Unlike the last two times they came here, they were escorted to the village leader's home instead of having to stand around in the village.
It was a home made of light-coloured wood, almost resembling a birch. It was about the same size as the old log cabin Tina lived in, though just like her old house, The village leader wasn't the only one who lived there. It seemed members of the village were free to stay here as long as they maintained the place.
Outside the house were various villagers trying to look in and catch glimpses of Tibaut. He didn't hate them, but with his current state of mind, he was glad he wasn't being mobbed by a group of people he didn't know.
“Ah, boy, the way this girl Tina described you had us worried but look at you! You're as stout as an Ox boy!”
The pair, along with the village leader, sat at a large circular table, (with Agnes placed in an empty room to rest) with breads, meats, pasta, fruits and veggies of all sorts laid out before them.
(“I know I helped them out one time but is this kind of reaction really necessary?”)
----------------------------------------
Given her current size, Tibaut was surprised at how abstemious Tina was with the gallery laid out before her. She was nibbling on a piece of bread for over a minute now, while Tibaut was sure he could do it in a few seconds.
(“Now that I think about it, I don't think I've paid attention to her eating before. Is she always this dainty with her food?”)
“Well, he's done nothing but eat ever since he woke up, so it'd be a miracle if he stayed that size up to now,” Tina answered. She tore the piece of bread still left in her hand in half before putting some meat inside it.
“I can see that missy. How did he like my porridge recip-”
Tina kicked the table forward into the poor old man's gut and, with Tibaut too preoccupied with the meal in front of him to notice.
“Cough (If only I was twenty years younger, I'd straighten that attitude out.) But lad, I'm sorry to hear what that bloke Ezekiel did to ya. He seemed like a real nice fella.”
Tibaut’s eyes turned to Tina and she continued munching away at her sandwich, though he could tell by a flinch she was trying her best not to react to his name.
“Yeah, we all thought that,” Tibaut answered. (“I can't imagine people like him got all the details. I am curious what he'd know but that ain't important right now.”)
He continued eating at the table until Tina remembered why she came here, after taking her last bite.
“Right, the rabbits.” She said. She wiped her mouth off and thought back to what she saw back at the village's entrance. “Old man, I think you should just start selling those rabbits. With the amount of those things that keep popping up, I think you might be cursed or you pissed off a demon that loves rabbits. Might as well make the most of them, they don't taste half bad.”
The old scoffed at her words. “Young woman, don't you even dare suggest selling those oversized rats.” He got up and slammed his hands against the table. “My father would roll over in his grave if I sacrificed our lifeblood and the only reason I'm standing here today, to those red-eyed little bastards! I wouldn't dare stain the good name of East Anglia Exotics by feeding those little bastards with their crops and having the fucking nerve to sell them like they belong anywhere else than a hole straight to hell!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. He quickly sat back down with a flushed face, embarrassed he showed such a side of himself to such fine people.
“(I guess it'd make sense for him to be so… East Anglia…) East Anglia you say?” Tibaut didn't know why, but that name sounded familiar.
“Oh, those rotten bastards,” Tina commented.
“Rotten!? You little-” After remembering the girl's attitude the man's mouth snapped closed quicker than a bear trap.
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Tibaut was really scrambling his brain trying to figure out who they were. He felt a punch to his shoulder and looked at Tina, ready to strike back.
“Come on, did you hit your head too hard? You're the one that told us that they ‘did business’, with Albus, remember? You told us the story on the way back from his estate.”
“Albus? Boy, just what rumours are you trying to spread about these people? Now I don't know who this ‘Albus’ character is-”
The memories rushed back to him and he could only wear a grimace as he remembered Albus’s words.
(“Those fuckers, I remember now. It's that group Albus’s Uncle works with. It seems like they're on par with the cult in how-”)
(“Tibby, may I remind you that the Marrow of Lucifer is your current objective? This sideshow isn't worth our time, so stop this train of thought before I have to stop it for you.”)
(“It couldn't hurt to hear what he has to say about them… but say for instance I do deal with those other assholes, could I deal with them after?”) He asked.
(“Be my guess, you could kill yourself for all I care after I confirm my sister's goals. But I thought you wanted a quiet life? Have you actually grown infatuated with becoming a saviour?”)
(“I'm no hero but, I don't think I can hear about a guy like Albus’s uncle and enjoy an easy retirement. Besides, if I get to the point I can take down the cult, that bastard will be an easy weed to pull out.”)
“..y. Boy! Are you good?”
The old man was decibels away from shouting at Tibaut before he focused back on him.
“I'm not sure what Ezekiel did to this fella but you have to check if he got his bell rung.”
Tina could only try to shrug off the old man's comment, with discomfort present in her eyes as she looked at Tibaut.
“Wha, no, no, no, Mister…” He quickly exclaimed, before pausing.
“Ah that's right, I haven't told ya ma name, eh? Just call me Barclay.”
“Yes, Mister Barclay, I'm fine, I just spaced out because I was thinking of something. I don't know much about these East Anglia Exotics other than what a friend of mine told me, so can you please, uh, tell me more about them?”
“Oh, I see, some sorry sod tried to sell you some conspiracy about them. Some bastards in this world do nothing but pray for the downfall of others. I wonder how they can even sleep at night with the lies they tell.”
The old man got in a somewhat drawn-out rant and Tibaut felt a pinch on his side.
“Are you good?” Tina whispered.
“I'm fine, honest. (I have to be more conscious of that bastard from now on.)”
“... but enough about that. You asked what they do right? Simply, they provide work for people like us out here in the rural towns. Growing wheat, making toys, construction, tool making, book printing, whatever. They usually loan some equipment and products. They even pay us the amounts they do in the capital, they're bloody kind I'll say.” Barclay passionately stated.
“(Hmm, I mean, maybe this is a lot more complicated than I thought. After all, Albus’s uncle might just be a rotten cog instead of being part of a corrupt organisation.) So all that wheat out there belongs to them?” He asked.
“Of course, they're one of the few groups that's allowed to grow this type of wheat.”
“Allowed? Are you saying others can't grow this wheat?”
“Tch.” Tina clicked her tongue, her mind already made up on this group.
“Of course not, these fellas have immense trust in us, allowing us to grow a royal strain.”
(“‘Royal strain? Is that the name of a specific cultivar?”)
He looked at Tina and she looked just as clueless.
“My lord, you two don't know? I know it's been about fifty years since it ended but, to think there’s already a generation that doesn't remember… Haven't you two heard of the ‘Great Cold’?”
“No?” Tina answered. “Am I supposed to, you old bag of bones?”
Tibaut was engrossed in his thoughts before answering.
“You mean the ‘Devil's Winter’?” Tibaut asked.
Both turned to him and the old man chuckled.
“Boy, I don't know where you got that name but if it isn't fuc- damn, accurate! I can't believe I was born and lived through such a time.”
“What are you two talking about?” Tina asked. “What, was there some bad winter a few years ago?
“I'm not remembering the specifics but it was worse than just a winter.”
“Indeed boy. Indeed.” The old man answered while nodding his head.
The old man soon began his musings of the period, hoping to educate the younger generation.