Benold glared at the slovenly array of the room that he'd been in for days now. A doctor of sorts had come and gone after his collapse. Being poked and prodded was insufferable to begin with, but by a foreign physician who didn't even try to acknowledge him as a person was worse. But the final insult was being told he had to stay in this stink hole and rely even more on that jabbertooth, Baldovo. He ought to be looking for Trosyn, not lazing around in a flat that would embarrass swine.

Voices could be heard out in the hall and Benold turned around to face the wall. His back ached from the couch he had been sleeping on, but it was all Baldovo could afford him. Whoever that fat rat was bringing with him, he did not want to engage. So when he heard the door open and close, so too shut his eyes, and he tried to focus on breathing slowly.

Two men talked to each other and he didn't even try to understand their language, with its effervescent cadence. That is, until he heard his name.

"Oh looks like Benold is asleep. Should I wake him?"

"I really am astounded you found him."

Benold knew the phrase 'found him' and could tell he was the subject. But this perturbed him enough that he held his breath and listened more. It concerned him that his meeting may not have been mere coincidence. And he never understood Baldovo's explanations on how he knew Trosyn, other than it had something to do with the sea and a storm. A sickly feeling of unease filled his chest, and he began to worry the pain would return. He shifted.

"Oh. Maybe we woke him already." came Baldovo's voice. There was a shuffling sound and the impertinent man's voice could be heard closer. "Alright, let's get you up and get introductions over with."

There was no point in pretending to be asleep any further. Squinting, Benold rolled back over and slowly sat up, trying to untwist himself from the throw blanket he'd been covered in. He did not appreciate making his first acquaintance with so many people while in such disarray. But there was nothing to help that. Benold yawned and rubbed his eyes, focusing on the other man in the dim light.

"Greetings, Mr. Ovollar. Or would it be sir?" the man who spoke was older than himself, if judged by the wavy silver hair and ample worry lines etched in furrows deep enough to plant squash in. He wore spectacles - which indicated to Benold this man probably had some means as such contraptions could not be afforded by the common folk. Benold lifted his chin to him in greeting, but said nothing.

After a brief silence, Baldovo chimed in. "He doesn't have you-know-who's knack for language. As I explained, even mentioning the name gets him agitated. So I stopped."

"I see..." the other man said, frowning thoughtfully. He then cleared his throat and stood beside Baldovo, leaning forward a little so that he was more on Benold's seated level. He placed a long-fingered hand on his chest. "I..." he paused, patting his chest again while raising his voice, and Benold rolled his eyes. "...am Volente. Voh-len-tay."

"I am not deaf!" Benold snapped. But he needed to remember his manners and he took in a deep breath and stood up. This Volente character also straightened up, lifting his eyebrows and deepening the lines in his high forehead. He gave Baldovo a scathing look for having never taught him how to handle a proper, polite introduction. Borrowing what the man said to him, he tried to funnel all of his gentile upbringing into his tone, relaxing his face to appear respectfully unaffected but still vaguely interested. "Greetings, Volente."

"Ah!" Volented clasped his hands together. "Very good, very good!" the older gentleman turned to Baldovo. "Ah, yes, I can certainly see that self-important air she often described him as having. Remarkable! To really see him here, in Lomany! What odd timing."

Benold tried to remain patient as the man clearly talked about him rather than to him. But he was beginning to get used to this. He racked his brain, trying to recall if he did this to Caorain. He didn't think so, but he was a man who relied heavily on careful landscaping of his memories.

"Well, as you can see, because of my ailing guest, I cannot put you up unless you are fine sleeping in a chair or on the floor by the stove. But I doubt your old bones could handle it. I'm surprised you survived the voyage, you geriatric goat!" Baldovo laughed heartily and gave his friend a solid pat on the shoulder, which seemed to rattle the reedy fellow. He quickly did his best to correct his interrupted posture, narrowing his eyes briefly at Baldovo, but then put on a simpering smile.

"I often fall asleep in chairs without trying these days. I would rather put my money towards finding Tro-I mean, her. "

Benold narrowed his eyes and frowned. "Trosyn?"

"Oh now you've done it!" Baldovo bemoaned, placing the back of his hand against his forehead as he gazed to the ceiling. Volente bit his lower lip and quickly occupied himself with cleaning his spectacles.

"When do we find Trosyn?" Benold balled his hands into fists, knowing that Baldovo was getting tired of this question. But the displaced Siperian was beginning to suspect he was being lied to. He wondered if the intention was ever to find her. But what could these men gain by such lies?

Volente replaced his spectacles, adjusting them gently with a spindly finger. "As soon as possible, I hope." He gave a weary yet seemingly friend smile. "My dear fellow, I wish I could reassure you. We'll just have to do the best we can to help each other."

"You needn't waste your feigned niceties on him. Especially since I know you feel threatened he will take Trosyn away," Baldovo grumbled. Benold strained and tried to piece together what was being said, but there was just too much going on to decipher any meaning. All he knew was whatever was said, caused Volente to frown and look away, busying himself with checking his pockets until he could retrieve a handkerchief. But one thing was right, and one thing he did understand. Benold had every intention of taking Trosyn away. And these men would not stop him.

"I am ready. We go find Trosyn," Benold proclaimed, giving both of them men what he intended to be a wary eye, informing them that he was not going to be tricked by either of them.

"Well he is certainly eager," Volente remarked as he walked over to the cluttered desk. He unlatched a satchel at his side, taking some pieces of paper out. Although it was doubtful Benold could understand any of the words, he had spent some of his time merely copying every letter he could find, trying to familiarise himself with their script.

"What have you, Volente?" Baldovo asked, also hedging in to peer over the smaller man's shoulder.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"As said in the copies I sent you, Mr. Fidochi mentioned visiting somewhere called Noneva House before his letters stopped. I asked around, and learned its location. It is in the more pastoral outskirts of Floratti," Volente said, handing a roughly sketched map with some text scribbled on it to Baldovo for his examination.

"Who is Mr. Fidochi?"

Volente's eyebrows raised and he looked surprised at Benold. After some hesitation, he replied, "He... he was helping me find Trosyn. But then, he died." It didn't take much for Benold to imagine the meaning, when Volente held his fists side by side, then quickly pantomimed a breaking motion. Something bad happened.

"He find Trosyn?" Benold asked, tensing, racked with concern that whatever ill fate befell this Fidochi character also may have befallen Trosyn.

"I do not know. His letters..." Volente picked up a piece of paper and waved it. Seeing the smudge of a wax seal that remained, Benold knew what it was. "...stopped." The silver haired man shook his head and slashed the air with his hands. "No letters. No news of Trosyn."

"Trosyn could be in danger. We need to..." Benold halted his slip back into his native tongue and corrected himself, trying to order his thoughts. "We need find Trosyn! Fast!" Benold looked around. "Have you..." he paused and thought a while, then held out an arm straight, while using his other arm to support it, a single finger extended and curved like a finger resting on a trigger.

The two men looked at each other, Baldovo with amusement and Volente with horror. The more fragile of the two men raised his handkerchief to his nose. "Gun? Heavens, no! No gun!"

Baldovo glanced towards the door that led into his bedroom, then back at Volente. "Well. I have one, but I'm not about to put it in his hands. But, all the same, it might be wise for me to dig out my pistol and bring it."

Volente's eyes widened. "Mercy me. Why do you have a pistol, Baldovo?"

"Why not? Never know what sort of trouble you'll encounter doing field research," Baldovo said with a shrug of his sloped shoulders. "Now stop being a lady's blouse about it. Let's go see this Noneva house and see what we can glean."

Benold crossed his arms. He held his hand out expectantly at Baldovo. Baldovo stared at him questioningly, then glanced back at his room. "Oh no! Not for you. My pistol. Mine." Then he had the gall to walk away, leaving Benold hanging. Grumbling, Benold withdrew his hand. There was a clatter from the other room, garnering the notice of the men who remained without. Eventually, expectant eyes saw Baldovo re-emerge victorious, holding a hefty pistol above his head. Volente made a strangled noise of dismay in his throat and Benold again held out his hand.

"Give."

"I said no! You may not have my pistol." Baldovo patted his chest with the side of the weapon. "My pistol. Not yours. Mine."

Benold squinted at the man, flaunting his weapon. He was still bitter about the loss of his own dear rifle, which had seen him through many dangerous encounters and triumphant hunts. It was doubtful this urbane man could properly aim his weapon. It didn't look like it was well maintained, with an unsightly smudge on the barrel and patches of dust along the wooden handle.

"Wash... pistol." It wasn't quite the right word, Benold knew, but he wasn't sure how else to convey that weapon would be a hazard without some proper care.

"Wash...?" Baldovo glanced at it. "I suppose it is a little dirty, but that happens." Baldovo untucked the bottom of his shirt and used it to wipe off the dust, which made Benold squirm inside.

"No you idiot!" Benold couldn't take it anymore. "A quick wipe down is not proper firearm maintenance! A weapon like this is your lifeline, an extension of yourself, and dangerous! It requires respect! It requires to be carefully and tenderly cleaned, every single part and..." Seeing the two men staring bewildered at his lecture, he trailed off into a defeated sigh. He then wagged an admonishing finger at Baldovo. "If you pull that out, I'm not sticking around to see the disaster that results!"

Volente leaned closer to Baldovo. "You really set him off. Trosyn did mention he was quite the marksman. Perhaps we ought to get him a pistol of his own?"

"Don't be daft, man! Who is going to pay for another?" Baldovo held his weapon up, causing Volente to cringe and move away. "These don't come cheap, now, do they?"

"N-no, I suppose not..." Volente muttered.

Benold crossed his arms and turned his back on the two foolish men. If only they could understand his magnificent skill with firearms, they wouldn't be so stingy. After a moment of solid sulking, he jumped at feeling a hand on his shoulder and immediately slapped it off. Spinning around, he saw Volente holding his hand, eyebrows furrowed.

"That was unnecessary," Volente pouted. He then sighed and gestured to the exit. "Are you ready? We go look for Trosyn."

Finally, some progress. Benold nodded his head, but still gave Baldovo a dirty look but then headed towards the exit, but waited for both Volente and Baldovo to walk through before he took up the rear. He wasn't convinced that these men could be trusted, but he had little choice but to be led along and hope it would take him towards his goal.

The three men all piled into a carriage. Benold was adamant about being one bench to himself, while the other two squeezed in the seat opposite from him. The clop of hooves and rumbling of the coach was soothing and Benold nearly drifted off, but he could not entirely let himself relax. There was a fear that if he were to surrender entirely to sleep, they would leave him behind and go find Trosyn themselves. They talked amongst themselves, but since neither his name nor Trosyn's came up, he did not pay much attention.

Finally the carriage pulled to a stop. Benold looked out at the gently rolling hills covered in coats of grass, dotted with yellow and pink wildflowers. The dirt road they turned on was tufted with daring weeds trying their luck in the furrows made from wagon wheels. Surrounded by trees which huddled together conspiratorially was a formidable cast iron gate, which lead up to a bold, stone structure with a stout tower which stood stalwart between two wings of asymmetrical dimensions. No on could be seen on the grounds past the gate, and there was an eerie hush that fell over the property. It seems incongruous with the lazy afternoon sun shining down, and it felt as though birds ought to be twittering, but there was hardly a buzzing of a gnat.

Not that Benold minded. He rather despised gnats.

"It almost seems abandoned..." Baldovo murmured to Volente, who had taken out his handkerchief and was dabbing just under his pinched nose.

"Maybe they are just having... quiet prayers," Volente suggested hopefully, but he shivered all the same. Which was odd considering the pleasant, balmy climate.

"Is Trosyn here?" Benold asked in his singular way.

"That's what we're hoping," Baldovo responded grimly. "Well, we might as well ring the bell and see if anyone comes to the gates."

Volente hung back, squinting at the surrounding area while Baldovo boldly stepped forward. Benold walked straight up to the gate, grasping the bars in his hand and giving it a quick rattle, trying to determine how firmly it was secured. Baldovo raised a bushy eyebrow at him, but then pulled on a string, ringing a large bell, whose knell came out loud and clear, carrying across the sullen silence of the place.

Benold released the gate and stood back, watching anxiously for someone to come greet them and let him inside. Not that he would let a gate keep him away from retrieving what was his. He'd come too far to be deterred by a mere fence.