From his position atop the back of his ignoble steed Niklas was saddened, although not at all surprised, to see the sad state of the people who bustled about that initial narrow passage that led into Coronton from its gate. Even considering the stoic nature of most Petricians, among those who stood patiently awaiting their turn to permanently exit the walled city they had called home, their faces were worn and defeated. But just as Niklas and Nayantara, with this true Coronton man-at-arms as their guide, finally passed the end of that unhappy queue they heard the distinctive rattling of large, moving chains and the whoosh-THUD of a falling heavy weight as the gate abruptly slammed shut behind them!
At that, a tumultuous outcry of anger and despair arose from that crowd of potential refugees who had been filing out of the City, and the sounds of thuggish men barking out orders followed soon on its heels. Niklas had briefly stopped to peer back over his shoulder at the commotion, which caused the armored Coronton soldier to rush to his side.
“Worry not, my Lord, the gate is only shut for the common folk, per the Mayor’s orders. I’m certain you will be allowed to leave at your leisure.”
“Right…” Niklas replied, obviously unconvinced, as he continued to observe the situation.
The outrage that erupted amongst the crowd at the gate now looked as if it threatened to break out into a full-blown riot. Peasant men threateningly held aloft crude shovels or hoes, while the women and children shouted curses and hurled stones or handfuls of mud.
“Back to yer homes!” Ordered a particularly large and gruff-looking man in a worn tabard, his booming voice barely audible over the din of the crowd. “Mayor’s orders! Go back now, or it’ll be the labor line for the lot of ya!”
Meanwhile the soldier escorting them inside began to urgently lead Chestnut away by her reins. “We must go, my Lord. It’s becoming dangerous here!”
Niklas did not argue with him, simply turning away from the gate once again. He did not wish to see any more of this–whether it be poor folk being beaten and robbed of their meager savings, or their hopeless and defeated faces as they trudged back to whatever hovels they slept in. Unfortunately for the young Count, such events were apparently Coronton’s main export, for they passed many more roving bands of crudely-uniformed men collecting ‘taxes’ on their way towards the small Castle in the city center. Finally the group came upon another fortified gate which led to a small district wherein the Nobles resided, including among them the Mayor, his Knights, and their families.
After spending most of the ride sheepishly peering down at his Huntress companion every so often, Niklas cleared his throat and finally mustered up the courage to speak to her. “You’re not mad at me at all, are you?”
“Why, my Lord? Whatever reason would I have to be upset with you?” She replied with a small, teasing grin.
There was a brief moment of silence as Niklas fidgeted uncomfortably on his saddle. Nayantara finally couldn’t hold herself back and laughed.
“It’s true that I was gonna go to the Count’s place after this and give him a piece of my mind, maybe even rough him up a little...” A cold sweat formed on Niklas’ nervous brow at that. “...but if you really are the Count, and you came here to set things right, well… I think I can forgive you for deceiving me these last few days.”
Niklas looked down at her with a little start of surprise. “How did you know I was coming here to stop all of this?”
Nayantara shrugged her shoulders. “Back when we first met, you said you had ‘business in Coronton’, and you had a look in your eyes like somethin’ had you real miffed. I thought you must’ve had an actual business fall through or something of the like. But now…”
She trailed off as their little group was just now arriving in front of the Castle in which Lord Borney resided. Two soldiers stood guard at its gate, with two more at the doors of the courtyard which led inside. The men before the gate were firm of body and properly garbed, the same as the man who had led them through the city. His fellows simply nodded as he made his way past them. But those men stationed at the inner doors were generally disheveled and wore rough, patchy uniforms, and the pair of them crossed their spears to bar their way as the guests and their guide approached.
“Who goes there?” Growled one of the thugs.
The escorting soldier huffed and set his jaw. “This is the Lord Count, here to see the Lord Mayor. Stand aside.”
The two rough men scrutinously looked Niklas up-and-down as he descended from the stooped back of his frail horse. Looks of suspicion and disbelief washed across their faces. “...You’re sure of that?” One of them said.
“I have seen and verified his official seal myself.” Replied the soldier, obviously affronted by the lack of respect shown by these lesser guards, both towards the Count and himself as their Superior. “You will let us pass.”
The two men glowered down at the three of them as if they wanted to say more, but in the end they finally gave in and shrugged as they uncrossed their weapons.. “Fine. In ya go.” One grumbled, but then gestured at Nayantara before she could take a step forward. “But she stays.” Niklas looked back at the Huntress apologetically, but she waved her hands to reassure him. “It’s fine, Nik–my Lord. Somebody has to look after old Chestnut, anyhow.”
He sighed then in slight exasperation, but he nodded and turned back alone to follow his guide in through the tall wooden doors. Just before they fell shut behind him Niklas looked back one more time at Nayantara, who grinned and lifted her fists in a pugilist stance.
“Give him the ol’ what-for for me, eh?”
And then he disappeared from her sight as the door slammed shut between them. She chuckled and let her arms fall back to her sides, looking over at the two guardsmen who were now eyeing her warily with cocked brows.
“...Just a joke, fellas.”
----------------------------------------
Niklas marched down the hall with as gallant and confident a poise as he could muster to cover his nerves. He looked about as he went and he was struck by the opulent finery which decorated the castle’s interior. Upon the floor were many long and tapestry-like carpets, the ceilings were lit by intricate and finely-made chandeliers, and the cobbled stone walls bore many a leering, stony-faced painting of various Nobility. These portraits were not unlike those he’d seen hanging in his own Castle Petrice, except for the many gilded and bejeweled ornaments that hung between and around their frames.
For the cost of the contents of this hall alone I could afford to pave half the roads in the territory! The destitute Count thought to himself, feeling both marvel and irritation in the same moment. What reason could he have to extort and terrorize his people so if he already has wealth such as this..?
Every so often the servant leading Niklas would peer back at him, and he would meet the man’s gaze with as intimidating a countenance as he could muster. At first it did not seem to have any effect, but after the third such occurrence he noticed the butler begin to quicken his walking pace just a little.
Finally the man came to an abrupt halt before a pair of finely-made double doors, which he turned on his heels to face and then, with great effort, pushed open on squeaking hinges. He stepped through the threshold, and then dutifully off to the side so that Niklas could enter behind him.
“Presenting! Lord Count Niklas of Petrice!” Announced the butler.
Lord Borney idly patted his mouth with the silken napkin he had worn tucked over his collar as a bib, discarded the soiled cloth on the table, and then lackadaisically climbed to his feet, grasping his hand upon his chair to better support his weight. While rising to greet the Count was technically a sign of respect, it was one he made with as little effort and urgency as possible, so its effect was almost more insulting than if he had not bothered to move in the first place.
Regardless, the Mayor now stood before a long wooden table in this grand dining room. The decorations and furniture were just as luxurious as those adorning the halls, and the table was spread with an astounding variety of dishes. Its surface was laden with many platters bearing carefully-arranged meats and cheeses, exquisitely-decorated desserts, as well as exotic imported vegetables and fruits.
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“My Lord Count!” the Mayor greeted him warmly then with his arms outstretched as if for an embrace. “It is an honor to see you once again. Come, sit! Dine with me.”
Niklas heard the large doors he had just passed through creak and shut loudly behind him, and when he glanced back he was alarmed to see two of those thuggish soldiers stood guard at either side of the entrance, where they had previously been hidden from sight behind the opened doors. Niklas slowly and carefully made his way forward the handful of feet it took him to reach the end of the table that stood across from Lord Borney. His nerves were alight with suspicion and anxiety, so he could not help but scrutinize these unwelcome guardsmen as he went. Nonetheless he was forced to show them his back as he pulled out a gilded chair and seated himself.
“Try whatever you like my Lord, whatever you may like!” Lord Borney said merrily, falling back into his own seat as well.
Niklas’ empty stomach nearly rumbled aloud as he peered across the long table at all of the delicacies before him, which was far too much food for five hungry laborers to finish, let alone a single, consistently well-fed Mayor. Indeed it was now clear that the assortment of cooked and preserved foodstuffs that Borney had gifted to Castle Petrice, which had seemed to be an unimaginable abundance at the time, paled in comparison to what was served at just one of Lord Borney’s lavish daily meals. To busy his hands while his mind processed these new revelations, Niklas took a few morsels from this or that gleaming tray and piled them onto the plate before him. He noticed also that many sets of gilded tableware had been expertly laid out along the length of the table, as if the Mayor was always expecting a contingent of high-ranking guests, whether or not any actually arrived at his door.
Looking down over his plate, the animalistic desire to tear into the glistening and well-prepared foods heaped upon it–just like the Mayor himself was doing now, with much gusto–was almost overwhelming to the hungry young man. Only the combined strength of his sense of duty and depth of his resentment upheld his composure then, as well as the all-too-fresh memory of the many downtrodden and mistreated folk that he had witnessed on his way here. With upright posture and the most impeccable manners Niklas cut his food into tiny morsels and picked at a few select dishes, and although even these few bites yielded such a rich harmony of flavor and texture he felt he might melt, Niklas maintained his stoic demeanor as he ate, and so appeared more a Lord in his filthy and ragged traveling clothes than the man clad in clean, tailored finery seated across from him.
Only when it felt as though he had supped for a proper length of time did Niklas finally set his fork and knife back upon the wooden table, this quiet gesture speaking loudly enough to catch the keen eyes of Lord Borney, even as on the surface the larger man appeared absorbed in his decadent feast.
The Mayor cleared his throat then and patted his lips clean once more with a silken napkin. “S-so, my Lord, what brings you here today, and so suddenly as well?” He asked, unable to suppress a nervous stutter as he felt an unexpectedly strong aura of pressure emanating from the small, poorly-dressed Nobleman before him.
“My apologies for coming on such short notice-” Niklas began, his tone low and grave. “--but I felt that petty etiquette was an acceptable sacrifice considering the current situation, for I fear you were not entirely forthright with me the last time we spoke, Mayor Borney.” He enunciated the man’s title with some care, clearly meant to remind him of his position, one which ranked far under Niklas’ own.
Lord Borney couldn’t keep himself from balking a bit at these words, rubbing his hands together in a subtle nervous tick. “W-why, whatever could you be referring to, my Lord..?” He said with a weak attempt at a placating smile, lifting his goblet then to take what was meant to be a nonchalant sip of his wine, but which he gulped down too desperately in his need to fortify his fraying spirit.
“I did not take you as such a forgetful or absent-minded man, Lord Mayor, nor one who is unused to drink.” Niklas said in barely-obscured derision. “Surely you still retain enough of your faculties to recall our previous discussions at Castle Petrice?”
Mayor Borney gulped, but forced out a chuckle. “Ha ha, of course, of course! How could I forget, my Lord? You had many fine and well-planned proposals for the improvement of the County–”
“–Proposals, yes, that is exactly right!” Niklas cut him off, a steely anger in his voice. “Plans that were nonetheless untested, unproven, and unfinished! Strategies which still needed time and work so as to keep them from unwittingly and unnecessarily burdening the people!” Niklas nearly shouted across the table, his small frame visibly quivering with the force of his rage.
Lord Borney looked quite unsettled then, like a child being scolded by their parent for the first time. Indeed, how many years had it been since anyone had spoken to him in such a tone?
“What is it that I am seeing out there, Mayor?” Niklas demanded, gesturing back towards the closed door. “Refugees on the road fleeing the city, surly thugs beating men for their meager purses, farmers and artisans being charged a full day’s earnings just to enter the gates? And all of this done under my name, but without my consent or approval?”
Lord Borney continued to rub his clammy, ring-laden hands together as he perspired heavily. “Y-you see, my Lord, I had thought… Well, I had just--” He stammered, having been left quite at a loss. “I had already drafted up the documentation for your approval, yes, and perhaps, in my eagerness to follow your guidance, I had simply… forgotten to send it to you first!” He said with a renewed and desperate hope, as if this were anywhere close to an acceptable explanation which could save him.
Niklas sighed and rubbed his temple, then, suddenly overcome with a wave of exhaustion that doused the majority of his temper. “I am going to have to report this situation to the Duke, perhaps even the King, you understand?” He said, causing the Mayor’s face to go even paler than it had been before. “I was personally appointed to serve as Count of Petrice by the King himself, and so any disrespect shown to me also counts as disrespect to his Royal Person.”
As Niklas spoke these words, that mustached butler had silently made his way across the length of that impressive table to his master’s side, and he whispered something to him then behind a cupped hand, which was unintelligible to Niklas at that distance. Color swiftly returned to Lord Borney’s face after listening to whatever his henchman had reported, and he appeared to relax again, but for a lingering sheen of nervous sweat which remained upon his brow.
“Well, I am most sorry to have disappointed you, my Lord Count.” The Mayor replied then, though he had a strange air about him now. “And you have undoubtedly gone through much hardship to arrive here so quickly. Why don’t you stay for a few days and enjoy what luxuries Castle Coronton has to offer? It is the least I can do to make this up to you.”
Niklas eyed the other man’s change in demeanor with suspicion, also glancing at that servant who leered down at him now from the Mayor’s side. “I am sorry, Mayor Borney, but I will have to refuse. I have much pressing business to take care of back at Castle Petrice-”
“I must insist, my Lord Count!” Lord Borney interrupted him then, clearly no longer interested in feigning politeness.
The look the Mayor wore now was a strange one. His expression was no longer the calm and jovial he normally affected, nor the affronted and nervous demeanor he had shown just now under the force of Niklas’ anger. Instead, now a small and crooked grin tugged up the corner of his mouth, but his brow was furrowed and one of his eyes twitched slightly with agitation, and his skin still glistened with that nervous sweat. He appeared to Niklas’ trained eyes like a desperate man who was about to take a drastic measure, and beneath his confident and stern guise this terrified the small and exhausted Count.
“Stay awhile, make yourself comfortable. And… allow me to convince you of the wisdom of my intentions. It would be a shame for my plans not to receive your approval while you are so conveniently… visiting Coronton. For you have brought that Seal all of the way here with you!”
Now it was Niklas’ turn to immediately grow deathly pale. He leapt up from his chair and to his feet, but those two thuggish soldiers he had earlier been so wary of were already at either side of his chair, for they had crept up surprisingly quietly behind him while he was distracted. In a flash they had each grabbed either of his arms, and when he struggled to pull himself free one of the guards balled up his hand into a meaty fist and socked him good and hard in the soft flesh of his solar-plexus!
The smaller man quaked and retched in their grip, and he sank a bit as he lost the strength in his legs, only remaining upright thanks to his captors’ hold upon him. The butler marched back around the table to Niklas then and felt around on his person, soon enough triumphantly plucking the Seal from Niklas’ breast pocket and bringing it to the Mayor, whose eyes sparkled with greed as he turned the stamp over in his hands.
“Oh dear, my Lord, you do not look well at all!” Mayor Borney then declared with feigned concern. “Men, quickly escort the Count to his chambers so that he might rest! And stand guard at the door so that no one else can… bother him.”
The two large men wordlessly began to drag Niklas away, his feet scraping against the carpet as he was carried along and weakly still attempting some small resistance.
“B-Borney!” He managed to spit out angrily as they reached the doors.
But in that moment Mayor Borney was too enraptured in looking at that Seal, the stamp which imbued a document with the Petrician Count and Countess’ signature of approval, his face alight with that same nervous excitement. It was as if he knew that he was stepping over a line which would afford him no possibility of return afterwards. He only turned his head to watch the final moment when Niklas was yanked roughly out of the room, and just as the creaking doors were slowly falling shut he called out.
“Oh, and my Lord Count?”
Niklas glared back at him through that steadily narrowing sliver of the open door.
“Thank you in advance… for signing my proposals.”
And he then returned to gleefully twirling the Seal about in his fingers as the heavy doors slammed shut between them.