"And how long will you all be staying?"
Joren's face blossomed into a shining smile. "Hopefully only a couple weeks. Perhaps a month or so, if things don't go our way. Not that we'll stay indefinitely," he assured Frederick's souring face. "A month," he declared. "A month, maybe a week more, and we'll find ourselves new beds. Unless you happen to like having us around that is," he added with a wink.
"A month it is," Frederick said, against his better sense. "I rise early, and I'll expect you lot to do the same. I have spare room in the attic. It's cramped, but it's the best I can offer. Wh-"
A loud rumble interrupted him. He looked around before settling on Sera, who blushed as another gurgled echoed across the yard.
"Any chance of some food?" she asked bashfully, holding her broken bow like a shy child.
Frederick found himself smiling, despite himself. "Stow whatever y'have upstairs. I'll find something for you lot."
"Thank you," Joren said earnestly as his companions made their way into the house. "You won't regret this, I promise."
For the hundredth morning in a row, Frederick greeted the dawn with tired, bloodshot eyes. Tobias lay curled by the window, basking in the early morning sunlight; Frederick scratched him absently behind the ears as he looked outside. The travelers he'd taken in had made good on their word and more, fixing even the tiniest hole or scratch in his home (Evan especially had taken a shine to sewing, and every old, moth-eaten blanket and pillow had new life breathed into them by his deft hands). He hadn't had much to do, besides relax, enjoy the latest serial, and drink tea. It'd been relaxing. At first.
Their arguing started off small enough. Harsh whispers in the night that trickled down through the walls, just enough to keep Frederick from truly falling asleep. His eyes would waver, then snap open as someone made an angry point, or slammed a hand down on a table. Still, every group was bound to have some trouble. It wasn't worth making a fuss about, and given a few days, it'd work itself out.
Of course, it didn't work itself out after a few days, or a few days after that, or even several later than that. If anything, it got worse, with clear voices making their way to his ears. Oddly enough, the nights they didn't argue were just as bad: the three of them would sneak away in the middle of the night, and would only return as the sun peeked over the horizon. Oh, they tried to be quiet, but Frederick was used to his home's creaks and groans, and every time they slunk in or out, his body lit with energy like he was back with the infantry, and he'd be up most of the night. Whenever he tried to bring it up with them, Joren would simply smile that insufferable smile of his, and assure their host that they would do better in the future. Frederick supposed he simply nodded and accepted that because he'd been getting accustomed to their help here and there. Besides, it wasn't like he couldn't just sleep during the day now. Unfortunately, there were still some errands that required his personal attention.
"I'm going into the city," he told Sera one morning. She looked up from sharpening his knives curiously.
"Would you like company?"
Frederick gave her a tight smile. "I think you'd find me inspecting livestock and droning on with my friends to be frightfully boring."
Sera grimaced. "It'd be better than having to pull weeds and collect eggs with the idiots."
"Even so," Frederick said, gathering up a few letters and a parcel. "I'm afraid I need you to start chipping away at the blackened bits of the house today. Hopefully I'll manage a good price on replacement wood while I'm out. Oh, cheer up," he said, seeing her face twist up in displeasure. "I'm sure work someplace more agreeable with turn up soon."
Sera blushed deeply. "I didn't mean-"
"No need to explain. It's terrible work. Why d'ya think I keep shoving it onto you and your friends? There's still a bit of roast from last night, and the usual fare, when midday finds you. I'll be back in the late afternoon."
Frederick set a lively pace as soon as he cleared the door. It would be nice to have the day to himself, without having to pretend not to see all the posturing, the backhanded compliments and snide remarks, and the horrid looks they gave each other when they thought no one else was looking. He could at least sympathize with Joren when the other two would sneak off, returning much later, disheveled and full of stories of slippery hills and thorn bushes. It'd been a long time since he'd been with a woman, and to see your friend prance off at every chance with the only friendly one around -- to his eyes, it was enough to sour even the best of companions. Hopefully with him out of the way, the three of them would have a chance to really have it out. Maybe then, Frederick hoped as the house faded away, they'd all be able to sleep through the night.
Quite the scene greeted him at Verdenhelm's gates: ostentatious green and silver banners were draped across the entrance, and despite the windless day, magical breezes kept the fabric curling and snapping festively across the walls. The bodies had been taken down as well, and the shieldsmen at the gates were in full armor; he only knew it was Mathias by the telltale bag of jerky the guard absently picked from in between inspections.
"I certainly didn't expect this sort of reception," Frederick joked to him as the young man carefully held a hand up. The tingling of detection magic looking for weapons or worse swept over him, and he sucked on his suddenly odd-tasting teeth. Mathias's visor receded to show his nervous face.
"Hogenhein agreed to send someone to talk," he whispered, tongue licking his lips with sharp flicks. "The whole city is on edge. Best get what you need and get home."
Frederick frowned as the tingling faded away. "You think someone will attack the diplomat?"
"Don't matter if they do or don't. All I know is I'd rather be scouting up north than here right now. Alright, move along!" he called out, his visor sliding back across his face as he returned to his position.
Frederick strode through into the remarkably empty city streets. The moment of happiness at not having to shoulder his way through throngs of people curdled as he looked around: the shops were still open, of course, but the quiet chatter of the owners as they sold their wares was absent. Anyone who was out moved like a mouse with an owl overhead, and looked like they'd rather be anyplace else than buying bread that day. Only the booted footsteps of dozens of soldiers and guards in their splendid armor marching through the streets kept the day from being truly silent. It was an odd dichotomy: on one hand, streamers, ribbons, and flowers hung from everything they could, as though a grand marriage would take place that day. On the other, the city looked like it prepared for war. It left Frederick feeling distinctly uneasy, to say the least.
It did nothing for his nerves when he approached Piotr's stall, and saw it open, but empty. A few fat pigs oinked and snuffled happily in their pen; in one corner a handful of piglets suckled from their mother. Chickens clucked in another, mixed in with ducks and geese, all quacking and honking along with them. As he stood nervously at the front, an old goat sleepily butted his leg.
"Hello Grigori," he muttered, patting the crotchety beast's head. It lazily tried to bite his hand, before going back to shoving gently against him. "Ornery as always, I see."
Frederick stumbled back as a metal hand dropped from the ceiling. Like a possessed gauntlet, it skittered across the counter at him, and he raised an arm to swat it away.
"Bah! Get away from m'hand!"
He froze as the Piotr's bald head stomped into view, his fierce glare melting into a smile when he saw who was at his stall.
"Ha ha!" Piotr crowed, slapping the dust off his shirt, and out of his thinning hair. "Ah, you're not dead yet, eh? It's been too long!"
"It's been a week," Frederick grunted as he was grabbed in a massive embrace.
"Ah, a week too long to me!" He smiled, grabbing the disembodied hand, which twitched weakly, like a crab out of water.
"A new toy?" Frederick asked quietly, trying to ignore his crawling skin as Piotr shoved the hand onto his stump. With a twist, it clicked back into place, and the fingers began moving natura
lly. Well, as naturally as the tiny gears and rods within would allow anyway. To Frederick, prosthetics always seemed to move with a nauseating fluidity, like tendrils reaching out to gasp something unseen. Piotr smiled at his friend's grimace.
"Want to touch it?" he said, wiggling the fingers in his face. "C'mon, all the ladies have been swooning over its...dexterity."
Frederick snorted as Piotr waggled his bushy eyebrows suggestively. "I'd expect it when you're paying them. I don't understand why you didn't just have someone fleshcraft you a new hand," he grumbled, pushing it aside. They'd been busy after the fight in the market a few weeks ago, yes, but they had waiting lists...
"What, and miss all the toys? Watch." Piotr's fingers extended to triple their length, and bent and waved in ways normal fingers never could. The tip of his index finger split to reveal a long, sharp-looking blade; another unfolded into a pair of scissors; the others remained thankfully whole, though Frederick had no doubt they contained even stranger things. He did his best to keep from shuddering at the display.
"Ah, still no fun, I see," Piotr huffed, the hand returning to normal. "Fine. Straight to business, as always."
"I wanted to ask what a good breeding pair would cost me."
Piotr's eyes crinkled. "For what? Pets?"
"I wouldn't mind having fresh ham ever so often, and-" Frederick politely waited for the merchant to finish with his wheezing guffaws.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Piotr said as he wiped away the tears. "You had the same idea for goats, yeah? A year back? What happened to them?"
"Gertrude and Sir William-"
"Mmm-hmmm," Piotr said around his smile, and shook his head. "You are not a butcher, my friend. And that is no shame in that. I am not a seamstress," he shrugged. "I am...not a scholar. We have our callings."
"My belly is calling for something for lunch, at the very least," Frederick sighed. Piotr shook his head.
"I cannot. His majesty ordered we begin stockpiling food, in case of a siege."
Frederick's blood froze in his veins. "What? But I thought a diplomat was arriving today."
"Diplomats," Piotr said, like it was a foul word. He snorted, and spat an impressive wad of phlegm onto the ground. "Pah. A formality. How Hogenhein and the like make their threats." He sneered at the banners that hung all about the city. "Gaudy decorations to make it seem like it's an honor to have a snake in our home. And a quiet warning of what will happen if it stays too long," he added, nodding at a group of soldiers slinking by, strangely silent despite their armor.
"Why are you even out then?" Frederick asked, puzzled.
Piotr shrugged. "What else is there to do? Either there is war, or there isn't. Staying at home and drawing the curtains won't keep it at bay. My children are old enough to understand what's happening, and where are they? With their masters, same as every other day."
"Is everyone...just for appearances today?" Frederick asked. He sighed as Piotr nodded slowly.
"I truly am sorry, my friend," Piotr said quietly.
"No need," Frederick said, forcing a smile. "I'll come back in a few days, and try my luck then."
"May the Lady smile on you," Piotr said, though his own smile was sickly, and fled his face as swift as it'd come.
Disappointed, Frederick wandered back down the streets, wondering if he should simply head back home, or test Piotr's claim at other stalls. After the fifth merchant informed him of the royal orders, he was forced to admit he just didn't want to have his guests' passive hatred of each other weighing on his mind as well -- there were only so many days full of strained silences, and stares of daggers and blood before a man would find just about any excuse to leave. He was just about out of reasons to stay, though, when a series of horns jerked him from his wandering. Striding quickly to the main road, he pushed through the crowd that'd gathered. Soldiers stood every few paces to keep the rabble out of the way as the men from Hogenhein made their way towards the castle.
A massive warhorse, clad in armor the color of fresh blood, and brushed with deep purple, led the procession. Atop it rode a man in fine clothing of the same colors, and a torc with boar's tusks jutting out on either side of his cheeks. He was far younger than Frederick would've expected; blonde hair was tied back in a short braid, and his face looked smooth and unblemished as silk. If it weren't for the slight tan from riding in the sun, Frederick would've guessed him a princeling, sheltered and pampered away from the world. Even so, the youth took him by surprise; since when were children sent to settle matters between nations? The man trotted out of sight soon enough, followed by the sort of men Frederick had been expecting -- men with hard eyes, and weather-beaten faces that'd seen more than one campaign months from home and hearth. Not some fop who waved to the crowds and blew kisses at maidens like he was a bloody celebrity. He felt his lip curl, and shook his head with tired disgust. He'd seen enough. Might as well go home, and see if a miracle had happened, and his houseguests had made amends. Or found someplace else to live, he thought, making his way towards the gates. Much longer, and he'd need to start charging rent.
"Where are you going?"
Joren's head snapped up as Frederick approached. He relaxed soon as he saw who it was, his hand letting something drop back into a pocket. Sera let her bow fall off her shoulder into her hands at Frederick's sudden comment; she shrugged it back into place awkwardly. Evan was the only one who hadn't reacted, his eyes barely open in the afternoon sun.
"Don't tell me I finally have my house to myself again," Frederick half-joked.
"Might have some work," Sera said with a hesitant smile. "Might be leaving sooner than we'd thought."
"Nothing glamorous," Joren said, his ever-present smile reasserting itself quickly. "It sounds like we'll just be taking inventory, moving boxes, other grunt work." He patted his pockets quickly, as though he'd just remembered something. "Where...ah! For your troubles," he explained, holding out a small bag. It jingled pleasantly as he passed it to Frederick.
"It's certainly appreciated," he said with a friendly smile. It was also a bit insulting, given how much they'd eaten over the weeks. Though they'd worked for it at first, the chores and errands certainly hadn't lasted forever. To be honest, Frederick was more than happy to see his guests go.
"If it's alright, we may end up staying for a couple more weeks," Joren said as he shuffled his feet. "Until we find a more permanent place to stay. Of course with work we'll be paying for the rooms," he added hastily as Frederick's eye twitched slightly.
"I...suppose that won't be an issue." Just a couple more weeks. They certainly couldn't be any worse than the last few. Joren smiled warmly, and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Excellent! Though you'll be free of us at least tonight. I don't expect us to return until fairly late."
"Best of luck to you," Frederick said, with genuine warmth. He waved as the trio walked briskly down the road. Only common courtesy kept him from cheering as they disappeared around a bend.
They'd left the house immaculate. Every dish had been scrubbed till they shone, every blanket and rug had been beaten; even the dirt had been picked out from between Tobias's nails (a task he and the grumpy dragonling put off till he couldn't deal with the muddy paw prints all over the house anymore). Everything he could've thought of had been done and taken care of -- and no one around to break the delicious silence. With a contented sigh, he found his pipe -- an old vice he hadn't let himself enjoy in quite some time -- and sank into his favorite padded chair. He pulled the tin of Fellis tobacco from the chair pocket, and pressed a thick wad of it into the pipe.
"Tobias!" he called, thumbing through The Travels of Count D'Moncurie for his last place. The dragonling curled up in his lap eagerly, and pressed his head against Frederick's chest in contentment. A quick scratch on the nose, and a tiny puff of flame quickly ignited the tobacco. Tobias sneezed, then resumed forcefully snuggling into his human's lap and chest. Thick, dark smoke puffed out from Frederick's mouth and nose as he relaxed deep into
the chair's cushions.
Frederick wasn't sure what woke him first -- his belly's angry rumbling, or the sounds of people trying to argue as quietly as possible.
Tobias had long since left him, probably to find his dinner and curl up in his usual nook for the night. Frederick wiped the sleep from his eyes and stumbled to his feet. Scratching himself, he wandered over to the kitchen to help himself to a thick slice of bread. A sudden thump from above finished waking him, and raised voices trickled through the ceiling. As usual, he couldn't make anything out beyond the sound of hushed accusations and threats. The sound of someone weeping quietly outside caught his ears. Curiosity got the better of him, and he padded softly to the back, near the chicken coop. He slowly opened the back door, and saw Evan sitting on an old tree stump, wiping his eyes.
"You can piss righ-"
He sat up straight, his mouth falling open when he saw Frederick. Getting to his feet, he hastily gave his face one last wipe before nodding in greeting. "Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."
Frederick shrugged one shoulder, still chewing. An explosion of insults, clear as day, sang out into the night from above. Evan tensed, and a low growl escaped his throat. "The job not work out as planned?" Frederick asked.
Evan let out a despairing snorting chuckle. "Ah...no. No, it did not."
Frederick hesitated. "I know Joren offered to pay for staying. If you need more time to find work..." He trailed off, not quite sure how to offer without hurting the younger man's pride, though he only smiled sadly.
"You're a good man," Evan said finally. "But no. It's only a minor setback," he stated. "Just...discouraging. Very...discouraging." He blew out a long breath.
"Use my name," Frederick suggested. "If y'like. Gods and spirits know I've been around long enough it's got a bit of weight behind it." He frowned, and wiggled his hand slightly. "Only a bit though. Don't expect it to get you out of the dungeons."
Evan exploded with laughter, making Frederick jump. His guest clapped a hand over his mouth, reducing it to muffled, wheezing giggles. He wiped fresh tears out of his eyes, and slowly forced his breathing to go back to normal.
9 Tales From Elsewhere 12 Page 12
