“You wouldn’t really burn this place down, would you Jonathan?” asked a familiar voice while he lay on the couch with his eyes closed. Though he hadn’t heard her in years he would never forget the sound of Miss Marne’s gentle reprimand.
“You know I wouldn’t, but the usurpers that stole this house aren’t the type to call bluffs.” Jon sat up as he spoke and looked at his father’s cook and housekeeper. She’d been a fixture in his life for so long that it was easy to look past the new lines in her face to see the clever woman he felt like he’d known his whole life. He was happy that at least one servant had stayed on all these years in his absence. Even with the whole house turned upside down so that the place felt like a stranger’s, her presence made it feel like home again.
“I didn’t think you’d ever be coming back,” she confessed.
“Truthfully I didn’t either,” he agreed. “You have no idea what a long road it’s been to get back here.”
“A man can walk a long time in five years. You certainly look like you’ve seen more than your fair share of the road,” she nodded sadly, a far away look in your eyes. “Perhaps I can boil some water and run you a bath before you go though - we can wash a bit of the road off you and—”
“Go?” Jon asked. “I just got here, why would I leave already?”
“Well you’ll have to, won’t you?” Miss Marne answered, confused. “A man like Lord Burton isn’t one for idle threats. You might have beat the thugs he keeps on retainer, but he’ll be back with more men from the guardpost by nightfall.”
“Let them come,” Jon said defiantly, touched at her concern. Of course she’d see him as the soft boy that he once was and not the hard man he’d become. “I can handle anything he can muster from this valley, and if he wants to muster a real force from the garrison to oppose me, that will just give me another day or two to prepare.”
“Life is a fragile thing Jonathan, and I’m pleased to see you still have yours. Please don’t throw it away recklessly.” She sighed, “Just knowing you’re out there somewhere will do my heart good. I don’t want to see my last charge buried at the cemetery with your father, Bendona keep him.”
“Did you see what they did to his grave?” Jon asked, changing the subject. “How they disrespect our family’s name?”
Miss Marne nodded slowly. “Everytime I lay flowers on the grave I do. Gods know I’ve complained enough to the head man, but Dalmarin never really forgave the Shaws for all the blood Marcus’ actions shed. They—”
“Marcus was a fool. A vain, arrogant fool, but he didn’t kill the villagers' families. That was the dwarves.” Jon spat, but even as he said it, he could see the doubt on his old housekeepers face. What chance did he have convincing anyone to see things his way if he couldn’t convince her? “You know what? Nevermind. We can talk about this after dinner. What were you making for the Burtons tonight?”
“Roast duck with all the trimmings and peach tarts for dessert,” she answered smoothly. "It won’t be ready for an hour or two yet though. Longer maybe, now that you’ve scared away all my help.” She smiled.
“Well then I’ll handle my bath - you just make sure that duck doesn’t get burned,” Jon said, standing and stretching.
“As you say my Lord,” she answered before turning and walking back to the kitchen. “I’ll make sure everything is done well before sundown.” That was how she always spoke to his father too, he remembered. Obeying even while she repeated her disagreements. She had the patience of water that would slowly erode stone, one drip at a time.
It worked on his father often enough, Jon thought as he walked to the well to start drawing buckets. It might even work on him given enough time, but this particular matter would likely be settled in a few hours. Either he’d be proven right or his life’s blood would be spilled in the dirt and his head would probably be on a spear in the center of town. He didn’t have any doubts though. Any soldiers that needed to wait for nightfall to try to ambush him weren’t the sort he need to worry about anyway. A little worry would probably be normal and healthy, but as he brought water into the house two buckets at a time, he found he couldn’t muster even a thimble full of doubt to go along with the six or eight buckets of water he’d need to get the first good soak he’d had in weeks.
When he’d finished fetching water, Jon borrowed enough fire from the stove downstairs to chase the chill from the water, stopping just short of making it start to steam. Then, he stripped and slowly sunk into the bath, content to let the clear water slowly darken from the dust and smoke of his travels. The soap could wait. Right now he just wanted to soak away the aches of his brawl in the station. Baths were one of the thing's he’d missed most in the deeps. Even though the dwarves had plenty of bath houses in Khaghrumer, none of them were remotely human sized, so he’d been forced to make do with a bucket, a rag, and the harsh cakes that passed for soap down there to keep clean with for years. It hadn’t been the best time.
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Jon relaxed, leaning back and taking in the pure luxury of the tin tub that was big enough for him to really stretch out and enjoy it. One of his fondest memories when he’d finally escaped the deeps and found real civilization, was paying far too much for a nice hot bath in a barrel. It was more than a day's wage but worth every copper at the time. It didn’t hold a candle to this though. This was living. One day when the fighting was done he’d have a hot bath every day for the rest of his life. Thoughts of that bath quickly segued to Pearl Islet which led to Mara, and… Jon closed the lid on that whole box of memories. This wasn’t the time for such bittersweet remembrances. If he wanted to remember something, he could think about his father and his house, but as far as he was concerned he wouldn’t think about the injustice of men until his people had arrived and they’d finished putting the screws to the dwarves.
The little scuffles with Lord Burton would certainly get the governor's attention, and what happened next might even reach the royal court, but that was all in the future, and right now with the hot water soaking his cares away he couldn’t be bothered to worry about it. Not for a couple more days. So for a while he just closed his eyes and willed it all to just float away so he could find the rarest commodity of all: peace. It was only when the water started to get cold that he finally gave himself a quick scrub and got out. Half an hour of soaking to relax his muscles did him more good than all the dirt he flushed down the drain after though. If that fop wanted a fight then he was more than happy to give him one, after a shave and a nice long dinner of course.
He dug through the former Warden’s drawers until he found a nice straight razor inlaid with mother of pearl, and then set about removing the week’s worth of stubble he’d accrued on his journey here. He half considered keeping it this time, and letting it grow into a proper beard, but even though it made him look years younger to lose it he prefered the clean shaved look to the bushy beard that he couldn’t help but associate with the stone men that monopolized so much of his thoughts. When he was done he washed the razor and took a long look at it before pocketing it. Jon told himself he wasn’t impressed by its rich decoration but how sharp it was, and that was mostly true. He also liked the vindictiveness of the action. It was like a trophy in lieu of taking the former warden’s head. If he’d have wanted to keep it, after all, then he should have taken it with him, Jon decided as he headed down stairs.
Miss Marne had set the table for one, but the table was loaded with food for more than half a dozen. For one woman, it was quite a spread, with a crisp skinned duck taking pride of place at the center of the table, surrounded by dishes of spinach, potatoes, rolls, and numerous other sides. The Burtons, it would seem, loved to eat.
“You’ve really outdone yourself,” Jon said, taking a seat.
“Please,” she demured, smiling slightly at the praise, standing to the right of the head of the table, waiting to serve him.
“Why don’t you take a seat, and we can both serve ourselves eh? Just for tonight?” Jon asked.
“I couldn’t possibly my lord. It’s not my place, I—” She protested.
“It’s not,” he agreed, “but I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Miss Marne stood there silent for a moment while he sat down before saying, “Perhaps if I served you first, then ate with you after that - just this once, so the food doesn’t go to waste.”
“Just this once,” he agreed, smiling. Once that was decided, she made him a plate that was absolutely mouth watering compared to the spitted rabbit or smoked venison he’d been subsisting with on the road for too long now. Then she sat down and joined him and they had a long talk about everything. About his disappearance and the Burtons at first, before eventually turning to his father's grave and the state of the town.
Jon was only half right regarding how trade had brought the formerly prosperous valley to its knees. It turned out that it never recovered after the massacre, and that as the dwarves started to pay less for grain across the empire, the nobles raised taxes to make up the difference. They got paid the same as they ever did, but the burden on the farmers was almost twice what it used to be. Apparently the dwarves argued that this was all due to the prosperity of their protection, but what else could they say? We have all the power and decided to use it to bend over every farmer in the realm? It didn’t matter what they said. The results spoke for themselves. Jon’s mind couldn’t help but return to his dead brother’s words: “The dwarves get fed, the nobles get rich, and everyone else just works themselves to death.” It would seem the Burtons had no problem with that arrangement either. If he’d interrupted what was only a normal dinner for them than they were doing very well indeed.
As the conversation started to wane, Jon’s plate was getting close to empty. He alternated between bites roasted potato and savory fowl, but even with his cook’s help they had barely put a dent in the small feast. He hated to see so much food go to waste, and asked her, “Can you see that the rest of this gets distributed to a few families after we're done? Maybe reach out to the head man for a few lads to help?”
“Of course my lord,” Miss Marne said, her expression neutral, though Jon was sure she disapproved on some level. Charity like this wasn’t appropriate for a noble family and should be handled differently. Jon didn’t care so much about that any more though - he’d gone hungry enough times in the last few years that his priorities had changed.
“And once that’s done,” Jon cautioned, “Stay inside and well away from the windows until I handle tonight’s ugliness.”
She nodded at that, and then stood, beginning to clear the plates. “Of course my lord - but before you deal with that, perhaps you’d like to handle dessert first?”