Baxter PDF

11 BAXTER The Little Hedge Mage didn’t have a spell to hold back tears, as it were. It took several shoves for Lucius to keep pace with Dreichels out ahead, the third prince eagerly skipping—and hobbling, drunk as he somehow still was—toward the betting b...

11 BAXTER The Little Hedge Mage didn’t have a spell to hold back tears, as it were. It took several shoves for Lucius to keep pace with Dreichels out ahead, the third prince eagerly skipping—and hobbling, drunk as he somehow still was—toward the betting booth. "Drei." At Baxter’s call, Lucius recoiled. "Take the long way around." "Eh?" Dreichels turned back. "But your gang ain’t even here today—" "Take the long way. Best not forget who else is out and about." Baxter worried that was too subtle, but even adjacent mention of the HMP sufficed to stifle any questioning, sending Dreichels skittering off. That should buy me a few minutes. Baxter put an arm around the fat boy to steady him as his brother came back around and passed them by. "Stop looking so nervous, Lucius. I don’t want to hurt you. So long as you give me no reason, you’ll be golden. Well…" He tapped his saber against the boy’s hip. "Figuratively speaking." "I…" Lucius squeaked out his first word since he had been put down, plainly committed to ignorance. "What h-happened?!" "You tell me." "B-but I thought we were kinda-friends, and…" Baxter had to laugh. "Oh, ‘kinda-friends’, huh? And here I thought you and Dreichels were ‘kinda-brothers’. Half-brothers, but still bound by blood. Seems we were both wrong." The boy’s lip quivered. "Why would you endanger him? I know Albert’s your favorite, but that chick’s no good. I could place as much from a country selge away, and—" Lucius looked up at him. "What chick?!" he asked, sniffling. "Who?!" In truth, it was getting hard to deny his unease was genuine. "I don’t know anyone who… would, um…" Trailing off did not help his case. To prevent more tears, Baxter humored him, waiting for Lucius to compose. "Did she c-call herself… Iris? Or maybe Rose?"  "Sounds like you know two chicks who would." Gone unanswered, Baxter sighed. "No, she didn’t. Raya, it was Raya. But no matter; that was probably a pseudonym. Describe the girls." Baxter squeezed down on the boy’s shoulder to find a pressure point. "Well, Izzy can be kinda quiet and easy to trick, but she’s really quite sweet and caring—" "Appearance, Lucius. What do they look like?" The meek yelp was enough to know it was an honest mistake. "...Sorry. Iris is only a year my senior, short, sickly, rib-skinny like a knife, with pale-blue hair and—" "Not her. Next." For some reason, Lucius took that as a relief. "Right. Granny Rose is blonde just like Freddie and—ow!" A pinch left the boy squirming from his grasp. "Stop that! I may not be so big anymore, but I’m still no good with pain." "Fine. But am I meant to believe you showing up right as Raya disappeared is a coincidence? A second witch to replace the first?" "Well, t-technically, cause I'm a boy, I'm a magus, not a witch—" "Lucius." Silence. "Do not play me for a fool. I suggest getting to your confession, lest I take this up with my father, Governor Huber. Do keep in mind he’s close friends with the former cabinet minister of parliament. With their connections, the truth of your magic might find its way onto the Noble Herald’s front page. Should make for quite the article." Whether or not Director Marion still had sway in the Ministry of Communications, Baxter couldn’t say. Neither can Lucius, so who cares? The princeling’s face curdled with anguish, earnest and pure. "I’d get in big trouble if you do that! Please, can’t you see I’ve no idea what you’re talking about?" Baxter felt no pride intimidating a ten-year-old, but time was growing thin. Dreichels had reached the betting booth. "Drei had no idea, either. Well, not anymore. We sat with Raya for upwards of an hour. And those two spoke even further at length; if only I knew what about. Whatever it was led Raya to wipe his memory altogether. Somehow. Who’s to say she didn’t wipe yours on her way out?" Raya’s mistrust of Baxter had been writ large on her face, no less than the other way around. She had a keen eye, to go by his own, moreso than was comfortable. She saw right through me, Baxter lamented, left only to assume the worst about the nature and extent. If Lucius is in leagues with her, wiping the boy’s memory does make a fine cover-up. For how genuinely upset he was, plainly nervous as he stood there scratching his neck through his scarves, it was hard for Baxter to remain firm with him. He's missing something. As am I. Neither of them had any leads… ‘Eep!’ A squeak caught his ear, and all thought ceased. "The heck was that?" Lucius asked, ever-and-infuriatingly-oblivious. "A rat." "You heard too?" Lucius flung his head around. "But the ground’s clean enough to eat off…" For you, maybe. Baxter scoffed. I heard a rat this morning too, didn’t I? But where? Couldn’t have been here. Not oft did a rat come scuttling by this side of the capital, whether ‘this side’ spoke in terms of depth or verticality. In the Catacombs, tiny rats were oft said to be as commonplace as giant monstrous ones, but in Heimdallr Colosseum? For one to scuttle past the guards unseen is possible, but twice in a day was nigh unheard of. Maybe the first rat was in the plaza or on my ride from Alto with Mom, he thought, and then, Why am I lingering on this? It was almost as if picturing a rat had knocked something loose in him, but… what? I don’t have time for this. Focus on the magic. Baxter put a finger to the prince’s lips. "Forget the rat. I still have more questions for you." "B-but…" Lucius pointed a shaky finger. "Drei’s almost back, see?" Shit. They had a minute at most. "Here’s what we’ll do. When Drei comes back: ask where Aria is. Say not a word of anything else. Try anything funny and I’ll expose your witchcraft to all the Empire. Understood?" Lucius nodded. "And no more crying." He looked about ready to start back up again. "But I s-saw Aria," he said, wiping his red-raw eyes with his scarves. "She’s back in the s-stable with th’ other…" A glare shut him up. "Sorry, got it." "I hope you do." Guilty or not, seeing a kid like this had a way of breaking his heart. At least he’s just some snotnosed boy—and a few years older than her sister was, besides. Dreichels had already dipped into his earnings; in one hand was a jingling sack of mira, and in the other a horn of ale, overflowing before it reached his lips. He spilled most down his chin. Ordinarily, Baxter would chide his indulgence, but in this case, it made for a fine distraction. He pushed Lucius, urging the boy to sidle around to his other side, making room for Dreichels. Singing a tune on approach, the third prince settled beside Baxter along the railing, a hint of smug satisfaction touching his lips. "All done talkin’ shit about me?" "Not quite." Baxter smiled, or tried his damndest to. What song is that? It sounded familiar. ‘He stalks the halls as a king doth rise, from broken oaths and silver lies’. Baxter couldn’t place the rest through Drei’s slurring. "I had a few more quips in me but…" What’s taking him so long? He turned and scowled at Lucius. "Um… s-say, Dreichels: where’s Aria?" About time. As he feared Drei had no idea. Raya wiped your memory of that too. Interestingly enough though, not the fact he’d brought Aria; at her mention the prince cursed, whipping his head in a frantic search for his old mare. So he remembers the ride over. Raya must’ve only wiped his mind starting from when they met. We were up in the gallery watching the races and… no, Raya was already there, by that point. It was before, in the… at the… When did they meet her? Shit. Baxter’s heart sank. She got me, too. "You in there, man?" Dreichels urged. "I asked if you saw her. Didn’t I leave her with you?" Yes you did, he noted. But are you aware of that, or are you just pinning responsibility on me? "Don’t sweat it, big guy. I remember." Some. "I took Aria to the stable while you talked with, well…" "With who?" Baxter chewed his lip, managing a shrug. "Dunno. Would be surprised if you remember her, with how fast you blew it. She wasn’t keen on a slobbering, smelly drunk. Go figure." Dreichels scoffed. "Oh, up yours! ‘Course I remember." "So what was her name?" "Easy!" Stalling was no help. He sighed, dropped his head, and went to the stable. "Asshole." The moment Drei left earshot, Baxter ceded his brother a nod. "Good." Lucius was none the more pleased.  *** Nothing more was said for a long while. Baxter was busy pondering any possible explanation while Lucius, well… Lucius was merely too frightened to speak. No matter. Picking apart the witch kept him plenty busy. She was a walking contradiction down to the face, her eyes smiling when her lips did not and vice versa. Any sane woman would’ve walked away long prior, yet Raya seemed undeterred by Drei's crudeness. Never mind my attempts to turn her away; if not to turn her off then at least turn her on to me. Neither approach worked; she was never truly 'on', after all. Doesn’t explain why she left so suddenly, so urgently, either. Who cares? She’s already gone. At least the Glass Hounds were on it; they knew this area better than anyone. You better catch her, Sidd. He just hoped that when they all met up here tomorrow, they wouldn’t blow him off with a bullshit excuse. Look who's talking. The first time he left Raya and Dreichels alone could be excused, but not after they returned from their private conversation. The second I learned she’d spoken about the URF, I should’ve alerted the police. Baxter only refrained from calling her out since she showed him the same courtesy; when he met her gaze across the colosseum, her eyes seemed to tell him, ‘If you rat me out, Sir Huber, I rat you out’. He sighed. It doesn't excuse my cowardice. Rol would’ve put Drei’s safety before his own. To think, between the prince’s two friends: Sir Baxter Huber was the one who’d been made a knight. Eventually, Lucius asked. "Do you believe me yet? What else do I gotta do!" Were it not for the timing of Raya’s leave and Lucius’s entry, Baxter might’ve caved. "Tell me more about that ‘memory wipe’ of hers. Am I to assume you know it?" Lucius had to be familiar, the way he freed Dreichels. Lucius hummed. "You mean, do I know the incantation? ‘course not. I’m just a beginner." "Skilled enough to break her spell." "It was nothing! She didn't leave a complicated seal or sigil. All I did was conjure mana with my pendant. With a chant, and a little pulse, Drei snapped right out of it!" Frustratingly, that tracked. Baxter remembered the boy's emerald necklace alight, in tandem his strange utterances. The ‘little pulse’ left him sweaty and coarse of breath. He isn’t lying. Was that something to take solace in? If he's guilty, he’s a traitor. If he’s innocent… we've hit a dead end. "If that's true," Baxter reasoned, "why are you here? How do you play into this?" "I just wanted to see Drei and the horsies and…" Lucius shook his head, flustered. "I’m sorry. I wish I knew, but even if I was better at magic, that sorta spell is outside our teachings, and—" The prince trailed off with wide eyes; either he realized something or had just matched Baxter’s own. "Realm of whose teachings?" Baxter demanded. "What do you know?" "That’s the thing, I don’t know! Altering someone’s memory requires messin’ with his astral body! The spell she used must’ve been a dark art taboo, and Granny doesn’t let us learn—" He pulled Lucius in by the shoulder, bringing their eyes close together. Actually. Just in case, Baxter pinched his eyes shut. "Say that again, kid." "Granny doesn’t—"  "Before that!" He shook Lucius as if to rewind his tongue, smacking their heads together. Even then it took a pinch to make the boy talk. "Ow! That it’s a d-dark art?!" Baxter let go. "Lucius… does the term ‘Hono’ mean anything to you?" Please. His shaky eyes confessed on his tongue’s behalf. "How do you…?" "Thank the Goddess." Then again, is this something to celebrate? Progress didn't mean solace. Baxter wasn't sure what came as more of a shock. The fact he guessed right? The fact that the Glass Hounds’ underworld contact entrusted them accurate intel? The fact Dusty was so drunk earlier to talk about it openly, saying they ‘ought hire a Hono for a heist on that oft vacant Regenwald Manor up in Mater?’ Or was it the fact Lucius, of all people, was privy to a term the huge hairy underblood man had shared with Sidd—down to the exact terminology? In any case. "She had nothing to do with you," Baxter said with a conviction he trusted but did not enjoy. "Raya’s a Hono—a criminal witch from the Catacombs." "Ohhh. I’ve only heard ‘bout ‘em from Granny Rose, sayin’ how bad they are and to watch out for them when ridin’ through Heimdallr. But yeah, that makes sense, actually! In which case, are we… um, Baxie? What are you doing?" Lucius was rightfully confused, judging by his voice. Whether his face matched it, Baxter did not look before taking the prince’s hand and falling to a knee, chin tucked into his chest to hide his flush and shame—exactly as Roland had described, on the day he disgraced Crown Prince Manfred. "Forgive me, Your Highness." Baxter found a voice; with it came only resignation. "Emotion got the best of me. You meant only to help. I see now my ire was ill-made." He didn't dare glance up. Lucius said nothing. "I know how rare it is for Dreichels to get along with his family, and that oftimes, you and Orthros are the only exceptions. And so when I feared your friendship might’ve been a ruse, and that you and Raya were merely taking advantage of him… it lit a fire in me I couldn’t… Nonetheless. To threaten your royal person was unforgivable. Speak your price, Prince Lucius, that I may atone. I will oblige: on my honor as an Imperial knight." Then came the trots, stealing away any illusion that they were up in Sentinel Tower. "Pfft… the hell’re you kneelin’ for?" Baxter shot up to his feet readily. It was too late: atop his mount, Dreichels saw everything. Laughing, the prince swung down from Aria’s saddle and stumbled. He damn near ate a facefull of asphalt, clasping a hand on the railing and using his mare’s saddle girth to pull upright and balanced. "R-right," Baxter said without a clue where his words were going. "I was j-just, well—" "Baxie was thankin’ me for the gift!" Lucius turned his wide body to hide the hand he snuck inside his robe, producing a necklace from his pocket. It was identical to the one he had used to save Drei, only listless. The chain and body bore a bright silver, the inlay a gem of evergreen septium. Not bad, kid. I can take it from here. Baxter took the boy’s hint, sidling over to close the gap between them. "That’s right!" He slung an arm over Lucius to better sell the two’s solidarity. Hiding a pudgy hand between them, Lucius squished the necklace against Baxter’s hand, who then clutched it and tucked it away. You're as bright as blazes, Lucius; not that your skin and hair left much mistake. With the necklace stuffed away, he stepped back to pull it out demonstratively, proving to Dreichels it came from his own pocket. "The second I saw its green stone, I knew Mom had to have it. Doris ain’t allowed inside Bijou Boutique herself, seein’ how she’s not a noble, anymore. Matches her eyes and even the green heron of her maiden House Beckford. Shiny, don’t you think?" Dreichels snorted. "Hardly. And since when have you two been so buddy-buddy? Actually… forget that." He scratched his head. "I tried to cover for you, Shorty, but… She saw me. She's on her way. You’ve got about ten seconds to come up with something clever." The vague mention of a woman snap-corrected the boy’s posture, darting a glance out at the entry gate. Baxter did the same. Shit, is it Raya?! Was he lying?! Lucius ducked. He must’ve seen her, for he tried using Dreichels as a shield. Small good that did. His wideness was helpful to conceal the necklace as he snuck it in Baxter’s hand, but was exactly that unhelpful when time came to conceal his royal person, padded robes sticking out behind both sides of his slim older brother. Well… slimmer. It didn’t matter. Dreichels was having none of it, lifting Lucius and pushing him out ahead into plain sight. "Right here!" he shouted. "Shorty’s over here, Lady Simond!" Like a wild animal caught fresh in ambush, Lucius spun back toward them. "What the heck, Drei?! I didn’t even get to see a horsie race, yet! You couldn’t have lied and said I was elsewhere?!" "And give her a reason to tear me a new one with that black saber?" Dreichels scoffed. "Not a chance. I rather like the ‘one’ I’ve got—the one the Goddess gave me—thank you very much." Saber? Lady Simond? Where have I…?! And then, Baxter knew. ‘Astie’. How had he failed to put two and two together back out in the plaza, much less in these ten minutes since? Lucius had plenty of pet names, mostly from Drei, but to think he’d given one of his own to his royal vassal. The crowd fell hush, even parting upon her approach. Forget Karel, and his real mother, even his 'Granny' Rose: it should’ve been obvious that Lady Simond was who brought him. She never left his side on their daily rides south, and like Roland for Dreichels or Emile for Gunnar, she would kill for Lucius with no hesitation. And if the talk was true: she already has. Raya suddenly seems harmless by comparison, Baxter thought as he awaited judgment from the Black Butcheress. *** A dozen rifled and blue-uniformed HMP officers trailed at her back, six on either side of her swirling cape and long black hair with but a scant few streaks of gray. She must be three or four years out from her resignation: yet seeing her now, it looked as though 'Sir' Astor Simond had remained as Deputy Chief of the Heimdallr Military Police to this day. Even at some five-and-forty years, neither her age nor attire reflected her reputation as a queer ladyknight who avoided most and most avoided in turn. Baxter would not fault anyone for averting their eyes, no more than for being unable to. The knight sooner looked ready to ride off for war than out into the countryside. Only her gold-trimmed cape and epaulets gave light to her ensemble. Otherwise was she plumed in darkness; her armor was exquisitely oiled, slate-gray plates and black-trim layered over a mail byrnie whose rings clinked softly with every step. A nohval rapier bounced loosely in her girded swordbelt, and the sunlight put upon its blade a lightless shimmer, in particular the lower half nearer to the ornate sweepings and crossbar.  Baxter was somehow exulting and quailing at the same time. The Black Butcheress, he mused, an epithet she was said to have earned by ‘slaughtering the head of the Horse’ in single combat: all to protect none other than Sixth Prince Lucius Reise Arnor. Sight alone persuaded him: Astor was indeed the one who put Two to sword. Her legs were thick as trunks, and her eyes gray as death. Or rather, eye. Even her eyepatch took the same dark hue, he noticed, though only once she drew off her helmet, a slitted iron armet, and tucked it underarm. The massive woman spun on a heel to set the HMP officers to ease, only then showing color. Emblazoned upon her cape was the pure-white dove of House Simond set against a white-and-silver shield, its wings folded gently about a pale-blue vine mantle, all wrapped within some slitless bronze helmet of sorts, almost like a hollow bowl. It was a proud sigil, and elegant—yet paled in comparison to the blade not-so-hidden beneath the cape, swathed across her back in its sapphirl-plated scabbard. Stormsong, he knew at once—the sword Lord Juris wielded during his triumph at the Battle of the Blind North, and again in the burial grounds where he met his end. A blade returned to Klaus twined within a skein of bones… as if the Catacombs had swallowed his father only to spit him back out. Astor turned forward unblinking. A fierce pink scar ran from above her brow to her jawline, leaving the once lady heiress looking more pirate than noblesse. Strange to think, but of the ways Baxter’s life was threatened today: his encounter with Raya was actually going to take second place. Had this woman come a few minutes sooner, seeing me lift her little Lucius off the ground to press a rapier into his fat gut... Baxter shuddered. Don’t think it, lest she flay the truth off my face. He chewed his lip and struck an unplanned—and unprompted—salute. She looked at him, needing but a confused blink to curl her proverbial fist around his throat. Thankfully her stare lasted all of two seconds before Lucius said, "H-hi, Astie…" He laughed nervously, struggling even more than Baxter to feign confidence. "Pretty cool how many people are out and about today, huh? Couldn’t find my way back without… getting turned… around… and…" Lucius’s enthusiasm slowly dissolved; evidently, his royal vassal was buying none of it. "...Sorry. I got lost though. Really." Dreichels tisked and asked, "You got lost waiting in the stable like she told you to?" Not that anyone would blame him for playing the part of asskisser. "He’s all yours, Lady Simond. Don’t look at me and Bax here, we had nothin’ to do with him sneakin’ off." Astor did not need to be told. Her one eye found her prince, and then, the booming blaring authoritative voice of the HMP’s former supreme commander was… nothing of the sort. "My lord," she said just shy of a whisper, "You had me ill in worry. Why would you sneak off without a word!" "Kinda defeats the purpose of sneaking away if—" Lucius caught onto his confession much too late. "...I said sorry! Granny Rose told me to sleep in for my test, anyway, remember? We’re in no rush. I tried to tell you, but nooo, you wouldn’t just listen, stupid Astie!" The woman clearly wanted to object, but her prince left no time to, turning round to face Baxter and Drei as if twelve soldiers and the Black Butcheress weren't there: or rather, weren’t worth his second glance. The balls on you, kid. Compared to Baxter anyway; Lucius glimpsed the fear on his face, the sort even Raya couldn’t wipe. Does he realize my life is in his hands? An assuring smile suggested so.  Lucius spun around. "Weird stuff is goin’ on here, Astie! I wanted to help and—eh?" He cut himself off, glancing at the gallery behind them, lifting to his toes to see higher but then directing his gaze down towards the floor beneath the bleacher railing. "Um, did you hear another squeak, Baxie?" Don’t oversell it. Any more pretending and Lucius just might tip off his vassalord. "I did not, Your Highness." Astor was staring again. What is it she’s looking for? "Um, Your Highness, Lucius?" The boy blindly waved off Baxter's urgings. "Maybe I was just hearin’ things… no, there! Just now!" Lucius tilted his head. "I felt something... or perhaps ‘smelled’ would be more accurate?" "Oh, I smell it too, aye…" Dreichels sniffed the empty space between Lucius and his seething ladyknight. "That’s the stench of an ass-beating-to-be from Lady Simond, if I’m not mistaken." The hulking lady didn’t acknowledge nor deny. "Third Prince Dreichels." Her tone was that of a disappointed father. "It almost slipped my mind. The boy Vander stopped by Valflame Palace to retrieve you not long before we left. Did you not think to inform him, or was it the Vanders whom you meant to avoid by sneaking off?" Drei scoffed. "Boy Vander? I knew Klaus was coming, but… man, I wasted Rol’s time, too?" "Oh!" After another vague glance at the bleachers, Lucius gave up. "Right, that’s the reason I came! Klaus is on his way to get you, Drei. He knew you’d be here, since you took Aria to enter the races… s-so... guess that was kinda obvious, ahaha..." Dreichels mussed up his brother's hair. "Tell me something I don’t know, Shorty. Even if I’d not been warned already, my sixth sense would have… wait." Dreichels paused, staring at the ground and working that little brain of his to its limits. "I left before you two. But my driver said ‘Klaus was already out looking for me’ and—tch. No way." He clicked his teeth. "Well played, Sir Wrinkles, you goddamn scam artist." Baxter had only met the newest Vander lord once, but as Drei's former vassal, Viscount Klaus was notoriously persistent, enough to chase the Third Prince to Gehenna and back. Lucius tilted his head. "Whoever the heck that is, did Sir Wrinkles tell you Klaus is takin’ the Arnor Royal Wheelhouse? He’s probably only just finished preppin’ the old thing, oiling the wheels and such. With the traffic, you ought to be safe here a while longer!" "My lord," Astor said through her teeth, drawing up. "What did Lord Vander say of telli—" "Roland," Lucius finished harshly. "Klaus said not to tell Roland, not Drei, stupid Astie!" "B-but, my lord…" "Do you see Roland anywhere, Astie? No, you don't!" Baxter meant to chime in, only, Dreichels waved him off. "Eh, screw Klaus. Trust me man, it ain’t like he had aught better to do but mope around the palace." "Even so, Drei… what’ll your father say about you making Lord Vander go search for you?" "Father?" The prince scoffed at him, as if the word was a curse. "What, you talking about the old sod who spends his days poppin’ hemorrhoids all over that fancy golden chair? Others might call Valius a father—aye, Manfred’s delusional enough to, surely—but not us, right, Shorty?" "Yup, even Astie’s more dadly to me!" His royal vassal did not see the humor. "I’m partial to calling Valius my ‘not-so-great grandfather’. Orthros came up with that one, no?" Dreichels laughed and poked Lucius in his gut. "No shot. Shaggy ain’t that clever. Probably stole it from Duke Bardulf. Either way, I’m stealin’ it too."  Baxter tried to match the princes' amusement while insisting, "Well, whatever you’d call your royal sire, I can’t imagine Valius being thrilled that you sent Lord Vander on a wild goose chase." "I can't imagine Valius being thrilled, period." Drei crept over to the railing, plucked a drink from the feet of a distracted onlooker, and downed it with just two gulps before returning the empty tankard where it was. "Trust me, nothing bad can come of it. And hell, Klaus ought be thankin’ me for givin’ him fresh air for once, if anything." I suppose. Baxter nodded. "Very well. Thanks again for your help, Luci—uh, Your Highness." The sixth prince turned to Baxter and held out a pudgy hand. "You're welcome, Baxie!" He shook Lucius’s hand in solidarity, and shook and shook and shook. Why is he lingering? Eventually, the boy let go and said, "Maybe I can go train with you sometime! If not with me then Astie will help. In just a few years she’s got her stabby-sword down to a science! Right, Astie?" "My lord, I really shouldn’t leave your side without—" "Good idea," Dreichels put in quicker than Astor or Baxter could refuse. "When it comes to court fencing, you’re both late bloomers. Lady Simond only made the switch after our vassals were assigned, the same as when you started at Vander Hall. Wait, don’t you two know each other?" Baxter looked to Astor, as if needing permission to speak. "Occasionally I took lessons under Lord Juris," he explained, "but it was primarily Lady Clusia and Roland who mentored me." "Huh." Drei hummed. "May as well invite Emile while you’re at it—have yourselves a little saber party, or what have you. Oh, and my old man’s old Lord Butler too. Think his name’s Gary." Astor hummed. "Royal Steward Gerald, do you mean?" "Obviously." "Even so… my lord, we really ought be going—" "I’ll be certain to ask them," Baxter said quickly. Klaus was an unpleasant man, but to be left alone with the Black Butcheress sounded more like a threat than anything. Lucius only means to help. And besides, he has earned my trust. "A kind offer, but I’d imagine you’re busy as is, Lady Simond." Astor turned her one eye at him and nodded; an appreciative gesture. It chilled him, knowing how different that look would be if she had arrived mere minutes earlier. "As a recruit of the URF, I’d be honored to see your saber in action. Another time, at your discretion." "No," Lucius put in before she could respond. "Drei’s right. Roland’s nothing compared to my lady vassal. She could pull his butt out through his belly button. Tell ‘em, Astie!" Plainly restless, Astor rather carefully said, "I would… rather not do such a thing, my lord." She sighed. "In any event, we had best get moving if—" "You’re my vassal," the boy argued, practically whining, his shrill voice drowning her breathy whisper without so much as trying. "If I say to train Baxie, then you’re gonna train Baxie!" Stiffening, Astor said, "My lord, I can’t leave you to abide alone if…" When her prince took to grumbling, she bowed her head. "Understood. Arrangements will have to wait; unless you mean to walk to the village, you are to come to the stable at once, my lord." "Uh-huh." Lucius waved her off, unconcerned. "So I’ll see you around, Baxie?" "Sure will. Thanks a third. I owe you a million, Shorty. Mind if I call you Shorty, Shorty?" "Heehee. Only if you tell me what’s goin’ on. It’s not even summer yet nobles are all over—"  "L u c i u s?" Even once Astor had donned her slitted half-helm, eyes obscured in its shadow, her voice alone had Baxter picturing a massive bulging vein pounding against her scarred forehead. Her prince didn’t care. "I said gimme a second, stupid, I still need my—hey, lemme go!" His knight waited no longer, dragging the little lord off by the scruff, which in terms of Lucius-anatomy spoke to his many bundled-up scarves and robes. In fairness, she had given him ample opportunities. Astor was tired of waiting. Right? Baxter thought. The vague notion stirred his gut. Or did she not want him to hear? Drei not mentioning the URF demonstration was one thing, most likely waiting to surprise Baxter with the news at Vander Hall, but… Lucius? There was no reason for Astor to hide it. The two were making south out of the capital entirely. By the time festivities began, they’d be gone. File that one away for Dad, too, I guess. For now, as the boy faded from earshot, Baxter had more important, and pressing, concerns. "LUCIUS!" Despite the plump prince making no effort to stand, letting Astor draw him off, his feet scraping off limply, his head rose at Baxter’s voice. "Kinda-friends?" Wishful thinking, I know, but… But sure enough, Prince Lucius lit up, beaming from ear to ear. "Kinda-friends!" he agreed. Dreichels was confused, but Baxter paid him no mind; there was just enough time to share a smile with ‘the Little Hedge Mage’ as he disappeared in the dense crowd. Your secret’s safe by me, kid. Goddess knows Sir Baxter Huber had plenty of them to keep already. *** "Well that was a headache," Dreichels was saying as they reached the racetrack trailing. "Nonsense. And here I thought you were the fun Arnor brother." "That honor would go to Orthros, I’m afraid. Too ‘fun’ for his own good: or anyone else’s." Dreichels took Aria’s rein in hand as the three began a lazy walk towards the pavilions. Another race was starting, and his old mare watched with gleeful curiosity. Wherever the third prince was headed, be it the betting booth or wine tent, Baxter wasn’t bothered so long as he stayed in the colosseum. So long as we're together. "Times sure have changed," Drei went on. "Lucius used to be the one draggin’ Astor to Sutherland, not the other way round. She sure has warmed up to his…" Either he wanted to keep his brother’s witchcraft under wraps, or he truly didn’t know whether it was real. Baxter would take no chances. "Tricks?" he offered, earning a nod. "We talked about them a bit. I’d love to see Lucius perform, whether it be juggling frogs, or pulling rabbits out of Manfred’s endless hair, or whatever else." Pulling princes out of comas, for instance. "As for Lady Simond: she’s just itching to drag him away and give him a spanking, I’ll warrant." "Certainly earned himself one. You’d think the little gourmand would learn. When it comes to Shorty’s schedule, Astor’s as obsessed as Manfred or Gunnar are with their greenest recruits. And that’s on her good days, where she’s not seein' red, so to speak. Speakin’ of: ready for sparring, Bax?" Speaking of? After reconsidering that absurdity, he thought, Right, fair enough. From Drei’s perspective they were pressed for time. Of course, Baxter shook that off. "Let’s stay a bit longer. You know, to make sure you don’t fall into another coma." The Glass Hounds best not take all damn day. With no further distractions, save an excited crowd as a race reached its climax, he gestured Drei off toward the viewing galleries. Or tried to. "Your Highness…!" someone shouted before they'd gotten halfway. Baxter half-expected the Simond woman again with that meek voice, almost shrill, but it was one of her HMP followers, a young officer in blue. As he snapped into a salute, a portlier man pulled up beside him, some twice as old—fifty to the former’s twenty—donning the proud purple livery of the Imperial Army. "Forgive us for breaching your leisure, but…" The soldier’s voice was husky and honey-deep. "Yeah?" Dreichels asked—or demanded, more like. Baxter could see it in his eyes; the prince was convinced this was about him: that he was in deep shit. And maybe he was; the guards whipped their heads at each other, wanting the other one to do the talking only to come upon mutual silence. Eventually the young HMP officer in blue said, "Warrant Officer Lugo, Your Highness." "Great," The prince waved a hand, preemptively cutting the Imperial Army soldier off. "Nix the courtesy garbage. And if you can, can it. I’m off duty right now." "Are you ever ‘on’ duty?" Baxter observed. "I’ll actually stab you." The prince half-smiled and gave a two finger jab into Baxter’s gut to demonstrate. "When I said ‘can it’, that meant you too, Bax." "Bax? As in—?!" The portly purple guard blinked and gaped. "His Excellency Reto’s boy! A pleasure, Sir Huber! And congratulations on your pursuits with His Royal Highness—" Dreichels raised a hand. "Are you part of some new all-deaf army division or something?" "You heard him," Baxter agreed; with Dreichels it was easier and faster to just play along. "In case you forgot—not that I’d blame you—he is royalty. Do not waste his royal time. So what is it?" Without one glance to each other the guards fell into matching looks of fear. Drei snickered, disintegrating any authority Baxter just set him up to have. As for why the prince took such perverse pleasure in screwing with soldiers: who could say? Even still, the guards’ concern lingered. I misjudged this. It must be a matter of dire urgency… Officer Lugo swallowed harshly before speaking slowly and carefully. "Right, well… have you perchance seen a… kitten… around here…?" Or not. Dreichels gave one look at Baxter and broke into laughter. But once he realized these guards weren’t laughing with him, the laughter died in a blink, replaced with a scowl. "Please tell me you’re joking." Evidently not. The prince scoffed. "What do I look like, Pussy Patrol? Well, maybe. Though not in the way you’re thinking." Dreichels turned and waved them off. "I’m too busy and too drunk for this shit. Make like the cat and scram; might be you find it sooner that way. Thanks in advance." "Don’t be an ass." Admittedly, with so many officers around, Baxter certainly expected more of a… pressing issue. "What’s it look like?" The soldier frowned and stepped aside, turning down to greet… a young girl, short and meek enough to be missed in the space between Sergeant Lugo and Aria’s left hind. "Go ahead, lassie," the older and yet-unintroduced man urged. "Tell the good boys what happened."  She couldn’t be north of six, her big round eyes scared and shaky with long-since-dried tears. A noblesse, Baxter knew all at once, and all too well—a foregone conclusion. He could only tremble. Was her missing father a count or marquis? A duke? None would surprise him; she was swaddled in the most lavish dress he’d ever seen a child wear, expensive and tailored to her exact specifications, all to be useless in a year’s time. You’d think her lord father might wait until she was twelve or so to wait for the growth spurts to stop, that way it could be worn for a few years rather than a few months. It was uncanny, like peering through a window into a better time. She wore white too on that day, same silks, frills and all. Baxter could all but hear the bells starting up again chiming their songs of the sky as together their families arrived for morning mass. Before they’d even begun their ascent up the stair to Heimdallr Cathedral a last lingering chorale of "31 Cypress Trees" could be heard bounding across the Sankt District, like a whispering wind. Not that he recalled any wind on that day, hellish in ways well beyond heat. Granted, had it been winter like today, such a fancy dress might’ve been even more out of place than it was by default, here, in a rotting shithole like the Imperial capital of Heimdallr. Dreichels raised a brow. Baxter did not move. And so the prince kneeled to her level, or tried to, given his massive frame—primarily vertically, although he certainly was not hurting horizontally. "Who we got here?" he asked in a sigh, meeting her at eye level. "Might you be the owner of this ‘lost kitten’ that I’m hearing about for, uh, some reason?" She nodded. "Mhm..." A soft noise of affirmation alone further frayed her composure. Help her. Help her right this instant or may Aidios strike me down where I stand. "You must be an important little lady to have the whole district up in arms," Baxter said, pressing his teeth tight with an overly-wide grin. "Or maybe it's an important cat." Following Drei’s cue, he knelt, knowing the prince would only scare or confuse her. "I guess you got lost in the commotion?" Sir Huber asked, voice feather-light. "What’s your name, my lady?" "Dacy," she managed, rubbing her eyes. "We came to see Mama, but then Mya jumped outta the carriage, so I chased her when we got out to look, a-and I forgot my plushie on a bench, and they wanna take me away ‘fore we even find her and… and… please help…!" That’s all she managed before the tears stole into her voice. "We meant to return Lady Havel to her lord father immediately," said Warrant Officer Lugo. "Marquis Nelson ordered that the whole Coursehouse Plaza be turned upside-down in our search." Baxter didn’t recognize the Kreuztsich lord by name, but his station certainly explained the number of officers scrambling all about; in Marquis Nelson’s home province, only Duke Albarea outranked him. "However, the cat has yet to turn up and Dacy refuses to come till it’s found. See it anywhere?" "I call her Mya, what for the silly sound she makes…" "It’s a youth," The fat soldier added with a huff. "A year old, if a day, pure black and shiny." "Black and shiny… black and shiny… you sure it ain’t named Astor?" "You’re not funny Drei, so knock it off." Baxter pinched his ear much harder than he meant. As much as he hated when the prince got so wasted—no less than Baxter was pretending to be when the two met up earlier—it did make dealing with Raya an easier proposition. Not to mention, gives us cause to wait for the Glass Hounds. But most importantly, and most bafflingly, a marquis’s daughter needed his help. "Unfortunately we haven’t, but we'll help search round the Colosseum." "Who’s ‘we’, Bax?" Dreichels leapt to his feet and nearly fell had Baxter not been positioned to catch him. "You serious? Black cats are bad luck. Nothin’ like that here at the ‘track. If it was here, I’d wager Sir Hubie scared it off the moment his parlay hit." All he saw was red. "What do you know about luck?! You’re lucky to be alive, right now—!" The three guests turned wordlessly at how strange he sounded. "...Aren’t we all—lucky to be alive, is what I meant. It’s dangerous for a cat here. We’re helping, Drei." "Uh-huh. As I said, speak for yourself." Dreichels scratched himself, shamelessly sniffing the hand. "An HMP officer I understand, but what do you want, Sir Purple?" An address was the last thing this fat soldier expected. After looking down at his surcoat and realizing he was Sir Purple, he nearly fell over in a snap to salute. "No sir, Purple Dreichels, or rather, Prince Dreichels, I’m but a commoner, sir, Second Lieutenant Miles Wendell, Fourth Division, sir!" "One more ‘sir’ and I’m walking away." The baseborn lieutenant nodded brusquely, and produced a handkerchief to dab his brow. "Milord Nelson ordered we bring her at once, ‘cat or no cat’, and His Grace concurred! We’d like to help milady, but her father’s perilously tardy!" Instead of explaining what for, he merely paused and went on. "Our division is the only one deployed for security, this side of Vainqueur, so… our hands are tied. Sorry, but us Fourthriders ain’t permitted to take leave of our rounds." "Indeed they’re not," Officer Lugo concurred. "Lest they be consented to do so by a, well…" I see now. "A prince?" Baxter offered. The fat soldier lit up. "Right. Awaiting orders, si—uh, I mean, Your Highness!" "Good catch." Drei poked the soldier upon his forehead then flicked the sweat into his face. "I would’ve counted that ‘half-sir’, had you not been from Roland’s division." "Come on, Drei." Ignoring the prince’s nonsense, Baxter lingered on that wording. The only division? Naturally, a rider garrisoned by the Imperial Army would need approval from his divisional superior to stray from assigned rounds: but in emergencies, a member of the Arnor royal family will do fine. Here in Heimdallr it made sense for Dacy’s father to seek out royalty in his provincial liege’s stead… but even then, Dreichels? A broken ass system if ever there was one. For a prince with textbook military training like Manfred or Gunnar, or an otherwise-academic like Magister Albert: deferment of authority would be understandable, but… really? Dreichels? Explains why they’re dancing around it. Baxter sighed. In their shoes, I wouldn’t risk getting chewed out for staking all my trust in this deeply unserious bastard either. Especially not on such an important—and hectic—day. Regardless of the embarrassment it might cause his friend: Baxter asked the quiet part aloud. "Why did you come for Dreichels’s approval, of all the princes?" "What’s that supposed to mean?" Officer Lugo was quick on the uptake. "His Grace is late for… a feast. With Emperor Valius." There it is. But even so, as touted as the Fourthriders were, that the Imperial Army would be spread so thin with an entire province of nobles on hand… it was odd, to say the least. A dozen army divisions guarded Erebonia’s various border fortresses from Titus to Zender, but what of the other ten divisions that left? They can’t spare one more for southside Heimdallr? Instead of pushing the issue, Baxter shook curiosity, saying, "One of you said ‘Duke’, right?" Dreichels hummed agreement. "Believe it was Second Lieutenant Merlin, here." "The name’s Miles, actually, Your Highness." Baxter ignored them for the plainly more competent Warrant Officer Lugo. "As in, the Duke of Lamare?" That seemed a given, considering the demands for Dacy to be returned without her pet. Such rigid orders aligned with the reputation of Drei’s lord cousin Bardulf de Cayenne. And for how appropriate that cruel coincidence would be, something tells me I’m right. That was, until Officer Lugo shook his head and said, "Kreuzen, actually. Marquis Nelson is adamant we conclude the search at once; he’s to make north for the proceedings in representing the Barean lords. His Grace Gerhold didn’t intend to linger at Valflame Palace beyond the banquet, due to other arrangements." That struck Baxter as queer. What could be more important to the Duke of Kreuzen than the URF’s public debut? "Count Mathis is prepared to make north in place of his lord cousin but His Grace is displeased that the situation calls for the two to split at all. They await your final word in Villa Soleil, Your Highness Dreichels." A sidelong glance showed Drei watching his reaction. "Proceedings?" Baxter asked, carefully. "Whatever it is," the prince cut in, "If you can justify the manpower to seek out a kitten, then take those men north where they might be of use. Just get some other division to help you out." For a moment, it was as if Director Gunnar spoke through his hardly-older brother, stark and stubborn. "Don’t the divisions usually make their rounds in pairs?” Baxter asked. “Y’know, to trade off your vigils and keep yourselves moving? Where’d they go?" The uniformed men turned wearily towards each other. "It was the Sixth Division, aye," said Lieutenant Wendell. "They were stationed along Ost, but unfortunately, there’s been a sorta… never you mind that. Best we focus on the cat ‘fore His Grace blows a gasket… Gerhold’s got a weak heart." Ost? That put a fear in him he did not dare give merit. There no way it’s related to my… right? "Grant their damn clearance and get it over with, Drei. We’ll wait one hour. That’s long enough for a sweep." Baxter knelt and forced a softer voice. "What say you, my lady? Care to watch horsey races with His Highness and I until the soldiers find Mya?" "Mhm, but…" The girl frowned and tilted her head. "Aren’t you gonna help look?" Like hell if I’m letting Drei sneak off to Villa Soleil. "We gotta stay here so Papa doesn’t find you. I’d have searched, but not if it means leaving you alone with Dreichels, lest you end up lost too." Either that, or he tries to pawn her off to her lord father for beer money. "No, we should stick together. Drei may be a prince, but he’d only scare poor Mya. Animals never liked him, aside from Aria, here." She looked quite starved for attention, and so Baxter reached up and gave her golden fur a good long ruffling. "Oh, and the flies sure seem to like His Highness too, if you’d count those." "Don’t forget the rats," Drei put in. He hoped that would earn a giggle from the little noblesse, but no cigar. Whether she wasn’t willing to laugh or didn’t understand, Dacy didn’t so much as quiver a lip. Well, no more than it was quivering before, still on the brink of tears. Wait, did he say rats? That again…?  "...Fear not," Baxter assured her. "Imperial soldiers are specially trained for this stuff!" "For finding cats?" Dreichels scoffed. "That so, Mueller?" "M-Miles is the name, Your Highness! Lieutenant Miles Wendell!" "Thought it was Second Lieutenant." So you remembered that part? "Drei. Seriously, enough." "Sorry. Just had to make sure in case Mikey got a promotion in the past two minutes whilst standing here dabbing his fat and sweaty face." “Dreichels!” he snapped. Both men awaited the order. Baxter glared at Drei until he gave it. "What’s your problem?! Oh. Right, sorry." The third prince played at commander by waving them off with a slurred word and floppy hand. "I order you to… go away. Or uh, ‘move out’, rather. I guess you can start over there. Tell your friends." Markus gave a salute. "As His Highness commands.” Lugo left him a smile. “My congratulations again, Sir Huber." They skittered off with a slew of affirmative comments to any nearby soldiers, twisting up a veritable typhoon of purple and blue. "Good luck, Martha!" Drei shouted. The portly lieutenant turned back as if to correct him, a moment, but whether physically or verbally: Warrant Officer Lugo kept them firmly on their way. Dacy hopped against the rail, trying and failing to see over the top. "I can’t see the horsies…" "We’ll find a seat—meanwhile, Drei can find us some sweets." Baxter continued more loudly as the prince tried to argue. "What are your favorites, my lady?" Despite her non-reaction, her flaring eyes betrayed how much that excited her. She tried not to show it, still too sad and scared to think of any such things. "Don’t hold back! Any kind of sweet you want. His Highness is buying, after all." "Who?!" "Anything?" Dacy meekly dipped her eyes when Baxter nodded. "Back at home our patissier makes these white chocolate pegasus cakes. They’re really fluffy and yummy. And pretty too!" "Pegasus?" She is from Kreuzen, Baxter conceded. "As in, cakes shaped like…" Dacy nodded. Ah, shit. "That may be a bit bougie for this part of the city." Baxter laughed nervously. But when her face began to curdle, he corrected. "However… I bet His Highness can find somethin’ to meet a high lady’s high standards. One of the vendors around here does horse cookies, if I recall; maybe Drei will convince them to put some fluffy cotton candy wings upon them!" Dreichels groaned, right on cue. Baxter knew he wouldn’t argue though, so long as he was in charge of the money. "Sound good?" "Mhm! I love cotton candy, especially purple flavored!" Lady Dacy smiled at long last. "Um, thanks again for helping me, Mr. Backser Yoo-bird." "He prefers Sir Backser," Dreichels corrected, flipping him the Yoo-bird as he wandered off. Ignoring the prince, he smiled and told her, "My friends call me Bax, so feel free if that’s at all easier." Distress bled from the girl all at once, beaming flush from cheek to cheek. The marquis’s daughter had the same look to her: that same smile. Why must I recall now, of all times? Baxter tried his damndest to match her excitement, but his own stopped well short of showing teeth. I’m to be a URF soldier. I can’t let this shake me anymore. But how could it not? This noblesse was a sign: a gift from Aidios. I may never truly make amends but perhaps I can do right by her, just this once. "...Right this way, my lady."  "Uh-uh," she hummed, shaking her head. "If I call you Bax, then you gotta call me Dacy!" "Will do, kid." I might be sworn unto the URF, to prioritize the betterment of underblood lives, rather than noble ones: but does that mean I can’t still atone? A boy of the Glass Hounds caught in his peripherals, one of two lowblood posted outside in the plaza at the entry gate, waving openly and frantically. Did he forget his orders? If only. Baxter knew what he had to do before he did it: he glared the boy down, staring, staring, hard and stoic. Dacy tugged the leg of his breeches. "What’s wrong, Bax?" Evidently, his stare wasn’t stoic enough to fool a six-year-old girl. "Nothing. Thought I recognized someone, for a moment. I was wrong." He was still staring when he thought, Get the hell away from her, boy. Get out of here. Go away. Baxter curled a hard fist, hiding it in his pocket… Only then, as it grazed his hand, did Baxter realize: to the touch as cold as ice. I remember, he thought, then corrected, No, more like: I forgot. No wonder their handshake lingered so long. Lucius was waiting for me to take the hint and give it back. Baxter’s foolish eyes shot wide, a frantic look that lowblood boy in the distance mistook for hate, tripping as he fled in fear. That works. Baxter pressed a hand gently to Dacy’s back, urging her off to a safer place. Up the bleachers. I need a vantage on the outer plaza. "Let’s sit super high up, so we can see the horsies better," he said, hoping Dacy didn’t question that faulty logic. Sidd said he would send Splitter as an envoy. Why the hell’d he send that random lowblood kid? "Quickly now, my lady. Trust me, it’ll be fun." I hope. That he did. He hoped to redeem himself and protect this noblesse. He hoped Lucius might forgive him for not returning his enchanted necklace. He hoped it wouldn’t lead the mage to change his mind and tell Astor what happened, bringing all the threats he made to light: and with them, the wrath of the Black Butcheress. He hoped the races were loud so Dacy wouldn’t hear of whatever was going wrong outside in the plaza. He hoped that lowblood Hound only meant to warn rather than retrieve him. He hoped the Fourth Division could handle everything, and that the obviously-missing Sixth Division returned from the Ost slums in time to help… though if not, Sir Baxter Huber hoped and prayed that it, at least, wasn’t his doing.