Part the One-Hundred Ninty-First
In which: we meet a chamberlain, a count, a chef, and...
Lord Marmion leads the group down a long gallery with polished stone floor, lined with paintings, statuary, and other—uniformly exquisite—objects d’art.
He makes pleasant small talk, with Lira taking primary responsibility for holding up the party’s end of the conversation. Although the chamberlain is nothing but polite, he has a tendency to ask more questions than he answers.
As they walk through the gallery, several party members notice a frequently recurring face in the portraits they pass. And Lira hazards an inquiry, “Would that be the Count?”
Lord Marmion pauses in front of a portrait hanging in a large gilt frame. “Ah yes. His Highness, Count Agramount. A good likeness, I think you’ll find.”
The portrait shows a clean-shaven, young man with fair hair hanging loose to just above his shoulders. Rather conventionally good-looking, Lira allows, although the man’s impassive expression is hardly one to excite warm feelings in anyone. A chain of office around his neck bears the familiar sigil.
After a few moments, Lord Marmion gently indicates that while the portrait is of infinite patience, perhaps its subject is not, and the party allows themselves to be led on to the audience chamber.
###
In the flesh, Count Agramount is somewhat older than his portrait.
Although, Eva thinks,
she could hardly expect him to look younger than the painting. His fair hair is tinged with grey at the temples, and his face is more worn and lined. If she had to guess, she would say he is now somewhere in his late middle-age.
However, if the portraitist exaggerated the youth of his subject, it is with some shock that Eva realizes that he also exaggerated his humanness. The Count is a half-elf. A few wisps of hair hang over the tips of his ears, but it’s unmistakable.
Eva tries to keep any surprise off her face, but shoots a surreptitious look over to Reyu to gauge
her reaction.
If Reyu has one, she isn’t showing it.
Lord Marmion presents the party, recalling names and affiliations without pause or error, and the Count listens intently.
“And how have you come to reach my humble isles?” The Count inquires. “Your vessel hardly seems adequate for such a journey.”
“We have a ship waiting for us,” Lira explains, matching the Count’s formal tone seemingly without effort. “By necessity it remains in deeper waters.”
At the Count’s prompting the group briefly recounts their journey through the islands thus far. While Agramount expresses some regret over the demise of the killer vines and the acid pond, he allows as to how their destruction was—apparently—unavoidable.
He seems to find that the fact that the party has been leaving notes for Barnabus all over his buildings a bit irksome, but assures them that it is also easily correctable.
“Oh,” Thatch puts in, “and the hues know that you’re watching them.”
A rapid blink is the Count’s only indication of surprise. “The… what did you call them?”
Thatch puts a hand about three feet above the floor. “About so high, hunt sheep? We met one named Hue once, and he’d never met anyone else like him before, so… we call them hues,” he concludes, a trifle awkwardly.
“Ah,” says the Count, “I see.”
“What do you call them?” Kiara asks, never one to be daunted by titles or rank.
“The little people.”
“Oh, that makes sense, I guess.”
The Count changes the subject. “I am told you are seeking the wizard Barnabus?”
Lira drops what feels like her fiftieth curtsey of the day. “Yes, your Highness.”
“To what purpose?”
Anvil steps forward, taking out the party’s letters of introduction from their temples back in Dar Pykos, along with the one from King Orrin. After the Count has examined them, Anvil tells about the fire at the Mages’ Academy, the death of the last Chancellor, and the invitation which they have been tasked with delivering to Barnabus.
The Count listens attentively to their tale, but does not seem hopeful that Barnabus will take them up on their offer. “His work keeps him quite busy, and I assure you he is quite happy with his position here.”
“And what position is that?” Anvil inqures.
“He is my honored guest.”
“So honored we cannot speak with him?” Anvil asks.
When it becomes clear that the group is not to be put off, the Count makes them an offer. “As I said, I believe Barnabus is quite busy with his research at the moment, and I would hate to disturb him. However, if you give me the invitation, I would be happy to have it conveyed to him.”
Anvil and Lira trade a quick look, and he silently agrees to let her handle this one.
“We certainly would not wish to interrupt the archmage’s work,” Lira begins, “but we have been charged with delivering the invitation directly to him, and would be remiss in our duties if we allowed that task to fall to others.”
“As I said,” the Count points out, “I doubt the position would be of interest to him.”
Lira accedes the point. “You are certainly closer to his mind than we are, and we have no desire to force him into a position he has no desire to fill. Still, if at all possible, we must deliver our message, and receive his regrets, in person. If Barnabus is in the midst of work that cannot be interrupted for even so brief a meeting, we are more than willing to attend him until a more convenient time.”
The barest flicker of annoyance passes over the Count’s features, but before Lira can be sure that it was there, it has vanished.
The Count nods gracefully. “The resolution you bring to your duty is admirable, and a credit to your King and your temples. Dine with me this evening, and stay the night. We rarely have guests, and I am sure the Countess and my sons would enjoy the pleasure of your company. I will contact Barnabus on your behalf, and request the honor of his company that you might speak with him.”
Reyu is rather startled at the mention of the Count’s sons. After watching him for some minutes she is quite sure of the man’s mixed heritage—no matter how it was obscured in his official portraiture—and as everyone knows, half-elves are infertile.
If Lira shares similar surprise, she covers it with a deep curtsey. “You honor us with your hospitality, and it is our pleasure to accept.”
“The pleasure,” the Count replies smoothly, “is mine.”
###
The adventurers are shown to three separate suites in the guest wing of the manor. Reyu elects to room with Lira and Eva, which leaves Annika and Kiara with their own chamber, and Thatch and Anvil in another. The servants are unfailingly polite and helpful, and even offer to have Reyu measured for a new set of clothes to replace the set that she lost to the acid pool.
The party takes time to bathe and refresh themselves, and by the time they are summoned to dinner, they all seem much more like the royal envoy that they are supposed to be.
###
Dinner is served in a large, formal dining room with fireplaces at both ends, and a highly polished wooden table down the center. Thatch gulps inwardly when he sees the fifteen utensils set out at various positions around his plate, then again when he notices the Countess.
She appears to be fully human, and shows her own beauty to best advantage in a stunningly crafted dress, accentuated with eye-popping jewels. Although there is nothing about her appearance that does not show the most exquisite taste, the overall effect of everything together is somehow just as bit… excessive, and in a strangely familiar way. Thatch wonders if she’s from
Dar Aego.
The Count introduces his wife to the party, as well as his two sons, Guy and Gaston. Both are half-Elves, like their father, although there does not seem to be much family resemblance between the two men, or the Count. Gaston is somewhat stocky, and the more observant members of the party notice that the medallion he wears (along with everyone else in family) carries the family sigil on one side, and a holy symbol of Ehkt on the other.
Guy on the other hand, is much slighter, and carries a rapier on his hip. The Countess eyes it balefully, but he ignores her until the Count clears his throat, and indicates that he should not come armed to the table. Guy bows politely, although with a touch of irony, and surrenders the sheathed blade to the woman in livery standing behind the Count.
The dinner itself is amazing.
Crisp salad greens followed by a soup so light and aromatic eating it feels more like smelling than tasting. Thatch is not the only guest who sometimes has to look to Lira to figure out which utensil goes with which dish, but no one polishes a single plate out of an obligation to good manners.
Lira cannot quite believe the food in front of her. Although she certainly didn’t eat like this every day before she became an adventurer, she has enjoyed her share of good meals, and this… this is superb.
When the chef appears with the dessert course to make sure that the Count and his guests have enjoyed their repast, she tells him so. “Truly, I have never had its equal. Not even at the palace of the Doge.”
The chef seems oddly unsettled for a man receiving only positive reviews of his craft. “Ah… thank you very much.” He steals a quick glance over at the Count, still finishing his dessert. “You’re… Dar Hennan then?”
It’s then that Lira notices that the chef does not wear a medallion bearing the Count’s sigil. She wonders if that’s significant.
“I am,” she replies instead. “My friends aren’t, although most of us are from the Confederacy, and we’re currently on a mission for King Orrin of Dar Pykos.”
“I see,” the chef bows. “I am Aegosian, myself. Chaidess.”
“It is an honor to meet you. How did you find your way here?”
Lira notices that Chaidess glances quickly at the Count and flushes a bit before replying. “I came with the Countess, actually. She knew my work, and… asked me to accompany her here.”
The Count finishes his meal and raises his glass in toast to his chef. “And it is to our profit.”
Chaidess bows. “Thank you.”
“We will not keep you from your duties any longer.” Count Agramount indicates that Chaidess is excused, and with a last bow in the direction of the party, the chef takes his leave.
Eva looks across the table to Thatch, mouthing, “What’s wrong with him?”
But Thatch’s answering shrug is cut off by the sudden appearance a new person in the room. It is a human man, rather elderly in appearance—although that could merely be due to the long white beard, and small square spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He wears long robes and carries a large wooden staff in one hand.
Barnabus.
