by P. S. Power
The King stood instantly and moved to the back of the room without pause.
"Very well, just you and I, or..."
Trice looked at them all, considering things carefully, even biting her lower lip slightly, worried about giving offense and trying to weigh just how sensitive the information she had really was.
"I... think that if I could speak with you alone for just a few moments, that would do. I don't want to put anyone out." This at least was pointed at the Count, not him or the Military Counselor. They were just expected to take things like that in stride, it seemed. It actually made sense. This place, more than any other in Noram held secrets, and lies that had to be believed. There was probably no other way to deal with a creature like a King or ruler otherwise. Not if you wanted to stay sane and manage to live through any given month.
These men, particularly Smythe, were probably put in this situation six times a day or more. The Count didn't seem shocked either. Timon smiled and put his hands behind his back to wait. He wasn't going to perch on the King's throne uninvited and wouldn't have for all the gold in the kingdom. After all, if you did that too often people might accidentally get confused and think a person was supposed to be in charge or something.
It sounded like a joke, but it was a real threat for someone like him. He was smart enough that anyone else who was intelligent would have wanted him to be in charge. Timon could sit there forever, or at least a very long time, providing leadership and continuity that Noram hadn't really had for at least two thousand years.
Except for the fact that it was a trap. No one could rule like that. Times were good, due to social conditions and economic flows, things that were largely about factors that a mere human couldn't hope to control. Then they'd get bad, as people became greedy and self-centered. It always happened and he couldn't stop it. Richard certainly couldn't, and no one had ever really managed it at all. The closest that anyone had come had been his grandmother, Gray. The only reason that had worked was because she was willing to alter humanity itself to her own ends. Even then, in the end that wasn't enough for her and she'd tried to kill them all. All the real people.
No, it was better to stand back and let people ruin themselves, rather than be carried along with them.
It was a bit strained for a bit, since he didn't speak and it was clear that the others expected him to. From the way the Count was avoiding his gaze and Smythe made direct eye contact, they weren't waiting for him to speak about having sex with his wife. There wasn't a lot else for him to say other than that, was there?
Unless...
They knew why Karina was under lock and key, and Veren the Royal Guard was too. That almost never happened, so it had to be something big. A lot more than stealing a few extra cookies from the kitchen late at night.
Really, short of killing someone, or trying to have them killed...
That would explain things nicely, wouldn't it? If Karina had ordered Veren to kill someone, and the man agreed with her for some reason, then that would be bad. For more than a few reasons. The most important one was that Veren, if he was found out, would have made it seem like the King had sanctioned the murder. There was little chance that he'd fail, but if he died in the attempt or was seen fleeing, it would be the same as if the King's Army had marched on them. Only in a more cowardly and less honest fashion.
It was probably only his imagination, but the obvious answer was that Karina had tried to have Rico Gala killed. It wasn't a bad idea, but Trice was right, they needed to wait, so it wouldn't seem so suspicious. They could certainly send in less obvious killers for it too. It would be better if they contracted the work out for one thing, while they all had very high profile engagements elsewhere.
There were several reasons that she might have done that, or Karina might have pointed her Royal Guard friend at someone else. There wasn't enough information to really make that kind of a leap, but it was probably about that sort of thing.
It also wasn't his business, if no one wanted to tell him. Not yet.
Smythe looked at him with familiar brown eyes. They were Tor's, he realized. Not the flesh around them, but the pattern inside. They were his brother's. His Grandfather's. It was a bit disconcerting really, now that he noticed them in good light.
"So, what plans do you have, for after the honeymoon?" It was polite, but not a real question. The kind of small talk that people made when they were waiting no doubt. Even in the halls of power.
"Business. Things will be picking up again soon, as more areas get the plague under control. I need to purchase some land and set up a household. That sort of thing. What do you have going on?" When you didn't have anything to say, it always paid to let others carry the conversation.
"Ah. Well, there are several investigations going. I was hoping that I might get your help with a few of them? Civil matters for the most part. I have the investigators, but not the time to have them riding in coaches across hostile territories. I'd also like to keep military forces off of the public transportation system. To do otherwise leaves an invitation to attack them. The only real hope that the rebels have at the moment would be a campaign of covert operations meant to intimidate the lower nobility into not standing with the King. That won't make the most loyal stray, but it might cause the fearful to stand silent and not give aid."
Timon smiled, letting his weight shift just a tiny bit.
"That should be doable. Normal rates, but we can give you priority in pick-ups." It wouldn't be a big issue. That kind of thing was what they did after all. Get people from one place to another, fast. "One thing. We don't discriminate as to whom we work for. Just because I take your people in, that won't mean that we won't also transport these rebels, as long as what they're doing isn't directly related to an attack. Gold is gold." He waited for them to lecture him about morals and duty, or loyalty, but Smyth nodded at him instead and then raised a single eyebrow.
"King Richard mentioned that already. Also something about you refusing to speak about what you've heard while flying? Inconvenient for us, but I see the utility to your business. Not that anyone will believe you. Not at first. Still, when enough people don't have their secrets found out, it will happen. Very good then. I'd appreciate it if you didn't transport my people at the same time as those others? It will save lives, I'm certain."
That got a laugh from Peterson, who seemed to think death and mayhem was funny. Which it was, when it wasn't happening to someone you cared about.
"Very good! I wouldn't have thought of that at all." It was a frank admission, that or simple flattery, but the Count didn't take it back or modify it at all, which even in a person of average intelligence meant he knew what he was saying the whole time.
It was a sacrifice of apparent intelligence in order to endear himself to the head of the military? The man was, after all was said, his boss. In a way. The situation had to be complicated really. The Count was a member of the military, and ran the Flyers base for the kingdom, but also a high noble. That meant he'd really only have to answer to the King, except for the fact that doing that would undermine Smythe, which wasn't a good plan. So he played dumb, in order to let everything keep working? That showed a brilliant mind actually. It might not be Raul Peterson's, but it was evident in his actions.
Tim had to guess that would be Count Peterson's wife's doing.
There was a sense of presence at the door, which got him to turn and watch, even before it opened. Peterson actually reached for a weapon, based on nothing more than where his gaze went, and Smythe stood.
"It's... Count Lairdgren, I think. It could be Tor, but..." There was too much age involved in the field. Half a second later the man himself walked in, looking about thirty and wearing all green, like he almost always did. It was his favorite color after all. It was a nice suit, compared to the rather plain military garb the men next to him had on, complete with shiny black boots and a black buckle to match. That was a bit off, since it had been made to look like plastic, which wasn't something t
hat most people in Noram would recognize at all.
That was out of place.
Far too much so.
Timon smiled, trying hard to make it seem real enough, letting it take him over, as if he and the Count were the very best of friends. It wasn't true. In fact, at the best of times they were more than a bit adversarial. Family, so he waited to see what was going on. The man looked down and then shrugged, seeing where Tim's eyes had gone.
"I'm heading to Austra with Bonita later today. Do you think this will set them at ease? I'm trying to make something that will blend in a bit."
Timon rolled his eyes, but knew the man was being honest with him at least. It was just such a poor plan. Not the part where he wanted to blend, that made sense, but trying to do it in a suit like that.
"Wear a jumpsuit. Denno does it all the time. It can be green."
There was a moment that it seemed like the man would take offense and call him on it, but then the clothing just shifted into a workmanlike outfit that was all one piece. It fastened on the left, which was wrong. In Austra all the jumpsuits did that on the other side. No matter who wore them.
Timon didn't ask, just walking over and touching the man's left shoulder.
"Here, a few things..." The first one was fixing the location of the fastening, then making the cuffs seem to have four lines of stitching on them. Not all of them did, but the wealthy all wore them that way. The boots were actually fine, since they stood out enough to make it seem like he was doing it on purpose, which was part of the Austran way. Most had visible tattoos, or strange hair, but this would work well enough.
Then Tim focused and added just a few areas of imperfection to the whole thing. A scuff on the top of the left boot, one thread out of line on the left cuff and a few other things that no one would notice at all, even watching him as closely as the people there would. It was a little off, but as many people or more knew who the Green man was in that land as his own. That he was immortal wasn't even a secret there either.
As long as he wore a shield it would be alright. At least it had better be. It seemed a strange visit to be making, but not one that was totally out of step, since Green and Brown were pretty much brothers, as different as they looked.
The elder looked down and then bowed, but just with his head. It seemed a little dismissive, but the words were kind enough.
"Thank you Timon. It's been a while since I've been there, and I think perhaps fashions have changed once again. Is everything alright? I hadn't expected to see you just yet." The look he gave around the room indicated that he noted the King wasn't there, and since Timon wasn't panicking or fleeing the land, that probably meant Trice was still alive. The idea that the man might really have been thinking like that hurt a bit, but it was a thing that Timon had to accept as possible. If he was going to stay ahead of everyone around him, he had to learn to think like they did.
His Grandfather was very old, thousands of years, which was a thing that Timon couldn't really understand. What he'd noticed was that the Ancient was both very intelligent and mentally lazy at the same time. That most likely was a product of great age, since all the other Ancients were like that too, more or less. The old ones at least. Uncle Dan wasn't yet, but he was only three hundred. Gray had been, and it got her killed when she couldn't realize that Tor had become something unexpected. Denno was horrible that way, just accepting information as if it couldn't possibly be a lie, even while suggesting the same trick be used all the time against others.
Count Lairdgren was the worst so far, at least that Timon had noticed. He was so predictable that it nearly had to be a trick, except that in the few years that he'd known the man, he'd never deviated from that, just doing exactly what seemed like would come next. Except once. When he'd come to rescue Timon from the clutches of Countess Alan. That had been out of step. It made more sense for him to let Timon just die, to avoid possible war, rather than move himself to do something just for a boy he hardly knew.
There it was anyway, the man had come for him, risking his own life to do it too, not just sending others. In fact he'd been the first one in the door. Just because he was family. Or at least one of his immortal relatives. Timon wasn't certain that it would have been the same if Todd had been the captive, instead of him. Or Terry. That was part of his predictable behavior. It was like people weren't really worth spending time on if they weren't special in some way. Like he was.
It was that, more than any other thing, that got Timon not to tell on Tor, even the Ancient in front of him wouldn't really like hearing that his chosen successor had made changes to him without asking first. It wouldn't change anything, since Tor was already free of the man, except as a family member. The Count might scold him for having done it, but he couldn't really punish him. Timon might be able to, given time.
On the good side, that thought didn't make him feel bad at all. So there was some consistency with how he'd always been and what he was becoming. It hadn't been certain for him at all. For that matter it still wasn't.
He shrugged, a move copied from the man himself. If he noticed that bit of mimicry, his grandfather didn't let on.
"We noticed a few things on our travels and Trice wanted to share with her Uncle. They're close." After a second he blushed, realizing how that had to sound. "As in..."
After a moment he made a face and had to shake his head, actually caught out by his own words.
It was awkward.
"There's no way for me to finish that without making it sound like there's something inappropriate going on. That isn't the case, as you know." Looking around he noticed that Smythe narrowed his eyes a bit, questioning, but Count Peterson just watched them, as if the whole conversation was only what was on the surface.
Lairdgren stared at him, locking eyes. It would have been intimidating really, except that Timon was used to standing in front of giants. It had trained him not to flinch when people seemed hostile. It was a light thing, coming off of the man in one sudden burst that was shut down almost instantly, before too much information could be conveyed.
"No one would think there was anything inappropriate going on there, of course. Even if they were having sex, the blood lines would allow for it. I doubt that Patricia would do that on her honeymoon however. Not with her Uncle."
It made the whole thing feel strained and uncomfortable, even as the King came back, beaming at the Count and then Timon. Trice followed behind looking slightly smug, but she took his hand and stood next to his right side. She always took that position. It was so she could access her weapons with her right hand, of course, but that meant he'd have to pay twice as much attention in public, since it would take her longer to get to hers than it would him. There was a difference in raw speed that the girl, taller and better trained than he was, probably didn't understand yet.
The King settled after exchanging bows with Count Lairdgren, which meant that Timon had to bow as well, and after a shocked blink, had Trice doing the same. She was related to the Count now too, and that meant another set of obligations, at least in situations like this.
Richard smiled and looked around pretty happily.
"This should be safe enough to share with you all. Trice and Timon have been busy in the first days of their marriage and have managed to ensure that the Wards have a real chance to be accepted into the rebel forces. If I have it right, Timon here has managed to set himself into place to be their new builder. I hope that won't include weapons? Shields either, except a few to reassure them of your power."
The Count looked ready to step in, and scold the King, which got Count Peterson to stand, but he didn't face the other Count, but rather the King. There was a bit of wariness on his face and his beard moved as he tried to come up with a way of saying what he wanted without causing a fight.
"Sire... I can't like that. Countier Baker is a brave man, but a young one." He turned and held up both hands, ready to fend off blows after the insult he'd delivered. Mentioning Tim's age and all that, as if it wou
ld be a surprise to anyone. "Brave, and hardy, no one here can doubt, but perhaps it would be better if..." Then he stopped and finally just shook his head in an exaggerated fashion that made him seem unsure of what he wanted to express. "I don't know. We shouldn't let him go into danger. Not if it isn't needed. As it stands, the rebels can still harm us, but I don't think they can win. We aren't at a point where we need to press our..." Then he faltered and took a deep breath, his face holding a slightly imploring look, as he desperately tried not to call Timon, a married man now after all, with his own house and business, a child.
Timon just nodded back.
"I agree. I can provide some light aid, to the other side, but that's all. These people are my customers after all, and if they live I'll need them to fly with me in the future. If they win, then it will count for even more." It was a wicked idea to put into the room, but Smythe actually chuckled, his eyes twinkling a bit.
"A good enough point to hold many of them, I think. Perhaps if you were to openly be working both sides? It won't help your reputation much, perhaps, but it should get you into place more reliably than claiming some great hatred for the King, as you walk through our checks and magics here freely several times a week."
He abruptly looked at Peterson, rather than answer the Military Counselor directly.
"Have you been in touch with Tor about the new space craft? I've been planning to go see if he had some ready yet."
It was clear that Count Peterson hadn't done any such thing, and that he felt embarrassed about something.
"It... hasn't come up yet. Should I do that now? It's a bit of a long flight..."
It was, if you were using a flying rig and not a Fast Craft. Thinking it all through, Timon let his head rock side to side, to indicate he was thinking. It wasn't a subtle thing, but no one asked him what he was doing. It was a bit of a country mannerism, but apparently everyone understood it.
