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IV – “Fermenting Problems”

Evening light touched the crawling towers of Higher Vallen in faint rays of purple-gold. Smog and soot dissipated as the carriage approached, the air becoming lighter, tinted with pleasant scents of perfumes and flowers and cooked foods. Crowds lessened until peasantry vanished and shifted into distinct, aloof members of the Solarian courts, their posh attires only offset by smug expressions. Court guards bearing Anderly’s mark were in greater density now, with thicker patrols marching down streets, wearing layers of armor and more fearsome weapons.

Edwin didn’t like them. The more he saw through the carriage window the more he wanted to turn around and try this whole escapade Pik’s way: messy and full of colorful explosions. Fye, how was he supposed to do this? He felt so unnatural, so off. His attire – fancy it was – was so tight he thought he might choke. His hat felt a size too small and the familiar embrace of his Marsh scarf wasn’t there, exposing his pallid jaw. He didn’t even have the distinction of a good weapon. One three-round Solarian revolver wasn’t much to rely on if things got “tricky,” his equipment stowed at the tavern room.

“Try to smile, sieur.”

His leer was broken by the effete voice of his rabbit companion, Aloise. The bun sat opposite of him in the regal carriage, looking himself over with a pocket mirror, applying faint blush to his freckled cheeks. He wore a tight-fitting attire of satin black, a tailcoat suit accented by white leather gloves, buttoned with braised gold. A cane with a carved rabbit head laid next to him and his legs were crossed, carrying every bit of arrogant mystique as the “royalty” infesting Higher Vallen.

Edwin did not change his expression, procuring an eye roll from Aloise. The rabbit snapped the mirror shut and tucked it away.

“You’ll have to try, Eddy. Zhe people in Anderly’s court, zhey are talkers.”

“I’m not.”

A chuckle. “I noticed.”

The carriage rolled on and every moment it brought Edwin closer to the center of the city the more anxious he felt. This wasn’t his usual environment, he didn’t know it, didn’t understand it. How could these people, these affluent types, go on like they did? How could they sit so close to the folk and Lower Vallen and just be? Didn’t they see the disparity? It baffled him, and he felt his stomach churn with a mix of anxiety and disgust.

Aloise picked up on the hesitation, swiping back his hair into a neat coif. He’d done some “adjusting,” dying his pink locks into a whiter hue so as not to be potentially recognized.

“You act like you’re about to be set to zhe dogs,” he chimed. His gentle hand reached over and squeezed Edwin’s knee.

“You know. . . if you want some relief. . .” he added, baring a suggestive grin.

Edwin shook his head. “What, and ruin the carriage interior? Let’s just focus.”

Aloise mimed a pained expression. “Goodness, you are tense.”

He studied Edwin carefully, who – though serious at times – didn’t strike him as a total stick in the swamp. “You must really not like zhe courts, sieur Eohbart.”

Ugh, right. Edwin remembered he was under a different namesake too, playing the part in a fool’s game. The worst thing: allowance of weapons was limited.

“Looong story,” he grumbled. “Just don’t hump the wall and we’ll get out of this alive.”

“Oho, alive? You expect zhings to go zhat bad?”

Edwin stiffened. “If we’re lucky.”

The carriage continued until it reached the crowded outer gates of Count Anderly’s estate, a grand structure of white and cold wreathed with sprawling vines. The webwork of flora cultivated massive violets and flowers, all continuing to lend to that scented airy ambrosia, while his proud banner flags rose high into the night. Well-dressed company patiently gathered and waited as they were checked in by an entourage of guards, some bearing a vicious arsenal even Edwin wasn’t familiar with. Well, on the bright side, if he and Aloise were caught he’d die fast and wouldn’t have to suffer the nauseating pomp of the wealthy.

Finally, the carriage rolled to a stop, its magically powered wheels fizzling as Aloise and Edwin stepped out. At once, the effeminate rabbit swung to Edwin’s side and gripped him by the arm, pushing cane into the ground while his visage stretched with a wide, appreciative gaze. Didn’t take a genius to see he was completely within his element. The grandeur of the enormous citadel-esque estate towered over him, inflicting Aloise with the wanderlust of affluence, wealth, and regality. He let his arms stretch, tail wiggling in excited shudders. Edwin, quite literally, could feel it, the resonating aura of incubi pouring into him.

“Keep the carrot in the garden,” muttered Edwin, eyeing the gates ahead. “Might have Syters here.”

Aloise could hardly contain himself, smirking at Edwin. “Zhtill have your humor, do we?”

Edwin ignored this and gestured ahead. “All right, Al. Your show. I’ll follow your lead.”

Aloise kept his arm wound tight. “You’ll have to stay nice and close.”

Urgh, he was enjoying himself a bit too much. But, as long as he maintained the aura of “royalty,” Edwin wouldn’t complain.

When they neared the outer gate, a timid line of guests had gathered, going in one at a time or in pairs. Each was checked by a duet of fearsome guards, broad-shouldered men in daunting armor, polearms at their sides. Edwin noticed a projectile mechanism on their wrists. Oh. He was simultaneously intrigued and alarmed, finding himself gripping Aloise more than he realized as the two reached the entry point. They looked the pair over with silent scrutiny while a thin, wiry man glanced between Aloise and Edwin, wearing a visage like he was perpetually stepping in hen shit.

“Names and titles?” he asked, voice crisp and cold.

Aloise wasn’t deterred, making an excessive show of himself with a brief bow. He flipped out Anderly’s sigil, flashing it for the entry to see.

“Eloise and Edwin Eohbart, honored guests of His Esteemed Highness, Count Anderly.”

The man glanced at the sigil before taking it in hands, studying it.

“What a quaint gala he’s thrown tonight!” added the rabbit. “My, my, I can almost hear Orphelia’s gabbing from here! What gossip lingers, sieur? Oh, you must tell, you must.”

Edwin shot his companion a warning glance. Uh, what was he doing?

The sentry blinked, distracted, gazing at the sigil. “Hmph. A Sigil of Honors?”

Aloise pushed into Edwin, running a hand over his chest. “Of course. Have you not seen sieur Eohbart’s quick eye on zhe field? Why, he could mark one zhese overgrown log-trotters from a field away, hah!”

Wait, what?

The guards bristled and the man scoffed. “Hmph. So, you say. This is acceptable. Were His Greatness in not such a pleasant mood you’d be tossed like the alley larks you are.”

Aloise tilted his head and gave an effete wiggle of the fingers. “Fantastic! May you pluck a rose as pretty as the next boy you bed, aha!”

The sentry’s face withered and creased as Aloise tugged Edwin passed them. The latter exhaled; his breath held.

“What the hell was that!?” Edwin grunted through clenched teeth. Aloise only gave a proud shake of the hip.

“Theatrics is everything here, Eddy. Don’t worry, sieur Eohbard, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Edwin chanced a glance back at the guards who were busy with their next guest, but it didn’t put his nerves at ease. He expected additional bodies, sure, but nothing quite like that.

“Blowing our cover before we’ve even gotten inside-”

Aloise swirled his cane. “Edddy, please. Looking zhe part is everything. To zhem, we’re just another flamboyant couple. Relax, sieur, and try to enjoy yourself.”

As they pushed into the courtyard, a wide expanse of lavish stonework, unique flora, and colorful guests, Edwin could’ve have felt more out of place if he were a cake in stew. Once more, the addition of armored sentries put even him ill-at-ease. Was this because they had the letter? Were these Orot’s men? Navigating the halls of the estate was going to prove all sorts of fun, now.

“I could use a drink,” said Edwiin.

“What kind?”

“Hmm. All of them.”

Aloise chuckled. “Getting into zhe spirit now, aren’t we?”

-*-

The estate was layers upon layers of masonry, the likes of which Edwin hadn’t seen since his training at the inland Citadels. The courtyard was vast and hosted wealthy crowds in their equally fancy dresses, showered with catered food and drink. Deviled goose eggs coupled with sea-scuttler rolls accented the variety of drinks, though Edwin only partook of one draft to ease him up. It was astonishing, all this wealth, the kind you couldn’t even imagine. All these people were guests of the Count, and yet he, Anderly, was richer than them all. Suppose that’s what you got with Solarian politics. Every major city had its own Count and Governor, executors of finance and law, apparently granting them manors that could easily be mistaken for castles. Ugh.

Aloise, at least, did his part to keep them “cloaked” with his mannerisms. Several times they were approached, and the rabbit acted as though they were old friends.

“Ms. Briston! Your bravery, I envy it, scuttling about in a thing like zhat!” he said to one.

“Oh, I’ve heard,” he said to another, in reference to rumors about the ‘sordid appetites’ of one Mr. Talhar. “I’ve heard he bathes himself in honey and his servants lick him clean. Creative if not utterly inconvenient. The man should count himself he lucky he hasn’t a coat of fur, hah!”

Unsurprisingly, Edwin kept silent for most things, doing his best to smile. He adjusted his hat to keep light off his flesh, but not much else. When prompted about his identity, he responded in kind:

“I shoot well.”

Aloise had enough gab for both of them, at least, maintaining the rhythm of gossip until the crowds were ushered into the estate itself. Within, massive halls capable of housing entire knight regiments were complimented by the extravagant banners of Anderly. Lengthy tables of food awaited, everything from supple cuts of seasoned, primal boar, honeyed duck, drizzled poultry wings, soft ribs crowning platters of plump vegetables and fruits from all across the Solarian continent.

He noted, no peaches.

Edwin quickly assessed the situation. There were plenty of unfamiliar faces, but enough it was easier to not be spied out. Guards were there, minding hall corners, keeping a leery eye on things, some armored, some not. Fortunately, Edwin didn’t see any Syters, magically attuned zealots who could sense other abnormalities around them. You know, like an Incubi. It was lucky, but not the kind he wanted to rely on.

Didn’t help that Aloise was lost in a wanderlust, overtaken by the sights and aromas. This was, indeed, his element, and he sensed the effete daemon was beginning to treat this like an actual date than the thing he was hired for.

Not that it was unpleasant, no. Aloise held a gentle, mannered grace. His lithe frame gave off enticing warmth and he gripped Edwin just right. He navigated conversations with relative ease and confidence. Attractive qualities. Enjoyable even, in a different situation. . .

A voice broke over the roar of gentle chatter.

“Friends, gentleadies, mannered men!”

A man appeared at the top of a scarlet staircase accompanied by an entourage of guards, where a quick blaring of trumpets announced his arrival. He was fanciful, collar shaped like pink roses with a solid ivory cane banded with gold at his side, fingers bejeweled with marks of his station. An extravagant white attire accented his youthful features, a string of guards not far behind him.

Oh by Sol.

“My deplorable electorate and grand affluence, my enemies and allies, ahh, it’s wonderful to see you!”

Count Anderly.

Aloise clapped his fingers together where Edwin felt his stomach quiver in cold convulsions. Ugh, he’d take swigging bog-brine over this. The crowds undulated with faint laughter and cheery praise as the Count took long, self-important steps. With each motion, Edwin remembered why those of the higher class drove him to drink, among things. Aloise’s clear enjoyment over the spectacle didn’t help.

He tugged at Aloise. “They look distracted. Let’s skidaddle, shall we?”

Aloise didn’t look at him. “No, not yet! Let us at least see what he has to say!”

Again, Edwin tugged, but that rabbit was staying put. Urgh. Well, they’d be here a while.

He hoped Pik was having better luck.

-*-

Rumble rumble.

“FUK.”

Pik covered her mouth, muffling a sprawl of swears as her head banged against the crate top, her frame jostled about like, well, peaches! Yes, she’d managed to scurry to the outskirts of Higher Vallen, locating the avenue where food and supplies went through the gated wall. This, essentially, was where the fermented peaches were going – at least according to the letter, and by stowing away in one of the shipping crates all sneak-like she’d found a way into the estate. So she hoped.

With luck it would be smack dab in the kitchens. If her source wasn’t full of mud and shit, a whole host of enchanted peppers awaited her, among things. It would be so exciting if the stupid oafish men carrying said crates weren’t as clumsy as an unevolved field-ox.

“Sol above!” she heard one of them swear. “The shit they stuff in dis thing!? Heavier than my bloody wife!”

Pik hissed, and then frowned. She glanced down to her hips and wide, plush rump.

“Ugh. Wakeup call,” she mumbled to herself.

This went on for a short duration. Pik couldn’t see her surroundings, only notice the light shift as it she and the other crates were hoisted further into the estate. Her long ears, though, wiggled at the transition in sounds. Things went from annoyed curses and moving carriages to harmonic music and simpering laughter. Oh it was far away, sure, but it was clear the peaches she hid with were getting moved closer and closer to her desired destination.

Eventually, there were tired grumbles and her crate was set down in. . . well, she didn’t know yet. She heard the whining of the workers who mused bitterly over their labor. As they did, another voice intruded, one that was more crisp, higher pitched, older.

“You’re late,” said the voice. “These were supposed to be here hours ago!”

The other men spat. “Don’t be blamin’ us. Wasn’t notified or nothin’, they just came and screamed at us to get these things loaded!”

“What?” responded the colder voice. “There was a notice personally delivered. You incompetent apes! Get out.”

“We ain’t leavin’ without our pay!”

“You’ll be lucky to suffer a pence, now get out, or I’ll have the guards cage you for the night.”

More swearing. Heavy, muddy boots left, smacking the cold stone floor while the remaining individual muttered to themselves. There was another noise, scribbling. Must’ve been taking stock of the new supplies.

Pik huffed and waited. She had every urge just to pop out and spook the guy, but unfortunately, she had to be as sneaky as a shadow-rat. For now, at least. What was her plan if she got caught? How would she get caught? Hah! Who knew!? But that was the fun part!

Soon, the figure left, though Pik guessed they’d come back soon. Once she was certain she was alone, she fished from her satchel a small bottle of bright orange liquid, some of her specialty brand hot sauce. She popped it open, gave it a quick shake, and spilled dobs of viscous material on the wood, where it hissed and burned like fire to cotton. Once there was an opening, she yanked a peach and kicked through, falling on the hard ground with a small thud.

“Ow.” She shook her head, standing, taking a few healthy chomps of the fermented peach. Tasty. Too bad she and Edwin weren’t here for these!

Pik looked back to the crate, grinning at her handiwork. Then her grin faded.

“Um. Oops.”

Yeah, so burning a giant hole in a crate wasn’t subtle. The moment a guard or attendant saw that there’d be trouble. She sighed, snapping her fingers.

“Shucks. Guess I’ll have to kill whatever muk-wak I see. Darn!”

Edwin wasn’t gonna be happy, but she’d make it up to him later. She always did! And like hell she’d let anything happen to ol’ bog-brain, that foppy, prissy bun boy notwithstanding.

Matters for later, though. She needed to figure out where she was. A storage room, looked like, lit by a couple of gaslamps and filled with crates, barrels, and food sacs. Oooh, this was promising, a step in the right direction. It was no kitchen though, and there wasn’t any enchanted veggie around. You couldn’t just leave those things lying around, why they’d take over entire rooms with magic roots they would!

There was the entrance behind her where the crate was hoisted in, and then a stairway. Well, she had only one option. Which was fine, she loved it when things were nice and simple.

She adjusted her pointed hat, taking a quick stock of her “inventory,” just in case. The satchel had a few surprises and her ol’ trusty cleaver was hungry again. More than enough to handle whatever this place had to throw at her, easy!

. . .unless they had silver. Or purified steel. Ooooor Bright magic.

Ahhh it’d be fine.

She wiggled her long ear, hunting for additional footsteps. Thus far, there weren’t any, but no doubt the prude from before would return soon. She took advantage and scuttled up the stairs, all covered in old stone and webbed with nettle-moss. Fascinating! She’d grab a sample if she wasn’t so pressed for time. Once at the stairway top she was in a wide hall. It was decorated with regal banners, paintings, and ornamentations all signifying the wealth and status of both Anderly and his Solarian authority, the kind her taller friend didn’t like at all. She could only imagine his face right now!

No time for musing over his frustrations, there were magic peppers to pilfer! Down the hall she dashed. Her nose caught a scent reaching the end, where the path forked to another left and right. Said aroma was pleasant, an assault of flavorful smells, the kind that made you hungry. In other words, food. Taking to the trail she hurried along (as fast as a little imp playing Gob could anyway) until finding another opened door. Within, there was a furious orchestra of sounds. Voices barked over the other against the clatter of plates and metal. Meat was cut, soup stirred, ingredients tossed, pies baked. Damn, they could feed an army with all that grub!

Pik prodded her head through what she assumed was the kitchen door. Based on her immediate observations, she was right. It was a real hullabaloo too with a whole squadron of cooks all fussing over food. Well, that or slaves. Either or. Over a dozen heads at least all kneading ingredients like a set of fat tits. That allowed Pik to sneak through and find a corner for herself, aided by her short stature. All she could think though: jackpot! Surely some prized peppers were lingering around, now she just had to find them!

She thought about how to proceed. General chaos always worked. A little fungomancy, create a few mutants, cause a whole scene! Buuuut that wasn’t sneaky, and she didn’t know what Edwin was up to, or the rabbit. Cause a fuss now and it made everything really complicated, and even she knew better than that. No fucking her way outta’ this one! Probably.

Hiding behind a rack of crates, a voice caught her attention. It was that same one from before, old, cold, distinct even among the noise of the kitchen.

“They finally arrived,” said the voice. Pik leaned around her hiding spot to spy the speaking figure. It was a thin man with a sharp nose, balding head and fancy attire, definitely of the elite.

“Torvan’s delivery was late, so I expect double-time. Anderly likes his fermented pies.”

Torvan? Pik rubbed her head. Oh, yeah, form the letter! Then that meant. . .

“Yes sir, Sieur Orot,” said a pudgy chef, nodding head. “We’ll start right away.”

“See that you do.”

Hmm. Pik was admittedly all curious about this whole peach affair, and this political happenstance she’d come upon. This was all about some muk-lok named Sedrius who scooted off to the Isle Kadro, huh? Sounded valuable. And if it was valuable, that could be a potential payday. A payday of peppers!

The Orot fella moved, leaving the kitchen with agitated haste. She watched, licking lips. Now, what was wrong with a little knife work? She and Edwin did whatever it took to survive. Could she maybe convince this stick of a man to give em’ money? Maybe. That was a hell of a shot to take. She couldn’t currently see any fancy magic peppers, or sense them, so perhaps tailing this Orot chut would lead her in the right direction.

Well, she scurried right after him. Not like she had much choice now; those servants were about to discover her handiwork real soon. After that, uhh. . .

Orot made another turn, away from the distant noise of the estate party. That was good for Pik, but she doubted it’d be this way for long. Sneaking behind a suit of armor, she watched him meet with another set of figures. These fellas, though, they made her skin scrawl, and she was an Imp!

“What now?” said Orot, indignant. “I’ve been having to put out fires for His Excellence.”

In front of him were three figures dressed in solid black robes, hands folded before them with long silver chains lingering around their necks with what appeared to be a sigil of the Sola. Looking at their metal made Pik’s eyes sting.

“My lord,” the first said, voice as cold as death in fall, “We sensed something naught but an hour ago. The stone’s spoke.”

Orot grumbled. “Enough of your riddles, Revenant. Get to the point.”

“Darkness arrives,” one said.

“Darkness lives,” said the other.

“Darkness is here,” said the first. “Daemons have come to the gathering. No one is safe.”

At once, Orot’s face went sour and a shade paler. “What?”

Pik gawked. Oh FUK. Uh, uh, uh. They knew!? How!?

“Panic not, Lawmaker. The Sun will find them in the shadows and we shall extinguish them.”

“The sun always rises.”

Orot looked around. “Keep your rattling low! We can’t have a panic! How many, where!?”

“We will hunt them,” said the Revenants in unison. “Rest assured.”

Orot glared. “I’m not assured of any damned thing until I know they’re dead, assuming you parasites aren’t just here to mutter about prophecies and poison.”

“Never doubt His word,” said the first.

“Do you doubt?”

“Those who doubt wither in His light.”

Orot hissed. “You dare to question my allegiance?”

Well, it sounded like these folk weren’t on good terms. Pik didn’t like it though, not one bit. Those ghouls, she remembered Edwin called them Syters, spooks with an acute sense of magic or reality altering properties. Given that she was uh, you know, a daemon, that could be a problem. Her Fey exterior made her seem like nothing more than a common rank goblin, but that pretty bun boy? Oh SHEKWA, he was gonna’ jeopardize this whole thing!

Brrgh. She watched them finish and the cloaked trio walk past Orot, who looked all the more frustrated. Damn, time was really against them. As he moved on again, she was steady behind. There were few, if any, guard patrols, and she wagered they were all at the center of the event. Oh, FUK. That means, if they found Eddy out, they’d skin him right then and there! He’d be a sitting duck!

By Korr she was gonna’ have to make one big distraction. But first things first. . .

Orot arrived at what appeared to be an office, pushing through heavy double doors, minded by a pair of guards. Welp, not like she could just knock and say hello.

Huffing, she grabbed her cleaver and withdrew a poultice from her satchel. An eerie, greenish liquid churned within he glass, and she popped it open, pouring it over her blade. It started to glow and hiss, granting an almost ethereal mystique. Looked like acid and twice as nasty! Those guards were armored from head to cock and she couldn’t take any chances.

There was probably a dozen more discrete ways to do this, but, what was the fun in that? When the doors closed, Pik hopped from her hiding spot and strut her way towards the room. Of course, the guards shifted immediately once they saw her.

“Hey boys,” she chided. “I’m a liiiitle loss. Could you help a poor innocent lady like me?”

The armored guards trained on her with their polearms.

“STOP, IMMEDIATELY.”

Pik brandished the glowing cleaver, visage stretched with a grin.

“Honest question, does that ever work?”