Watch Commander Breakspear turned off the brick paved main avenue and onto a shady side street. The storefronts were illuminated by lanterns even in the daytime, allowing passersby to read the colorful signs and peer into glass windows displaying goods for sale. He passed a greengrocer, a tailor, a cobbler, and a tea room. A couple of old men were playing backgammon and sipping tea at a table under an awning. They waved to him as he passed, and he acknowledged them with a familiar nod. They turned back to their game as a young woman stepped outside with a steaming teapot. She replaced an empty one on the table next to the gameboard as Breakspear reached his destination. He opened a door and stepped inside a shop whose display window was filled with sausages and cured meats.

Inside, a slate on the wall had prices for various cuts written in chalk. The repeated thwack of a cleaver on a butcher block sounded from an unseen back room. A counter was manned by a boy of about ten, sitting on a stool next to a scale, some wrapping paper, and string. He looked up from a book as the commander entered. A dog with a heavy head and a short, black and brown coat was laying on the floor, her head on her paws. A leather harness wrapped around her chest. She gave a low bark as the commander closed the door behind him, then stood and trotted closer.

“Hello, Porkchop!” Commander Breakspear said as the dog leaned up against him and pushed her head into the palm of his hand. “Hello, Nat, is your father in?”

“Hello Mister Commander, he’s in the back!” the boy replied.

“Could you fetch him for me? I was hoping he could help me with something.” Breakspear asked, as Porkchop rolled over onto her back. He knelt down and scratched her belly.

“Yes, Mister Commander!” laughed Nat, as he hopped off the stool and skipped into the back room. Breakspear heard him talking to two people in the back. The boy returned a moment later, followed by his parents.

“Hello, Emmeline,” said Commander Breakspear, “how are you this morning?”

“Harald, busy, as usual.” the tall, broad-shouldered woman replied, her tone polite, if a bit curt. Her long, blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she wore a butcher’s apron over a tunic and long skirt. The handle of a cleaver protruded from an apron pocket, and her sleeves were rolled up past her powerful forearms.

“I’m glad to hear business is doing well!” answered the commander. “Would you mind if I talk with your husband for a little while?” Emmeline smiled and nodded.

“I’m sure that would be fine, I need to make a delivery anyway.” said Nantier Grimsby, as he rolled around the corner of the counter. He was in his late thirties, with black hair just beginning to show a few grays. He wore a plain tunic under a brown vest, and a pair of dark colored breeches. They were tied off at the end of his legs; his right ended at the knee, and the left a few inches below that. He was seated in a wooden chair with a large pair of spoked wheels in the back, and a single, smaller caster wheel in front of where his feet would be.

“Why don’t you walk with us?” he asked.

“That would be perfect.” replied Commander Breakspear.

“Excellent,” said Grimsby, “Nat, go in the back and get the package for Mrs. Franwin. Could you give me a hand, Emmeline?” He rolled to the door, which Breakspear held open for him. Emmeline followed him outside, grabbing a pair of poles from beside the doorway as she passed. Porkchop bounded after them.

“C’mere, Porkchop!” called Grimsby. The dog trotted over and stood in front of his chair. Emmeline hitched the poles to the harness on the dog, then to the front of Nantier’s chair, which they lifted up so that the caster didn’t touch the boardwalk underneath them. Nat arrived with a wicker basket containing a bundle wrapped in paper, which he handed to his father and went back inside.

Grimsby turned to say something to the commander, but a man with a haughty expression and fine clothes beat him to it. “Commander Breakspear, Count Trevallion wants an update on the search for the Popinjay. Please come with me right away.”

“I’ll be happy to update his Lordship in a bit, but I am busy with something else at the moment.” replied Commander Breakspear.

The man looked affronted, then appeared to notice Nantier sitting in his chair next to Emmeline and Commander Breakspear for the first time. He scowled.

“I can handle that,” he said to Breakspear, before turning to Grimsby. “Get out of here, invalid! This is a busy street and the commander is a busy man! Go beg for alms somewhere else!” The man took a step forward, but was suddenly interrupted. The sound of a fist striking flesh echoed off the walls of the surrounding buildings, and Count Trevallion’s man landed on the planks of the boardwalk, unconscious.

Emmeline Grimsby stood over the prone figure, her hand still tightly clenched into a fist, and her face red. She turned to her husband. “I’ll not stand for that kind of talk about you from anyone!” she said, her voice cracking.

“I know, Em,” said Nantier, “and I love you too. Give us a kiss.”

Emmeline leaned down and gave him a short kiss, then stood up and pointed at the commander, who looked shocked by the turn of events. “You’re a decent enough man, Harald Breakspear,” she said angrily, “but I don’t care for some of the things that follow in your wake!” With that, she turned and stormed back inside, blinking away angry tears as she slammed the door behind her.

“I’m terribly sorry, Nantier,” said Breakspear, “I never would have come down here if I’d known Trevallion was going to send that jackass after me.”

“You’re not responsible for another man’s prejudice,” replied Grimsby, “and if the worst thing I’ve had to deal with recently is some ignoramus getting himself beat up by my wife, then I consider myself a fortunate man.” Breakspear laughed, and they set off down the street, leaving Trevallion’s man where he lay. One of the old men playing backgammon emptied the cold tea from his cup by tossing it at the unconscious man, who groaned, but didn’t get up.

Porkchop set off at a brisk tempo, but Breakspear kept pace.

“Now, what was it you needed, Harald? If it’s that Popinjay character, I don’t know where he is.”

“I suppose it involves him, to a degree.” Breakspear began, “Until this morning, he was just the latest problem Trevallion has caused for me, and I was hoping he’d sneak out of town before I had to deal with him. Then he somehow crept into the lockup, had his pick of the confiscated items there, and made off with a prisoner!”

Grimsby laughed out loud. “And here I thought he was just another braggart with a sword! What did he take?”

“Most of it was his to begin with, we carried off all the items we found when we tracked down where he was staying. He did help himself to some coin, an extra sword, and one of our uniforms.” admitted Breakspear.

“Well, you picked his pocket, he picked yours back. I don’t think you can be mad at him for being better at it than you!” chortled Grimsby.

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“That’s not why I wanted to talk to you. It’s the prisoner he ran off with.”

“Oh?”

“He’s some gnome we caught at the gate with counterfeit papers. Gave us the wrong alias for his fakes, he practically caught himself.”

Grimsby laughed again.

“Anyway,” Breakspear continued, “what makes him interesting is that we got a notice to be on the lookout for him about a week back, claiming he was some sort of deserter. The notice expressly forbid us from arresting him or even approaching him, it just said to send a report if we see him, and include any other information you can get without alerting him.”

“That’s strange.”

“It gets stranger.” said Breakspear. “the party we’re supposed to notify isn’t the Royal Tribunal, the Office of the Chief Magistrate, the Scaeptrian Inquisition, or the House of Inquiry. It’s not even anyone in the capital. It’s some hussar captain in Drumlummon.”

“And you wanted to know if I had any idea what might be going on...” concluded Grimsby, his expression thoughtful.

“There’s more. When I was questioning him, he said he was running from the Goswin outfit. He wasn’t a soldier at all. He was operating a doctor’s office when his deal for protection went south, and they were going to kill him. He got away from them during that fire, but there’s something there he wouldn’t tell me.

“Our informants also tell us that Ribaud’s crew started putting his name and description out there a few days ago. So Goswin’s concluded he’s still alive and is looking for him, and wants him bad enough to pay another outfit to find him. Like the hussars, they don’t want him grabbed, they just want to know where he is.

“It was complicated before the Popinjay made off with him; now it’s going to be a proper clusterfuck with the Count and his men getting involved. Anything you can offer, I would appreciate. I have no idea what’s going on, and if it’s something dangerous, I’d like to get ahead of it.”

Grimsby ruminated for a moment. “A deserter would be referred to the Tribunal, and a spy to the House of Inquiry. You’re the only civil authority with anything on him, right?” Breakspear nodded. “So the military wants him, but not at the capital. They want someone from the garrison at the Royal College of War to come and grab him, without anybody else talking to him.”

“Right,” agreed Breakspear.

“And Goswin originally wanted him for unrelated reasons, but he escaped at the same time a huge fire broke out in Drumlummon. Hold up there, Porkchop!” They paused as a team of mules pulled a brewery wagon out of an alley in front of them, then began moving down the street with a cargo of empty barrels. Boisterous voices could be heard inside the tavern as they passed outside.

Grimsby sighed. “We didn’t do so much sneaking around when I was still in His Majesty’s service, but I suppose that’s the nature of wartime. We were scheming to kill the Agathocletians, they were scheming to kill us, and nobody pretended different.” he said.

“The good old days?”

“I suppose they’re old now, but they were never that good.” Grimsby shook his head. “You know that, though.” He glanced at the silver stallion pin on Breakspear’s hat.

“That’s true enough.” Breakspear confessed.

Grimsby had a far-away look in his eyes as he directed Porkchop to take a right onto a busy paved street. “I’ve always suspected they’d put together something to replace the Armament Council, terms of the peace be damned.“

Breakspear looked dismayed. “You really think they’d risk the treaty?”

“I don’t think they can afford not to,” replied Grimsby, “they don’t want to be the fools who were abiding by the disarmament clause if their enemies weren’t. Then they’re on the back foot when hostilities resume.”

“I suppose it would be naive to expect the rulers of two countries to act in good faith, and do their best to avoid further bloodshed.” said Breakspear.

“There’s a cheerful thought.” Grimsby glanced briefly at the stumps where his legs ended. “Regardless, if the Royal Hussars are going to try and recreate the Armament Council’s program, the original was run out of the war college in Drumlummon. Plenty of access to research materials, subject matter experts, and the best training facilities available.”

“Has anyone come around asking you about your time there?” asked Breakspear.

“No, but that doesn’t really surprise me. The Grey Brigade was Prince Adalfarus’s pet project, and most of the people were loyal to him. Bardulf wouldn’t be in a hurry to bring them back together and arm them, not after the coronation fight and Adalfarus’ exile.

“With the information we have, my best guess is that the gnome is part of the program somehow, and they want him back without any incriminating details leaking. I’m sure we’re both violating the peace treaty, but it’ll be trouble for everyone if there’s real evidence of it out there. If your fugitive’s starting fires to escape people like Goswin, I’d guess a pyromancer or something similar. Given that’s the empire’s specialty, having one around you can use to develop countermeasures could provide the hussars with a tactical edge.”

"What if I told you we found a bag containing a bunch of human bones among the Popinjay's luggage? Probably an entire skeleton." asked Breakspear.

"The council's program was, at its core, the militarization of necromancy. That's reconnaissance, sabotage, psychological warfare, and even a few applications in direct combat. If your fugitive got picked up by someone who's playing with skeletons behind closed doors, I'd say that makes it even more likely this is related to a rearmament effort."

Grimsby signaled Porkchop to halt outside a bakery. “Can you get the door for me, Harald?”

“Of course.”

Grimsby and Porkchop gave the threshold of the door a bump, then they were up it and inside. Commander Breakspear watched as Mrs. Franwin met them by the door, where she gushed over both Nantier and Porkchop, paid for her order, then promised each of them a fresh pasty if they could be back when she pulled them out of the oven in a little while. They promised to return, and then retired to a tea room across the street to wait and finish their conversation.

“I’m of two minds on this,” began Breakspear, sipping a smoky black tea. “Firstly, it’s not my problem, not in an official capacity, and I don’t know any of the participants or owe them any favors. I could just ignore the whole thing, hope the Popinjay takes the gnome with him when the Count’s men chase him out of town, and forget all about it. It would be easy, and prevent me from dealing with any number of unpleasant possibilities."

“What’s the other option?” asked Grimsby, as he inhaled the scent of the jasmine green tea in his cup.

“I admit to myself that it will absolutely be my problem if this becomes an incident that results in resumed hostilities between Ostrogoth and Agathocles, take a professional interest, and hire you to go deal with it.”

Grimsby choked and spat out his tea, as Porkchop gave him a concerned look.

“Now, how am I supposed to do that, Harald, I’m just-” he began.

“Don’t pull that shit with me.”

Nantier looked Harald in the eye for a moment. Harald didn’t so much as blink. Nantier sighed, and poured himself a new cup. “How long?” he asked.

“Two years,” said Harald, “after those marauders were killed. Two of the kids they’d taken as slaves saw what ran them down. They thought it was some sort of wraith, but I saw enough cavalry battles in the war to recognize the handiwork of a Grey Brigadier.”

“I’ve got a good life here, Harald. I don’t miss what I did, and I don’t miss the person I had to be to do it. I have a wife and son who love me, I have good friends, and I earn a decent living at an honest trade. I’d risk losing all of that if I go do what you’re asking.” He took a gulp of tea and shifted in his chair.

“Then you should take care not to be caught. I understand what you’re saying, but if the treaty is proven to be broken, it won’t be long before we’re at war again. It’s true; we both saw some awful things, but spare your son from having to see them. He’ll be old enough for conscription in just a few years.”

Nantier didn’t have a response for that. He finished his cup of tea in silence, while Porkchop groaned and put her head in his lap. He scratched behind her ears.

“Keep me updated on the situation,” he finally said, “and I’ll see what I can do.” Harald agreed, and they paid for their tea and went to collect their promised lunch from Mrs. Franwin’s bakery.