by Ugland, Eric
Priscilla walked over, her swords gone, and gave me a stack of cream colored envelopes, each with a name and an address.
“I expect,” Eliza continued, “Master Montgomery might wish to extend his visit to the Viceroy into something of a social call. So he should probably be out of service for the rest of the day. Correct?”
“Sure,” I said, getting that she expected me to let Léon Glaton into our little secret mission here.
“Priscilla will deliver the remaining messages, and Emily will accompany to the tailor to get new gowns and perhaps proper attire for Master Montgomery.”
“I know just the place,” Emeline said.
“In fact,” Eliza countered, “I know just the place. And Bear, if you don’t mind accompanying me?”
“Lovely,” Bear said, frowning. “Big people shopping.”
Chapter Eighteen
I headed out into the city with my stack of envelopes, dressed as Montgomery Northwoods, or something along those lines, and I tried to keep that in mind as I moved about. I was a representative of the Northwoods family — time to mind my ps and qs.
The snow continued to fall in a gentle, cinematic sort of way. Really fantastic. I kept a smile on my face as I walked along the streets, doing my best to ignore the rumbling in my stomach. While there had been breakfast brought up to the room, it didn’t seem appropriate for me to dine with Eliza. At least, that’s what Priscilla told me. So I was keeping my eyes open for a little street-side stand.
The posh district was not the place for that. There were plenty of restaurants, and even a few cafés, but nothing so gauche as a street-side vendor cooking outside. I looked in some of the café windows, and while I normally would have been happy to sit down at any table even covered in gore from a random monster encounter, it didn’t seem right wearing chainmail and a tabard.
Stupid trying to be proper.
People definitely ignored me more. At least, it felt that way. Their eyes went to the symbol on my tabard and then right past me, like I didn’t matter. I probably didn’t matter to most of them. I wasn’t sure how well known- the Northwoods crest might be all the way over here in Osterstadt. Sure, in the capital, it would probably get me some traction, but out here in the boondocks, I doubted people thought of Northwoods as much beyond a trumped-up merchant. Which he was. Not that that was a bad thing — I wasn’t putting on airs. I had no right to do that, considering how I got my title. And the manner in which I chose to use my title.
I finally found a place to eat once I’d gotten close to the center of the city, in the more administrative district. There were more guild halls than I knew what to do with, and in and amongst the halls were a wide variety of things to eat. Grilled meats, biscuits, fried things. It all looked pretty tasty, but I decided on something that reminded me of a donut, and a cup of hot cider. I leaned against a wall, ate my fried dough, drank my cider, and took a moment for myself. Important to remember such things.
While standing there, about a block and a half from the Imperial House, I watched the city waking up and coming to life. This was where the busy people came, and there was ample evidence that everyone had a place to be. It was the rat race. I was the only person, other than guards, who had the time to stand around. And, of course, the guards standing around were still working. Speaking of guards, however, I noticed just how many there seemed to be. City Guards were stationed at each and every corner, their armor and weapons making them stand out markedly against the ordinary working folk who were rarely armed and certainly never armored. Sure, down the street at the Imperial House were some of the Imperial Legion, but everywhere else was covered in the Guard.
I looked over at the dude manning the donut stall.
“Sure are a lot of guards around,” I said. “Is that normal?”
He looked over at me, I guess surprised I was talking to him. Then he looked over at the city guards at the corner. And the other corner. And the small patrol moving by.
“I guess,” he said, then he went back to frying up dough.
I popped the last bite into my mouth, drank the last of the cider, and gave the mug back to the man. He nodded at me.
Onward and upward.
No one stopped me as I walked into the Imperial House. The guards looked me over, but once again, as soon as their eyes hit the crest on my tabard, I ceased being a thing to them. Inside, it was busy as usual. I walked up to the reception desk, waited for someone to be available, and then stepped forward.
“Message for the viceroy,” I said.
“You can give it to me,” the receptionist said with a smile.
“I’m afraid I’ve got orders to deliver it to his hands only,” I replied, also smiling.
She sighed.
“Name?”
“Montgomery Northwoods.”
“Is that who the message is from?”
“No, it’s from Lady Eliza Northwoods.”
“Just a moment,” she said with another sigh. She got up and walked down a hallway. It was always interesting to me when people got irritated when you asked them to do their jobs.
A few minutes passed before the woman came back, still looking perturbed. She sat down, rearranged some of her papers, and then looked up at me.
“The Lord Viceroy will see you in his garden,” she said.
“Great. And where might that be?” I asked, doing my best to make it seem like I’d never been in the building.
Another sigh, and she gave me the directions.
“Thank you, and have a nice day,” I said.
“Yes,” she replied.
I just walked away, trying to figure out what that meant. Maybe she was saying yes to the person behind me, but it seemed directed at me somehow.
The garden was near the center of the building, a decent walk from the lobby. I took the main hallways, walking with my head up and a smile plastered on my shaven face. I still wasn’t used to the feeling of cold air on my cheeks. I felt ever so slightly naked without my security blanket-beard. Blankeard? Whatever. I hated being clean-shaven. Let’s leave it at that.
A guard was stationed outside the door to the garden, a Legionnaire. He made me wait while he checked with the Viceroy, Léon.
“You may enter,” the guard said, holding the door open for me.
It wasn’t the enclosed garden I’d gone to the second time I’d met Léon. This was more like a courtyard. Snow still fell gently from the uniformly grey sky. The garden-courtyard was built in steps going nearly up to the roof, each holding different plants. Lots of bushes with berries, lots of trees, lots of shrubberies. There was even a babbling brook that ran from the topmost step to the bottom. A bit of steam came off it, keeping the large fish inside warm.
Léon was bundled in a coat, sitting at a small table in the center of the garden. He had a steaming mug of what smelled like coffee in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. A letter. But whomever had written it had tiny handwriting.
“You may present me with the missive,” Léon said, barely looking up from his letter.
But something snatched his attention, because as soon as his eyes were off me, they snapped back for a second look.
I smiled, wide, but held a finger up to my lips.
Léon’s eyebrow raised, and he pulled out a locket from his thick jacket. He opened it up, and I felt my ears pop.
“You may speak freely now,” he said.
“Been a while, Léon,” I replied.
“You look familiar, but I can’t place--“
“Montana of Coggeshall, at your service.”
He dropped the paper, and stood up, spilling a little of his coffee. His mouth was agape. “What are you doing here?” He asked, stepping tentatively toward me.
“You need a hug?” I asked.
“I am sadly free of friendly faces around here of late.”
I pulled the man into a tight bear hug, and I felt him sigh.
He sat back down, and gestured across the table before realizing there
was only one chair.
“Oh,” he said, “I can—”
“Nah,” I interrupted, “better to keep the ruse going.”
“Fair, but why?”
“We’re here looking for someone who calls himself, or herself, The Master.”
“The Master? Rather general, isn’t it?”
“I mean, it’s a bit presumptive, I suppose, but that’s what he or she goes by. I think it’s a he. The Master.”
“Can’t say I’ve heard of someone with that moniker about.”
“Probably be too easy if you had.”
“This is a quest?”
“That’s right.”
“I do wish I could help, but if you’re here in secret, I don’t know what I could do.”
“Right now, we’re just looking for the guy. Then we’ll get around to what we’re going to do. We’re here under the guise of—”
“Eliza Northwoods. I picked up on that.”
I glanced down at my not-at-all subtle uniform. “Right,” I said. “Speaking of,” I handed him the announcement card.
“A formal announcement she’s in town,” Léon said with a wry grin. “Can’t imagine that will go over particularly well here.”
“Yeah, what is going on here? I seem to be seeing quite a few more armed guards out on the streets.”
“There are plenty of them out there these days. Too many if you ask me.”
“Any reason why?”
“There is something hunting the streets at night. The town council seems to think more bodies and more steel is the only possible answer.”
“Did you suggest something else?”
“Of course. I suggested hiring a monster hunter. I even offered to bring in one of the very best in the Empire. And have the Empire foot the bill, but the council has control of that aspect of things, and they were loathe to even hear my suggestions.”
“Seems shortsighted.”
“I feel that it might have been accepted were it to come from someone other than me.”
“Tensions rising?”
“You could say that.”
“I did say that. What would you say?”
Léon smiled. “Tempers flaring. The people here have been used to autonomy, and they chafe at the need to be part of the Empire. Protestations over taxes, over Legion housing, over guild rights. It’s becoming an increasingly large mess. And the monsters coming from the Emerald Sea seem to have decided now is an excellent time to visit Osterstadt. It’s been nearly overwhelming — the sheer number of attacks is ridiculous. Bells tolling all day and night it seems. We have yet to lose a battle, thank the gods, but we’re experiencing plenty of casualties. And, naturally, with the Imperial seat empty, there is no one to order a reinforcement, so we are stuck with dwindling troops.” He sighed, and took a sip from his mug. “Do you suppose this Master of yours might be the one hunting the streets?”
“I think that’s very likely.”
“Intriguing. In spite of the council’s willful refusal, I wound up sending for a monster hunter, one of quite renown. Perhaps when they arrive, you could see if they might be of assistance to you.”
“That’d be boss.”
“Excellent. I’ll make a note. It would be a bit of a feather in my proverbial cap if you were able to eliminate this rather pesky predicament.”
“What’s happening?”
“Death in the streets at night. And in homes.”
“How much death are we talking?”
“It’s difficult to really ascertain because as soon as word got out, virtually any death was being blamed on the Beast of Osterstadt. I’d imagine the criminal underground is overjoyed at having this opportunity.”
“They’re calling it the Beast of Osterstadt?”
“A name not yet claimed, if you would believe it. But it would be accurate. Several of the deaths have been gruesome. Quite gruesome really — the populace is scared. I don’t quite blame them for acting up as some of them have. But the actions of the city council, and certain merchants, are irking me.”
“In what way?”
“I just told you. They don’t want to accept all that comes with being part of the Empire. The responsibilities they’ve got now that they answer to a higher power. And I can only imagine because the Legion handles all the terrors coming out of the Emerald Sea, they’ve forgotten what a drain of manpower and morale such a ceaseless fight can be. We are left holding the fort, and they are busy doing their damndest to fuck us over.”
“Easy there,” I said, holding a hand up. “Take a breath.”
“My apologies. Times are very trying, and I am doing my best. I told my cousin this was not a job I could do, and all this time, I’ve been proving myself right.”
“Self-fulfilling prophecy, I suppose.”
“You think there’s a prophecy about me?”
“Maybe, but not exactly what I meant.”
“Ah. Yes. I suppose my poor attitude does not help matters. It’s just that this stupid Empire is built upon having an emperor. When we do not, things fall apart.”
“Is one person really that important?”
“The Emperor is. Yes. There are so many things the emperor is able to do by virtue of his position. Or her. Just as you have benefits and bonuses you extend to your followers, so does the Emperor. You’ll notice that the Legion doesn’t seem to hold on to its soldiers quite as much right now. This is a poorly-guarded secret, but one of the powers granted to the Emperor is the ability to enhance the loyalty of his soldiers.”
“That would be very useful.”
“It is extremely useful. But in these turbulent times, the soldiers seem more than willing to hire themselves out to the highest bidder. Which, in turn, means they are no longer beholden to the Empire. So we lose troops and gain enemies at the same time. And here, in this backwater provincial shit hole, the folks with the large purses seem to be eager to snatch any mercenary they can get their hands on. Including some of the Imperial Legion.”
“I don’t know, man. There’s a lot of crazy happening here.”
“I know. I’m here. I am seeing all of it.” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then finished his cup of coffee. “But how is Nathalie? Coggeshall?”
“Good. Good. You should come visit. We’ve got a lovely home we are carving out of the mountain. Some really impressive gardens. Great steaks, if you don’t mind where they come from. And Nathalie is amazing. She’s doing fantastically there.”
“Has she, I mean, you understand I only ask this because I’m her brother and a horrific gossip, but is she seeing anyone? Has she—”
I held up my hands and shook my head. “Not something I’ve been getting into, boss. To be honest, I’ve barely been there lately. Just stopping in to drop off stuff and take a shower.”
“No offense, but you could use another one.”
“How do people stay clean here?”
“There are plenty of bathhouses in Osterstadt. I can recommend one to you.”
“I get how showers and baths work, dude, It’s more that I get in more than my fair share of fights, and just get covered in gore.”
“You could try not fighting.”
“I tried that this morning.”
“I take it you failed?”
“I failed at not fighting, yes. But I succeeded at the actual fighting. You’ve got bandits outside your city, by the way.”
“I know. We haven’t been able to keep up regular patrols since all our forces are beating down monsters. Bandits are getting more and more brave, and the City Guard refuses to handle anything outside the city walls.”
“But they had to have handled this in the past, right? I mean, Osterstadt as an independent city-state controlled land outside its walls.”
“Sure, but they contend that is now the burden of the Empire to bear. Not Osterstadt.”
“Do they not see they’re part of the Empire?”
“You begin to grasp the stupidity of the situation I’m in
the middle of.”
“Which is surprising for me.”
“I feel there is probably more you’ve been gleaning than even you let on.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but let’s be realistic. And I probably need to ask your advice.”
“About?”
“I’m assuming a vote is going to happen at some point. What do I do?”
“You or your appointed representative—”
“I don’t mean the physical logistics,” I interrupted. “I’m more, I mean, do I vote for Valamir?”
“That’s not a question I can answer.”
“He’s your uncle, right?”
“In a roundabout way. He’s family. But the Glaton lineage is, um, muddled. At least at present. There’s just a lot of us right now. Historically, that means a purge will be coming.”
“A purge? Are you—”
“It’s not a real thing, more just some unfortunate events coalescing into something that can be seen as cyclical. The first time my family fell out of power was, well, ages back. Ages and ages. Hal the Butcher. He was of House Doberman, a house now mercifully gone. He slaughtered any Glatons he could get, chasing them into The Griffon’s Roost, which was a fortress built by Ajax the Griffon, a previous ruler. Following that purge, which happened in the late 200s, I believe, the Glaton family rose again. Then we had several generations of rebuilding until the third Invasion of the Dead. Year 436. An ill-fated campaign wiped out the entire adult population of the Glatons, save the matriarch of the family. She took in all the Glaton children, and we lost the throne for a hundred years. Two hundred years of growth, solidified the empire, built roads all those things. But then a poorly-timed assassination and a civil war followed the first contact with Carchedon. Which was an eventual sort of victory, but the family was left a shadow of its former self. Bah, Montana, or Montgomery, there is little I like as much as history, and you’ve masterfully gotten me into the topic and I regret to say I cannot spend the day educating you on, though I would love such a day.”
“So, no to Valamir?”
