Olli had impressively been put straight into a bed with no fuss. She had looked quite confused and pale, but said nothing the entire time. Miss Marsh had taken up her post as resolutely and stoically as any dutiful soldier, even shooing Theodore out of the room.

So this left Theodore with little to do other than to go into the dining room and sit at one table by himself. Mister Burke had already retired into the room they were to share due to his nerves, and the coachmen were in the back drinking and swapping stories with the cooks.

A spread for a late lunch had been put before him, although it was rather scanty. Meadow rabbit legs that had been roasted with a thick wrapping of maiden-finger weeds around it, sea-drowned plover, and a small bowl of bilberries. Attending to the meal was a large pot of thinned coffee. There was a window in his view, allowing him to see the lonely moor with its cloak of rain.

“Hello, Lord Graef,” Mister Stewart came from another table where he had been speaking to some rather pink-faced gentlemen. “On your way up to the capital early?” He asked.

“Not quite, my friend is hosting a ball and I have been invited to come, then we will make our way together,” Theodore sighed as the removed one of the little plover bones from his meal. “How is business here? With the season coming…”

“Ah, as is usual, less gentlemen and more miners as the coal weather comes upon us. Soon half of Paeth’s young men will be taking a daily meal here. So as always, I am beginning to adjust the menus accordingly. Unfortunately, this means meager fare for a gentleman of decent standing.”

“I consider myself someone of standing, and I see no issue with the provided food,” Theodore assured the man.

“I thank you, sir.”

“Any news about the brigands?” Theodore asked over the warm cup of coffee in his hands. The rain outside had mostly ceased, but the distinct chill in the air lingered heavily over them all.

“News, sir?” Mister Stewart looked confused, “did you not hear?”

“I had heard many of them have been caught, except for the Welltraveler, what news has there been since then?”

“Yes. Every single one that has been caught, is dead.”

Theodore widened his eyes in surprise. “By the Gods, hanged already?” The law only moved so fast in cases of high treason.

“No,” Mister Stewart shook his head. “Not one had even seen his day before a judge, but each had been found dead. In fact, I am rather surprised you do not know. Is it not that any in the Brynebourne who are executed are…” the older man paled and then greened a little bit. “‘For the Graef to Feast Upon’, was it?”

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“I assure you I have not eaten a single corpse in two months, if they had died in any of the gaols, bridewells, or nooses in Brynebourne I would have known of it. If not immediately, then soon after.”

“Well, sir, the papers have said that they were taken south due to current crowded conditions here,” Mister Stewart said.

Theodore tipped his head and sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Perhaps. Did the papers say how they died?”

“Only a few,” Mister Stewart said disapprovingly. “I quite find it offensive to see a man’s end butchered in the papers to appeal to the most base and gruesome interests, but from what I have read six had hanged themselves, three had been killed in violent brawls, and one had been found gnawed upon by feral Worms.”

The last part made Theodore raise his brows while his cup remained perched upon his lip. As a child he had been told stories about feral Worms. They were those who had turned away from the Inevitable Honorable Rot to satiate their own gluttony without bridging the divide between life and death. They had neglected their duty to soothe Man’s fear of death and abhorrence of decay. For this sin, they lost the forms they used to walk among Men, and could no longer speak beyond begging for forgiveness.

However, as far as Theodore had known, feral Worms were extremely rare, the last few only in hinterlands.

“Did they say how feral Worms had gotten ahold of the man?” Theodore asked, setting down his cup. He could not meet his own blurry reflection.

“Ah, yes, they had opened up an old fort to use it as a new gaol down south, it appears the man had been sick and set in a damp room they had not fully converted it into an infirmary yet, and thus the Worms had burrowed up through the soil and found him.”

Theodore took the information and coldly pulled it apart within his mind. Why would all of the captured highwaymen be taken out of the Brynebourne to face justice? Perhaps it was just that all the gaols were full in Brynebourne, but Theodore felt he would have heard that. The Brynebourne did not have a high crime rate, or at least a statistically reported one, so how would the gaols be filled?

How would each man have met his death so quickly?

“What of the Welltraveler?”

“If he was caught, then they have not reported it,” Mister Stewart said, “although I hope they will make some announcement to that effect. I fear the miners might be less willing to make the walk to the Inn if they suspect the bandits are still harrying travelers.”

“It would be unfortunate for you and the Inn indeed if that is the case,” Theodore said. A low rumble rattled through the building, and outside the hazy grey turned dark, and rain fell once again as a heavy black cloak. “Hopefully that does not prove the case however,” he set aside his cup and realized how long he had been sitting in the dining room. Miss Marsh would likely still be awake, he knew, and it was possible Olli had also woken up. “Mister Stewart, do you have any cocoa still here?”

“Yes. We have Mrs Butterworth’s Digestive, and Morning Sun, which in particular would you want?”

“Morning Sun would do well, may I have a pot of it and three cups? I want to take it into the ladies room,” Theodore got up from the chair, smoothing out his sleeves.

“Sir, we can have a servant do that, if you wish.”

Theodore gave Mister Stewart an appreciative smile, “if I wished, yes. But I would prefer to do it myself. Thank you, Mister Stewart.”