Path of Ruin

by Tim Paulson

  Henri shook it. “Henri Smith, glad to be of service.”

  “I can't help but feel the hand of God in all this. Three horses threw shoes in the mud just yesterday.” The man paused, clearing his throat. “And I hope you'll excuse me for saying so but I'd expect a man of your... countenance... wouldn't have the easiest time in frontier lands such as these.”

  Henri nodded.

  “Truly divine providence then. Are you a religious man Mr. Smith?” said the commander.

  Henri held Adem's hand as they walked down the road beside this man with his shining cavalry breast plate and tall hat. There was also a dueling sword, probably veil, on one of his hips and a pistol on the other that Henri tried not to pay attention to.

  Harald's little rock appeared to be working however, the man hadn't said a thing about Mia.

  “As a younger man, yes, but when I lost my wife...”

  The commander held up his hand and Henri caught sight of something odd on the man's inner sleeve. Right next to his imperial boar's head cuff link was a small pin shaped like a curled dragon.

  “Say no more. I know this story, I've heard it many times. I know I can't convince you one way or the other, I'm too... seasoned, to attempt that. However I will say that God, in both of his divine aspects, doesn't forget you. Even if you reject him for a time, he's always there, waiting for your return.”

  There was a derisive snort from the direction of Adem below them. The commander appeared startled to hear such a noise from a little boy but Henri knew it had come from Harald. He glared.

  Empty eyes stared back, but a wry smile graced the yarn face.

  “Are you alright little boy?” commander Bartold asked.

  “Yes,” Adem said, no doubt oblivious to their conversation and thinking only of food.

  Henri picked the boy up in his arms. “He's picked up a bit of a cough. The weather has been cold and wet and we spent the night out in it.”

  “That it has,” the commander said as he opened the door of the Inn revealing a raucous cacophony of laughing men and women bathed in warm orange light from oil lamps and a large hearth fire blazing in the center of the rustic common room. The soldiers, all dressed in the shining armor and flowing red cloaks of imperial cavalry quieted some at the sight of their commander, but not much.

  “This way,” Bartold said gesturing toward a booth in the corner made of carved oak.

  “Can we eat now?” Adem said, eyes bright with anticipation, licking his lips.

  “Yes,” Henri said. “I believe we can.”

  Mia sat first in the farthest corner of the booth. Henri sat with Adem on the other side. The commander sat down as well, right next to Mia. Yet he did not even glance in her direction.

  “I'll leave you to it. After you eat just walk to the next building over. The farrier's wife will be expecting you,” Bartold said. He appeared to genuinely be a good man, Henri liked him. Perhaps under different circumstance they might be friends.

  “Thank you. I'm glad to have stumbled into a generous man of God such as yourself,” Henri said, perhaps laying it on a bit too thickly.

  The commander paused and with a knowing smile leaned in. “I may be a man of God but I'm no fool. You may not have your tools but a man with shoulders like those is either a soldier or a smith and no offense but you haven't the bearing or temperament of a warrior.”

  “I see,” Henri said.

  Mia smiled from across the table, eyes brimming with mirth.

  “Now get some food, but do avoid the stew. They pepper it too much. I'd swear the cook has no tongue,” the commander said and left.

  When the serving girl arrived she looked flushed and harried as if she'd been pinched by every set of hands in the place. Henri ordered them a loaf of brown bread, butter, a hunk of cheese and some fresh fruit. Fall was one of the few times when all the Inns had mountains of fruit.

  To drink he ordered a pitcher of Ale, which despite the raucous crowd of two dozen red cloaked soldiers each with a tall mug, was somehow still available. He also asked for a glass of milk for Adem, if they had any. The girl said they did but Henri had echoes of a similar conversation years ago and they'd received buttermilk.

  “How are you planning to pay for this?” Mia whispered from across the table once the serving girl had gone.

  “I lost my tools but not my purse,” he said, tickling Adem who giggled, jingling with the sound of coin.

  Mia's eyes widened. “You sewed a coin purse into the clothing of your child?”

  “I'm the money man!” Adem said proudly.

  “He's everything to me. He might as well have our money,” Henri said.

  “You said you would ask about the stones!” Harald said from his spot stuffed between Henri and Adem in the booth.

  “I did at that. Food first,” Henri said.

  “No! I know louts like you. With the food will come ale and you'll soon be too inebriated to be of any use.”

  “You underestimate me doll.”

  “I highly doubt that smith,” Harald said with venom.

  Mia just looked at him, one eyebrow raised, her arms folded.

  Henri sighed.

  “Fine.”

  When the girl returned with water for Mia, the milk and a portion of their repast perched upon a wooden tray, Henri asked if it was possible to speak with the innkeeper.

  He had to ask the poor girl twice but she nodded when she finally processed his request. She also explained that his ale would take a few moments more as the owners were currently engaged downstairs tapping yet another keg.

  Adem sniffed the milk doubtfully.

  “Buttermilk?” Henri said.

  Adem nodded sadly.

  * * *

  Buckley ascended the narrow stair in the back hall of veil headquarters. At the top he opened the spy hole, using it to be sure no inquisitive employees happened to be milling about in the restricted back halls, perhaps smoking or taking tea. None were however, so he replaced the spy hole cover and unlatched the door.

  On the other side an ornate display case showcasing various artifacts from the early days of veil discovery clicked and slid open. The display's contents were entirely fabricated of course but convincing enough given the story's broad acceptance.

  Buckley stepped out from behind the door, which glided closed behind him without the slightest sound, and hastened ahead toward his appointment.

  On the way he passed the front office area. Here tall windows of paned glass overlooked long customer queues. Ladies and gentlemen of every description stood, waiting to pay for the privilege of indoor veil lighting and hot water generation. All the conveniences of modern life, were available in all the cities they'd expanded to. Currently that number was more than twenty, twenty three to be exact, at last count.

  There had been only one holdout in their home kingdom of Faustland: Aeyrdfeld, seat of the Northern barony. Now that Halett had met his end, that would soon be a thing of the past. If only they could round up the man's troublesome children. Buckley hated loose ends.

  “Hi Sandy!” he said to the very pretty floor manager of the service section of the front office.

  “Hi Mr. Buckley,” she said, beaming at him.

  Buckley always liked to take the time to encourage employees to do their best. People who expected to be rewarded for their hard work would always put in better effort than those who thought it their duty.

  “How are we doing today?”

  “Excellent sir! The lines are moving smoothly, we had one who couldn't make it this morning due to illness but I filled the gap.”

  “Great work Sandy. Is this a habit for this employee?”

  “Oh no sir, it's the first time he's been ill in three years. He's one of our best.”

  Buckley smiled warmly. “Well that's just fine then. All of us have a bad day now and then.”

  “Indeed we do sir. I should add that as we are now, we'll surpass last year's intake by an additional seventy percent!”

&n
bsp; “Splendid. Keep up the good work. If there's nothing else-”

  “Actually sir, there is something I've wanted to discuss with you... an opportunity.”

  He thought about the guest waiting in his office. She would understand, for him business always came first.

  Besides Buckley liked to hear about opportunities. Far from an annoyance, these were the bread and butter of great organizations. Sure, nineteen times out of twenty they were worthless, but if you didn't listen to each in turn you were forfeiting the gems.

  “I can spare a few minutes. What do you have?”

  Her eyes lit up with appreciation as her hands fumbled to unzip a pocket in her gown. From within she produced a small doll that looked very much like a goliath, one of the older chassis.

  “I've been making these in my spare time,” she said, holding it up so he could inspect it. “At first it was just one for my son but then his friends began clamoring for them as well so I hired a small shop of seamstresses to make them. They work all day every day and still I can't come close to the demand,” she said proudly.

  Her conviction was admirable.

  “I'd like the company to partner with me, perhaps invest, so I can expand. I believe every house hold with children would want one. With so many women in the workhouses now, no one has the time to craft toys for their little ones.” Her pitch over she waited expectantly.

  Buckley reached out and took the creation. Its construction was simple but effective. Children may well appreciate such a thing. Still, it was easy for even the seasoned to overstate demand. As he turned the tiny goliath over in his hands, he realized something of significance. This could be more than a child's toy, it could be a tool.

  “How about we buy this idea from you and your little manufacturing operation and give you a stake in the profits as well as a promotion?”

  Sandy made a little squeaky noise, like a mouse that's just been stepped upon. It was the only hint she gave of the exultation that must have been exploding within. The woman was made of steel, a true asset.

  “I want a thirty percent stake.”

  “Ten.”

  “Twenty.”

  “Fifteen,” he said with finality. “And I'm only going that high because you're so impressive. Do we have a deal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. We'll market these in all of our locations and even try to sell them to the toy shops if the tinkers will take them. I'm going to need designs for all major goliath types can you do that?”

  “Yes I can.”

  “Good, you start tomorrow,” he said.

  “Yes sir! Thank you!”

  He nodded and walked off a few steps before pausing and turning back. Sandy was in the middle of a display of joy, arms over her head, face lit like a firework, “Oh and Sandy... for the blue and gold ones.”

  The woman quickly composed herself. “That would be the Halett barony's troops and the Faustland King's guard I believe.”

  “Correct. Make sure they look sinister.”

  Sandy nodded. “I will, the worst.”

  “Good.”

  He continued on, nodding to other company personnel as he went. He ascended the grand central marble stairs of the main hall, passed a pair of stern security man with their batons and veil pistols, and took a second flight of stairs up to the executive offices. Down the hall at the very end was a door marked “Chester Buckley, Chief Executive” into which he entered.

  Inside his office, which was more spartan than opulent as it was important to give the impression of frugality as well as power to those who entered, he placed the little goliath doll on his desk. Then he unbuttoned his doublet and loosened his lace cravat.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come.”

  His assistant entered. “Ah, I can return after your appointment sir.”

  “Do you have news?” he asked.

  “Yes,”

  “Then speak it.”

  “A veil bird has arrived from the North. Our men in Aeyrdfeld report that they've secured the castle.”

  “I don't care!” he said, throwing his doublet against the wall. “I want the Halett children! Do you hear me? Is there any word of that?”

  “No sir, well...”

  “What?”

  His assistant looked down at her notes.

  “The Fulosi mercenary has written that a bard was apprehended South of Aeyrdfeld castle. The bard told them he'd been with the Halett children but when they searched the forest they met only brigands who disappeared. The road South to Valendam has been blocked and all parties on it searched but it has yet to yield anything. Charaan added that he believes the Bard to be insane.”

  “Hmmm... How old is the baron's eldest now? Nineteen, twenty?”

  “Giselle Halett is twenty summers as of this spring,” she replied, checking her notes.

  There was only one thing a bard could reliably be trusted to chase. “Send a message to Charaan. Tell him to release the bard but have him followed.”

  “I will sir.”

  “Oh and take a note about Sandy Laufen from the front end. Promote her to associate director. Give her a 15% royalty on her product line. Put Margaret's team on expanding production. I want those dolls she's making in every home home in Valendam.”

  “I will sir.”

  “Excellent. Now if you'll excuse me. I have business to attend to,” he said, slipping off his pyrolian leather boots.

  “Of course sir, will you require anything else?”

  “I'll call for it if I do,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt as he approached the door to his special meeting room and the three waiting women within.

  * * *

  Across the table Mia wore a sour look of disgust as she watched the male imperials cat call the serving girl, groping at her each time she went by. From the look of her, Mia was contemplating teaching those men a very painful lesson.

  “Stop stewing and eat something,” Henri said.

  “Not hungry,” she said, her voice low.

  “We walked all day! Take a cob apple, please,” he said as he sliced one of the apples in half, revealing the crisp pink flesh, and then cored it expertly, as one does who has cut many such apples for a child. He then handed one half to Mia and the other to Adem, each with a thick slice of soft white cheese laid on top.

  Mia took it, reluctantly. Adem fell upon his like a starving rat, biting ravenously as if he feared it might jump up and run away.

  Henri stuffed down a goodly slice of brown bread, slathered in lots of butter. He hadn't eaten since the cake in the morning. It seemed impossible that so much had happened to them. It hadn't felt like a day so much as a week long ordeal.

  Thankfully all they had to do was eat, drink and later retire to the farrier's residence. Tomorrow he'd make some horseshoes and then maybe they could figure out whatever Harald wanted them to do. It felt like things were almost under control.

  Then the innkeeper arrived, unmistakable with those thick black eyebrows. His mood was jovial however, if a tad harried, which meant the imperials might actually be paying for their drinking and feasting. As friendly as he might seem, however, the sweat on his brow and the strain in his voice spoke to a man with little time for idle conversation so Henri got right to the point.

  “I heard a while back that you had standing stones here in Keln,” he said.

  “I don't know who told you that,” the man said in his thick lilting speech, characteristic of the Arden highlands. “But they must a been on in years.”

  Thinking of Harald's thousands of years he nodded. “You're right.”

  “I been here for more than fifteen years now an I never seen it but I heard there used to be stones sure, all draped in ancient letters they were. Signs of the devil says I. Nasty sight I'm told,” the man said, crossing his arms.

  “So they're gone then?”

  “Oh yeah, when they built up the old church they took them to use for the foundation.”

  “So they're un
der the old church? I suppose it was a good idea to keep heresy like that out of view,” Henri said, trying to let the man know he too had Tian roots.

  “That's what I thought when I heard it but it turned out to be a bad omen I think, real bad.”

  Henri couldn't remember seeing a church in the town when they'd walked in.

  “It's a shame what happened to it,” the innkeeper said. “Now I don't go in for the gossip, mind, but if you asked me, I'd say that church was the worst tragedy what ever befell this here burg.”

  Henri could tell a man fishing to be prodded along. He leaned in. “Oh really? What happened?”

  The Innkeeper also leaned in, his bushy brows high on his tall nearly hairless forehead, a glint in his eyes. “Why it caught fire late at night it did. My Molly and me, ours is all grown. One's moved down South, The other is working for my bother at his Alery up the hill. The priest burnt right up, poor lass, and three of those come to try to put the fire out as well, all dead.” The Innkeeper seemed to crook in just a little closer. “Though word is, and you didn't hear it from me, the lass was all tore up before she was burned and her pieces spread round the church, grizzly like.”

  “What would do that? Some kind of animal?” Henri said.

  “That's what I thought as well, but I'm told there was a hole shaped like a knife right in the back of her skull. Now, that county sheriff thinks, and I agree with him, it were this bard. He come by the week before, singing to everyone a course, but especially the pretty lady priest. Then suddenly the church burns down an there's no trace of the bugger. Up an gone. If he didn't do it I'm a troll's hanging dangler.”

  “How sad... So the church is completely gone then?” Henri asked.

  “Nay, nay. The building burned sure, but the cellar survived alright. I been storing my overstock in there. Say... a big man like you, you wouldn't want to earn a few silver now would you?”

  “I might. Depending on what you need done,” Henri said, an eyebrow raised.

  Mia tapped at his hand on the table, trying to get his attention for some reason. Couldn't she see he was busy? In a few seconds he just might get them into the church cellar.