As the five of you form back up roughly in the vicinity of where you left forty minutes previously, you each have a few moments to take in the momentous grandeur of the events before you. Looming larger than any Risuri warship you have seen before rests the R.N.S. Coaltongue, the labor of nearly two years’ work by the combined technological and industrial might of the city of Flint, backed by the full resources of all of Risur. With no sails or masts and its hull completely iron-clad, the warship is very different in appearance than the other war frigates and clippers berthed at Royal Shipyard Isle. Though you have seen it from a distance for over a year now in its docked state since the keel was laid, it always seemed like just another oddity of Flint, simply part of the landscape. Tonight, it will take to life and make its maiden voyage, the future of Risur’s Navy forever changed as a result. You cannot help but feel in your own way that you are about to stand on the deck of living history, and will be directly part of its making.
As you stand there in your R.H.C. dress “uniforms” of greys and gold accents, the large assembled crowd of Risuri citizens cheers yet again at the arrival of yet another carriage disembarkation near the ship’s main quay, the Risuri Army and Naval honor guard platoons still standing at attention in rigid formation. It is not lost upon each of you that, were it not for the assassination plot against King Aodhan earlier today and your critical role in foiling it, it would be you standing at attention there in bored discomfort for over two hours.
As for the arrived dignitaries and “very important persons” that have been invited for this evening’s grand occasion, it seems that the fifty or so nobles, senior officials, ambassadors, wealthy businessmen, prestigious scholars and top military officers – nearly each with a retinue of servants, assistants and scribes to match them – are all nearly assembled in their prepared areas at the foot of the main quay. Only the Governor’s carriages and that of the King and his royal sister have yet to arrive. All told there may be close to two-hundred that will be onboard the Coaltongue’s maiden voyage tonight, once the actual sailors, soldiers, cooks and orchestra are factored in. Even now, a stream of cooks and servants stream in a hurried but orderly fashion up and down the nearby service quay to the ship’s stern, with preparations for a full banquet to commence once the ship is blessed and fully underway. In the distance on the isle at other mooring areas for war frigates such as the RNS Triumph, Bonaventure, Vanguard and Avalanche, you can see sailors scrambling to make ready to sail.
Assistant Chief Inspector Delft carefully walks down the gangplank of the service quay towards your location on the pier, even as a group of liveried human, halfling and even gnomish chefs are headed up the gangplank, trays of chocolate confections and elaborate pastries in hand; a halfling chef scowls at Delft as he deftly snatches a chocolate confection in the shape of some animal from a tray and eats it, his eyes already regarding your group as he descends the rest of the way. ”Excellent – only the finest for our guests, right?” With a chuckle he takes a handkerchief from a vest pocket and dabs his mouth as he comes to stand before you all.
”Well well, you all cleaned up rather respectably I’d say. Good! I’ve just come from the first unofficially-official tour of the ship by Constable Dane, and you’ll be pleased to know that she performed more than admirably…better I’d say than Shipwright Masarde himself. Now then, a few words of instruction for you while we are waiting for a surprise introduction of sorts…”
Delft’s instructions are cut short by the loud cheers and clapping from the nearby Risuri crowds, as three carriages come into view across the front of Fleet Square and stop in front of the main quay disembarkation point, horns blaring from the military band nearby. One by one as they are announced by the booming voices of heralds, the various Flint city district mayors step out of their respective carriages and assemble at the front of the quay: Doyle Idylls, Rosa Gohins and Reed Macbannin of the Cloudwood, Parity Lake and Nettles districts respectively, then Roger Pepper, Chrystine Robinson and Griffin Stowe of the Pine Island, Stray River and Bosum Strand districts, followed by Aaron Choir and Oncala Putnam of the North Shore and Central District districts. Finally, Flint’s Governor Roland Stanfield emerges and descends to join the others, the deva-transformed man that has been Flint’s governor for centuries on behalf of generations of Risuri Kings. An impromptu chorus of voices goes up for Governor Stanfield with a song about him, probably put to music over a century earlier. They all watch the grand reception and feel the crowd’s delight and anticipation rise, for only the royal carriages remain outstanding to arrive now.
”Hmm. As I was saying, some last instructions for you all while we’re out there tonight. First, there will be lots of nobles and dignitaries about as you can well see, so don’t make a scene or act like a horse’s rump. You now represent the finest of the R.H.C. on that ship, and any actions you make will impact the Constabulary, in front of all our bosses no less. In regards to Risuri nobility, well they’re an old-fashioned and more prickly lot than what you’re used to in Flint, so definitely do not talk to any of the nobility unless they address you first, or are otherwise provided formal introduction to them. As for the scribes, be pleasant and vague and direct them to either myself or Lady Inspectress Saxby, but don’t give them grist for the grain mills. In fact…” Delft looks over to Gemma and nods at her pointedly, ”…Atherton it’s best if you don’t speak to them at all…just smile and nod and point in my general direction.”
”Second, you lot are my lucky charm onboard tonight. The RHC Slate group - except for Muhnee here - is assigned to protection detail with the King at all times, but you’re all free to move about as you please. Take the tour as soon as we get underway and familiarize yourselves with the various decks and areas of the ship. I’ve thought a fair bit about those omens and I believe we have foiled the plot against our King already, but one never knows eh?” He waves his cane at each one of them in turn. ”If you spot something odd or something seems wrong, try to handle it yourselves first, all right? Be discreet as best you can, for this maiden voyage is much more than just a sight-seeing tour for the King and his selected guests tonight. I cannot elaborate on it, except to say that the King is going to give a speech that may have historical significance to Risur. So for the sake of the Heavens, don’t b&&%%~*s this up! Am I clear on that? Good.”
Delft looks to each of you to confirm your assurances on that point, and then looks back towards the service quay. A tall and rather gangly looking older man in very fine scholarly attire of crimson and gold is descending down the service gangplank; he spots Stover Delft and waves to him, who in turn waves back to him with what seems like casual familiarity.
”Thirdly, you all did good work today, and as such I’ve received a request by the Principal Minister of Risur to meet you. Look sharp, now.” As the tall well-dressed man exits the quay and walks the short distance on the pier towards them, your boss provides the introduction. ”Principal Minister Lee, may I present to you my constables, the five I spoke of to you earlier. I shall let them provide their own names to you of course.” Delft then turns to the rest of you with a sly smile upon his face. ”Constables, may I introduce Principal Minister Harkover Lee of Risur, the right hand of King Aodhan.”
"We will do our best to make you proud Chief. I will personally make sure Heave....ahem, that Atherton will not speak to any scribes throughout the night."
Emerson knows there will be a punch or kick or some sort of retaliation on Gemma's part but he just couldn't resist the jab. He was glad to be alive after all.
At the introduction to Principal Minister Lee, Emerson bows formally and says "It is an honor to meet you Minister."
Anneca, knowing full well that her skill with words leaves plenty to be desired when trying to make a positive impression, holds her tongue around the minister. She has no desire to accidentally blurt out a blunt observation that might offend him, as men of such station often have unusually thin skin. Aristocrats and bureaucrats hold little interest for her, as they are often blinded by the sense of their own importance - the burnishing of which is their primary purpose. "Good evening," she lets out with what passes for a polite greeting for her.
Gemma clearly hears Emerson's slight but doesn't flinch. She casts a quick glance to Delft but then continues looking towards the crowds and the approaching Minister.
What the hell? Gemma doesn't show it but she is genuinely confused as to why Emerson would do that.
Well...that definitely takes my respect for him down a notch or two. Hope it was worth it to him.
When the Minister gets to her, Gemma is very formal and respectful in her greeting. "Constable Gemma Atherton, Sir. It's an honor to meet you."
Standing slightly off to the side, Arthur gave a self conscious tug at his long, dark grey jacket, mindlessly. The R.H.C. dress uniform had been based loosely on the dress uniform of The Kings 11th, commonly referred to as The Bridgeburners. On his left shoulder in embossed red was a patch that had a broken castle fractured in two. Rows of gold buttons ran down the front while, the bottom of his pants were matching dark grey with a piping of red, jokingly called a blood-stripe.
Bloody, fething class A's Arthur murmured to himself, patting down his pocket for a cigar. They blasted fit too tight in all the wrong places.
Sighing deeply, Arthur inclined his head at Inspector Delfts order. Right boss, keep quiet, look pretty and be discreet. I can make that happen. Sure is sure.
Turning in the general direction of Principal Minister Lee. Arthur inclined his head. Arthur was no fool after all and knew that the man held real power. More than Saxby could ever hope to have. Putting on his manners, Arthur smiled respectfully. Minster Lee, a pleasure to meet you. I'm Arthur Wilde, formerly of the King's 11th, now assigned as a demolitions expert to the R.H.C.
Before Delft arrives, Willem takes out his chew from his mouth as discreetly as possible and disposes it safely without making a mess. Takes out a small flask of water to rinse out his mouth. Looks over his uniform to make sure nothing landed on it and focuses on Delft a he approaches. He intently listens as Delft goes over the next assignment, looks in the direction of dignitaries as Chrystine Robinson arrives hoping to catch a quick smile from her, then looks back to Delft. When Delft concludes his briefing, Willem replies in a professional tone ...
"Yes sir, roving patrol, keep quiet unless spoken to, and be discreet as possible. I do have one question sir? Since we are under arms, can we secure our covers so they don't get blown off or knocked off by the bulkheads?" Not that Willem really cares that the horrendous cover ends up in the water but he rather not wear the stupid thing all together nor pay for a new one.
When he sees the Principal Minister arriving, he places his cover squarely and properly on his head and decides to give diplomacy a go since he is not only practicing it, it couldn't hurt to make the attempt to improve his situation in the RHC. Although it is definitely outside the country boy's circle of comfort.
"Don't screw this up Willem"
When it is Willem's turn, he bows accordingly to the Principal Minister's station making sure not to hit the Principal Minister with the feathers on his cover, "Good Evening Principal Minister Lee, Constable Willem Muhnee, Scout Tracker, RHC Slate Branch, Currently detailed with RHC Flint Branch for Tonight's Glorious Event! It is an honor to meet you."
Principal Minister Lee nods and addresses each one by name as they speak to him, though it is unclear to them if his somewhat sardonic expression is solely due to their introductions or something Inspector Delft is up to. Though an older man, the sheer intellectual prowess and intensity of his eyes up close seem to bore right through each of them, sizing them up in a way that they have never experienced before; they quickly realize that Lee is no mere politician, and the power that he is rumored to possess seems palatable at this distance. Should he wish to, it is not surprising that this spry old man could back down even the most boisterous of ambassadors or officials with a mere gaze and frown.
Yet for all of this, the Principal Minister does not direct any displeasure or ire towards the constables, and as far as they can tell he seems genuinely pleased to meet them all, if a bit bemused. Turning his gaze to Inspector Delft, he speaks to the man with a quipping warmth that underlies a long friendship between the men. "Not the most affable lot from your flock, are they wolf?" As he speaks his jest, the constables all pick up on the fact that his speech carries a hint of Beran accent to it.
"No, but they're young yet and worth the polish. I can't have them all strutting like Ven now can I old man?"
A dismissive scoff from Lee tells the constables all they need to know about the Principal Minister's opinion of Lady Saxby's finest senior constable, an insight to the minds of their superiors they have never seen before. Yet the moment quickly passes as the Principal Minister turns to regard Willem Muhnee first. "Muhnee...a family name of landed gentry that has raised quality horses for the army, or so I believe is correct from past perusals of requisition logs from the ministries of war and supply." Lee taps his head with a finger for emphasis. "I never forget anything you see, which is both a blessing and a curse. Now then, you said you are part of the Slate Branch detail?" He looks back to Delft questioningly.
"Yes, Muhnee came to us on loan from the Director for this day only."
"Ahh. Fortuitous." Lee nods to Willem a final time, then turns to regard Arthur Wilde and takes a step towards him. "The King's Eleventh...The Bridgeburners if I am not mistaken. Sappers and grenadiers...experts with fire...hmmm..."
Principal Minister Lee takes a deep breath then, his eyes never unwavering from Arthur's own, holding his gaze for a long moment. Oddly, it almost seems to Arthur that Lee is almost breathing in his essence in the air between them, as if smelling at him, though why the man would do such a thing makes positively no sense at all, forcing him to conclude he must have been mistaken. "Yes...you work with your bombs of fire and metal, you know the calculations and formulas as a member of your modern guild should. Yet I sense you are passionate about them, know them and what they need, the firedust and the reactants and the catalyzing agents to trigger the reaction. Yet you also know the true spark comes from within you and makes the reaction possible, yes? Fire is greedy, rapacious, but also an artful dance, beautiful to behold. I can tell, Constable Wilde, that you understand much of what I speak."
Without preamble, the Principal Minister turns his head to stare straight at Anneca Summers. "And yet there is more than one here who has a devotion to the element of fire, the reaction of heat, the artistry of flame. Classically trained yet not at all the mere sum product of academy teachings, isn't that true, polite Constable who did not offer her truename?"
Anneca starts at being appraised by Minister Lee, surprised that he knows who she is. "I, uh, do find fire easier to control than other forces of magic. Something about the flow, I guess." Flustered, she stammers out a response. "I am Constable Summers, by the way. But you already knew that, apparently?" Her normal bluster seems to be gone, replaced by a shocked confusion.
Gemma stands at loose attention, listening to Minister Lee give his assessments. His comments for Willem are interesting…the man truly does seem to have an exceptional memory…but it’s not something that someone else might not know as well. His insight and mannerisms in regards to Arthur, however, start to peak her interest, causing her to pay more attention. By the time he gets to Anneca, Gemma starts to get a twinge of panic. She can feel the hairs starting to go up on the back of her neck and the beginnings of anxiety creeping in, despite trying to keep a normal, outward appearance.
Oh, s~~~! No,no,no,no,no…please don’t say anything about the Fey…please,please,please…don’t mention the Fey…what if he knows…what if he can tell…
Gemma starts a little chant in her head of no,no,no,no,no over and over again, changing the cadence from quick and anxious to slow and steady to try and steel herself for what he might say. She has no idea what Lee is capable of and understands that if reading minds is one of his gifts, then she may already be done for, but she doesn’t want to be caught off-guard like Anneca.
Principal Minister Lee continues to hold Anneca's gaze with his own stare, a slight mirthful smile playing across his aged lips. Anneca cannot help but think he sees through her with his eyes, as if peeling away layers of flesh to see her true essence, nothing able to be concealed or hidden from him. It is an uncomfortable feeling to be certain, yet somehow she also feels it is not his intention to do so...for the most part anyway.
"I did indeed know that, Constable Summers. Are you disturbed by it? A common phrase...a cliche phrase as the Danorans would say, but it is the truth to say 'Knowledge is Power' in most affairs, be it the political, academic or arcane. I pride myself on knowing more than those around me, and do not shirk the deeper details, seeking the unstated meanings behind the scripted or spoken word."
He holds his arms wide to address them all. "Yet how do I know these things about you? As you have done our King such a tremendous service, it is the least I can do to answer. I was in Slate not but an hour ago, to discern any potential meaning behind this dreadful assault, and while there I had Assistant Director Cyneburg bring to me your files for quick inspection before departing. Surely you know that your full records are kept in Slate as well as Flint, hmmm?" Lee gives a nod towards Emerson Hill. "Of your rather unique brush with death and a deva's dying impartment, Constable Hill." He then turns with a wave towards Gemma Atherton. "Or a seemingly standard Battalion Academy officer who possesses a rare blend of martial prowess and scholarly curiosity...what are you afraid of my dear? Surely not me, but a secret to be discovered not even in your file? Curious!"
Principal Minister Lee turns back to Anneca then, giving her a knowing nod. "So you see, a simple act of quick research, not much more than a parlor's trick. The rest managed by direct observation...though I am well acquainted with the majesty of pyrotechnics and fire, and can sense its recent application from both you and Constable Wilde here." Without warning he takes an abrupt step forward and whispers something in her ear...
Stepping back then, he nods to Anneca and adds in a voice they can all hear, "Your meshing of magic and firedust technology is intriguing to me, Constable Summers, and very much in the spirit of what our beloved King wishes in all Risuri to adapt, meshing the old traditions with new innovations. Alas, tonight is not a night I have the time to spend on your theorems, but perhaps one day when I am at greater leisure I shall call upon you properly for an academic discussion."
"Now then." Principal Minister Lee smiles and waves them all in closer. "I am not of your...chain of command...to give you orders as good Delft here has done, but I do have several requests I would see you follow tonight, to give your words of assent to me. Yet before I do so, it is only fair that you each may ask me any one question that is on your mind. Anything at all you may ask, and I dismiss the normal boundaries of rank or station. If it is in my power to answer - and by doing so I do not break any existing vows or oaths that I have already undertaken in my life - I shall strive to answer to the best of my ability. Well then, who is first?"
Gemma looks to each constable, wondering who will be the first to ask their question. After seemingly forever, no one appears to be jumping at the chance.
Well, this is ridiculous!
Despite her fear and trepidation, Gemma is the first to speak. “Well, I for one won’t pass up this opportunity.” She then looks directly at the man whom she fears will reveal her secret and desperately hopes that he won’t. “Minister Lee…I don’t know what your abilities are or if they allow you to see into the future, but will my name and deeds be written about in the history books?”
She knows that his answer may be a double-edged sword since one is either written about for their greatness or infamy.
Yet, it’s one of the things Gemma hopes for most for in the world; to be a part of history forever and not just another person, ordinary and forgotten in time, with nothing to show for her efforts in life.
Willem smiles at his mostly successful attempt at diplomacy and possibly improving his standing in the RHC, "Yes Principal Minister Lee, the finest war horses in Risur!" He stands up a little straighter and nods back to Principal Minister Lee in acknowledgement.
Willem has many questions for the Principal Minister but this time he remains quiet. He feels some of his questions are private, or not proper, or will guarantee him failure in the RHC, and decides to be quiet this time around. He thinks to himself, "Principal Minister Lee probably knows more about me than I do or care to let him know."
Emerson waits for an opportune time to speak. ”I must confess Minister, that this is not the first time we’ve met. The King and your Honor visited the Slate Convalescent Hospital back in 495 where we were first acquainted. I was of course a different man back then. It is my ‘condition’ that I would wish to speak to you about in more depth but I hardly think this is the appropriate venue. Perhaps if you have time at a later date, but I understand if your schedule is full.”
"Ahhh, Miss Atherton! A rather bold and exciting question from the former Battalion graduate!" Lee chuckles with mirth and comes to stand before her, his hands on his hips as if casually going about an inspection. "Hmmm...you have read the accounts of battles both famed and infamous, first-hand accounts and third-hand narratives of the places, names and tactics of the great battles of Risur then? What do they teach openly at Battalion these days, mmmm? What do they hide?"
"Oh, I'm certain you know of the Sack of Beaumont and the famed accounts of Captain Carrios, yes? Of the lessons of the Battle of Capital Hill and how personal quests for pride and glory can mar any well-deserved action?" He raises a finger in question. "Or Miss Atherton, do you seek the fame of the blademasters, whose perfection and innovation of the martial arts hurtled them to revered status by those who follow in their disciplined wake? Of Flavin and Bellaros and their fatally epic duel at Five Islands, the rare and tragically romantic case of mastery superbly equaled?"
Lee regards her for a moment, peering at her with an intensity she feels the innate urge to flinch from, yet dares not do so. "You correctly calculated that your chances for such a probability for fame were vastly reduced without a war in effect, yes? You were one of nearly a thousand eager young leftenants of squads and platoons, all struggling for valor in training for the Fifth War that has yet to come. It is true that the sheer chaos of war sometimes fabricates the conditions for true heroism by those that never would have been noticed otherwise...you need not look any farther than our good King Aodhan, then Captain Aodhan Lesterman and his nigh-impossible victory to capture Danor's finest steam-powered warship into Flint Harbor, earning him the recognition of King Liam Corragain before him...and eventually the mantle as his chosen successor as is Risuri tradition. Yet, for every story such as that, there are the stories untold of countless leftenants slaughtered in the Yerasol Wars, their skills little use in the vast carnage, their actions bearing no memory and little left of them to bring home for burial, if anything at all." He nods each to Willem, Arthur and Emerson. "Look to your fellows to tell you of the 'so-called glory' of war, Miss Atherton, and be doubly glad you chose life of the Constabulary over the rank-and-file."
"Yet I did not answer your question fully, now did I?" Lee shrugs his shoulders and nods to her. "You have correctly guessed at its misplacement to my meager talents, for I am no Skyseer of old." He points to the distant mountains behind them far off to the southeast. "Better you ask the question to Venerable Skyseer Sechim in the Cloudwood, for he may be able to divine you a far better answer that I, Miss Atherton. Who knows? Perhaps you will have a chance to meet him in your travels before he passes beyond the Gate. Yet I shall strive to answer: I think your actions tonight are greater than any captain, major or colonel in the Army could have managed in a lifetime of service. I think...and I hope...your future actions shall be important to your nation, and your thirst for knowledge shall find great reservoirs to draw from if you persist on, but no, your name shall not be recorded with those you have studied. For to be a Constable of Risur is to be important, essential even, but almost always in the shadows and without recognition. You protect your people from the dangers and plots that would see everything you hold precious come to ruin, but for them to know this would give them only panic and fear in their lives. So you do so without recognition, without fame or applause. Yet you will come to know what precious few could ever know, the truth unvarnished, untainted by propaganda or bias. Perhaps knowing that will be enough for you in compensation."
"Well well well, Mister Hill! Spoken in the tongue of diplomats - I take it you are not seeking an ambassadorial post anytime soon, hmmm?" Principal Minister Lee comes to stand before Emerson, looking most keenly at his leg and then tapping the side of his head. "I hardly forget a face, and I never forget what I read. I do remember you at the hospital when the King toured the infirmary wings after the war was over. What I remember was the...unique situation of your 'condition' as you put it? That, and your leg bone was shattered in nearly a dozen pieces and by all rights should have been befouled and taken off before you had a chance to be released as a prisoner, an act that most likely would have killed you there. You see, the healers all marveled at your resilience in keeping your leg and knew it should have been nigh-impossible, but sensed an unknown power in you that they could not explain...that something kept your leg from turning foul, and kept you from losing it. Something imparted to you from Nigel Gibson at Sirai, yes?"
Lee grimaces and nods again. "I shall tell you why I know this about you, Mister Hill. Master Gibson was one of the few members of the now-defunct Risuri Special Service that could be trusted, and his mission was a final effort to uncover a source of Danoran weaponry on Sirai that seemingly blended their technology with a rumored steelshaper mage mercenary, one whose elemental magic over earth and steel was both rare and unparalleled - something that seemed impossible for the Danorans to ever engage in doing, what with their vowed eschewing of all things arcane. Yet, sadly, we found out later that Gibson had been betrayed by another member of the R.S.S. to the Danorans, and the trap had been well set." He sighs and adds, "A doubly dark treachery, Mister Hill, for whilst you lived with whatever happened between you and Nigel Gibson on that day, it was learned later that traitors had well marked the places he was likely to return, and managed to capture him at the point of it, and has likely been imprisoned alive these past many years so that he would never return to serve his King and country that adopted him. We hoped he would have been returned by the Danorans after the Fourth was over and a couple years past - direct inquiries were made mind you - yet the Danorans claim they do not have Nigel Gibson or any Risuri-allied deva in their custody."
"You should know the traitor was discovered and executed...one of many that spelled the final downfall of the Special Service as utterly compromised and untrustworthy. As for the nature of your 'condition' in historical record? I shall put some personal time to research it more thoroughly, but I do believe you are the only example of such an event - at least recorded in Risuri history that is."
"Who killed Constable Makala Fileccia?" Anneca asks her question in her abrupt and blunt manner, slicing straight to the heart of the only question that presently matters to her. Gone is the brief timidity and unsure verbal footing, replaced by a single-minded focus on vengeance. "She was killed on mission, and I intend to see her avenged. 'Nemo me impune lacessit.'" She intones the ancient Elvish promise to those who harm one's family and friends, from a time far more violent.
Despite Minister Lee’s assurances that she will know untainted truths and gain secret renown, his answer doesn’t settle well with her. It’s not what she expected, nor what she was expecting to hear. But then, truth be told, she didn’t really know what she was going to get.
She carefully listens with peaked curiosity to his answer regarding Emerson’s question. And then wonders what his answer will be for Anneca, watching him intently the whole while.
I wonder if he can read minds or if his bag of tricks is purely careful observation and study…and an unmatched memory? If he can, let’s see what he does with this…
As Gemma listens and watches, she concentrates on the one question that she could never ask out-loud.
What did the Fey do to me?
She doesn’t even know if she really wants the answer…ever…but she can’t help but think it.
Quietly agog, Arthur takes a long drag from his cigar before blowing it out of his nose in a pantomime of the extinct dragons of Ber. At first it is excitement that threatens to overcome the black-skinned man, before being quickly replaced by wary caution. Arthur had run with some dangerous folks in his time and there was an air about them. Lorcan had it, so did Saxby. Eyes narrowing, Arthur studied the Principal Minister Lee and considered what he knew carefully.
One question, one question from perhaps the most knowledgeable man in the kingdom, the man who has sat next to the king and who has almost unlimited power by all accounts. Taking another slow drag, Arthur considered his options. Do I ask about me? What happened on the Hill? An explanation, perhaps? He would know after all, since it's common knowledge that the place is haunted. Shifting back and forth, Arthur listened as Gemma was the first to ask her question. Always rushing ahead love. Arthur thought, quirking a smile, before turning back to the task at hand.
The others thought him rash... chaotic event. Arthur knew that was the truth of the matter. Perhaps he was, but he was also incredibly smart. It is what allowed him to survive on the streets, living hand to mouth. I could ask about Kell.. but that might be a misstep, I can't be sure that Baxter had it entered into my record. No.. no that would be a mistake. So what in the fething hells do I ask? Something random? No, it would be wasteful. Something about me, the minister might not know. So something about the minister then. It would need to be compact, pointed and direct. Simple and specific. Nodding to himself. Arthur cocked his head while he waited for a momentary break in the conversation.
Minister, my question is this: Let's say back during the war I was working covert along the Dannor border in null-magic zone and I get a dispatch from you. For whatever reason I'm not sure it's actually you. Let's say that I think someone might be impersonating you. What's something I could ask to make sure it's really you sending the dispatch?
Emerson seems a little uncomfortable at Minister Lee's comment.
"No Minister. I am not seeking an ambassadorship. My goals are to serve our country to the best of my ability." He pauses for a moment seemingly looking for words that do not come. It is evident that he's struggling with past memories.
"Thank you for your thoughts on my condition Minister. If Nigel's location can ever be discerned, I hereby volunteer for any possible rescue mission."
Lee slowly nods at Anneca with a mixture of understanding and sympathy in his gaze. ”Mmmm…yes I understand, both the meaning and its intent. A word of caution to you however, Miss Summers. Best for you to place your trust in the tenets of justice and law, not vengeance or unmeasured retribution. Take it from someone who…knows from personal experience…a fair bit about this topic from his brash younger days, and employed it without much regard for consequences. Revenge will not satiate you, just as ocean water does not quench the thirst. Or to use a different analogy: revenge is a long winding path down a dark and treacherous chasm, fraught with pitfalls and ledges at every turn, with a darkened stormy sky above you – one slip or break in devotion may have you falling to ruin and death. Yet even if you do all you can to traverse the path correctly, the sky above may loose lightning upon you and smite you, with little you can do to avert it save blind luck.” He raises a finger for emphasis, his voice impassioned. ”And even if you do manage to make your way to the bottom and achieve your goal of vengeance, you find yourself at the bottom of a dark and desolate chasm, bereft of those things which give you warmth and comfort, at which point you find the climb back up is nearly impossible.”
Lee pauses a moment to see if she understands his words of caution, then continues in a more normal tone. ”As for the answer to your question, I am afraid I shall give a poor reply to it. One could say that you already know the answer – this traitorous deva “Garrys” was very much a contributor to Constable Fileccia’s death, if not the only one responsible. You yourself witnessed his arcane potential, stymied as it was by the sheer bulk of his deadly explosive contraption. Fortunate for all of you, perhaps.” He lifts his eyebrows in thought and purses his lips. ”Ahh but you mean who is the mastermind of her death…at which point my poor cryptic answer would be ’whomever plots for the king’s demise has his or her hands bloodied with her death as well’ I should say. To which…will we declare that answer as the eladrin terrorist of the Cloudwood, Gale Soliogn?” Lee looks to Delft then questioningly and asks, ”Well Delft, any more surety on that point since you briefed me an hour ago?”
”No," replies the Inspector, "but with those in custody…or are about to be…we should know well enough by morning.”
”Very well then.” Lee looks back to Anneca. ”By morning then we may then confirm or deny Soliogn’s direct hand in this. Many signs point to her intelligence, planning and execution, as well as arcane talents, yet I find it surprising on something of this risk that she left it all to merely a lieutenant or lover, not entering the game herself as she has been purported to do on other occasions.” With a shrug he professes to Anneca then, ”A poor answer to your question, Miss Summers, so I feel I should offer something else to make up for it – if it is in my power to do so, I shall ensure you are personally present at the undoing of whomever is responsible. Who knows? If it is Gale Soliogn, I think I shall devote my time directly to…ahh…assisting in her capture, and then we shall see if the power of this so-called wind sorceress measures up to the tales, and you shall be at my side to help me disprove her. Agreed?”
Turning finally to Arthur, the Principal Minister exclaims, ”Ahh! How interesting a question! And about me no less! How shall I strive to answer it, Mister Wilde, without giving away all my secrets, eh?” He winks to Arthur and then rubs his chin in thought.
”My answer then is twofold, for I have always believed that a gate should always have more than one lock or bar, no matter how good the single lock or bar is. So now, I should say first that I eat the fare of our good king with relish and show exuberance at his tastes of pheasant, ocean fish and a good rack of lamb. That being said, I find that in food, what evokes the comfort of my younger days nothing better than a well-made goblin mincemeat pie from Ber - that's certain! Made by goblin and not of goblin, of course!” Lee chuckles at his little joke about the ingredients of an authentic mincemeat pie, adding, ”A little Beran humor from its sordid history, mind you! A true Beran mincemeat pie is made from prime stag venison you see, or sometimes greathorn steer when they are young and tender, with blood raisins, currants, cloves, cinnamon and other native ingredients to those lands. It is nearly impossible to get made properly here in Risur, and thus one not intimate with my mind would know my preferences on this delicacy.”
Musing a bit further, he snaps his fingers and offers the second answer to Arthur’s question. ”My favorite performance that I have witnessed has been here in Flint, in the esteemed Navras Opera House over fifty years ago…often argued as the last great “golden resurgence” of the full operatic form – in traditional Primordial of course! It was The Last Flight of Eoin the Griffon Rider, suitably epic and tragic as an opera should be, yet marked with some of the best turns-of-phrase ever penned to parchment. Alas, I daresay it has not been performed in years, not since the start of the Fourth Yerasol War, neither at the Navras of Flint nor the three performance houses in Slate, as the operatic form has fallen out of style in favor of other more modern forms of the stage. Thus, you have my answers to your question, Master Wilde.”
”Now then, I have answered your questions as best as I am able, and now look to each of you for your word of acceptance and obedience for what I specifically ask in return – your superiors would issue this to you as an ordered directive anyway, but I ask for your personal oaths on it. Will you give it willingly then? Right? Good.” Principal Minister Lee looks to each of them for their assent before continuing, the tone of his voice more hushed but seemingly intense and urgent as he waves for all of them to gather around close.
”As may have been hinted at by the good Inspector Delft here, this crowning achievement of Risur’s first true fusion of technological and magical might upon the waters is an occasion to be marked and marked well by King Aodhan…not the least of which to bring full circle the events over forty years ago whereby he brought the Danoran steamship into Flint’s harbor. Yet for all of that, the blessing of the Coaltongue is not the main reason for tonight’s festivities. Tonight, our king is to give a speech of supreme importance, one that will have historical significance to all Risur…and beyond its borders. The speech given by Aodhan on the deck of the most powerful flagship now in all the seas of Lanjyr is essential, the place and time of the announcement critical. Needless to say, His Majesty has a great deal upon his mind, and I want to risk nothing to take him off of what he intends to do. That is why he has not been informed of the attempt upon his life…and technically mine as I too was in the carriage but no matter…he has not been informed of the assassination attempt for the Fleet Square parade, and he is not to be told until after tonight’s events have concluded and he is safely back to shore.”
Lee looks to them in emphasis. ”As of right now, only the leadership of the Constabulary are fully aware, from Price-Hill and Cyneburg, to Saxby, to Delft here…and of course yourselves and some of your fellow constables that were part of it. I daresay the Slate detail has not even been told. Lady Dame Jillian has certainly not been told, nor can she be as she would instantly let King Aodhan know of it and then try to cart him off or some such nonsense. Worse still, the bloated collection of military leaders and their honor guards would advocate war on every nation in Lanjyr and make blind speculation seem the truth. Therefore, you are not to speak to anyone of it tonight, except to Delft and myself. To do so would ruin months of planning. On your word then constables – you are privy to the truth, but you cannot share it tonight while on that ship. Do I make myself clear enough on this point?”
”Very well, very well then.” Lee looks over to Delft as he asks a question entering his mind. ”Stover, in your opinion can any of the three assigned to the King’s detail be entrusted with the totality of this information so that they may keep a better eye out, yet remain fully discreet about it?”
Delft shrugs. ”Lanvaldan can certainly, but Landreth’s ambition may cause her to act dramatically bold in order to impress the King. I don’t know Kirby well at all, but inside talk is that she’s more gossiping than a scribeprint hawker on holiday.”
”Hmm.” says Lee, though he shrugs in return after a moment. ”Well it’s left to Price-Hill to decide for that trio, and so I shall leave it to him. We’ve spoken to your Talyssa Dane already, and she is to stay close to Geoff Masarde throughout this voyage as we had agreed upon earlier. As for the rest of you…” He pauses in contemplation of something, then seemingly makes up his mind and continues. ”You’ve given your solemn word to me on this, and you are now the wild card in the deck as it were. If you spot trouble and for whatever reason cannot deal with it directly and fully, discreetly contact either your superiors…” Lee nods in Inspector Delft’s direction, ”…or if you must, gain my gaze and a nod and I’ll quietly contact you for details. I will always be in arm’s reach of the King for this voyage – for reasons that are obvious to us all – so do not expect to gain my attention unattended with the King’s party and honor guard about, not to mention Flint’s governor and all the mayors. Discretion, good constables!”
”Now then, I shall make arrangements for you to have a small table arranged just for yourselves during dinner on the out-voyage after first tours are concluded – alas I cannot get you in on the main table without raising too many questions and eyes upon you – and I shall also have direct word with Captain Bryant to ensure you are known by his marines and have access to all areas of the ship, including the wheelhouse. You will be taking the first tour so that you know your way about the decks.” Lee pauses in thought, tapping his finger to his lips. ”And best keep a sharp eye on Benedict Pemberton if you can for me…”
A disgusted scoff from your boss and Assistant Chief Inspector interrupts him. ”Really, old man? Are we starting this up again? Just leave my constables out of your unsubstantiated grudges will you – unless you’re suggesting Pemberton had something to do with the plot earlier?”
”Of course not! Yet that by no means lessens the very fact that Benedict Pemberton will be up to something underhanded! Stealing technical schematics of the ship and engine design to undercut our achievements, for example, then selling back his cheaper works to us at a disadvantaged contract!”
”Bah! You’ve been seeing Pemberton plots in your mind for years now, old man. Time to bury that dead mule.”
”I tell you wolf, he’s always up to something. It’s in his nature.” Lee taps the side of his nose and says with obvious aplomb, ”I have a nose for such things you know, and Pemberton reeks foul.”
The back-and-forth banter between the men would probably continue on if not for a sudden blaring of horns and beat of drums from the band, the crowd’s loud cheers rising in response to the royals’ arrival. The royal carriages – closed-top carriages this time as opposed to the open air carriages used earlier in the procession past Fleet Square – turn their final corner and roll towards the main disembarkation point. The constables know that once the royal family disembarks, the quick speech and blessing of the powerful warship will commence without much delay, followed by the relatively quick boarding of the vessel by all the dignitaries, guests and their respective entourages.
The lead carriage has already just stopped when Principal Minister Harkover Lee sighs heavily, his tall shoulders slumping slightly: An older woman in her sixties with dark complexion and a traditional gown of dark green with silver embroidery carefully steps off the carriage, a silver tiara upon her head, her lips pursed with an expression that seems to convey no mirth or joy at all, completely ignoring the crowd’s jubilant exultations at her arrival. She is King Aodhan’s sister Ethelyn, the Duchess of Shale, a Yerasol war hero in her own right from the Third War that made her brother Aodhan king. The Duchess is quickly surrounded and attended to by no less than five handmaidens all in varying shades of green to match her. As she steps forward to her appointed place for the blessing, she gazes upon the massive ship with what appears to be a visage of discomfort and disapproval, dabbing a silken kerchief to her nose as if to ward off the smell of soot and salty air.
Lee sighs again, and says almost wistfully to the constables, ”My young friends, I almost envy you tonight for not being so known as I am, as I must leave the hunt to endure the painful prospects of politics. If tonight can go as planned for my liege without some foolish snub or act of petty recalcitrance from his own sister, on the endless bickering over tradition versus progress, I shall count my stars as most fortunate indeed. Hearing her tiresome droll makes me glad I never had a sister.” He looks to the rest of them almost sheepishly. ”I suppose none of you would be able to charm Her Grace to smile and not look as if she was dragged from Shale to Flint on the back of a packhorse would you? No? Too much to hope for then I suppose.”
The Principal Minister turns back to watch the King’s sister complete her disembarkation, then looks beyond to where the King’s carriages are fast approaching. ”Carry on then, eh Stover? I shall see you later onboard.” With a final look at the five constables, he smiles and says to their superior, ”Not bad Stover, nod bad. I enjoyed the questions very much, and I think you have something promising here with this lot. Fortune to you all this night, and remember what we talked about.” With that, the Principal Minister strides away from them towards the assembled nobles and dignitaries to take his place at the arrival of King Aodhan.
”That man saved my life,” says Delft with a nod in his direction and a quick tap of his cane upon his injured leg. ”You’ve made a fine impression with him.”
Anneca is distracted again by her inner thoughts of vengeance, undisturbed by Minister Lee's dire warning and focusing instead only on the parts she finds relevant: the possibility of Gale Soliogn’s involvement. She hadn't really thought much about the eladrin terrorist in the past beyond a few rumors here and there before she was a constable, and the few flyers of intelligence she has seen as a member of law enforcement. She knows that she can fly, having great power over the winds, and that she is rumored to have a camp somewhere in the Cloudwood east of Flint. Many of the arsons of homes and businesses near Parity Lake are attributed to her, although Anneca was responsible for at least one. There are further rumors that Gale has ties to the fey, but Anneca doesn't know much about the mysterious beings. Delft's words spur her back into the reality of watching the pageantry for suspicious events. "Maybe we'll get the opportunity to impress him further. Garrys was just one member of a larger cabal."
Assistant Chief Inspector Delft is busy adjusting his hat and vest as he readies himself for the King's disembarkation, the roar of the crowd threatening to drown out Anneca's words if it weren't for the fact that they were fairly close in a circle. Delft clears his throat and says wryly, "Impress me with your savvy, wit and solid actions, and the rest will take care of itself. Now then, we've got a King to listen all attentively to and a ship to be blessed, and then we're off. Let's get to it."
The group of five constables walk after their direct superior away from the service quay and into the assembled crowd of dignitaries, taking their respective places as the carriage stops and King Aodhan emerges from the passenger section, the crowd's cheers reaching a crescendo of approval and excitement.
Standing solitary on the deck of the ship along the railing just next to the main gangplank, King Aodhan faces the assembled group of dignitaries, nobles, guards of honor…and of course the constables that unassumingly stand with them. Behind the assembly, the seven-hundred or so chosen common citizens of Risur continue to cheer and sing their celebratory songs in Fleet Square. Yet they all quiet down to a hush when the King raises his right hand for them to listen, his left hand holding a rather large ceremonial drinking cup of silver, encrusted with gemstones of various hues and elaborately engraved. Standing on the gangplank is the King’s most prominent and noted protector, Dame Jillian, dressed in an array of vibrant verdant colors with her expensive silken gown and wearing a golden wire tiara that emphasizes her chosen high status, though armed with longsword at her golden belt and the gown meant to allow freedom of movement. Principal Minister Lee stands next to her on the wide gangplank in his attire of reds and oranges, a marketed contrast to her green hues. Admiral Thedric and Captain Bryant stand just behind them, the noted pair that will hold command of the Risur’s eastern fleet and captain the flagship itself respectively. Finally, the shipwright who designed her, Geoff Massarde the ex-Danoran and notable tiefling master engineer, is given great honor to stand on the gangplank with the others, a sign of the King’s confidence in him. Everyone else stands on the pier by either the main quay or service quay: all the servants, sailors and guards currently are off the ship at this point for the ceremony which demands only the King be on board to bless the ship and bind its service to all of Risur.
The crowd is quiet as King Aodhan raises the silver chalice – called the “standing cup” by those familiar with naval tradition - a full seven times, his lips moving in some utterance of blessing or incantation that cannot be made out by those down on the pier. When finished with his private blessing, he holds the precious metal cup in both hands, raising his voice to speak to those assembled with a surprisingly steady and loud tone that carries across the pier and square. ” When I was just a lad in the army, I could have never imagined a day like this. The wine in this cup is worth more than my family ever had, not to mention the sacred cup itself. I never forget these things, even now. It's important to know where we come from. I came from humble roots, as did my sister." The King looks down to where Duchess Ethelyn stands with her handmaidens, nodding to her visibly before continuing. "Yet war changed my fortunes. When I had seen thirty long winters I brought into this very port the first steamship that Danor had ever created, and we made it our own. We are coming into a new age. A century ago our people would have thought of a ship like this as a tale of fantasy, and yet now she is with us. She, like all of us, is an example of Risur’s progress. Change can be hard sometimes my friends, but if there is one thing we have learned is that change is for the best, blind stagnation is our ruin. So to illuminate that example, it is now my solemn honor today to bless this ship into our fold with her sailing sisters. I, King Aodhan, with this standing cup since the First Days and the Pact that binds us to the land of Risur, I both bless and dub her the Royal Naval Ship Coaltongue, first of her glorious line.”
Drinking deeply from the ancient chalice and then pouring the remainder of the wine upon the deck in deliberate fashion, the ceremony is completed to the great roar of its citizens. King Aodhan steps to the edge of the gangplank and cuts the silken ribbon with a smooth and practiced motion of his jeweled dagger, signifying the embarkation may begin. Aodhan smiles and nods to both Dame Jillian and Principal Minister Lee, though none can hear any words he may have for them as they come to stand to either side of their liege. Smiling, the King booms in a hearty voice for a man of just over seventy years, ”It is my pleasure to welcome you all aboard for the Coaltongue’s maiden voyage! Admiral Thedric, the flag of Risur may be hoisted to position, your command flags are now hereby transferred. Captain Bryant, make all preparations to get underway.” Both admiral and captain salute sharply and ascend to the deck with Massarde awkwardly hustling to clear off the gangplank behind them, Captain Bryant shouting orders for his senior officers and sailors to quickly ascend the gangplanks at both quays and make ready to sail…
The Coaltongue
Plans of the ship by deck
Basic layout overview of the ship
”Uhhh…well uhh as you can see that we are already underway now, let me take a moment to speak to the speed that we can achieve once we clear the harbor – eighteen knots is its top stated speed with boilers at full, though we won’t be approaching near that speed with all our guests and fine food about…I am certain we even have delicacies that you would approve of, Ambassador Brakken, and nothing cooked rare or raised from a pen I can assure you!”
Ambassador Brakken of Ber peers at their tour leader curiously with the massive horns on top of his head cocked slightly at a tilt, as if trying to determine if he was the object of an intentional jest of some sort, or just an off-target compliment. The tour guide, one Petty Officer Elian Aughtbrook, seems to realize his attempt at humor with the ambassador was not well received, and quickly flips through a small journal that he carries to remind himself of something else to say. ”Uhh…well yes and I know we have many chilled and cold items to sample for Ambassador Tuvuere, ser! As you can see that the main table is now being prepared for you all…most of you anyway…under what we call the Capacitor Dome there, which I shall show you all momentarily once the first group descends to the next deck…ah yes I think they are moving along now…”
As the five constables stand in the group consisting of the two ambassadors of Ber and Drakyr, three senior military officers, one “unofficial” leader of the Ayres district and renowned industrialist Benedict Pemberton, they clearly can tell that not all of the ship’s tours are going to be uniform to one another. Their fellow constable, Talyssa Dane, was supposed to lead their tour directly as the first to go, but at the last moment Shipwright Massarde conscripted her into speaking for his own tour with the Governor’s party, including the eight district mayors, Lady Saxby, Viscount Price-Hill and Rear Admiral Dawkins of Flint’s defense forces. Going ahead of their group at Massarde’s insistence, their tour was taken over by Aughtbrook, who was normally relegated to the lesser dignitaries, gentry and junior officers onboard. While waiting for the first group to clear from the Capacitor and head down to the next deck, the sounds of steam whistles, sailors shouting orders and the thick black smoke of the stacks all made paying attention to the young man that much more difficult.
”Now then, since we have our brethren from the Risuri Army with us on deck tonight, I would be remiss to tell you that this ship feels and moves very differently from our masted sailing ships, and its motion could upset your appetites as you’re so used to land and horses…so if you feel queasy at all I would not object at all to recommending to you a highly effective seaman’s remedy of…”
”Get on with it man!” snaps Colonel Greg Masterson, army commander of all of Flint’s land forces and fortifications. Petty Officer Aughtbrook pales noticeably and instantly stops rambling, he being only the equivalent of a sergeant in Risuri Army terms. Next to the constables, Ayres leader and industrialist Guy Goodson whispers something to Benedict Pemberton, who gives a folksy guffaw-type laugh in return. Ambassador Tuvuere is tight-lipped and shakes his head sternly.
Captain Rutger Smith, known to the constables as the ranking naval officer who commands the R.H.C.’s strongest ship the R.N.S. Impossible, also seems miffed but tries to use a more moderate tone to the young Petty Officer. ”Let’s hear of the Capacitor and the Brand, Aughtbrook, and just stick to the facts of this fine ship if you please.”
”Of course, Captain ser. My apologies Colonel, Ambassadors. Gentlemen…ahh and Ladies too of course, this way under the glass dome if you would please…”
Their touring party moves under the elaborate glass frame known as the Capacitor, an elegant yet massive structure that currently stands as the makeshift banquet area. Above them the glass dome crackles and flickers with silver arcs of magical energy that the gathered guests occasionally point at with delight, even as servants rush around to finalize the place settings of the long main banquet table. ”This,” exclaims Petty Officer Aughtbrook exclaims pointing at the capacitor, ”is an integral part of what we call the Brand. The glass has been magically reinforced and is as hard as steel. While the design itself is partially aesthetic, its primary purpose is to siphon off power from the ship's two boilers and act as a reservoir of sorts. During an engagement our battle mages could tap into the power of the Brand to empower their spells or release the stored energy in a single blast from the bow that would be enough to outright destroy a smaller vessel or cripple a large one. Now”, Aughtbrook says while waving his hands upwards in the general direction of the crackling structure, ”The range is short, but combined with the Coaltongue’s speed and maneuverability, the Brand would be enough to deter all but the most determined of attacks. If that wasn't enough, the Coaltongue also boasts one arcane main dual-barreled cannon that you can see up on the foredeck there, plus another twenty-three traditional broadside cannons, eleven on the port side and twelve on the starboard, which we’ll see shortly. We also boast five-inch thick iron armor plating engraved with subtle magic to aid in her defense and hardness. Unfortunately I cannot show you the command bridge or the wheelhouse at middeck due to security reasons while underway, but if you will follow me forward, I'll lead you down below into the gun deck.”
Leading the group to the main wide stairs that lead down near the ramps up to the foredeck, Petty Officer Aughtbrook takes them down to the gun deck, ignoring the forward storage rooms and leading them back into the wide open area amidships. Sweeping his arms to the left and right, the man draws the groups attention to the gundeck with its twenty-three cannons. ”As you can see each of the cannons are typically manned with a three man crew…well I guess you cannot see as there are none of them manned with sailors. Yes. Though as we are not in a state of war, the ship is currently unmanned for such hostilities.” Walking the tour group towards the aft of the ship, he waves to the glassteel walls of the underside of the Capacitor from the main deck, crackling with energy and feeling warm to the touch, reinforced with steel columns. ”The Capacitor for the Brand extends down to the berth deck below us, drawing energy from the furnace and housed just over the main fuel bin.” As Aughtbrook brings the tour fully aft and in front of a small hallway with doors, he opens the double-doors at the end and reveals a galley with tables and chairs. ”This area is the galley, with storerooms around us for everything us sailors need for a long voyage. An ingenious design of the galley is that it can be converted to a rear firing platform with openable but reinforced panels, in case the ship was being pursued.” He points downward at the metal grates that make up the floor all around them. ”As you can see, all of the lower decks have grated floor panels. This was an intentional design. Due to the steam engines this allows heat to circulate throughout the ship rather than containing it to the engine deck. This also allows for easy communications between decks, as one can see and shout to someone above or below them during the pitch of battle. Now moving downward I'll show you the officer’s quarters, main crew's berthing area and ship’s magazines. Follow me please…”
Taking one of a pair of stairs downwards just aft of amidships between the galley and the stacks, they descend to an area that has wood paneling and brass decorative fittings, seemingly an area of finer quality. The four rooms toured are large by naval standards and for the officers of the ship when not on shift on deck or the command bridge, though the captain’s quarters are located up adjacent to the wheelhouse. The aft-most room is larger than the officer’s quarters by far and the most decorative, clearly being reserved for the admiral or perhaps an elite guest. ”This is what we call the wizard’s room, though it is more properly the quarters of the highest ranking guest…it would be where the King would reside should he use the ship himself on a diplomatic mission, or that of the ranking admiral or high dignitary. It too can be converted to a firing platform, just as the galley one deck above us. From here, the common sailor’s bunks are forward.” They proceed towards the bow through two heavily reinforced iron doors, ending up in a larger open area with double-decker bunks on each side and hammocks on long poles that run from top to bottom of the deck. ”When the Coaltongue is fully manned, this serves as the crew's berthing area. The total crew compliment for the ship is eighty nine. This does not include a contingent of marines, but when one considers that a sail ship requires nearly double the complement, it is quite impressive. For those unfamiliar with the rigors of sea life a sailor would rig his hammock between the two poles here.” The man smacks a pole that has an eyelet screwed into either side. ”And he can turn in for the night. Now, as you may have guessed, there's not enough room here for a crew of this size, however because a ship runs twenty-four hours a day, and the crew stands a twelve-hour watch, when half the crew is up working, the other half is sleeping. This allows us to double the size, without sacrificing space.”
Taking the group forward he points towards two doors at the bow of the berth deck, with a single Risuri female sailor standing between the doors at full attention. ”Ahead is where you would find the ships magazines – for those of you not acquainted with ships, the stores of firedust casks and cannonballs are kept on a different deck for a very good reason. But I believe Gunners Mate Athel is currently on watch and she will explain the area better than I.”
Walking up to her, she relaxes her stance and nods to Aughtbrook and asks, ”Tour then?”
Aughtbrook nods even as he goes for his notebook to look up something. ”Right then, I'm Divianne Athel, one of the gunners mates assigned to the Coaltongue. What you see before you are the ship’s magazines. Now in times past magazines have been one of the most dangerous areas aboard a ship, either from a random spark or from the damage that occurs during battle, more ships have been lost to an explosion than any other cause of sinking. With that in mind, we developed these.” The woman points to a charm that hangs against the wall to each door and causes small puffs of cold air to issue out towards them. ”Theres a fancy magic name for them of course, but us crew just calls them “fire wards”. Their range is limited, but it protects the firedust from reaching excessive heat and goin’ up. Trust me, the rest of the ship may be burning up, but with these little trinkets you will stay cool even in the worst summer days along the Archipelago. Any questions? No? Well when you go down onto the engine deck you will see what I mean. A ship like this runs hot.” Nodding back to Aughtbrook, the man walks past the forward ladderwell and to another set of stairs heading downwards. ”Follow me if you please I'll be taking you down to the engine deck.”
Gunners Mate Athel's words carry with it the ring of truth: the engine deck is hot, almost blistering so. Despite the steel grated floor panels that allow you to see up thirty feet above, the air circulation is barely enough to cope with the waves of heat that radiates from the steam engine and adjacent furnace that dominates the space. ”So,” Petty Officer Aughtbrook gestures to three engineers who are currently working the various valves and pipes, while also shoveling loads of firegems into the furnace as sweat drips down their face, ”I would like to introduce you all to Engineer Luckshore now. Mister Luckshore is one of the three engineers who were selected for today’s maiden voyage.” Waving the young man over, Luckshore pulls out a greasy rag and wipes the sweat from his forehead. Taking the group along the man spends the next few minutes in an enthusiastic explanation of the intricate interaction of the various pipes and valves, pointing out steam-powered engine alarm sirens that are automated in the event of the boiler overheating, as well as the engine boiler valves that can be used to release built-up steam from the boiler and furance. Luckshore also points out the massive fuel bin that is fully loaded with arcane firegems, used as the preferred form of combustion to power the massive engine.
Unsurprisingly, the humid and uncomfortably warm air around the boilers and furnace, combined with the stifling air of the engine deck causes this to be the quickest part of the tour. After a few minutes the tour completes and Officer Aughtbrook thanks the engineers before he leads their tour back up. Soon, they find themselves in the open air of the main deck, the sunset casting a brilliant orange glow across the ship as it steams under full escort out towards the mouth of Lower Flint Bay.
Even as several tours were conducted and concluded while the ship steamed out of Flint Bay towards the Ayres by sunset, the busy efforts of the cooks and servants from their makeshift kitchens on-deck aft of the command bridge were in furious full-swing. Naval bells were sounded from the wheelhouse as the multiple course dinner was to begin promptly at seven o’ clock, with the elites of Risur all rushing to take their places with their King at the long main table under the glassteel dome of the Capacitor.
Now, soft white arcane globes illuminate the main deck for its guests since the sundown. Outside of the dome but near it in the open spaces forward of the two-story command bridge…and without the benefit of the dome’s shelter from the wind and occasional sea spray…are arranged several smaller tables for collections of junior officers, invited scribes, handmaidens of genteel status not actively serving their nobles, and of course the constables themselves. The five of them are seated by themselves as Lee had promised – they can see where the “King’s Bodyguards” detail of the three Slate constables have their own table just forward of the main ladderwell, but they themselves are on the other side of the dome to its port side nearer the wheelhouse, and cannot risk shouting to Lanvaldan, Landreth and Kirby without disturbing the flow of elegant conversation at the main table. Interestingly enough, Talyssa Dane is seated at the far end of the main table near Captain Rutger Smith and some industrialist factory owners, deep in conversation with one of them on some technical tidbit of interest.
Around them in this grand spectacle, they can still make out the outlines of the eight accompanying sailing war frigates and clippers that sail as their escort, their white sails and masts a stark contrast to the Coaltongue’s twin smokestacks and billowing black smoke trailing behind them. For a brief period in this long and eventful day, the five constables find themselves relatively alone to eat and discuss amongst themselves without interruption, even surrounded as they are by those around them at other tables. They all know that after dinner there will still be some time to stroll the deck and talk with others before they reach their appointed destination, the anchoring off of the far Ayres isles and the King’s speech to take place sometime near the stroke of nine o’ clock tonight.
"This is definitely the fanciest shindig I've ever been to," Anneca mentions while eating the elegant dinner laid out before them. "Each plate is probably more than a month's pay. I feel strange eating it, much less sitting down instead of walking a patrol. Must be nice to be rich, huh?" Her voice stings a little with a touch of bitter envy. Not wanting to be sour, she changes the subject.
"It would have been nice if Talyssa had been able to give us our tour, but it was a good tour anyway. At least we know the layout if anything happens. It is staggering how much of a technological feat this thing is. Thankfully, the fire wards should keep it safe - otherwise it would be a deathtrap."
Gemma nods in agreement on all of Anneca’s points. “I agree. I would have preferred to speak with Talyssa. Although I thought Aughtbrook did well enough.” She shrugs a little. “I could have done without half the tour group being slight a!&$#!~s to him though. Apparently station and rank doesn’t breed manners. Poor guy had a lot to go over.” Gemma shoves some of her food around on her plate. She’s eaten some of it but knows better than to eat a lot of the rich food in one sitting, especially on a ship (that and she’s looking far more forward to the desserts). Much to her surprise, she’s only noticed the slightest bit of the seasickness Aughtbrook warned them about. Even now it’s seeming to pass, which makes her exceptionally happy. She’s never been on the sea and imagines that it would be considerably worse if she were on a sailed vessel. The sheer size and nature of this one is exceptional in every way and her mind is working hard to take it all in and remember every detail. “I’m just wondering what else the king has in store.”
”Quite fancy indeed.” agrees Emerson to Anneca’s statement. ”I would have loved to see the engineers fabricating the dome and installing it on the ship. As a matter of fact, I think I'm going to have to talk more with Talyssa about how they achieved all this in such a relatively short period of time.” Although he is very hungry, Emerson paces himself and tries not to eat too quickly. He does call the closest waiter over and requests some wine for the group. Once all the glasses have been poured, he raises his glass to his fellow constables and offers a toast.
”Congratulations my brothers and sisters in arms, to a successful start to the New Year. May we have many more.”
Gemma raises her glass with the others and joins in the toast but only takes a small, obligatory drink. She motions to another waiter close by and quietly asks for a bit of hot tea instead. "To a New Year! And, yes, it would be quite interesting to find out how they managed to do all this. It's truly a marvel."
Anneca hesitates before raising a glass. It seems strange to celebrate anything so quickly after her friend's murder. "To the new year," she says grimly. "And to the memory of Constable Makala."
"To Makala."
Hill raises his glass again to Anneca's toast, a mixture of sorrow and anger flashing across his eyes.
Willem smirks at Minister Lee’s comment about Emerson being a diplomat. Later, he looks at Emerson with surprised and impressed look on his face. Emerson has been practicing his diplomacy since leaving the military and joining the RHC. Willem acknowledges to himself that he needs to spend more time with his good friend while he is in Flint and definitely if he is permanently reassigned to Flint Branch.
Otherwise, Willem remains quiet for most of the meeting. In his mind, it is better not to say too much to help mitigate too much information being revealed about him or saying the wrong thing to bring (more) disrepute to himself. Perhaps, if he knew Minister Lee, all of Flint Branch members, and was in better standing throughout the RHC, he would have said more.
Willem nods, smiles, and says “yes sir” to Principal Minister Lee’s requests when necessary. As Principal Lee turns to leave, Willem states, ”Nice meeting Principal Minister Lee, sir … Thank you sir!”
"Impress me with your savvy, wit and solid actions and the rest will take care of itself. Now then, we've got a King to listen all attentively to and a ship to be blessed, and then we're off. Let's get to it."
Willem nods and replies, ”Yes sir!” Then follows the group to the Coaltongue, keeping alert as they proceed to the peer.
Willem is impressed with the ship as well and most definitely with the gun deck and the engine. Then he thinks to himself, ”The beginning of the end for the Age of the Horse.”
Willem lifts up his glass for the toast, ”To the New Year and most importantly, to Makala.” Then takes a drink when the toast is finished and everyone else takes a sip.
Then continues, ”I agree this is indeed a fascinating and a great achievement for Risur. Unfortunately, I think it is also the beginning of the end of horses for industry and war. The gun deck and engine room fascinate me the most.”
Being the constable he is, Willem looks up to scan the room for anything that catches his eye.
Willem pauses and shifts in his seat uncomfortably ... "I am sorry I didn't know Makala and I am not good talking about someone who has recently passed but if we need to honor her memory by talking about her. Then by all means, please start by telling me who Makala was."
The evening meal courses are relished and consumed by all (regardless of which table one sits at) and fine wines are soon replaced by spiced teas, bold coffees and after-meal liqueurs, all served in more portable silver cups suited to strolling and socializing upon the main deck. For now it appears all of the ship tours are completed for its many guests aboard, the various dignitaries and elites of Risur much more interested in seeing their peers…and being seen of course…talking of the momentous affairs of the day while they patiently wait for King Aodhan to give his speech to them at the appointed time of nine o’ clock.
As the constables look around the grandeur of the assembly upon the main deck, they can still see the Coaltongue is steadily steaming away northwards in the darkness of a now-visible starry sky, its obscuring smoke from the twin stacks the only source of soot that mars what is admittedly a spectacular nighttime view above, no longer marred or dimmed by the pollution of Flint to their south. Cleared of the bay by now and headed somewhere well north of the isles of the Ayres, their escort of eight sailing ships rising and falling with the swells are the only clear objects around them that they can make out as reference points, though if one squints enough to the south they may think they can see the hazy dim lights of Flint in the far distance of the shoreline. Those sensitive to ocean-going can sense the slight pitch and roll of the vast water underneath them, but unlike a sailing ship the Coaltongue seems to simply cut its course through the water, its immense deck height, metal-clad hull and method of propulsion making the movements more stable somehow, almost as if they are in control of the waves and not the other way around. Even with those impressions, the night is chilly but beautiful, and the swells are calm by seafaring standards. All seems ready for the speech when the ship comes to anchor at its predetermined point.
At the grand table underneath the glassteel dome of the Capacitor, King Aodhan still sits at the head of the table, sipping a hot after-dinner drink and holding an impromptu conference with Governor Stanfield and the eight district Mayors of Flint, discussing some level of political business in earnest, with Dame Jillian standing just a few steps from his chair and pretending not to be too engaged in the conversation. All around the edge of the dome a host of Risuri Army honor guards guarantees the meeting will not be disturbed, and indeed the nobles stroll around the main deck or talk in groups as if the dome they dined under now holds no special significance to their curiosity. Up on the bow’s raised foredeck the constables can spy out a large group of other significant officials and ranking officers, including: Principal Minister Lee, Viscount Director Price-Hill, Lady Inspectress Saxby, Admiral Thedric and Rear Admiral Dawkins. Apart from that group’s august presence but seemingly limiting access up the port-side stairs to the foredeck are the three constables known as “The King’s Bodyguards” collected together: Ifris Lanvaldan, Anya Landreth and Cealena Kirby. They seem to be watching the group above them, the haphazard accumulation of a full orchestra attempting to assemble on both sides of the foredeck stairs, and the King’s meeting some distance away inside the dome of which they are not part of.
At some point the constables catch the attention of their boss Stover Delft, who is standing up behind and above them by the railing of the wheelhouse’s top deck, in conversation with Colonel Masterson of Flint’s armed forces and Captain Bryant who now commands the Coaltongue directly, with several mid-ranking officers of the Army and Navy amongst them. Delft is speaking to Masterson, but at the same time spies them out below and gives them all a warning frown, waving his cane slightly at them to disperse and interact with others in conversation about the main deck. With the not-so-subtle order from your boss received, you all break up from your isolated group and wander into the conversations of Risur’s most elite and powerful. Though the King’s table as well as Lee’s esteemed party are off-limits to you, and many of the Risuri nobility are in their own conversations that preclude you from interrupting without a proper introduction, you spy out some familiar faces amongst the crowd and attempt to make a positive impression…
Cealena Kirby is considered the most veteran of the trio, dressed in a full grey gown of a Risuri lady in the current fashion of Slate, the shades of grey with gold accents giving her a striking appearance – she would be considered pretty if not for the petulant and dismissive look upon her face as you approach. By contrast, Ifris Lanvaldan is a hard woman of angles and military bearing, her R.H.C. dress uniform nearly a match to that of a Risuri Naval Marine if not for the distinctive grey panels that makes it up. A veteran of the Fourth War, Ifris is said to have “unique” mental powers that make her a living weapon, the perfect bodyguard for the King and something that seemingly no other Risuri can do. Ifris is said by many to be humorless and caring little for anything but duty and the rigors of a military life that leaves her obscured from the public. By contrast, Anya Landreth is considered a public “darling” of the Risur scribes and papers, a public hero of the Fourth War that was released from the Danoran prison camps after a much-touted failed offensive to take a lost island. Anya has often been at the heart of Risuri recruitment efforts and asked to speak publicly of her “heroism” to defend Risur at any cost, a symbol of unbroken courage and resolve for an entire new generation of young patriots. Dressed in a uniform that is more akin to her Army background but flashier and less austere than the dress uniform Ifris wears, Anya is noted for her decorated sabre and is widely touted by the scribes to be an expert swordswoman.
Both Ifris and Anya were part of the “four-nine-eights” from Flint, the same class that Talyssa, Alastair and Devinn are from. For reasons not entirely clear but guessed at, the pair were requested for transfer by Director Price-Hill personally to solidify two retirements in the Bodyguards team.
”Well well, look what the sharks have scared up onto deck,” says Ifris Lanvaldan with a tone that seems to be the most inviting, as unusual as that may seem. ”Gotten the tour and your own table for filling your bellies eh? Must be nice.”
”Oh indeed?” says Cealena Kirby with her petulant look and raised eyebrow at the newcomers. Her voice carries a tone that Kirby already knows the answers to any questions she may ask, with the asking merely a way to illustrate her own knowledge. ”I have the good word that it’s because of some foiling of some disruption or mayhem planned for the parade earlier! Bagging a couple of miscreants is about the size of it.” Kirby sighs in an overly dramatic manner and shrugs her shoulders. ”Good work in eyeing the crowds is…admirable I suppose…and to be rewarded as commensurate with one’s skillsets after all.”
Anya huffs openly and waves a hand at you, eerily echoing similar mannerisms of Carlao Ven from Flint Branch. ”Best not encourage this distraction whilst we are still on duty, for the King could finish his meeting at any moment – I do not think it’s appropriate to do all of this goggling of constables simply to pass by the time.”
Just as you are about to move past their line of sight completely, the Duchess suddenly looks up directly at you and raises a hand to call you over to her, a clear invitation by the King’s sister and ruler of Shale. There is little you can do but accept this invitation from whom some consider is the second most powerful noble in Risur, with the Lady Romana standing next to her a close third. Just as you arrive, she speaks to you as if you are already acquainted, a slight smile across her lips. ”Ahh yes Constable…so good of you to arrive with the news I had asked for.” The Duchess then looks to Aughtbrook and curtly dismisses him, saying, ”I have pressing business now to attend to, young man, so if you would see to readying the guest quarters you spoke of for a brief rest before the King’s speech tonight…”
”Uhhhhmmm…” replies Aughtbrook, looking back and forth between the Duchess and the newest arrivals, his attempts at dazzling the nobility with his written witticisms now at an end, ”Yes yes I shall go below and see to it personally, Your Highness. It is what we call the wizard’s room, though it is more properly the quarters of the highest ranking guest…it would be where the…”
”I understand, young man. You may go now.”
”Yes, Your Highness. Do you need an escort to show you the way?”
”No. My Handmaiden Miss Dell here was quite attentive during the tours and knows the way sufficiently.” With a slight shifting of weight and a nod, you cannot help but notice “Miss Dell” is a Risuri sylvan elf with tanned skin and long dark auburn hair of her people, her blue eyes captivating, her gown simpler but in beautiful hues of purple and set off her shoulders.
Elian Aughtbrook can only nod slowly as if dumbstruck, then bows much too grandly and low and loses his hat, having to pick it up awkwardly with the beautiful handmaidens all staring at him imperiously. He murmurs his goodbye and finally leaves the two noblewomen and their respective entourages, heading for a hatch door in the lower wheelhouse.
Duchess Ethelyn of Shale shakes her head slightly, then turns to regard you. ”Once again it seems the Royal Homeland Constabulary comes to the rescue of Risur, though I suppose you did not expect to. My thanks to you, young constable, for that one’s buffoonery and lack of grace over receiving such a simple request was going to cause me to speak out of turn. I do not enjoy belittling others so openly, so you have done me a great kindness in maintaining decorum."
”Yes Ethelyn, though now I see we have traded one bit of tediousness for another.” The biting remark from Lady Catherine Romana indicates she could care less about your status as a constable, your social skills or anything else about you. From the sniffs and dismissive looks of her three courtiers around her, the sentiment from traditional Risuri nobility seems to be shared.
Strangely, the Duchess seems to be more curious than her friend of House Romana. ”Not necessarily Catherine. In any event, I offered the invitation, and I shall have to wait some moments at least before going below to rest, so it affords me an opportunity to judge for myself. I am not impressed with the three so-called “lady constables” who form my brother’s protection detail, finding them droll and without much in the ways of intellectual insight. I hope that is not a trait shared by all men and women of the Constabulary.”
Some, however, have found the aft portion of the main deck to be more to their liking, and here the mood seems to be slightly more jovial and informal than what can be found towards the front of the ship. A raucous laughter echoes across the deck from the area under the ship’s singular deck crane on its port side, whereupon you spy out a well-dressed man in a fine suit of browns and tans kick his expensive shoes at the base of the crane structure, much to the laugher of another finely dressed man next to him…and to the chagrin of the only tiefling of the ship and its designer, Geoff Massarde.
”You see Massarde, I do declare it passes my test at that! Once again invention and experimentation triumph over superstition.”
”It seems you are correct, Mister Pemberton,” says Geoff Massarde in a tone that suggests he is not so amused. He downs the remains of whatever he is drinking from a silver goblet and waves rudely at a servant nearby to fetch him another.
”Remarkable that you were able to put its weight so much to one side, Massarde, that it does not affect the balance so or threaten to cause a roll in heavy seas.” Pemberton does not have a drink in his hands, though he involuntarily puts a hand on his near-handlebar mustache and looks up at the crane. His voice is clearly rural in accent, not at all sounding like one of the foremost industrialists and innovators of the era.
”Of course not. I have worked out all of the calculations on such matters from the first designs.”
The other finely dressed man speaks up, his voice higher-pitched and grating by comparison to Pemberton’s slower deep drawl. ”Bet it cost a pretty shill it right did! No expense too much for His Majesty on this marvel of technology and power, eh? Eh Massarde?” You recognize the other man as Guy Goodson, the unofficial “mayor” of the Ayres and a prominent industrialist and factory owner in his own right, though his voice and mannerisms could easily put his upbringing from Bosum Strand or Parity Lake. By the very fact that he is not seated at the table with the other Mayors of Flint indicates that his representation of the elite Ayres is merely ceremonial in nature.
Blocked from view by Massarde and the base of the crane, you suddenly notice that Talyssa Dane is amongst the group, holding a goblet that she probably hasn’t drunk once from and looking somewhat uncomfortable in the social situation. Talyssa, however, sees you looking on and smiles instantly, beckoning you over to the group before you can make it to the food tables.
”There you are! Sorry I wasn’t able to give you the tour myself, but I had to…” Talyssa pauses as she blushes slightly and attempts to work out the words – something tells you she was about to unintentionally disparage Geoff Massarde for not being able to lead his own tour, a notion that seems to be bolstered by the fact that you can tell the King’s Shipwright is clearly drunk. Talyssa tugs at a shoulder-braid on her dress uniform and abruptly continues. ”Well! Here you are then! Let me introduce you to Shipwright Geoff Massarde, and this is none other than Benedict Pemberton of Pemberton Industries, foremost innovator of inventions and arms in all of Risur. Oh and Guy Goodson of course, prominent industrialist and what-not of the Ayres. Gentlemen, may I introduce my colleague of the Royal Homeland Constabulary.”
As introductions are made, Benedict Pemberton nods to you but seems both bemused and distracted by something. Geoff Massarde does not shake your hand but merely gives you a gruff nod, looking more interested in the whereabouts of the drink he just called for, his eyes somewhat glassy. As you shake Guy Goodson’s hand you notice that Pemberton nonchalantly takes out a small pocketknife from his vest, flips it open, and snips a loose thread dangling from your dress uniform’s sleeve. Calmly putting the pocketknife away, he tucks his thumbs inside the pockets of his vest and continues on as if nothing unusual occurred.
Some, however, have found the aft portion of the main deck to be more to their liking, the conversation here being more academic and animated than what is tolerated by the stuffy Risuri nobility in the forward deck area. A strange scene of a human Navy captain, a dwarven Drakran and a Beran minotaur towering above them both is spied out by you near the area between two secured whaleboats. Two other finely dressed men in academic robes stand some distance apart from the trio, muttering to themselves and eventually leaving their company entirely as if somewhat miffed. This seems not to phase the Risuri officer and the Drakran dwarf, who seem oblivious to all around them as they argue back and forth on what apparently is a spirited debate about competing philosophies.
You cannot get closer to the food and drink tables without going by them, and as you approach you see that the Risuri man is none other than Captain Rutger Smith, the captain of the R.N.S. Impossible, the R.H.C.’s largest and fastest clipper ship available in Flint Branch. An eccentric man for a naval officer, it is rumored that Smith is not popular with the other captains and admirals of the fleet…and is one of the few that has never commanded a ship in wartime. He also evidently has a fondness for Malice-era Millerite philosophy, which is what he is debating. The dwarf is none other than the Drakran Ambassador Tuvuere, and from the sound of it he seems to be passionately countering the notion of Millerism with the teachings of Heid Eschatol, the Drakran who formed the modern teachings of Eschatology, said to be very popular in intellectual circles of Risur as well as Drakyr. Both of them smoke expensive cigars and puff them in between brief pauses of their respective rants.
”You see my good Ambassador Tuvuere, that if you truly take into account the post-Malice writings of William Miller, you would understand that all conflicts could be avoided by a sufficient understanding between opposing groups. This is well documented throughout history.”
Scowling the dwarf shakes his head. ”Bah! Preposterous!” The Drakran ambassador explains further, his shorter arms gesturing wildly. ”Heid Eschatol theory dictates that any ordered system will inevitably be ruined by some random accident, so a single misunderstanding would doom the Millerite theories of peace. What say you to that?”
Interestingly enough, it is the Beran Ambassador Brakken who notices you first - in a distinctly human gesture the grey haired minotaur holds out one large three fingered hand towards you and snorts slightly, his bovine nostrils flaring. inviting you over in an amiable way even though you have never met before. ”Constable of Risur, I bid you welcome. It seems we have lost our two sages from the learned universities of Mitchell and Pardwright to settle the matter, but I understand that those of the Risuri Constabulary are well-traveled and educated in worldly matters. Will you join us?”
"Ahh excellent, Ambassador Brakken. Knowing the Constabulary as I do, I would certainly agree with your last statement – though I have never met this particular lot before." The Captain reaches into his breast coat and withdraws a cigar to offer to you. ”Ambassador Tuvuere and I were just discussing the merits of Eschatology vs. Millerism. Tell me, what do you think? Can conflict be avoided through understanding or will chaos eventually reign?”
"Hi Talyssa. Glad to finally catch up with you." Emerson nods at Massarde and Pemberton and shakes Goodson's hand. "We had a decent enough tour but our conversations about this ship fully prepared me for what to expect. And it does not disappoint."
"It is an honor to meet the captains of industry on this auspicious night" As Pemberton snips the loose thread from His sleeve, Emerson assumes a mock defensive stance and says "Good sir! Pulling a knife on a constable could be considered assault. I would hate to have to arrest you on such a fine night."
His comment is clearly in jest and is meant as an ice breaker.
Gemma momentarily stops in her tracks as she rounds the corner. She’s tries desperately to make her way unnoticed to the tables with all the beautiful pastries, but is then suddenly motioned over by the ambassador from Ber. Delft’s words of warning to not speak much, if at all, to really anyone still rings in her ears and she is trying to keep her promise. She would much rather be patrolling or sitting at a small table, tucked away in the corner, sipping tea and eating sweets while watching all the snobbish people stroll by. A direct conversation seems unavoidable though.
She politely declines Captain Smith’s offer of a cigar and then moves into the circle of men with trepidation. She has book knowledge of most of the philosophies but doesn’t feel any one of them in her heart. Dissecting them and dealing with them logically is not the same thing that these men do. They feel them and live them and that makes their perspectives and intensities very different. She has no desire to offend anyone and isn’t sure what will, so she proceeds cautiously until she can figure out the tenor of the debate.
Gemma cocks her head to the side a little before answering, as if the motion will help sort her answer out in her head before it leaves her lips. “I think, gentlemen, that both have merit as well as fault and that everything follows on a cycle…much like the waves we’re churning through right now. There are instances where, despite the best efforts of diplomacy and understanding, everything erupted in chaos. And others where diplomacy and understanding were able to calm the nightmare of war. They go hand in hand with each one taking the lead at different times. There cannot be constants of either.”
Feeling uncomfortable about asking Constable Summers to honor Makala by speaking about her and receiving a somber silent response, Willem excuses himself, "Perhaps she is not ready or I said something wrong? Due time will tell."
Willem walks the ship looking for anything suspicious starting with the Port-Side stairs to the foredeck. He first runs into the King's Bodyguards, he nods and waves to them. Seeing that Ifris is with them, Willem does a quick look over his uniform and approaches, with a professional tone he replies, "Aye Constable Lanvaldan, the sharks had really big teeth, the tour was quite educational and nationally impressive, and the meal was satisfyin'. And I hope your table and food was or will be equally pleasant." Willem gives her a slight smile and then looks to Cealena Kirby as she begins to speak and after she is finished, he replies professionally with enthusiasm while feeding her ego a little, "Thank you Constable Kirby, I specialize in readin' thee mob. However, I still could not do as well as y'all." His attention shifts to Anya, "I agree Constable Landreth, I do not want to distract y'all from yer duty, creating a national incident, and I can see this section of the ship is secure. So I am goin' to mosey on and check the rest of the ship fer undesirables ... then he looks to Ifris with a smirk ... and sharks. Thank you constables fer the accolades and our brief conversation." At which time, Willem waves and while moving away he adjusts his collar a little.
”Oh, just a long-held habit of fastidiousness young man!” Pemberton chuckles slyly as he continues to tuck his thumbs into his vest pockets, looking at the newcomer with a practiced eye. ”It stands to reason that you have not had much use of your, shall I say, formal attire at these fancy shin-digs I take to meaning, but you have come to the proper side of this glorious vessel to have a proper conversation!” Pemberton chuckles again and waves a hand towards the front of the ship, though the wheelhouse blocks any view to that end except at the railings. ”So stuffy is all that jibber-jabber, that one would nearly swoon with all of that hot air about! Some more than others. Oh yes indeed, but my apologies at my own proprieties as it were - Benedict Pemberton at your service.”
”Guy Goodson, at yours,” adds Goodson with his higher-pitched and paced voice, so different from the slow and easy drawl of Pemberton. ”Say now, you two constables are both from Flint eh? Well well, I suppose my jewelry is all the more safer from a cutpurse but I have to provide a ledger showing where I purchased it from! Ha!” Goodson snaps his fingers for effect at his tasteless joke, clearly thinking he’s the source of wit and humor.
Talyssa Dane then steps in to try and complete the introductions to Emerson. ”And this is Shipwright Master Geoff Massarde, as you surely well know. Geoff, this is Constable Emerson Hill.”
For Massarde’s part, he doesn’t look Emerson in the face, but merely grunts and nods as if forced to do so, and clearly looks around past the group for his next group, his right hand seemingly fingering something tangible in his long coat pocket. Though Emerson can see that Talyssa isn’t pleased with his lack of social effort, she smiles and tries to distract the slight.
”Emerson, we were just talking about some of the engineering marvels of the ship…like the deck crane here…” Talyssa trails off awkwardly amongst the men. Above them, Skimmer peers his head down at them from the top of the crane and lets out a shrill cry to them.
All three women look at Willem as he turns to leave with varied expressions, anywhere from surprise to amusement to skepticism. He is three or four steps away when his trained ears hear the trio bicker behind him at the port-side stairs.
”Well I think the stairs are secure - see you two in a bit when the band’s ready!” Footsteps of a lighter weight follow Willem – it seems Cealena Kirby has decided to join him. Yet before he can turn to see, he hears the other two soldiers-turned-constables bicker, including a surprising turn for the nearly always by-the-book Constable Lanvaldan…
”Fine if she wants to strut around with the rabble. We have our duties to perform.” Constable Landreth’s voice is clear and contemptuous, no doubt looking down her nose at Kirby walking away from her.
”You do that trenchrat – guard the stairs and keep the orchestra from fumbling their instruments over the side. I’ll choose the stroll.” Lanvaldan’s heavier boots upon the deck quickly catch up to Kirby even as Lanvaldan huffs with what must be her best impression of stoic outrage.
Willem Muhnee finds himself suddenly flanked by two of the three constables of the King’s Bodyguards, one of which has to this point never given him the time of day. Kirby actually offers her arm to Muhnee as if they were two nobles on a date walking in the royal parks.
Ifris shakes her head slightly as if being offended by Kirby’s attempt at charm, but her words are addressed to Willem. ”So Muhnee, big day today for you then?”
”Oh yes, do tell!” adds Cealena with an expectation that he will do exactly that.
”Oh poppycock!” Ambassador Tuvuere scowls at Gemma and waves her off with a hand, clearly finding her reply unsatisfactory. However, she does realize that she has not truly offended the Drakran Ambassador or insulted him, merely that her attempt to steer the middle course was not to his liking.
For Captain Smith’s part, he merely regards her for a moment with a mixture of pity and disappointment, shaking his head slightly as if to say ’Oh poor poor girl you clearly do not understand the conversation’ and then turns back to Tuvuere to renew the heated debate, placing his offered cigar back in a coat pocket as he does so.
As the pair of philosophical debaters start up again, it is the hulking Ambassador Brakken who regards her with intently focused brown eyes, though his facial features are not indicative of his thoughts about her as she does not know the expressions of minotaurs. When he speaks to her in a low rumbling voice that is meant to not overshadow the other pair, however, it is clear that he has no intention of dismissing her.
”Diplomacy, little constable. An admirable quality, even if it will not mollify the discourse or change their topic.” A low rumbling series of what sound like coughs are quickly understood to pass for a chuckle by his massive race. ”I myself would prefer to illustrate the passionate philosophy of Panoply from my homeland, but it does not neatly fit into their squabbling dueling with one another.” Brakken pauses as he turns his mightily horned head towards an offered tray of drinks by a nervous servant, and declines the young man graciously, then continues his discussion with Gemma. ”Panoply is said by some to be not unlike that of the Dockers of Flint, though from what I have gleaned it is…more enlightened than what they promote in your city. Tell me, Constable of Risur, what is your name and what do you revere?”
”You do that trenchrat – guard the stairs and keep the orchestra from fumbling their instruments over the side. I’ll choose the stroll.” Lanvaldan’s heavier boots upon the deck quickly catch up to Kirby even as Lanvaldan huffs with what must be her best impression of stoic outrage.
Emerson ignores the slight from Massarde as just typical for a tiefling. Never met a teifleing I ever liked he thinks to himself.
He can see that Talyssa is somewhat distressed at the lack of decorum from the shipwright and does his best to keep her from worry. ”Yes Talyssa. I was wondering how many projectile boots it would take to knock that crane from its anchor.” Hill looks at Pemberton with a conspiratory grin. ”Are we taking bets on the matter?”
A surprised and impressed with himself Willem, being a gentleman, lets Cealena grab his arm and at the same time, opens his other arm for Ifris to grab. While waiting for Ifris to grab his other arm and being true to form, "I will indeed tell but how far and long can you stroll from here?"
In the back of his mind he worries that his love will not approve but he does have to keep up the masquerade. He hopes that he will be fine as long as he keeps it professional and platonic.
”Indeed sir!” Benedict Pemberton smiles and lets out a hearty guffaw at the notion of it, a twinkle in his eye with the absurd glee of such a destructive act set to a wager. ”Why I should say that if the device doin’ the projectin’ was of my own Pemberton make, it would not take any more than half a dozen to see it through to the end!”
Pemberton continues to chuckle mirthfully at the jest, even though Geoff Massarde frowns and clearly finds the conversation distasteful. Fortunately for him, the manservant returns with a fresh drink in a silver goblet, which the shipwright takes from the tray without a thought of gratitude; he withdraws a small delicate metal wand from his pocket that he was fingering before, and with a slight mutter the wand sets an icy arc of bluish-tinged light to his cup, chilling it in seconds to a frosty state as if left outside in the cold air for several hours. That a Danoran tiefling exile would willingly use such magic for trivial comfort perhaps reveals how in opposition he is with the principles and customs of his homeland. Massarde pockets his wand and eagerly takes a sip of his latest drink.
For his part, Pemberton continues on conversing with Emerson. ”At the risk of sounding like some sort of anarchic insurrectionist, and notwithstandin’ my sheer appreciation and wonderment at this technological achievement which I am most fortunate to see first-hand as I am, it would be a relished sight to see the shock and surprise on old sour-mouthed Lee’s face!” Pemberton nudges Guy Goodson next to him to weigh in on his jest. ”Oh yes, that would surely put a damper on the perfectionist plans of that buzzard, wouldn’t it?”
”Ahh yea…yes it would…ahhh ha…” answers Guy Goodson with clear hesitation, looking around fitfully as if Principal Minister Lee would be at his shoulder to catch him in the insult. For most the displeasure of the Principal Minister is not something sought after, even in jest.
As Cealena Kirby strolls with Willem arm-in-arm on the deck, using her other hand to carefully adjust her small lady’s dark gray derby hat set with a peacock feather at the lighter-hued silken gray band around it, Ifris Lanvaldan merely looks at Willem’s offered arm on his other side with a frown and gives him a quick admonishing smack on his wristcuff. That in itself is a friendlier reaction to Willem than most would receive, though a reminder that Ifris is not one to bow to social convention. She does, however, answer his question.
”Just stay ‘round the deck forward of the wheelhouse, and when we see the King break up his meeting with the Flinters, we’ll head back and form up.” Servants coming forward from the aft of the ship with trays of confections and after-dinner drinks stop momentarily to offer them to the trio, and though Ifris abstains from any liquid refreshments, she regrettably snatches a pastry from a tray and downs it in only two bites.
Cealena nibbles down a piece of rich chocolate and grabs a goblet of some warm spiced cider before continuing their stroll. ”Yes, a big day indeed! And our own man Muhnee here at the heart of some apprehending of miscreants, evidently assisting those of Flint Branch with detail on Royal Square!” She gives him a sly wink and then looks past him to Ifris with a raised eyebrow, adding, ”I even heard there were injuries amongst those apprehended.”
”What? I didn’t hear any of this Cealena.”
”Of course you didn’t dear Ifris,” replies Cealena with nearly a purring tone of satisfaction. ”I, however, pay attention to details here and there.”
”You mean snooping around near the Director’s table is more like it,” snaps Ifris disapprovingly.
”Oh, a lady does not reveal her secrets to the common. But come now, let us hear what Willem has to say for his part, now that he’s managed something beyond fetching and carrying dispatches to and fro.”
Anneca is gazing out into the distance off the railing, lost in thought, when the Duchess of Shale bids her to come closer. She doesn't have the energy to stop the flash of annoyance in her eyes as she is used to force a polite exit of the officer, rather than simply speak plainly. Nor is she in any mood to stand for bafely veiled insults. She bristles when Lady Romana mocks her, and again when the Duchess insults her comrades. "Has it been so long, Duchess, since the Third Yerasol War? From your reputation, I would think you preferred to keep company with men and women of action and competence over those who simply crave stimulation or financial improvement." She glares pointedly at Lady Romana. Her words are coming out far more quickly than prudence would advise. "I don't think the Constables were selected based on their insight into international affairs - but rather because of their skill and loyalty. And why would you or I care if they are male or female? Those three are talented Constables willing to give their lives for Risur. You speak of a distaste for openly belittling others to their face, but don't think twice about doing it behind their backs." She turns back to the railing, gripping it so tightly in her anger that she might break bone. Steaming, she considers if she should apologize or backtrack - but she simply stares out to the distance, thinking of someone who gave her life for Risur and would be a mere annoyance to people like this.
Gemma isn’t sure if she should extend her hand or not or really what the best course of action is in this social situation. She decides instead to simply nod in deference to the Berran ambassador. “My name is Gemma Atherton, Ambassador, and I suppose I revere knowledge above all else. And while, yes, I was trying to be diplomatic so as not to anger either party, my words were still truth. Mirrath Roslarb’s words helped calm King Boyle and kept many from dying, bringing an excellent end to aggression. Eschatology and Millerism together. Although, I believe Captain Smith is ignoring a key point about Miller. Despite his words of reason and an attempt to promote understanding, he got himself burned at the stake with his own writings used as literal fuel by learned men, who called his thoughts heretical. I guess if I had to say, my philosophy is that of a martial scientist. Knowledge is power.”
She takes a small breath before continuing, knowing that she doesn’t have much opportunity to speak freely to a learned Berran and wanting to take full advantage of the situation.
“As far as the Dockers and Panoply is concerned, I think they simply call it that because they have no other word to describe what they believe in. They believe in drink and entertainment and living for the day. They feel that they are ill-treated, and in many cases they are, but have no desire to be in true positions of power to change it because it would change their identity. That and those in power see no value in the words of Dockers and find them an irritation more than anything.”
“But forgive me, Ambassador Bracken, I must be boring you by going on and on. It’s just…I don’t really have the opportunity very often to speak freely or share my thoughts.”
She hopes that Bracken isn’t bored and that the conversation will continue, but is entirely expecting him to wave her off at any moment.
Emerson clearly sees the discomfort on Guy’s face and seeks to change the topic. Hopefully Pemberton will take the hint and not keep babbling in front of Massarde here.
Hill signals the manservant over and helps distribute fresh drinks to Talyssa, Guy, and Benedict. ”To the future, and the technological wonders we have yet to develop.” Once the glasses have been raised and the toast completed Emerson continues in deflecting the past bit of uncomfortable slience.
”So gentlemen, what projects of the future are you currently working on? My father is an engineer and has taught me a little of his trade. I would be most interested in hearing of your works.”
Anneca hears the varied voices of elite feminine surprise and outrage over her harsh words. Though she is turned to the sea and cannot see their faces, the collective gaggle of younger female handmaidens convey a series of rather predictable ’How dare you!’ and ’Well I never!’ responses, mixed in with some insults of greater flowery elaboration.
It is Lady Romana’s words that stand out the most, however, as her voice carries a steeled maturity and authority of command that the courtiers clearly lack. ”Brave words from an ignorant waif who wields her badge as a shield! I’d school you in knowing how to speak to your betters girl, if it was worth my time or intellect to do so.” There’s a pause as Lady Romana shifts her voice to one she considers her own equal. ”I’ve no need of this, Ethelyn. Shall you move on with me to more verdant ground?”
It is the Duchess of Shale’s response, however, that may surprise Anneca more. ”No, Catherine, I think I shall stay for a few minutes longer. Go on ahead if it pleases you and I shall look for you later on.”
”Very well then. Your Grace.” The Lady Romana acquiesces in her tone, though only barely as she bids Duchess Ethelyn farewell. Words of polite goodbyes and curtsies delivered perfectly by Romana’s three handmaidens are nearly in harmonic unison, and then they move away from the railing; Anneca sees out of her periphery that they nearly bowl over a poor halfling servant in white livery bearing a tray of confections who failed to move to the railing quickly enough. ”Out of the way!” scolds one of the handmaidens to him, using her silken gloved hand to almost push him against the railing and threatening to knock his silver tray overboard, though somehow he manages to dexterously hold onto it, glaring angrily in bowed silence at the noblewomen as they move on.
For Anneca’s part, she partly turns to see that Duchess Ethelyn and her five handmaidens still stand before her; four of her courtiers glare at her openly as expected, though ‘Miss Dell’ the fifth handmaiden of elvish heritage seems to be more distracted by the near run-in between Romana’s group and the halfling servant farther away from where they all stand. Perhaps the most strange to Anneca is that the Duchess does not seem to be angered by the exchange but regards at her with a note of interested curiosity, though somehow at the same time slightly saddened – whether moved by pity, melancholy or some other emotion the constable cannot begin to guess.
”An interesting observation, young constable. Yet you utterly miss the point in your impassioned defense of your fellows I think. Of course they have skills of a sort, and would give their lives for their homeland. Very loyal, yes. Like dogs. Dogs are loyal, and give their loyalty blindly, even should it be that their master beats them every other day.” The Duchess peers closer at Anneca, and adds with an expectant voice for an answer, ”Are you such a one, young constable? Or do you think for yourself, serve and sacrifice because you are aware of the world, and have made a conscious choice of it?”