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What If . . .
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03-09-2021, 08:38 AM
LowTech
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
Following dinner, they withdrew to yet another sitting room. A table was covered with a large map, and several other maps, notes, and sketches were pinned on boards against one wall.
"I've gathered these findings and reports from the farmers and merchants guilds," said Lady Jaye. "I've plotted each incident on the map on the table. Sketches and reports of the incidents are against the wall. I've asked the militia captain for his patrol reports, but he has been . . . uncooperative."
Scarlett opened a satchel and pulled a sheaf of papers.
"I thought that might be the case. I took the liberty of borrowing the militia's patrol reports," she said, dropping them on the table.
"They gave them to you?!" exclaimed Barbecue.
Scarlett snorted. "This compound is better guarded than the militia headquarters."
They examined the maps and reports, plotting all known attacks and actions. Barbecue read and reread descriptions of the attacks. Tossing the papers to the desk he wandered out to a courtyard to examine the bull's carcass. Gashes severed the hamstrings. The throat was torn out. The body was eviscerated. It was difficult to judge the size of teeth and claws, but they were big. A green-shirted guard joined him, standing with arms.
"Whatever did that was big, fast, and strong. And hunts at night. You sure you're being paid enough?" asked the guard.
"Are you?" asked Barbecue in return.
"Oh I'm not going," said the guard, with a shrug. "Sometimes the Lady gets it in her head to do something herself. She's quite capable. And she keeps us busy with other tasks."
Barbecue ran a hand through his hair and flicked the tarp back over the carcass. He clenched his fists and wandered back inside, passing through the dining hall to pour himself another glass of wine from a cut decanter. He thumbed through the descriptions of prints at the various scenes, imagining the size and gait of . . . whatever it was. Doc wrote out of a timeline of attacks and corresponding patrols. He scratched his head, puzzled, and started over.
"The central point between these attacks is this area in the foothills," said Lady Jaye.
"Yeah," muttered Doc, frowning. "But look where the militia patrols have been focussed," he said, pointing to the region on the opposite side of the town. "And as each new incident has occurred the patrols have moved further away from the foothills. Do they know something we don't?"
"They're either deliberately avoiding contact out of fear, or out of collusion. Or both," said Scarlett.
"Hey! Those are serious allegations," said Barbecue.
Scarlett shrugged. "Well the militia's never been impartial."
Barbecue opened his mouth to protest. He had friends who had been on those patrols. But then he thought of their reactions at the meeting, and their strange reluctance to embrace adventure or a fight. It had been odd then, and seemed differently odd now. He noticed that the room was silent, and all eyes were on him. He closed his mouth. Scarlett rolled her eyes and turned to Lady Jaye.
"Have you mentioned to anyone when you thought we'd start?"
"The militia captain asked me that when I approached him about his reports. I told him it would take a few days to prepare."
Scarlett nodded and distractedly pulled at her lip.
"He doesn't know about me. We can use this. Leave tomorrow morning. Tell the city gate guard you're going to one of the farms to gather information. Might be worth doing anyway. Either way, once out of sight of the walls, turn off here," said Scarlett, tapping the map. She traced her finger along a draw. "I'll meet you at the ford."
"This is a bit much," sputtered Barbecue. "You're behaving like the militia are our enemy."
"Enemy, no," said Doc. "Though perhaps they don't welcome the competition. I don't generally approve of subterfuge, but the militia's secrecy does raise questions."
"No, it doesn't," shouted Barbecue. "Their activities are always secret. It's how they stay safe."
"And yet here we are with a common threat, and their actions are . . . "
Lady Jaye's voice trailed off at the sound of a discreet knock at the door. A servant entered the room, and beckoned for Lady Jaye. She followed him back to the tiled reception room, where a fit-looking blond man in red tunic stood staring disinterestedly at a tapestry. He turned at her entrance and gave a short bow.
"My Lady," he said. "I am Fred, a guard in the employ of the Merchant's Guild. The Guild has tasked me to accompany you on your venture to resolve the matter of killed livestock. To verify that the service has been concluded as agreed upon."
Lady Jaye raised an eyebrow and looked Fred over.
"Very well," she replied. "Meet her tomorrow at dawn. We'll be setting off to gather facts from one of the farms."
"Are you in council?" asked Fred after a brief pause. "Perhaps I may assist?"
"No," said Lady Jaye. "We have finished for the evening.
Fred frowned, but said nothing. After another pause he bowed his head and withdrew, collecting a swordbelt from the guardroom on his way out.
"We have been assigned a minder by the Merchant's Guild," said Lady Jaye, returning to the planning room. "To verify that the service has been concluded as agreed upon. A swordsman."
"'To verify that the service has been concluded as agreed upon?'" laughed Scarlett. "Is he a merc or a lawyer?!"
"Likely as untrustworthy as either," said Lady Jaye. "But no matter. As I was about to say, I agree with Scarlett. We follow her plan. Meet me here tomorrow morning."
Barbecue tensed and opened his mouth again, then caught Lady Jaye's eye and closed it. He bounced on his heels in frustration, clenching and unclenching his fists.
"Ok," he said finally, with a sigh. "I get it." He took a few deep breaths, and then turned towards Doc. "So, uh, your temple is known for healing draughts. Are you bringing any . . . tomorrow? "
Doc stepped closer to Barbecue. He peered into his eyes and mouth, and examined the steadiness of his hands. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
"I'll bring bandages and medicines for emergencies. In your case, I think you should lay off self-medicating. Though I could put you on a regimen of cabbage."
"Well . . . I was thinking in case of emergencies beyond banages," said Barbecue.
"You strike me as a bravo who often finds himself in emergencies," smirked Scarlett.
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