? “ He started at Lord Thornley, more perplexed than offended, for far be it from him to understand why a man would breach a perfectly pleasant evening by cross-examining another Lord’s men. There was some thick shit going on in this town, that much was for sure. The question had no time at all to hang in the air betwixt the nobility, when a loud thump announced the wizard having made contact with the floorboards, fallen to his knees.

“ It’s alright. “ The lad spoke, quietly as if just to himself, palms on his lap. Staring at the firelight on the floor for two breaths, until sitting up straighter. Almost haughty, but with that peculiar brand of flight in his eyes once they fell anew on who’d implored for no lies.

They were but words, she could feel, the collective power present in the room that of men and their make alone. It usually was enough. She was alone.

“ Zahra, of the village of Lucelley. My mother is the witch Sarita of Lucelley. The Greater Bogs. “ The wizard slipped a hand inside the chest of her robe, fishing out a necklace with one severed finger on it, turned black, thin and dry with age and salt. Next to it on the twine glinted silver or lead, an old grey ring with a tarnish that wouldn’t come off. It was held on display like a lord’s seal, if without pride. Just legitimacy.

Jaakko stared at it with the unaffected air of a man still catching up with why this was happening at all. Thankfully he didn’t have to say shit, as the witch’s daughter spoke on. There was strain in her voice, a tiredness or uncertainty. Resignation.

“ Anything else you would like to know of me, Lord Thornley? “
 
Lord Thornley glanced in Jaakko's eyes, and there was an estranged expression, almost concern, but for what?
He only raised a hand, index finger asking for just a little patience.

Zahra, of the village of Lucelley. He nodded slowly, eyeing the weaver from where he sat. He didn't say an incantation, nor made any movement, but his eyes, what seemed like flicker echoes of the fire, turned undoubtedly blue. Motes of light bloomed in the velvetine dark of the iris, at its very edge, and sunk inward along the spiderweb of filaments, to be quenched against those tiny specks surrounded by darkness of the pupils. A soft, distant, dim glow of its own that cast faint echoes of its own against the thick dark eyelashes.

He looked at the power, then, the way the weave sunk natively, the patterns in which it ran through the wizard's body, and there was an air of quiet acknowledgement, not stern inspection or malevolence. Heavy eyelids sunk closed, and once they opened, the lord's eyes were dark again.

"I thank you," Walter responded quietly. His explanation, then, turned to the man no doubt offended. "We are making a tally of those newly present, Lord Joutsentierna, for reasons that will become apparent to you tonight, you have my word. But the tally will be made before then, and it is important that at least one of the Bremen knows the name of your wizard. As I am under the impression this name is best kept secret, I will oblige, and any name can be given to the man who makes the tally."

He smiled faintly, and made to rise, gloved hand's fingers wrapping around the armrest. The chair creaked lightly. Walter straightened, and inclined his head.
"I shall not overstay my welcome." The wine, untouched, landed on a surface where it could rest. "Your entertainment is due past midnight, I shall come knocking then."
 
Jaakko sat entirely still, small fry caught in a trammel betwixt the two; a magician and one who claimed to be no such thing, ‘unable to shape the Shroud in ways it doesn’t bend’. He didn’t know if he believed that, with how the light had played tricks in the man’s eyes when he’d seemed to closely examine the wizard. Or witch, something — fuck if he could keep up, honestly.

Patience promised only warranted patience given in turn, so that he did. Once addressed again, the stern-faced puzzlement fell off him like old plaster, bit by bit, leaving behind but a blank facade. Still, he hadn’t but to nod at the explanation and accept it. Truth be told, all this boded rather well. There was bound to be no dull moment in this town, huh.

He kept to himself the cheeky remarks about how the Lord Thornley hardly had a way to overstay in his house, but dared smile the tad bit as the man made to leave. According to custom he rose as his guest did, taking but the step closer to bid the slightly taller man proper farewell. At attention.

“ I’ll be waiting— “ He responded, stood by the hearth with a glint of it in his devilish eye. “ With great anticipation. “


*​


The moment the door closed behind the good Lord Thornley, the wizard spoke again.

“ I also want to come. To the gates. “
“ I think you can get off the floor now. “ Jaakko retorted tiredly, rotating on heel to return to his seat.
“ I want to see. “ She continued, thick wool huffing as she rose and begun correcting the pleats on the skirt of her robe. Bracelets and trinkets hanging off the belt clicking and clacking.

“ You’re going to have to ask Lord Thornley if he permits you along. “
“ Why can’t you? “

He stared at the flicker of darkest shadows on the ceiling beams, drawing wine from his cup. The wizard had stopped futzing with her outfit by the sound of it, but there was hardly two seconds of silence to enjoy.

“ Hey, fat man — I know you can hear me. “
“ I don’t have to do shit for you, scrawny little liar. “ He glanced past the broad backrest of his chair, half a laugh in his tone. Drunk on power, probably, for she had none over him.
“ I’ve never lied. “
“ Right. “

Neither convinced nor caring whether he could be, he sunk further into the lambskins, cheek leaned against knuckles. His look traced Zahra’s shape as she quietly moved to gather up Lord Thornley’s cup.

“ He didn’t have any. “ She remarked, finding the wine untouched.
“ Perhaps something put him off. “ Jaakko hummed, watching as she took a sip and worked her tongue on the inside of her mouth. Tasting, wondering.
“ It’s not bad. “ Was her verdict.
“ No. “ He confirmed, having some of his in turn. “ Why’d you have to show that damn finger to him? “

“ It’s my mother’s. The ring is my grandmother's. “
“ I didn’t know Sarita of Lucelley is dead. “
“ She isn’t. “

In a sigh, he stretched back to drain the rest of his wine. Zahra did the same, then hurried through the room to refill both their cups. Outside their quiet little realm, men were laughing.
 
After building the first set of parameters for the future observation project, Walter was barely done with supper before Reggie showed up.
"They hear voices on the wind, Lord Thornley." For just a moment, his face was hard to read. Voices meant they'd see Brennan tonight, trying to find his way back to the walls of Arpa. It would be unnerving how the Lord seemed to have a hunch for these things, nowadays, if only his hunch wasn't saving skins more than spooking idiots. "Ophelia said, it's going to be a good showing for your purposes."
"Thoughts? Tuck tail and run?" Walter asked simply, between gulps of herbal tea to water everything down before he'd have the rest of the night preoccupied. Until the attendant showed up, he'd been alone in the room - preferred it that way, to catch any peace at all between affairs. Firstborn Dark knew, people brought him no peace.
Reginald scratched under the rim of the pointy hunter's cap, and snickered. "No. Might start tailing you, though."
For the rumour mill, or simply amusement. Not like they had a job to do here.
"Couldn't get much worse," Walter shrugged. "How are the grandparents?"
"Garrick's back isn't better for the weather," Reggie sighed. "But they are well set. Comfortable. Bit miffed you put them closer to the lazaret than to your quarters."

The street was bathed in darkness. A free-flowing kind, silken and parting easily by the golden light of lanterns held and blue light of those small brass spheres on their belts that only the living eyes could see. The old cobbles went underfoot slippery - but the rain had stopped, and even the puddles seemed to shallow out some. Perhaps, their endeavors to clear out the damn drainage weren't all so hopeless.

The heavy metal knocker at the coin house door was lifted by the attendant's hand and lowered once, twice, thrice.
They did not talk as they waited, and Reginald kept silence because he knew the lord had ears and nose liken his late wolfhound, and would be keen to lend focus to observation.
 
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Come knocking they did, for the darkest hour.

The First Scout opened the door, having sat snoozing by it in the vestibule where she’d been posted to listen for the Lord’s arrival. Just in case. No way to miss the scheduled late night circus. Her tired black eyes regarded first the Lord, then the attendant, figure inclining in a stiff bow.

“ They’re here. “ She called into the house, a raven’s low croak, coarse in the throat. There were voices in the hall and two sets of footsteps, a heavier march and a faster tread. Jaakko appeared in the doorframe first, practically eclipsing the First Scout who took a deft step out of the way.

“ Lord Thornley. “ He greeted in a nod, still halfway into pinning his grey cloak together by his shoulder. Silver circle with a swan and a sword. “ Evening. At least it’s stopped raining, huh? “

The bitter cold outside, blasting in with the draft, was enough to temper his smile and make him squint. A gust tore at his curls, making a mess of them no matter his idle gesture of correcting them. He tore his look away from the Lord and his attendant in benefit of stepping down to the street, watching his feet. In the candlelit doorway behind him the wizard stood resolute, intent in her eyes that landed directly on baron Thornley.

“ My Lord. “ She spoke, voice strange, like she’d rehearsed it. The half-curtsey half-bow was also deeper than last time. Jaakko, stood by his fellow noble, held in the ripple of a smirk threatening to twist his face something hideous, covering it behind a balled fist and a feigned cough.

“ I would much like to attend as well. If you’ve room. In your party. “ Zahra continued fast, straightening and tucking her hands into opposing sleeves at the front. Her red and blue hood was already up, too ready to go. Lord Joutsentierna’s attention shifted to the First Scout that stood tall as a crane by the much diminutive wizard. The question in his warm expression was clear to whom nothing went unnoticed.

“ Nah. I’m good. “ Aino drawled, clear as the sky was at present. “ I needen’t see it to believe it. “ Her stare went from her Lord to the other. “ I never doubted, for the record. For why would anyone lie about things as the ones we've heard of, coming here? “
 
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