The men went charging through the dark and cluttered rooms, the incessant pounding of heavy footfalls chased a dizzying dance of flashlight beams. The intrusive thought to snaffle a wheel of cheese on the way through was given thorough consideration but was sadly discounted. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the order was given to remove and stow the lights in order to keep one of their myriad cards hidden. Whim and Vangroover held their positions in the kitchen, their weapons trained on the back door. Their relief at reinforcement was quite visible, and standing alongside them revealed the reason. The rear yard was filled with lights, the small fires of wooden torches held by a couple of dozen snarling figures.
“They came piling in a couple of minutes ago.” Whim explained in a whisper. “From what we’ve heard, the majority of them are busy shouting at the guards out front. As for these fellas, they seem content to just glare at us for now but I’m not sure how long that’ll last.”
“It’s alright, we’re pulling out anyway. Nice and orderly boys, two at a time.” Alter nodded and the squad began to Noah’s Ark their way back through the bar.
The room itself was still in a state of disarray, the cleanup effort having completely halted at the mob’s appearance. Both sets of main entrance doors had been propped open and the squad piled out into the damp streets and cool late evening air. The situation, however, was anything but cool. The Houseguard had formed a defensive cordon stretching from the Last Flourish to the nearby crossroads. Bands of men swarmed the roads in three directions, egged on by their invisible leaders they hurled insults and made sudden daring lunges forward to gain what ground they could. There were no visible weapons among them, but Alter could easily make out the suspicious bulges and arms hidden behind backs that casually betrayed the presence of blades amidst the bodies.
“Who are this bunch?” He asked Winslow who stood in the centre of the cordon with folded arms.
“Everyone with a secret to keep.” The Sergeant spat onto the cobbled road. “Street gangs, petty thugs. Anyone the Foreman has dirt on who's capable of throwing stones, both physical and metaphorical.”
“They going to try anything?”
“Only if we hang around too long. Which leads me on to ask, are we done here?” Winslow turned to him, expression cold.
“We are. We’ll discuss that once we’re in a more secure environment. Is our path back to the estate secure?”
Winslow nodded and quickly ordered the guards to withdraw. With speed and efficiency, the cordon collapsed and the loyalist forces began moving back towards safer ground. Their retreat was met with a loud and buoyant wave of jeering and whistling by the crowds that converged and swarmed into the Last Flourish like ants.
“We’ve earned a lot of bad blood with our actions this evening, good faith that took years to build. I pray it’s worth it.” Winslow complained as they moved.
“That’ll depend on the men we picked up and what they can tell us.” Alter replied shortly, having neither the energy nor desire to broach that particular subject.
Words were few and far between as the combined force moved through empty streets. While the tramping of their feet caused more than one concerned face to appear at many an upper floor window, none made any effort to impede their progress. As such, it did not take long for them to cross the gated threshold into the Masserlind estate. They came to a temporary halt at the front entrance of the main house where a surly butler they hadn’t seen before informed them that Oliver had retired for the night, leaving instructions for the squad to seek their beds. All debriefs and subsequent discussions were to be held over breakfast the next day. Ragged cheers met this proclamation and the guards immediately scattered in a dozen directions before melting into the night. With markedly slower paces, the squad took their leave as well, skirting the edge of the building and filing towards the trees that obscured the silhouette of Osprey Hall.
The majority of their new home was dark; however a number of candles were still lit in the main hallway. Morgan stood to attention just inside the door, welcoming them with a formal bow. She was doubtless tired from a long day’s service, but if she felt the effects of weariness then she made no show of it. The offer of a cooked meal was given but there were no takers. With each man collectively feeling the weight of their actions, sleep, or at least the attempt to sleep, was the only remaining objective. Muttered ‘good nights’ in a handful of tired sounding languages saw each man seek their private rooms. Alter was surprised to be met with a soft floral fragrance as he entered his own chamber. The fireplace was merrily alight, its accompanying pair of chairs pulled to the side. In their place sat a large copper bathtub, full and foaming, with wafting wisps of scent-laden steam rising from its surface. He stopped, absently closing the door behind him as he pondered this unexpected but welcome addition. There was the immediate question of how Morgan had known when they were returning, but he was happy to put that down to ‘Professional Foresight’ and call it a day. Piece by piece, his uniform was left where it fell as he stripped his way across the room, with one of the armchairs accepting the noble sacrifice of becoming the designated clothes holder. With something between a sigh and a groan he submerged himself into the delightfully warm water before leaning the back of his head against the edge and staring at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. He’d practically recovered his full range of arm movement by the time they made it back but examining the impact site revealed a mighty bruise forming. Other than that, he was in pretty good shape.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
He wasn’t sure how long he spent in the tub, it might have been half an hour, it might have been three. Every action, every room, every possibility battled for the attention of his mind’s eye. His imagination spun intricate webs of what might have happened, like the branches of a tree twisting and spiralling into a vibrant canopy of alternate conclusions. He had anticipated a fight, but looking back he was forced to acknowledge how unexpected their opponent’s willingness to face death was. Once again he was left to wonder whether the local’s lack of understanding surrounding the squad’s combat capabilities was inadvertently causing more harm than good. This quandary, however, led him to an entirely different realisation. The water had turned cold and the fireplace housed naught but fading embers. He gripped the edges of the bath, levering himself upright and sloshing his way to his feet. A pair of towels hung ready on an attached stand, complete with a crisp white robe which would’ve been straight out of a hotel bathroom were it not for the apparent home-craftsmanship. It was a bit of a snug fit but that mattered little to Alter. After all, the bed was right there and it had his name written all over it.
When his eyes fluttered open again, morning had come. The sun peaked shyly over the rooftops of Jestriff, where faint lines of evaporating water raced upward to meet the gently floating cloud that populated the brightening sky. His clothes and uniform were exactly where he’d left them, the bathtub remained in place and undrained with but a few stubborn colonies of bubbles clinging to the sides. He was a little surprised but thankful that one of the maids hadn’t entered the room to remove it while he slept. Slipping out of the robe, he crossed over to the wardrobe and examined his newly provided selection of more casual gear. There had already been mentions of a visit from a professional tailor in the coming days, that would certainly be an experience. Opting for the most basic and closest equivalent to a t-shirt and jeans as he could, he left the room heading for the dining area. Half of the squad was already present, enjoying steaming mugs of the local coffee equivalent. It bore similarities to the breakfast beverage they had been served in Crestvigil but the taste was different, the welcome bitterness shone amidst the clashing flavours. Fortunately, there was no mystery ingredient that made the world stray ominously towards the cartoon, which made the drink much more acceptable. Alter was halfway through his second mug by the time everyone had gathered and a maid from the main house came to collect them.
Oliver’s private dining room was notable not for its opulence nor its frugality. It was almost suspiciously average. The man himself and Winslow were already in attendance, sitting around a large, circular table seated for ten.
“Welcome, everyone. Please, take a seat.” Oliver beckoned as various staff members filed in from a small door across from them with plates and platters aplenty.
The men ate in comfortable silence, it was only after the final morsel had been devoured and all the plates cleared away when Oliver clasped his hands together, knitted his fingers and began to speak.
“Winslow has already given me his report. I would like to hear yours, Captain.”
Alter shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the use of his assigned rank equivalent to a parent using his full name. As he recounted the previous evening’s events, he almost found himself withering under the young Lord’s stare.
“To conclude, we found and apprehended a number of the agitators and discovered the location of two out of the six weapons crates. The contents of which appear to have already been distributed to your uncle’s minions.” He finished, unsure as to how Oliver would respond.
“I understand.” Was the simple response before Oliver took a breath and continued. “Given that this was your first time operating in the city, I shall overlook some of your more drastic actions. However, a number of my citizens were lost during this operation. This, I find harder to accept. You will take greater care, Captain, to measure your use of lethal force.” His voice was fair and even, teacher-esque one might say.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Winslow?” Oliver looked to the Sergeant and motioned him to speak.
“Of the twenty people we apprehended last night, eight have since been released after their initial interviews. Innocent people caught up in the sudden tide. Additionally, we recovered ten wounded from the Known House, two of which have been discharged. Unfortunately, four sustained major injuries, from which the doctors say they may never truly recover from. I’d like you to help me sort out our seedier guests, specifically with the identification of any aggravators we’ve caught in the net.” He spoke matter-of-factly.
“With pleasure.” Riptide answered, a harder edge creeping into his voice.
“Then that will be all, Gentlemen. With luck, we’ll manage to extract enough useful information to make this whole business worthwhile. Designate, say, three of your number to assist Winslow with his assignment, then return to your quarters. Rest. You will be called for again, soon enough.” Oliver clapped his hands together and stood, signalling an end to any further discussions.
Riptide, Boats and Boozehound volunteered for bastard-spotting duty and followed Winslow out of the small door. The rest meandered back to Osprey Hall, unsure of what to do with themselves. A thought popped into Alter’s mind as they arrived and he asked Morgan to fetch him a coin purse. It was time for a lesson in local economics.