Chapter 466

466 Bad Decisions

Lord Mortimer took his time laughing. And then he took some more time. With his hands, he slapped his cheeks twice. And like that he was back under control.

“You mean,” he said, “you are here to help us resist the hobgoblins so that we can return to being part of the Tidelands?”

“Well, yes.” I replied.

“Well, no.” he said. “We had no interest in swapping our masters out when the army arrived, and we still have no interest in just changing out masters now. We’re certainly not risking death by being disruptive to return to the way things were.”

“I don’t understand.” I said. “These people intend to settle your lands.”

“Indeed they do.”

“But what happens to your people?”

“Enslaved, one would imagine. At least in the short term.”

“How is that an improvement?”

.....

“Improvement? What makes you think we’re seeking that?”

“Why would you not?” I asked.

“Why do YOU not?” he countered.

“I’m... I fail to see the connection.”

He sighed. “No. It is late, and I intend to get some sleep. Go down that hallway, and take the first door on the left. Guest quarters. Don’t eat the furniture or dressings.”

“All right. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

“Plan on the late morning, I will have guests for breakfast, of the darker skinned persuasion.”

“The Kamajeen?” I asked.

“I’m surprised you know that, rather than just calling them Kathani or Khanate.”

I shrugged. “I may have learned some bit of Khanate lore.”

Thank you, Kismet.

“Well, it’s best for me that they not be able to link the two of us. So sleep in tomorrow.”

The sun, as always, had other plans.

I awoke, grimy and covered in sweat. It felt like my hairs were standing on end (and some of them were).

Ugh. Hair. So high maintenance. It could be made to look good, but it required a precise balance of water to soap to wash, and then to comb it while still wet, but partly dried or it just flopped back.

At least I was young enough not to need to worry about a beard or mustache.

I cracked my neck, and stretched, and...

How had the sun gotten in, when the room didn’t have windows and the door was closed?

Far above, there was a window in the ceiling. Okay, not so far. I might be able to jump that high. But it wasn’t a stealthy exit. More importantly, there was a circular mirror outside.

Someone wanted the dawn’s light shining directly in my sleeping face.

Well, joke on him; I slept on my chest, with my head turned to the side. And joke on me, I was awake.

Was this some manner of test; to see whether I would remain hidden? Which was the right behavior, to show initiative and emerge, or to remain inside?

My stomach rumbled, and then again, voicing its opinion. I was beginning to wonder if I’d actually promised not to eat the furniture when the manservant showed up.

“Please pardon the mixing bowl.” he said, “We were uncertain until just now how many leftovers there would be.”

“It is like mana from the heavens.” I said, reaching out to take the bowl from him.

He lifted it out of reach, setting it instead on a side table. He reached into his pocket, pulling out pieces of wooden flatware, setting these at opposite sides of the bowl. He then hefted a stool from the corner, a sturdy wooden affair, and placed it by the side table. “If young sir will contain his enthusiasm, there is a bath being drawn for him now.”

“Thank you.” I said. “It is most hospitable of you.”

He tsked, reaching out to pull a bramble from my hair. “Oh no, it is our honor. Please. Bathe.”

Breakfast was mostly leafy stuff and grains, with a few berries. Eight servings; nine nutrition each. Not a shabby breakfast by any means, but it only filled the deeper recesses of my hunger.

Palos (I would later learn that was his name) looked at me in horror. “I can see that the madame is correct about your eating habits. Let us hope that you bathe in a more... relaxed manner.”

I was ushered down the hallway at a brisk yet mostly silent pace, then down another hallway, into a bathing room that already smelled of soap and stink.

Palos didn’t remain for my bath, but rather left me in the hands of Chastity, an unabashed girl with a vigorous scrubbing arm and a definite opinion on what a person’s skin looked like when clean. She was perhaps two or three years older than I was, but issued commands like she was three times that age. She left my skin clean and raw and bruised, and didn’t bother even trying to apologize for it.

My clothes, she would tell me, were still being washed, but they had a child’s suit of crushed black velvet that I managed to squeeze into.

“I think the pants are crushing my testicles.” I said, pulling at the groin.

Chastity slapped my hand. “Enough! You’re seeing the lord, at least try not to be a total bumpkin.”

“I’m pretty sure that bumpkin has pants that fit.” I complained, but she was having none of it.

So, pinchy pants and all, I was shown to a sitting room where an angry Lord Mortimer was already in residence.

“Have a seat,” he said, “and tell me again what you think is happening.”

“I have come with the hope of disrupting the enemy army, and another hope of killing at least a hundred of them.”

“Your System must suck monkey balls, to offer you such quests.”

Wait, what? My System was supposed to offer me quests? No, focus. Spymaster.

I waved a hand. “The shortcomings of my System aside, I am a Truthspeaker. I literally cannot lie to you.”

“And what foolishness have these twin hopes led you to plan?”

“Killing soldiers, both hobgoblin and human, and making them believe it is each other who is performing the killings.”

He scoffed. “You DO understand they have Diviners working for them? People who can see the truth with a simple skill check? You’d end up dead within a day, three at most.”

“What is your plan to be free of them, if I may ask?”

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“There is no such plan.” he said. “They have roughly seven soldiers for every citizen of Whitehill. Three times, if you count the surrounding farmers and breeders. They defeated our wall so quickly and thoroughly that the town council is joking about just not rebuilding the thing.”

“I don’t see how.” I said. “I clearly saw the designs for new wall runes that protected against acid.”

“Ah, ah ha, you joke. What priority do you think neutralizing their new weapon had with your horned masters?”

I scratched a spot on my left side. “They seem to be competent military soldiers; I’d imagine it had a fairly decent one.”

“You want to know what they did focus on? Taxes. Taxes and coercing the semblance of loyalty.”

“I’m not certain coercion is the correct word there.”

“I’m not certain that Mister Wren would agree with your assessment.”

“Wren...” no, that tactic wasn’t going to open any doors.

“Ah, you REMEMBER him, do you?”

“That man had me tortured. He earned his place in my memory.”

“And if I told you that overthrowing the new army required a unique skillset of his?”

“Then we are well and truly coated in horse diarrhea.” I said. “I give three to one odds that he’s already dead from working in your city’s mines.”

“You would win that bet, of course.” he said. “I dare say that the city has changed drastically since you were last here.”

“In what manner has it changed?”

“You expect free facts? From me? I, sir, do not owe you that kindness.” He held a cupped hand. “A diamond, however, about this size... that would have earned you all the information you wanted, for the duration of your life.”

“What did you want that diamond for, anyway?” I asked.

“That should be obvious. I was going to have it cleansed, and then cursed as strongly and nastily as I could think of, and then gift it to one of my enemies. Can’t now, though.”

“The enchanter you trusted died?”

“I prefer to use the words ‘was murdered’, but I suppose that’s also the truth.”

“Was it Tidelands law, or the new one?”

“Hm? Oh, neither. Bartholomew had a nasty habit of cheating on his wife. One broken promise too many, and the pruning shears made it into the bedroom. I’d like to say that was the end of it, but he lingered on for near a season after the divorce was final.”

I tugged on the groin of my pants, reminded that certain bits of me were being crushed.

“Oh, we have looser pants.” he said. “But they are not... refined.”

“I sense another catch coming.” I said.

“Excellent, then your social senses have not entirely fallen out of use. I do, in fact, have a proposal that benefits the both of us.”

I squinted at him while he smirked. “I’m listening.”

.....

“Tell me what you know about pawn shops.”