Samen nods grimly at his siblings. "Good idea. I could use a nap.
Dad would be so proud of us, threatening murder and arson."
"It's just evolving to the times," says Samoon. "Adapt or die. Better that than 'adapting' into chunks of brass."
After pushing the wagon through a patch of mud that clings like cold porridge and smells like a latrine, you finally arrive at Albreane's office. The same condemned copper mines loom above, now featureless silhouettes in the pre-bright darkness. Closer up, you see the door is ajar, and has a set of keys dangling from it. Albreane approaches, cautiously.
When she examines the keys, her body language goes from fear to exasperation. "Antonio, my stupid coworker. I'd recognize the sanctimonious red triangle on his key ring anywhere."
Without waiting for a reply from any of you, the sylph pushes the door open, her deep auburn hair swishing in her annoyed haste. Walking briskly to an office on the right, she slams another door open on its hinges and yells, "Stop using our building as your little love shack to cheat on your wife, Antonio! Get out or I'll make sure you get fired, divorced, and a black eye, not necessarily in that order!"
Thirty seconds of fumbling later, two half-dressed ifrits, an el and ele, jog to the exit. Antonio stares at the floor, while the ele glares at Albreane. They both leave. You can hear Antonio cursing and struggling with his keys, then the door clicks shut and you are alone.
With a deep sigh, Albreane says, "I am going to sleep. Mari, you're with me. The els can take Antonio's room. Pee in the corner if you feel so inclined. If not, the washroom is in the way back." Without another word, she walks slowly into her office, steadying herself on the doorframe as she enters.
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"Ahem--pee in a flask, please. Urea is a fine thing to precipitate for agriculture, medical salves, and of course, explosives," says Samoon in an almost sleepwalker like voice.
He yawns. "Blistering Fallen Sky, I'll take a first watch and then I may turn to brass as well."
"I will take second. Good night all."
Samen takes his shoes off and simply collapses on the ground in an out of the way location.
Aside from the companionship of a bitter wind and a dusting of snow, you take your watches alone. A group of drunks passes by a few streets over, and the occasional cat or dog wanders by. All else is quiet, serene, as if this world can know peace.
Wamblee sleeps, Wamblee takes second watch, Wamblee sleeps, and wakes up after sleeping sufficiently.
Quiet surroundings suit him.
”Mother, are you alright?” Marianne asks in concern when her mother starts coughing. ”We have to get that checked before leaving Forge, if you are sick, we can’t have it worsening on the road...” Marianne trails off, thinking. ”Damn, it’s Fallanday, and you don’t seem bad enough for a house call. We are going to have to go to an ifreet, aren’t we?”
Wamblee starts at the sound of coughing and Marianne's concern.
When he realise the situation, he says:
"Unfortunately. I will accompany ye."
Albreane looks uncomfortable. "I understand this is what we've been working for, and I know that what my father did was wrong." A rueful smile, flashing then gone. "That doesn't mean I want to see the look on his face though."
She pushes a thick stack of papers forward on her desk. You see detailed drawings of the damage done to the supports ; evidence of willful sabotage ; names of the ifrits you glimpsed in the tunnels; a map of the mine and all the foul play you discovered; and even a few sketches of the odd half-brass animals. "I worked on this last night. Couldn't sleep more than a few hours. This should be enough to scare him."
She sighs, rubbing at her eyes. "How about I take her to a doctor, and I can pretend I'm doing it as a favor to your mother rather than avoiding my father?"
Wamblee says to the group:
"We need to approach Bree's father. We must know what his involvement is."
When Albreane reveals her work and makes her suggestion, Wamblee looks upon the detailed drawings and lists with something approaching awe before turning to the ele.
"You are a good friend, Bree. And that would be most helpful. Thank you."
”I don’t like the idea of confronting Rentwyrth with less than all of us. He, or someone near him, is dabbling in Dark powers. This could become ugly quickly,” Marianne comments. ”On another note, Bree, would you mind stashing some copies of at least parts of that report, just in case?”
"I'm trying to get your mom out of the way of this confrontation, Mari, and my contribution would involve missing with my bow and possibly getting captured. Are you going to insist I come along?"
"To your second point - that is an excellent idea. Great minds think alike." She smiles and pats her satchel. "I've got copies of the essentials. One in my boss's strongbos, and one on me."
"It is better that Mother be away from a possibly ugly situation, especially since we can handle it."
Samen grunts noncommittally. "It might be better if it's not clear to your father that you're involved right away anyway. Let's go surprise him with some well crafted documents that he wouldn't be expecting from us bumpkins."
"I agree with Marianne," says Samoon. "I mean, aside from Mother. And I would include Albreane--less chance of Rentwyrth lying to us. Or having his lies go unnoticed."
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Albreane walks up to Samoon. You can smell her light perfume, and also a sweet tang of sweat from the inadequate washing facilities. Her crimson-gold eyes, fritan and sylphan, hold a hint of challenge. "Ask me to go with you, don't just say 'I would include Albreane'."
Marianne barely manages to hide a smirk at her friend’s words. Interesting. Bree knows full well he was just in strategic mode, not ignoring her. This is the kind of trick she pulled while trying to get Samoon to woo her...
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I...Albreane...would you please come with us?" Samoon feels a little bit of sweat break out on his brow. "For...everyone." He purses his mouth, not sure what to say next. He was never very good at this...
She gives you a small smile and a pat on the cheek. "Better." She turns away. "Let's gather our things and get this over with."
Wamblee cannot help but smile a little.
Samoon met his match with Bree. A pity that it did not work out.
Samoon looks like something is about to spring to his lips...words, one hopes...but then he nods, still holding a breath, and goes to fetch his supplies.
Samen rolls his eyes at the pair. "Fine, come with us then. Don't die alone, mom!"
Albreane takes you to a sylphan acquaintance of hers, a doctor. The old el, his deep wrinkles upon white skin looking like a crumpled-up broadsheet, tuts away Bree's apologies and says, "Fallenday does not apply to friends, or to fellow sylphs in need. Come in, my dear," he beckons, gently guiding your coughing Mother inside.
With a weak smile, she replies to Samen, "Don't die together."
The door closes, leaving only an outline of faint yellow candlelight spilling onto the snowy ground.
Albreane Spelunk's shoulders are hunched beneath her black coat, and her gloved fists are balled tight. Her footsteps become heavier as you approach your destination, making small puffs of snow in the dry air. On the way, she tersely describes where her father will be - a small, single-story home in the Iron Hills that he acquired years ago after forgiving the debt of a trading partner in Forge, the Picco family.
Volcano brightens slowly, like a cantankerous grandfather reluctant to get out of bed. A few streaks of yellow and orange spring from the peak, but it is mostly shaping up to be a day of tepid reds. Crossing the wide thoroughfares of Forge, you pass crowds of miners going on shift, shopkeeps idly jingling their keys, wagons from the Copper Hills smelling of spilled beer, and guards sporting bruises and bandages from the brutbreve games of the previous night. Their laughter and chatter seem a thing removed, like a play viewed from several streets away - noise, motion and color without meaning.
Your purpose draws you through the crowds, a lodestone pulling you toward the Iron Hills. Not to the Scrap Market this time, but up the creaking switchback paths, up to the Hills themselves. Past old mines yawning in the early morning air, past cheap flophouses where miners lose their wages. The long, gradual incline just starts to make your legs burn when Albreane calls for a halt. Before you, built into the hill, is an unassuming gray house with one door, one window, and a peaked roof.
Quietly, her breathing pluming, she says, "I'm here with you, but I can't start it. Can you speak for me?"
Wamblee turns to the others.
"Bluntly, if we want him scared, myself or Samen should speak first. If not, then Mar or Samoon."
He looks at his siblings expectantly.
Marianne’s fists are clenched. ”If I speak, I’m going to tear him apart,” she snarls through clenched teeth, the very winds heralding her rage as they whip about in a frenzy.
"That'd go well, Mar. Sounds like you're up, Samoon. Go give your future father-in-law what for. I'll see if I can float awkwardly around the room to lighten the mood."
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Samoon takes a deep breath and nods. He turns the key in the lock. Just to make sure, he checks that a crossbow bolt isn't coming his way...
"Rentwyrth? I'd like to speak with you," he says as he works the key, summoning up courage. Years of images of the man, always mildly disapproving in the background as he courted Albreane, hover over his vision. Every conversation was a damnable test, he recalls. Designed to probe for knowledge or trip me up.
Well, I've been to Light. Let him test away. This time I'm the one with some questions for him.
The door opens on well-oiled hinges. Your query echoes slightly in the large rooms, which are strangely devoid of furniture.
From down the hall, you hear Rentwyrth call, "Is that you, boyo? Samoon? Come calling with my daughter again, have ye?" He chuckles, his voice a mix of affected culture and sylphan brogue. "Come talk to me lad, tell me what couldna wait 'til a more reasonable candle."
In a large, open room that takes up nearly half the first floor, you find Rentwyrth, sitting behind an expansive oak desk. Though he is on the short and pudgy side by sylphan standards, he is obviously Albreane's father - the stubborn set of the jaw, the slightly mocking eyes, and fidgeting fingers are all echoed in Bree. Despite the early hour, he wears a dark, well-tailored suit, and his hair is slicked back.
"And tell me boyo, are we friends or not this day? Ye seem to have a slight...grimace to your features."
"It's important. We have many things to discuss, sir."
He bows slightly to the elder Rentwyrth. "My apologies for the late candle. However, time is of the essence. Firstly--we're aware of your dispute with my late father's property. Could you clarify your intentions?"
Rentwyrth dips his chin downward, making a small double-chin. He glances at you through his lowered brows. "My intentions, boyo? And surely you didna clumsily court my dotter without gettin' to know her old el's 'intentions' even a wee bit. My...intentions, as it happens, were to recoup losses on an investment. One o' my own workers told me what was what out in the mine, I put in the paperwork, and here we are. Dreadful sorry if it puts ye out, boyo, but business is business. Are ye takin' this up with the courts, or tryin' to strong-arm me with yer biceps-and-then-some brothers?" He spares a glance at Samen and Wamblee, then returns his attention to Samoon.
Wamblee keeps his arms crossed, not flinching from Rentwyrth's gaze.
Samen scratches behind his back, making a show of his muscles as he does so. Think floaty thoughts. Think floaty thoughts. C'moooon curse, do your thing!
Marianne has so far stayed silent, watching Rentwyrth stonily, her hair swaying slightly.
Amidst all the tension in the room, Samen awkwardly floats a few inches off the ground, swaying slightly off-kilter. Rentwyrth snaps, "And what in the fiery pits of damnable Volcano is that about?" He points at Samen. "If ye aim to have a conversation with me, ye all should take a step back and stop with whate'er spells the strange one is doin' back there." He slides back in his chair, eyeing all of you.
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Samen grins gormlessly at his 'accomplishment'. "Wish I knew, sir."
He pushes gently off a wall to throw himself into a fully uncontrolled spin. "Welcome to my hell. It seems the curse I'm under sets me adrift whenever social situations get awkward. Don't mind me! Continue lying and or intimidating my brother."
He closes his eyes to avoid getting motion sick.
Rentwyrth's eyes flick to Wamblee for a moment. "You, the other large-ish brother. You have five seconds to control that fool or this conversation is over."
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"Do you even know what's in that mine, Rentwyrth? And you made a false claim. I can prove it. If you're going to 'boyo' me and roll up like a rock turtle at the first parley, then you have us figured very, very wrong."
Samoon crosses his arms. "You have five seconds to answer questions, or you'll find yourself in irons or worse for what we have evidence for."
He raises an eyebrow, assessing you. "Not so deferential now that yer not seekin' my approval, eh Samoon? Alright, I see the stack a' papers yer clutchin' so eagerly, and I see my dotter's handwriting, so neat and proper, so you, Eldest Firenze, and no one else, come and slide it over nice and gentle and I'll take a look. How's that for parley?"
He holds up a finger before you have a chance to respond. "And here's basic negotiations for ye - give and take. I was serious about getting that buffoon off the rafters. At best he'll make a mess, at worst it's some fool ploy to distract; I'll not tolerate either. Control your wee one, the way a good head of the fam'ly should do, and I'll tell ye what's making brass down there, ye tuig?"
"He's not kidding about the mess. When was the last time you dusted up here?"
Samen pushes off the ceiling and heads back toward the ground, hoping not to bounce too hard.
"At least this hasn't ever happened outside. That could be really awkward."
Marianne is staring at her brother in slack-jawed amazement for long moments as he floats around the room. She keeps staring even when he lands, and doesn’t compose herself until Rentwyrth mentions the brass. Even then, her gaze keeps sliding back towards Samen for the rest of the conversation.