George Louis had claimed one of the tables outside under the quickly darkening sky; Andrew and Nathan sat with him. Greg was a couple of tables over, with Audenne and two men David didn’t know. The table between them was covered in paper, so David assumed that those were the journalists who had secured themselves the first interviews with the werewolves.

The way the rest of the press leaned towards them, either glaring or notebooks ready, was another hint.

David stood in the shadow of the big hall, close enough to listen in on Greg arguing with a Mr. Mulley, who apparently didn’t want to take out Oli’s answers regarding the way the Rot-queen had pulled him in. Just as David wondered if he should step in, Greg changed his angle, asking: “Mr. Mulley, is the Eoforwic Tribunal able to print pictures?”

Both men pulled themselves up. “Of course we are! We have some of the best engravers in the city!”

“In that case, perhaps we can offer you some pictures of the battle and the Rot-queen, in exchange for a lighter hand in reporting on what it actually did? Prof. Audenne here, chair of magi-zoology, took sketches throughout the battle and would be willing to part with some of them.”

The two journalists looked at each other. “Well... We would certainly be interested in taking a look.”

Greg held up a hand. “This is a – limited offer, gentlemen. You need to understand: These are originals. There are no copies – not even similar drawings anywhere in the world. I am told that the photographs of the dead husks were extremely successful in Mannin, and all they showed were some destroyed brutes. These are the only life-drawings of the Rot and queens in existence. Plus some sketches of fighting werewolves. If you want first pick, we expect your cooperation in return.”

David grinned. He was sure Mr. Grooch would have approved of the way Greg handled the situation. He had presented a very nice carrot. And David could add the stick.

He closed the distance. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I believe my brother’s offer is rather generous. I would strongly advise you to take it.”

The two journalists blinked at him, then hurried to stand up and bow. “Lord Feleke, we’re honoured,” the one Greg had called Mulley claimed. He couldn’t quite hide his worry, though. They probably thought that he would be firmer than Greg in dealing with them. David smiled mirthlessly. Greg had done a phenomenal job already – sure, with Grooch whispering in his ear for the past six months, David probably could have handled the journalists, too. But Greg had done it without a tutor and done it well.

David nodded to the two strangers. Barely. Playing the haughty noble, like he usually did when Grooch dealt with the press in his name. He took a seat without waiting for an invitation and let the crossbow slide off his shoulders, put it down onto the bench next to himself. It didn’t point at anyone, but it was in easy reach. He folded his hands on the table while the two reporters looked uncertainly at him.

“Do sit down,” David said. “Prof. Audenne, it’s good to see you again.” He nodded at the professor, who smiled back. “May I see?”

Audenne carefully handed him the stack of papers. They had been taken out of a sketchbook, most likely. David could see the holes from the stitching on the top page. Tissue papers separated the layers to ensure the coal didn’t smudge.

They were exquisite. David had seen Audenne’s work before, and had been impressed by how much detail the old professor could put into a drawing with just a few strokes. And this had to be some of his best: Even in the low light, they seemed to come alive.

There was no picture of the werewolf Rot-queen, but there were a couple of drawings of the Dryad. Most showed brutes and werewolves fighting. David could even tell which werewolf was shown in each of them.

“These are very good, Professor,” David said out loud.

“Thank you, milord. I am planning on doing some bigger paintings of these studies, possibly do a small run of woodcuts. I could contact you, if you are interested?”

“Absolutely.”

David picked one of the sketches and pushed it over to the two journalists. Then he waved to a soldier. The man was probably on break, but on David’s sign, he swerved over to their table. “Get us some light, soldier,” David ordered. “Lamps, if possible, or torches.”

“At once, Your Lordship.”

Greg looked a little startled. David smiled at him. The nearly six months he had been getting lectured by Grooch and mocked by Lord Clermont hadn’t been a complete waste of time. He was a slow learner when it came to politics, but he did learn. And they held all the cards here, anyway.

“I do think it is a fair offer,” David said, lightly tipping his finger onto the page he had pushed over to the two journalists. It showed Calder destroying a brute. “Think about it for a moment if you like,” he added. “I already gave orders to the soldiers manning the telegraph.”

He didn’t elaborate what the order had been, wondering if they would ask. He hadn’t in fact commanded anything yet, but he would warn Lieutenant Sears to only pass on messages for the journalists that Greg had approved.

The journalists looked at each other. “May we see the others?” Mulley asked.

David passed the drawings on, and reached instead for one of the other papers on the table. He scanned the text, an interview with Pierre, turned into an article. David saw nothing objectionable in there, but didn’t say anything. Greg offered him a different page, while the journalists softly discussed the pictures.

They were already deciding which ones they wanted for their paper.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

And then began the negotiation on how many sketches they would get. All David needed to do was sit there and watch, looking stern, while Greg did the talking. He was rather glad about that division of labour.

The third article David scanned over was the one that had Greg so worried, the interview with Oli. It was an excellent article, in that it conveyed Oli’s fear at the thought of the Rot-queen well. Wherein lay the problem, of course.

By the time Greg was done, the two journalists had agreed to cut the article entirely, to focus instead on the werewolves’ victory over the foul creatures.

“Your brother is rather skilled in dealing with the press,” George Louis remarked, once the deliberations were over. “Quite unlike you, I have to note.”

“Yes, how very amazing that the four of us aren’t all the same,” David grumbled.

“What was in the article the journalists agreed not to publish?”

David briefly considered lying, but unfortunately, he wasn’t a great liar – if he were, he would have been ready for that question. Now he had already hesitated too long.

“It outlines the process by which one of the Rot-queens came to be. I think you can guess which of the two we’re concerned about.”

George Louis frowned. “You aren’t saying that one of the werewolves from here –“

“No.”

“But it could have happened?”

David shrugged. “That queen came from somewhere, so in theory? Sure.”

“Huh. Those kinds of queens wouldn’t be the same as the regular werewolves, though, right? I meant that – well, that thing regarding their age?”

“I’ll let you know as soon as this new pack agrees to talk to me.”

The duke huffed softly. “Don’t take too long. I need you in Deva.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll bring the werewolves. Desmarais already agreed.”

George Louis grimaced. “You talked to Desmarais about this?” he asked. “You could have asked me.”

“Yes? But I’m not taking them to Mannin?”

He expected George Louis to argue about safety or the full moon madness, or anything like that, but the duke fell silent. His face suddenly looked grey even in the light of the torches and he pushed himself out of his chair.

“Soon,” he muttered. “I better get that deed written up for your Wayfarer friends.”

He walked away, grumbling something about bringing a secretary next time. David frowned after him. That had been suspiciously easy.

George Louis did have a deed written up for Eyal to read over by the next day. The two men agreed to have the small ceremony in the evening, right before dinner. The duke claimed that he didn’t want to keep the men from their work; it was purely coincidental that a news crew from Manning arrived with the next mail coach.

David could only guess that the railway was getting desperate for more hands.

He spent the day setting everything up with Lieutenant Sears, whose men provided the literal fanfare, and the work crews, who put together a simple little stage for the duke to give a speech on, and fielding questions. There was no way to keep what was going on a secret. Mr. Digger was the first to seek him out. As soon as David had explained how he and his men could have a part of their promised reward paid in land, Andrew’s merchant friend Stokes asked for an exclusive deal to supply the soon-to-be settlers. Stokes then nearly got into a shouting match with the proprietor of the roadhouse who wanted a similar privilege. David shut them both up by pointing out that part of the reward to the navvies would be market rights. Finally, the young Ensign Nitt showed up to ask if the extension of the offer to all men who fought at the camp would also include the soldiers.

The only ones who didn’t ask what their payment for their efforts would be were the werewolves.

Not that David had much to offer them, anyway. The best he could do for the moment was free food, beer, and spare uniforms for those who wanted them. Paltry, compared to what George Louis was promising the navvies. And yes, the soldiers who had fought, too. Not that there were many of them left.

David stood a step behind and besides the duke while he held his speech, which offered him a fine view of the crowd. The defenders of the camp stood right in front of the stage – right behind the camera. To the sides stood the honour formation of Sears’ fresh soldiers. In the back were the few civilians who had arrived since the battle – mostly merchants and journalists – and behind even them, Pierre and his pack. Half of them had remained wolves, but of those who had turned human, only Pierre and Greg weren’t wearing the uniform. Ragna, Oli, Rhuad, and Anthony stood in the first line. Nathan leaned heavily onto his spear, right next to Andrew, a few feet away only. Oli sometimes glanced in their direction but didn’t appear nervous at the proximity to the hunter who had shot him. His shoulder was still bandaged.

David shuddered whenever he thought of the risk Nathan had taken, but seeing the boy standing there, he had to admit that it had been the right choice. He could only hope that he would never have to make that decision himself.

Thankfully, George Louis kept his speech shorter than his courtly addresses. Eyal received the signed deeds for all of his men while the navvies cheered, and then Ensign Nitt steadied the still gravely injured Lieutenant Hugh so he could accept a commendation and the same deed in the name of his few surviving men. As George Louis shook the lieutenant’s hand, the honour formation fired a three-volley salute for the fallen.

It was, the cynical part of David’s mind mused as the camera flashed over and over, a rather fine piece of propaganda. No doubt that the recruiting would pick up again once these pictures got around. They might even make it across the sea into the Empire. What soldier of the Grande Armée could boast of ever shaking the Roi Solei’s hand?

It certainly seemed to mean a lot to Lieutenant Hugh and his men, many of whom would not be able to continue their service. Some of them were crying openly when Duke George Louis confirmed that they would receive land for their service in defeating the Rot-queens.

The werewolves looked on.

And then the show was over, and the servers from the roadhouse walked around pouring drinks on the duke’s expenses. Likewise, Stokes senior and junior and the other merchants who had arrived at the camp had loaded up their vendor’s trays to entice the audience to pay for their goods. Some of the werewolves looked with interest in their direction, then muttered amongst themselves.

That, at least, was something David could do anything about. Thanks to Grooch, really. But at least he had a solution. He talked to the merchants to make sure they would play along, then headed over to where Greg was still standing with Pierre and his pack. Since most of them clearly weren’t comfortable around him yet, he kept his distance and was surprised when Pierre went with Greg to approach him.

“I hear we have you to thank for the clothes,” the elder greeted him, looking somewhat sourly. “The boots are nice.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that, no,” David replied. “I was wondering if there is anything the vendors have you would be interested in? If so, I have some vouchers here.”

He offered Pierre one of the paper slips that Grooch had come up with. Each one was worth a silver, a monthly reward the werewolves called “new moon special.” They could use them to pay for goods, and later the merchant could exchange them back for silver. So far, it only worked in those cities where werewolves were permanently stationed, since there needed to be someone to guarantee the exchanges to the merchants – either the Railway Company or the army. But since David was here at the camp, he could just do that himself.

Pierre examined the little piece of paper carefully. “One silver. We can get goods worth one silver for this?”

“I brought a stack of those,” David said. “So if you want them, I can get you each about five silver worth of vouchers.”

“I want some,” Greg said, before Pierre could make up his mind.

David grinned and handed him about twenty of the paper slips. “These are to share, but let me know if you need more.”