“Since Macarthy is here,” with everyone's eyes on her, Madam Garland's voice turning dulcet and sweet, a thin spoonful of sugar glazing an entire tub full of kraut, “I have something we should all consider before we get to the vote. Everyone in this room, understand that while not each and every one of you has been unfortunate enough to be subjected to Macarthy's violence over the years, we've all been living with it since from when I got here, right after the tragedy with the Bonneville. For essentially each and every one of us that's means we've been dealing with it forever. By that same token, not each and every one of you has been subjected to some of the random acts of, let's say kindness. At the end of my second year Jacob and I decided to head up to that village in the mountains, by the glacier. We were planning on spending our summer there - we'd heard it was beautiful location - albeit dangerous to get to. But we were going with another couple and we really felt confident. Jacob, who were we going with?”
Mister Garland saying something not audible. What's she doing? Oh, right, that's how that all ended. She's going to demand my head at the end of this story. Mister Garland talking some more with his wife.
“Bob and Joy,” says Madam Garland, still at full volume, “it's been awhile, we should catch up.” Turning back to rediscover the room. “We were originally going with the Stephensons, but they had to back out, so it was just us and the Abernathys, all four of us heading into the mountains. It was easy the first day, not a cloud in the sky and we were cruising along. We set up camp that night on the mountainside. The second day was much more difficult, but we managed to struggle through, getting near to where we were going to camp for the evening. We were almost ready to set up for the night when Joy got pretty badly injured and then Jacob ended up taking a hard fall. We thought we'd packed enough to account for mistakes, but bad luck comes in threes. I assume that Macarthy had been following us, or maybe not, maybe we actually got the truth at the time and it was only a coincidence.”
“It was.”
Madam Garland's projected cheer showing its seams, then hidden once again. “I'll take your word for it. Let me thank you again for coming out of nowhere and saving us, getting Jacob back on his feet and helping Joy, and then staying with us for the last leg of the trip. You seemed quite charming. You even agreed to come at the end of summer and help escort us back. That first night Jacob and I joked about what was probably going to happen but, at the time, that all was months away and we ended up having a lovely summer.
“When we actually ended up getting back to the city without incident I was in shock. I saw the West Gate in the distance and every step I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. You were being so polite. And then you got your pay at the bank and we all went on our way. You know what I said at the time, I said, 'We might be wrong about Macarthy.' The words actually left my mouth. We were unlocking the front door to our home and then suddenly there you were again. You and your gang. It was almost gratifying to know that we'd been right. You were much less charming. Everything from the house worth more than a couple gold taken, and we found out later that the Abernathys had been hit at the same time. The whole thing seems funny now, in retrospect, but when it happened I was absolutely furious.”
It doesn't seem like you're laughing very much right now. Lane's expression had gone through several phases during her story. Smugness giving way to caution, to annoyance and, with that last bit, back to smug.
“I brought that incident up to provide some perspective.” Madam Garland's attention going to Riley. “I, more than most, am fully aware of how dangerous, deceitful, and downright duplicitous Macarthy can be. How calculating and how cruel. The members of my House have recent experience with the last.” Lane looking very smug now and Garland shifting her attention to the rest of the room. “However, regarding the incident in the harbor, no matter how convenient a scapegoat Macarthy may be, and no matter my personal dislike, there are still too many unanswered questions, and too many rumors floating around as to who may actually be responsible.” Looking pointedly at Lane, whose sudden physical discoloration and expression made it seem like he'd swallowed a bucketful of brine. The muttering around the room starting up again. “Therefore, I move that we table Brother Lane's proposal for the time being. All in favor?”
The resounding “ayes”, from all different sides and disparate factions, making clear the confluence of factors aligning in the vote. A certain percentage either pro Haven or contra Stormhawk, for whatever reason. A larger number likely swayed by the rumors, and now given the go ahead to vote that way by Madam Garland voicing similar suspicions. And then the last faction, those suspecting my threat leveled at Lane, and all those ships being burned, could very well indicate a larger force at play. One that didn't warrant needlessly being provoked.
Lane's shoulders slumping, but his face a mask, looking up at the placid Madam Garland.
“Now, if I can submit a proposal,” she says, “in order to satisfy this body's need for justice against Macarthy, without resorting to anything all that drastic.” Lane not fidgeting, or moving, or even blinking, just continuing to stare. “I am making this proposal because my House has suffered the most, the most recently, but I'm fully aware that any number of you have had issues that deserve restitution. My proposal is that Macarthy gives back to the community.” Looking at me. “According to what I've heard, you can charge magical items, correct?”
Clearing my throat. “Yes.” She's probably done a little more homework than Lane did. He probably asked his wife, girlfriend, whichever one she is, and she's probably at 8. But after the harbor... shit. If Garland did a little homework after the fire, Lane probably did, too. All of them probably did. Should assume they're aware of everything up to 13. Carve and Spell Resistance.
“In order to give back you are going to be operating a charity a certain number of hours a cycle, for at least several months, at least until the Winter Festival. Or longer.” Blinking at her. “During that time I propose that my House serves as a haven for you, and as your parole officer.”
“Take all the votes you want, why do you imagine I'd entertain that?”
“It was my understanding that you acknowledged your debt to us. I thought while we were getting what was owed we'd extend the courtesy to the rest of the community. You may even find you enjoy the work. It may even somewhat repair your reputation.”
“What makes you think-”
“Stop it.” Riley's voice low and through clenched teeth, her features turning a distinct chartreuse. “You listen to me, and you listen good. They were going to excommunicate you.”
“Excommunicating me wouldn't do anything. I'm not a Cleric. Hey, can I lean on you? I'm really tired.”
“You know exactly what I mean.” In a rush. “Yeah, come here. You're in no condition to be issuing threats or talking back or anything else right now.”
“The ticks real close. I'm doing pretty good for a bit more than a half hour.”
“A half hour? How are you on your feet if you literally just died? I've died once - once - and I couldn't even think about doing anything for at least an hour. Not even move. I was just reliving it over and over. It was horrible, and all of them were talking to me the whole time, yelling, which didn't help much either, but that whole experience is how I ended up finding her.” Patting the symbol of the key on her outfit. “She helped pull me out.”
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“Macarthy-” From Madam Garland. Holding up a finger to indicate she should keep her opinion to herself for the moment. The low murmur of conversation starting up again.
“You've died? I didn't know that. That was when I was gone, right? You never told me that, Evie.”
“It was on my pilgrimage.” Biting her lip. “I haven't told anyone about that. Kate suspects, I think, but she hasn't directly asked me. You know how she is.”
“I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when that happened.”
Are you actually trying to comfort me?” Her nervous agitation fading. “You're not in any kind of shape for that right now, either.” Putting a comforting arm around me and letting me lean against her.
“I've got to try. I really liked your speech. You're doing a hell of a job standing up for me and all I've done is bring trouble down on you.”
“You really can be sweet, you know that? But, yeah, you owe me big.” Letting out a quiet chuckle, her hand coming up to her face. “If you want to back out of this later I'll do everything I can to help. For today, for right now, please at least pretend to play along.”
Play along. Worst case, potentially only gain more time. Should use it productively: get to work unsealing the guild and claim the space. Also going to need people onboard for the expedition underground, going to need the time to get them onboard, hopefully get to 21 or 22 in the meantime. The Winter Festival? Okay, no harm in playing along. Build up some good reputation, it'll take who knows how long to unseal the tunnel a couple inches at a time, anyway. Best case scenario – the best case won't happen – but best case come out on the other side independent, secure and smelling like a rose. Fair or not, this persona is much easier to like, it naturally seems much less threatening. The downside of that is being taken less seriously, which opens the door for more treachery on their part. They should know better, by now. They better know better. Garland is using the opportunity to outmaneuver Stormhawk. More than happy to help Haven with that.
The tick hitting. Energy flowing into me and the fatigue somewhat receding.
“Thank you, Evie. I will.” Standing again on my own. Tracing, both hands. Rune of Deflection on my own robes. Activated. Now a choice. Spell resistance or save for Carve. Saving it. “Until the Winter Festival?” Aimed at Madam Garland and receiving a confirming nod in return. “I have no objection and I will do my best to make amends. Except for Stormhawk, for what they've done they're kill on sight. One hundred thousand is my ransom.”
Lane had been staring at Madam Garland the entire time, but at that declaration his mask shifting to me.
“While you're a guest at Haven,” says Madam Garland, “all of your feuds can wait. Brother Lane, I expect you'll honor that, as well.” The Winter Festival is months away, probably not going to make it. See how long the ceasefire lasts. Giving a dismissive flick of my wrist and Lane's mask not cracking. “Since everyone involved seems amenable,” Madam Garland's voice becoming cheerful again, “that is my proposed rehabilitation plan for Macarthy. Any comments or concerns before bringing it to a vote?”
Murmur and conversation filling the room. All sorts of looks coming my way, curiosity followed by suspicion being the two most common.
“No offense intended, Sister Garland,” a man on the other side of the room stands up, “but if this is Macarthy, if this really is Macarthy,” somewhere between a question and a statement, “I don't see this as being feasible. As a member of Haven, as someone who was actually killed by Macarthy some months back, you have to understand why I'm extremely skeptical - why a number of people in the House who aren't currently present will also be skeptical. As your own story demonstrates, trust is something that Macarthy will only take advantage of. I'd seriously advise that you reconsider, Sister.”
More conversation and looks coming my way. Madam Garland nodding thoughtfully, but then Mister Garland getting to his feet.
“I'm fully aware of the risks of my wife's proposal.” His voice now amplified. “And, under ordinary circumstances, I'd more than understand your apprehension. But look at her.” Gesturing with an open hand my way. “These are not ordinary circumstances and, I think we're all aware, this is a sort of a last chance opportunity.” That look he's giving me, maybe she's actually his better half, after all. “You are going to do your best to make amends, correct?”
“To you and your House, yes. And to those I've unfairly wronged, yes.”
“Good. Repent, then, so that your sins may be blotted out, and that times of refreshing may come.” The cold fury on Mister Garland's face fading beneath the surface once again, back to cool and collected.
Guess he's got quite the temper when pushed. She probably gets her way nearly all the time, and then every so often he puts his foot down. But don't imagine that flash of anger scares me. We get along and everything'll be fine. Push me too far? Talk about last chance opportunities, it'll be scorched earth, including your stolen tree and all the saplings in the Grove. Letting him know my thoughts on the matter by giving him my best smile. Mister Garland giving me a friendly smile back. Seems we're simpatico, or maybe something's being lost in translation. In either case, he doesn't seem tightly strung, most of the time, but he's potentially missing a string altogether, being married to her.
Madam Garland looking around to see if anyone else would speak, but beyond private conversations, looks her way and mine, no one else standing or making their thoughts known.
“If no one has anything to add,” Madam Garland looking around the room for takers, but none surfacing, “all in favor of my proposal?” The room filling with the tepid, resigned sound of “ayes”. No enthusiasm, no exuberance, but significantly more than a majority. Even Lane, however reluctant and halfheartedly, joining in with the “aye” crowd. “All opposed?” A much more aggressive group of “nays,” but a clear a vocal minority.
Riley's reaching out to me, a victorious smile plastered across her face. The huge, invisible, previously unfelt weight on my shoulders lifting. Lane not even looking in our direction, instead walking up the far staircase. With the vote concluded, the hall filling with conversation and the scraping of chairs as attendees stand to leave.
“Evie, I've got to talk to you.” Glancing around, aware of all the eyes still on us. “Out of here.” Inclining her head toward the staircase Lane hadn't taken, and her smile still shining bright. Leaning on her a bit while going up.
“Sister Riley.” Madam Garland coming down to meet us, a clear crystal of serenity, with her husband beside her. “I want you to know that your appeal swayed my heart.” Riley making an appropriate sound. Madam Garland turning her attention to me, her crystalline clearness clouding. “Make sure you don't embarrass her.”
Biting back my reflexive comment. Trying to come up with a neutral response.
“I'm sure whatever Lucy ends up doing it'll be more than justified.” Madam Garland's eyes flitting away from me at Riley's unexpected challenge. The head of House Haven several fingers shorter, but several more stone. Opening her mouth to rebut, but then the enchanted scarab in Riley's hair that periodically moved around, that served as a hair clip - my gift to her that had never before caused any trouble - suddenly waking up and buzzing its wings. Making little clicks. “Deadwood needs to be cleared.”
Madam Garland taking in the design on Riley's outfit, symbols of death and renewal, and then once again warily regarding the scarab. “You're not necessarily wrong, sister,” she says. The woman giving the smallest incline of her head as her jeweled hand with the great ruby ring obscures the golden der sigil on her outfit. A crowd forming around us, obvious Haven emblems on some, but definitely not all. Not going to be able to have a private chat with Riley, it seems.
“Evie, I'll talk to you later.” Closing her mouth at the shake of my head. “You need to help Magpie and Julie right now. They're here, still out of commission.”
“Magpie and... who's Julie?”
That Blood Mage Kate's been talking with. I recruited her. Let them know what happened, and tell Kate. I'll send you a letter in here when I can. When you're out there, at work, don't put anything in writing you wouldn't want the entire world to read. There's no privacy whatsoever. They read it all.”
“You're going to be okay?” The oppressive atmosphere of my gathering wardens drowning us.
Throwing my arms around her. “You know me, I'll handle it. I owe you so much.”
“I do know you.” Hugging me back. “You seem to need more help than anyone.”