Amelia and Grace sat side by side in the comfort of a compact, horse-drawn wagon which trudged at a good clip down the winding hills leading away from the Strightsworth Manor, and onto the streets of the Barony’s central city.
Objectively, it was the Barony’s only city. With everything else in Havoc’s territory being towns, hamlets, or the occasional village. Amelia didn’t mind the relative quaintness of the lands her family owned. She only needed one place to buy books. What she did mind, however, was Grace who simply would not stop gushing on about how they had roused Havoc into being proactive.
Because it ashamed her.
“I still think that last part was brilliant,” Grace said, leaning against Amelia to speak over the city’s noise, “When you called him ‘daddy’ and fell out of your chair? God, I thought I could see a lost child crying out for their parent!”
Amelia couldn’t bring herself to share the princess’s excitement.
“I’m only glad it worked,” Amelia said, unable to admit that when Havoc had reached for that bottle of wine, despite Grace having set its flavor to taste worse than dirt, a horrible anxiety had overcome her. To the point she’d become convinced the father of her memories might have well and truly died long ago.
Good gravy, that dinner had been one blunder after the next. The scene might have been intentionally set, but almost all of her ‘performance’ involved zero acting.
“You can’t believe how amazed I am it went so smoothly,” Grace continued, her words of praise seemingly unending, “I mean, look around us. I haven’t ever seen so many flags! Everyone’s excited! Though it makes sense. Havoc might be a father to you, but for us common folk he’s the Kingdom’s greatest sensation. The last time there was this much talk about him was when — whoops, almost started tittle-tattling bout the Baron again. My bad.”
“I don’t mind,” Amelia said, glad for any talk that wasn’t about her.
“You sure?” Grace asked, not waiting to find out. “Okay. So, like I was saying, the last time Havoc made the front page, was after a group of capital blue-bloods got together to send him up north in the hope harsher weather might lull his hot-blooded self into hibernation. Only, in the end it wasn’t temperature, but a cool beauty from a nearby principality who would tame the Baron’s raging —”
“I take it back, please stop teasing me,” whispered Amelia, mortified, “I don’t want to think about my parents and romance in any way, shape, or form.”
“But it’s super romantic! What I’m saying is your father was famous. And this war is his comeback! Tell me he doesn’t fit the beastly type character that appears in those sappy romances I’ve seen you reading. Come on, you might not be able to appreciate it, but for everyone else, hearing about their elopement was the ultimate gossip.”
Unable to defend her new favorite genre which she’d developed a taste for after reading The Historian’s Novel, or the tendency of those types of stories to feature star crossed lovers of a similar note to her parent’s elopement, Amelia kept her eyes on her feet and chose to keep silent.
Grace’s hand began prodding hers.
“You’ve been a bit distant all ride long… Are you not happy?” Grace asked, her excitement on the downturn.
Amelia bit the corner of her bottom lip to distract herself from slipping further towards where the bad thoughts hid in waiting. “I am happy,” she said.
Grace to squeezed her hand in encouragement. “It’s alright, I won’t judge if you aren’t. We’re friends, right?”
Not managing to find the right words to say, Amelia held onto Grace until the wagon pulled to a stop at the centre of main-street. The location was marked by a water-fountain, that served as a nice spot for those affected by the warm summer air to cool themselves in its mist. Stepping down from the wagon, Amelia chose to share the reason behind her despondence, since they were friends.
“I had a three-part plan,” Amelia admitted, knowing she would seem selfish, “What we did was the first; motivate my father. But I wanted to try and grow closer with him after, by maybe helping him with paperwork or receiving guests in his stead… I don’t know, right now with him gone it feels silly to imagine.”
Saying it out loud, her desires really did feel foolish. And that was without mentioning how the third part of her plan involved Amelia managing to find a way to properly apologize to her father for having broken their family apart. A sentiment she had never quite managed to put into words. His reaction to their meal left her with some hope that might happen one day. Though her words began trembling when she confessed another of her worries to Grace.
“I’m scared he might exchange one obsession with another. Since leaving for war, he hasn’t once returned my letters. Even Heimdall doesn’t know exactly where he’s gone off to. What if he never comes back? If he dies, then it’s on me!”
Regardless of how sturdy Havoc might be, he had died in the future. An accident could occur in the present. Amelia felt a panic attack mounting at the idea of being responsible for her father’s choice to start a war. The world was flat. The world was flat and every concern she could come up with had begun rolling down the hills of her mind and into an ominous valley named ‘what-if’.
Grace placed her wicker shopping basket; a large thing about two heads tall, on the ground and gave Amelia a tight hug.
“Not everything we do goes as planned,” Grace said, pulling away just far enough to look at Amelia directly. “Your father’s decision isn’t your fault. Even if you influenced it. Why not try focusing on other matters, I’m certain he’s strong enough to keep himself safe.”
If only she could, Amelia thought, finding a similar comfort in the princess’s hold, as she did with her weighted sleeping blankets back home.
“Now, are you sure you don’t want us to stay together while shopping?” Grace asked.
“We’ll save time this way,” Amelia said, nodding her head adamantly. “I’ll go book shopping while you figure out what foodstuff you want delivered to the Lurington orphanage. Then we’ll head for the boardwalk to have snacks. That’s what we had planned, right?”
“I don’t know…” Grace said, her eyes wandering to affix where the city’s boutiques began, “Can’t help but notice your bookstore is looking a tad destitute…”
Intrigued, Amelia turned towards the bookstore where she had found The Historian’s novel. Or where it ought to be at least. For what Amelia now saw resembled more a place that had gone out of business. Its windows boarded, the ‘Open for Business’ sign gone, Amelia approached the bookstore to peer through the spaces between, discovering an interior which looked completely cleared out.
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Preposterous. The owner might not have been making a fortune, but with Amelia as a customer they should have at least remained comfortably floating.
More questions to ask Thompson Brown during their appointment. The merchant who had once discovered the princess’s identity — if he were as good as The Historian made him out to be at his job — ought to know any details about why the bookstore’s owner had left.
“Guess I’ll try window-shopping on Elmwood Street instead,” Amelia said, coming up with a shoddy excuse. (As she hadn’t told Grace of her secondary reason for paying the city a visit) “It’s a shame they’re closed, but I’ve been meaning to try out a new hobby. Maybe browsing could do me some good? Don’t worry, get your own shopping done, we can meet back here in an hour.”
“Well, okay… if you say so,” Grace said, appearing uncomfortable about the idea of them splitting up, “are you sure an hour is enough?”
“It should be,” Amelia said, calculating how much time it would take to reach the brokerage owned by Thompson Brown from where they were. She could probably make the trip there and back in about thirty minutes. As long as she pushed herself to walk quickly.
***
Precisely eighteen minutes later Amelia was catching her breath beneath the imposing gables of a store which knew money. From the imported potted plants on the interior side of its windows, to the well-crafted upholstery decorating the lobby she entered.
A contrast of professionalism when compared to the reception desk where she found a woman lying fast asleep.
Understanding drowsiness could come knocking at even the most inopportune times, Amelia took a self-guided tour around the open-space styled room, hoping the noise of her padding feet would be enough to politely wake the receptionist up. She even found a hallway that looked great to make echoes, what with its stone-inlaid walls. But after only getting half-way to a large iron-door at the end, Amelia startled when the once asleep receptionist began yelling after her in a panic.
“Wait! Wait-wait-wait! That’s the way to the basement, you can’t go in there!” the receptionist said loudly, leaning half-way over her desk, an arm flailing madly to get Amelia’s attention.
Offering a polite wave in return and a friendly smile, Amelia backtracked. “Is Thompson Brown in?” she asked the receptionist, “We’ve been in contact, and I sent a letter to confirm an appointment yesterday evening.”
“We receive a lot of letters Miss,” the receptionist said, hurrying round the front of her desk. “Unfortunately, Thompson Brown won’t be in for at least several days so I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Placing both hands on Amelia’s back, the receptionist began to insistently push while rapid fire speaking. “Why not come back next week? I’m sure everything will have gotten sorted out for you by then.”
Amelia dug in her heels. Refusing to go any further than the exit’s doorframe without receiving an explanation for what all this was.
“Now hold on… Erika,” Amelia said, reading the receptionist’s nametag, “the store-sign shows that you’re open. Is your boss dealing with an important customer who's come in? Because I can assure you whatever deal he’s in the middle of brokering now, Thompson stands to make a lot more money in hearing me out.”
“That’s not it at all Miss,” Erika said, sounding fearfully urgent, “trust me, I really thought I had locked the door. What I’m trying to say is that —”
“Is there a problem down here?” a brutish man interrupted, as he descended the second floor’s staircase towards them. His scowl disapproving enough that Erika cowered back to her chair. Which she sat on while keeping her head facing down.
Thinking the man might be a higher ranked employee of Thompson’s, Amelia put her lessons in acting to use, and began playing the role of a rich lady who knew she had worth.
A.K.A, the princess from The Historian’s novel.
“Finally, someone who looks like they might know what’s going on,” Amelia said, directly addressing the man whose frown deepened, “tell me, is your boss really absent? I don’t care if he’s busy, I need to speak with him, no matter the cost.”
“Boss is in,” the man said, turning to walk up the stairs, “I guess he can hear what you have to say at least.”
“Good,” Amelia said, keeping her response deliberately short to give herself a mysterious air.
Except, she found taking that first step forwards rather difficult. Having realised for such a nice store, there sure were a lot of red flags. A frightened Erika, a nearly empty lobby, and the fact the latest employee dressed in every-day clothes, instead of a uniform like the receptionist did… There were enough issues Amelia considered abandoning her reason for coming, to try again later.
Or… the strange atmosphere could simply be the result of a business disagreement that had everyone on edge.
“Are you coming?” the man asked.
“Don’t rush me,” Amelia snapped, deciding to follow him up, past Erika who refused further eye-contact, towards the second floor of the brokerage which when opened, expanded into a storage room that looked more ransacked than the bookstore that had closed. And without a heavy door in the way, Amelia could now hear the music and revelry coming from further inside the building.
“In… In there? He’s in there?” Amelia asked the man who herded her onwards, towards another door which partitioned the storage-room from whatever it was that awaited.
“Hurry up,” the man said, and Amelia turned the door’s handle; unleashing from the darkness within a wave of laughter and cheering, mixed with the shrill screaming of women.
The fact she couldn’t tell whether the screams were from excitement or something else… Amelia froze, unwilling to go any further. Her consent a non-factor for the man who shoved her ahead. Amelia could never have prepared herself for the smoke rising to cover the ceiling, the music that played, or the dim colorful lights, melding together with half-undressed women in the arms of inebriated, rough looking men whose hands went wherever they pleased.
Clinging to a belief that all she needed to do was find Thompson, Amelia took a worried glance behind her at the man who now blocked the way out, before she started to walk; trying to keep herself unnoticed while flinching each time a party goer brushed up against her.
“Drink dear?” asked a dancer who blocked Amelia’s path; holding a pitcher in one hand and a cup in the other.
“No… I’m here to find someone,” Amelia said, entranced by the chains bridging a valley between two pink mountainous peaks, and the notion that clothes could even be made that transparent.
“The dancer smiled sadly in understanding. “If you’re here to find your man… Better to give up on him,” she said, performing a trick by adroitly pouring into the cup with her pitcher held high.
Before Amelia could explain that wasn’t what she was here for at all, the dancer got snatched by a man who buried his face in her cleavage. A single ‘told you so’ look sent by the dancer in parting before the two vanished into the dim lighting.
Having never felt so completely lost, Amelia wondered if even the princess would know what to do if she were in her position. Discerning Thompson Broker, a man she had never met in such an overwhelming environment felt impossible.
“There you are,” said the man who had guided Amelia into this place, reappearing beside her with a grin that seemed to enjoy how flustered she was, “the boss knows you’re here, come on, follow me.”
“Really? Where is he?” Amelia asked, managing to keep her voice steady.
His eyes narrowed. “This way,” he said, grabbing Amelia’s upper arm to begin pulling her through the throng of partygoers, until they arrived where multiple couches and chairs had been set up for lounging.
“She’s the one, boss, the one that wanted to see you,” the man said loudly, earning the attention of the ‘boss’ who sat between two beautiful women; his arms wrapped over their shoulders.
“Her?” the boss asked.
Amelia’s stomach sunk like a rock. The man before her bore no resemblance to how The Historian had described Thompson Brown.
“I can assure you that what I have to say is well worth your time,” Amelia said, letting her mouth work on its own while her mind scrambled for answers.
“A pretty thing like you wants to talk business?” asked he whose roguish looks, suave voice, and half-unbuttoned shirt matched the description of another from The Historian’s novel.
She knew who this was. And as the mob boss’s cologne surrounded her like a snake; intent on devouring the young woman who had entered its lair, Amelia felt her legs go weak and give out beneath her.
“There it is,” said Vanridge Dowsinger, impossibly present since he should have been in the capital where he would one day meet Grace.
Vanridge stood. His hand lowering to caress Amelia’s cheek. “When I’d heard you were here for ‘the boss’, I wondered who it might be. But it looks like you’re just in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Is that it, sweetness?”
Amelia could only wish she had taken Heimdall’s advice to have Thompson Brown visit the Strightsworth manor, instead of her foolish decision to act polite and meet him herself.