Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Chapter Two, Part One

 Notes: Sooo...some seriously rotten political stuff is going on chez moi, and to help tamp down on my sense of outrage, I'm going to share some more cozy fantasy. Because FUCK those assholes, that's why.

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Chapter Two, Part One

*** 

 

Chapter Two, Part One

 

Photo by Annie Spratt 

An Almost-Expected Adventure

 

Hiram had lost his ability to be surprised as Mistress Tate led him and his ambling wagon back the way they had come, down the rutted path until stopping at the very first or, in this case, last house along the lane. It was the same one he had passed on the way in, mentally noting the dilapidated back door, the hutch without a roof, and the general state of disarray of the garden.

It was fate, he figured at this point, the same thing that had led him to choose a town he had never seen before on the suggestion of a person he barely knew. When things happened to Hiram, they happened quickly, rarely allowing for even a moment of contemplation to let him come to grips with things. And so, despite the faint look of apprehension on Mistress Tate’s face as they stopped in front of the house, Hiram simply smiled at her.

He had no interest in throwing some kind of fit in front of the lady. He was not, after all, a great and powerful wizard. He was an herbalist, and herbalists didn’t care about whether their pillowcases were made of Cithinian silk, or the furniture in their home was aged white oak polished with wax made by blue bees. He would manage just fine.

That said, after walking up the three steps to the front porch—the second was rather wobbly—and forcing open a door that had swollen during the winter rains and stuck in place as it dried, Hiram had to confess that he had at least been hoping for some furnishings.

“Oh, dear,” Mistress Tate said, not sounding all that surprised or sorry. “It looks like the scavengers got in.”

“Scavengers?” Hiram asked, a bit surprised. “You get that kind of thing this far south?”

“Not the way you’re thinking,” Mistress Tate said, her hands still folded gracefully in front of her. “Not in a desperate, lawbreaking kind of way, more in a—well.” She shrugged. “We are a proud town, but a rather poor one, compared to others in Oribel, Master Emblic. Farming and raising rabbits is a good life, but it doesn’t leave much room for luxuries like a second chair or a spare bed. I daresay you’re rather lucky that they left the stove.”

She gestured toward the enormous iron monstrosity taking up one wall. Hiram had never seen a stove like it, not even in the imperial kitchens of Vordure Palace. It was black as pitch, for starters, rather than the polished bronze that he was used to, and the metal seemed pitted, almost spiky in places. The handles were loose, and several of the drawers seemed to be falling off their hinges, but there was a sense of comforting solidity to it that he could appreciate.

“I do count myself lucky,” he said, with as genial a smile as he could put on. His earring heated up briefly, and Hiram resisted the urge to flick his own ear in front of Mistress Tate. “So, this is the greatroom,” he said, turning around to look at the space.

“Sitting room, we call it,” she corrected, indicating the largest of the open spaces that they had just walked into. “The kitchen area is often separated by a half-wall, but Raileene enjoyed being able to see her guests as she cooked.” Her smile was soft and a bit sad as she went on, “The preparation and cold storage area is over there. They left the icebox—that was friendly—and the trap door for the cellar is right there.

“I suggest waiting until you’re properly armed and have a torch to go and check that out,” she added. “There are very few dangerous creatures in this area, but it’s not impossible that there could be a crawl-bear or coiling snake of some kind down there.”

Crawl-bears and coiling snakes. “Good to know,” Hiram said. He knew his smile was faltering a bit, but he couldn’t stop it at this point. Mistress Tate, at least, was kind enough not to mention it.

“And of course up there is the second level,” she said, pointing at the staircase that traveled up the wall on the left side of the sitting room, which leads to the sleeping areas. “Really, it’s just one large room, but when Raileene was raising her family here, it was easy enough to put in screens to divide it up. You might consider a study of some sort.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed, then looked around the great—no, the sitting room—again. Three of the walls had two-foot-by-two-foot windows that let in a decent amount of light, and given that there was no back door right now, he got a decent amount from there, too.

It still felt close in a way he wasn’t accustomed to. Back in his chambers at the palace, Hiram could have fit this entire house in just his laboratory. His suite had spanned thousands of feet, each nook and cranny filled with something from his adventures in service to the Emperor. It had been a monument to his life, a life of power, of magic, of excitement and adventure. It had been a life he was proud to lead, one that he would thought he always would. And now…

Now this place is where you’ll build your new life, he thought to himself, trying to polish the grim edge off his words and not quite succeeding. Two unfurnished floors, a cellar which may or may not be inhabited by crawl-bears, and whatever the state of things is outside.

 Speaking of… “Mistress, would you care to come out and inspect the rest of the premises with me?”

“I would love to,” Mistress Tate replied primly, a secretive little smile on her face as she stepped past him and moved through the open door. Hiram watched her go and wondered for a moment just what she knew, or thought she knew. Well, whatever it was, he would deal with it. At the very least, she seemed like a woman capable of discretion.

He followed her into the garden, then took two steps past her and stopped, closing his eyes and letting the sounds of the place rise around him. It didn’t take magic to feel the life out here, just a certain sort of presence. The soil was rich with insects, worms digging their tunnels, larvae lying in wait to crawl to the surface and begin a new life in one of many different forms. Bees buzzed—not rare blue bees, but fat, yellow-bodied bumblebees, stopping occasionally on slightly battered-looking flowers to gather their nectar and pack their already heavy bodies with more pollen. Birds chirped in the trees, and a bit beyond them Hiram heard the thud-thud-thud of a rabbit tamping down on the ground.

The air itself was practically green with light and life, and the sweet scent of honeysuckle and lavender caught in his nose when the wind kicked up just right. Hiram smiled broadly and turned to look at Mistress Tate.

“Ah, there it is,” she said with a smile. “That’s the look of a man who knows good earth when he feels it.”

“It’s been a long time,” he said. His voice was unexpectedly hoarse, and he coughed to clear it. “A long time since I had the chance to be this close to the earth.” Hiram had made fire his everything for so long that he’d almost forgotten his childhood, hours spent working rich, dark soil, seeding and smoothing, plucking pods and gathering flowers. Those times came back to him stronger than ever now, and he found himself almost shivering with anticipation of more.

“So you will make this work, then?” she asked more briskly.

“I suppose I’ll have to,” he said. “But,” he added, before she could remonstrate him, “I believe I will be happy to. My needs are few, and with some work,” a great deal of work, his mind clarified, “I think this will be a very comfortable place to live for the foreseeable future.”

“I’m very pleased to hear it,” and she seemed genuine. “Let me show you to the barn.”

The barn was little more than a lean-to, actually, but it at least had a roof and timber sturdy enough that Hiram would be able to stable Mule there without worrying too much about him. There were some run-down chicken coops behind it that he hadn’t seen the first time as well. All the wiring on those would need to be replaced if he were to keep hens, which he might, and as for the rabbit hutch—

’Oh, I don’t think I need to look at that,” Hiram said when she brought it up. “I’m not a rabbit-raising kind of person.”

Mistress Tate just laughed at him. “You live in Lollop now, sir,” she said archly, “I think you’ll soon find that everyone here is a rabbit-raising kind of person. But sometimes the rabbit must discover the man. I’ll leave you to find that out.

“Come to the market tomorrow,” she continued, drawing her shawl a bit more closely about her shoulders. “I have a stall there, and I’ll be able to introduce you to the carpenter and the blacksmith and the like. They’re good people to know for projects such as this.”

“I’ll see you in the morning then, Mistress,” Hiram said with a nod as he escorted her out. “Unless you’d like me to accompany you back to town?”

“I’ve been walking this village alone for much of my life,” she replied. “They’re safe as can be. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Master Emblic.” They exchanged nods, then Mistress Tate took off at a brisk pace along the road.

Hiram went back through the front door, looked around at the empty space just waiting to be filled, and clapped his hands. “All right,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

 

Hadrian's Colony: Interlude: Xilinn

 Notes: Because the other mama in the room had to chime in at some point ;)

Title: Hadrian's Colony: Interlude: Xilinn

***

Interlude: Xilinn

 

Picture by Leonardo Rios 

 

Xilinn stared out Lizzie’s viewscreen as the stars sailed by far faster than she was prepared for. It wasn’t Xilinn’s first time flying in Lizzie, but she hadn’t been boosted to this degree before.

In the more crowded spacelanes, it wasn’t possible to go this fast either; a collision would be deadly, which meant knowing where the ships were and who was cutting what edge on the gravity waves that defined most of the lanes in the first place. It was one of the things that made piracy in the Central System so difficult; the potential take was astronomical, but the chance of an accident was high enough to make it a terribly risky proposition.

That might be the only highlight of this trip for Xilinn. Reaching this sort of speed would have been impossible without being in lightly-traveled space with an AI as smart as Lizzie to do the intense calculations required for the travel. It was the sort of thing she’d only dared to dream about as a child, before her parents’ expectations caught up with her and Xilinn settled into a standard career, in a standard quad, for a standard life.

Not that there had been anything standard about Zakari. Her eyes closed as she remembered her closest spouse, the father of her children. His face had been as round as a moon and shone just as bright, and he’d laughed with her and dreamed with her and touched her with a tenderness that she came to crave. By the time Pol was born, Xilinn had decided to limit her sexual contact to Zak, to the distaste of their other partners. And then once he was gone…

Oh, how they’d made her pay for it.

She would have given anything to have him back, anything to settle his soul back on Trakta in the family mausoleum. It had seemed hopeless, but Kieron had found a way. Kieron, who’d loved Zakari as fiercely as Xilinn had, who was kind to their children and polite to their quad. Kieron had returned a piece of Xilinn’s own heart, one she’d thought gone forever. When she’d learned what Lizzie and Ryu were discussing, she’d insisted on being brought into the fold.

“It’s easier if we don’t,” Ryu had said bluntly. For all that they’d been living together for months, in Elanus’s own home nonetheless, Xilinn still hadn’t known whether or not to trust him. Assassin… but Ganians had different rules than Traktans did around killing, and he hadn’t succeeded, after all. “You should stay here and mind the house with Pol. You’ve got a hearing coming up as well, and—”

“Don’t tell me what to do again.” It rankled something deep in Xilinn’s soul to be dismissed in such a way. She’d been taken for granted back home, then punished the moment she stood up for what she believed in. She was finished with that dynamic. “I’m not a child you need to coddle or a chess piece to move around a board. Tell me what’s going on, Lizzie, please.”

Lizzie, good girl that she was, did so. She played the recording for Xilinn, gave her her impressions, and in the end let her be part of the decision-making process with an air of relief. Of course, she’s just a child. And Xilinn’s conclusions were...well.

“We can’t expect them to get themselves out of this.”

“No,” Ryu agreed.

“But it would be pointless to alert the nearest inhabited planet and ask for them to send a force.”

“It would.” Apart from the fact that the nearest inhabited planet was a farming colony populated almost entirely with bots, they were strictly non-interventionist and would have no reason to go after someone foolish enough to go down onto Hadrian’s Colony.

“And equally pointless for us to go there looking for some sort of fight.”

Ryu had stroked his chin thoughtfully. “It’s more than the weather won’t allow for any sort of direct interference, I think. We’d have the advantage either way, being in space; I doubt they’ve got the sort of armaments that could shoot through the atmosphere.”

“But we don’t know that for sure.”

“No.” And it wasn’t the sort of thing you wanted to guess at, either.

“Then we help them help themselves,” Xilinn said. “We equip ourselves for a rescue mission but plan on staying above the planet, not going down to it.” Not unless the need was extremely dire. “We could have them off of there in less than two weeks, if Lizzie’s calculations are correct. Which I know they are,” she added, and Lizzie made a happy sound.

“You don’t have to do this,” Ryu said softly. “I know you feel like you owe Kieron, but he would never expect you to—”

Xilinn held up a hand. “He never expects anything from anyone, which is part of the reason I’ve got to do this. The rest…” The unease that had been growing in her for weeks was getting stronger and stronger, made worse by the fact that Trakta had cut off all unofficial communication with everyone—even its former allies. They’d gone completely dark except for a weekly proclamation of events, and as someone who was used to reading between the formal lines, Xilinn could tell that things were bad.

What’s happening to my Szusza? To Filip and Ophred? Her former spouses were supposed to be looking after Szusza, but Xilinn didn’t believe that they would do so equally. And she loved their other children dearly—were they suffering now? It would take someone truly masterful to penetrate Trakta’s silence and get her the answers she needed in order to keep from going mad.

Kieron and Elanus, together, were the masters of just about anything. With the girls to help them, they were unstoppable.

“I love Kieron like family, and I owe Elanus a debt,” she said at last. “I do have some hopes for after we rescue them, but that can wait.” It would have to.

Not for long, though.

 

Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Chapter One, Part Two

 Notes: More of Hiram and Lollop, coming atcha!

Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Chapter One, Part Two

 ***

Herbalism Isn’t Magical, Damn It

 

 

Photo by Yesmore Content

 

“Oof,” Robard said after a minute. “Bit hard to talk to Raileene these days, eh? Unless you’re a necromancer.”

“We don’t talk about that kind of magic around here, you know that,” Jonn snapped in an undertone to him. “Pardon him, sir,” he added apologetically to Hiram. “Once he’s gotten a few drinks into him, Robard forgets all his niceties. What he means to say is, well, the Widow Shore was getting on in years, and last winter was a real bad one. Real bad.” He was wringing his hands in the edge of his apron. “And she’s had an ache in her bones ever since surviving the plague back in her teens, and, well…she’s passed on, sir.”

“Ah,” Hiram said. Well, this is going to make things a bit more complicated. “I see. Clearly, the home that I was told about won’t be available anymore, but—”

“Ah, not so fast, not so fast,” Jonn said, making a let’s-not-be-hasty gesture. “I know the house you’re referring to, sir, and it’s, uh…well, let’s just say it could benefit from some tender, loving care now that the Widow Shore is gone. It’s being looked after by a friend of the lady’s, and we can fetch her for you if you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Hiram said bemusedly. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, and he certainly didn’t have anywhere better to go. “Shall I accompany you?”

“Oh, Robard will bring her to you, sir. Not a problem,” Jonn said.

“Eh?” Robard scratched at his thatchy hair. “Who said I’d do that, hm?”

“I said it,” Jonn replied, his little hands on his hips. For all that some of the most dangerous people Hiram had ever met in his life were gnomes, it was hard for them not to look cute when they got angry. “I’ve been standing you drinks all day, so the least you can do is get this gentleman a meeting with Mistress Tate.”

“Ah, fine, fine,” Robard said, using one hand to sling his sagging pants a bit higher on his hips. “Usually good for a hangover cure too, she is. I’ll be back.” He waddled out the door and into the bright light of day. Almost immediately thereafter, there was a braying sound and a “Whoa, who put this mule here, eh?”

Jonn closed his eyes, as if praying to one of the higher deities. “Would that be your mule, sir?” he asked.

“Sure is,” Hiram said. “But don’t worry, Mule can take care of himself.”

“And so can Robard,” Jonn said. “He might spend more time drunk than not, but he’s a tough old dwarf. Now.” Jonn rubbed his hands together in an effort to seemingly rub his nerves away. “How about that drink, sir?”

“Much obliged,” said Hiram.

“Excellent, excellent. This way.” Jonn led the way over to the bar where, after rounding the far corner, he climbed up several steps to put himself on an equal level with whatever patron happened to sit across from him. Almost the entire back of the bar was raised with the exception of a narrow space just behind it where Hiram presumed they stored glasses and such.

“One of our most popular brews for you, sir,” Jonn said, taking down a tall, thick glass mug with a heavy handle on the side and propping it under a spout attached to a keg by the wall. “Just opened this one up,” he promised. “It’ll be fresh as a daisy and smell twice as nice.” He slowed the pour at the end, so as to keep the foam from overflowing the top of the glass, then set it down in front of Hiram. “There you are,” he said, beaming. “Go on, try it.”

“Thank you,” Hiram picked up the mug, raised it to his mouth, and took a sip.

His first reaction was “gleh, warm.” His second reaction was shame for the first one. He’d become spoiled back in Galenish, where every bar had an icebox spelled to keep the mugs cool. Cold beer was a luxury, and one he hadn’t sipped from in the past week and a half of travel.

Apart from the temperature, it was an inoffensive enough drink. Too light for his taste, tending toward crisp and sour rather than dark and malty. But he smiled gamely at his host. “It’s good, thank you,” he said.

“Only the best at the Yew Brew,” Jonn patted the countertop proudly. “All the recipes I serve here were passed down to me from my father. They came to him from his father, and to him from his father, and to him from his mother, because his father died when he was a very young child. But that’s a tale of woe that only my great-grandfather could really tell you. And then she got it from her father, and—”

“Clearly they’re old family recipes,” Hiram interjected, knowing that gnomish lineage recitations could go on and on and on if he let them. “Truly time-tested, then.”

“Indeed, indeed. Now, sir,” Jonn looked at him expectantly. “Tell us a bit about yourself, hm?”

A bit about himself. Well, if that wasn’t one of the most unintentionally loaded questions Hiram had heard in his entire life. Up until a year ago—hell, even six months ago—he had known who he was. The entire empire had known who he was. He had been Xerome, Wizard of the First Order, greatest of the emperor’s spellcasters, warrior-general, wielder of fire, and protector of the Commonwealth. And now…

“My name is Hiram,” he said, “Hiram Emblic. I’m an herbalist.”

“An herbalist?” Jonn’s eyes widened a bit. “Goodness, that’s not what I’d have pegged you for, sir, but it just goes to show there’s no judging a book by its cover, hm? Where are you coming from, then?”

Hiram was half tempted to ask what Jonn would have pegged him for, but decided at the last second that he really didn’t want to know. “I plied my trade up north for many years,” Hiram went on, “mostly in larger cities, but things have been getting a bit hot up there lately, so I decided it was time for a change.”

If possible, Jonn’s eyes got even wider. “Were you involved in the War of the Burning Sands?” he whispered.

“On the fringes of it,” Hiram replied. “Too close for comfort, to be honest. And fire’s not a friend to the plants I grow, so.” Actually, fire was a necessary component for a few of the plants he planned to grow, the special ones. Growing magical plants wasn’t the same as doing magic, after all. But he didn’t need to get into the details with an innkeeper he’d just met.

“Does this town already have an herbalist?” he asked, deftly changing the subject. “I’d hate to be stepping on someone’s toes.” Liira had already assured him that there wasn’t any competition for that particular skill in Lollop, but that wasn’t something Hiram figured he should know yet.

“Oh, no, no. No herbalist to speak of. Well, not exactly,” Jonn amended. “Mistress Tate is something of a wise woman for these parts,” he said, with that particular delicacy that intimated the mystery of “women’s issues.” “But I’m sure she’d be happier to work with you than without you.”

“That’s a relief,” Hiram said with an easy smile.

“Speaking of the good lady herself!” Jonn’s beaming smile came back as he looked over Hiram’s shoulder at the door. “Mistress Tate, you came faster than I’d imagined you would.”

“Your friend happened to run into me on the road,” the lady said as she stepped deeper into the inn. “Quite literally, in fact.”

Hiram’s eyes were fairly well adjusted to the low light at this point, and he looked at the newcomer with unabashed interest. She was a tall woman, older than him but not elderly, and in no way stooped. Her hair was that peculiar shade of platinum blonde that could edge into silver without anyone even realizing it, and her face, though weathered, bore the lines of what was likely once immense beauty. She was wearing a simple green dress with no sleeves and a scooped neckline, as well as a shawl that preserved the modesty that seemed so important to people in these middle kingdoms.

“Ah.” Jonn’s smile turned apologetic. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s no matter,” she said. “I sent him back to his apartment with a tonic that should help him sleep through the night.” That business settled, she turned her gaze on Hiram. “So,” she said, “you’re the one that Liira sent our way. I’ve been expecting you for some time now.”

Just how much had Liira told these people? “I am,” Hiram said, continuing to affect the same ease with which he’d entered the inn, although he was starting to wonder if this place was such a good idea. “But I don’t want to put you out over it, Mistress.”

“No one would be put out were you to take possession of the house,” she said briskly. “Although legally speaking, it could only be temporary. Raileene, the gods rest her soul, willed that property to her daughter, Jessamine. But Jessamine lives a large life in the city of Orivode these days,” she continued, “and apparently can’t be bothered to handle little things like her mother’s last effects, or even come for her funeral.”

Ah, there was bad blood there, then. Normally Hiram wouldn’t want to take advantage of that sort of thing, but he did need a place to stay, and Mule needed rest. He’d been on the road now for almost a month, and as hearty as he was, hauling a wagon wasn’t the same as riding into battle.

“What would be entailed in my taking possession of the place?” Hiram asked.

“You’d be responsible for its maintenance.” Mistress Tate said as she sat down on the stool next to him. Jonn immediately padded off to get her a drink, which she accepted with a gracious nod. “I’m afraid it’s gone a bit to the elements since Raileene moved in with me several years back. But the bones of the structure are good, and there’s plenty of space to ply a trade on the grounds.” She looks him up and down. “Hmm…hedge wizard?”

Hiram almost choked on his drink. He’d gone out of his way to abolish almost every trace of his original calling from the way he looked now. How had she come that close in less than one minute of his company? “Ah, no magic for me,” he said, wiping a bit of foam from his mustache. “Herbalism, Mistress. I’m an herbalist.”

“Ah.” She nodded her head. “Well, there’s plenty of space for an expansive garden at this house, and a pasture for your mule.”

“And the rent?” Hiram asked. Not that it actually mattered to him. He had a purse of unending wealth thanks to a particularly dangerous dungeon crawl from his youth, but haggling, he constantly reminded himself, was a thing for most people. They couldn’t throw money at their problems and expect them to disappear. And now that he was Hiram Emblic, neither could he.

“Oh, there would be no rent,” she said.

Hiram narrowed his eyes. “This seems too good to be true,” he said bluntly. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch,” Mistress Tate said, “lies in the uncertainty. Raileene’s daughter hasn’t been back to this town for close to ten years now, but that doesn’t mean that she never will come back. And if she does, legally speaking, the house belongs to her. It was her mother’s wish and one that I can’t gainsay, however much I might like to.” She added the last part under her breath. “But it was a beautiful home once. Raileene was born there, she raised her family there, and if things had gone a bit differently, she would have died there. But.” Mistress Tate shrugged. “Not even the Emperor can control the vagaries of fate.”

Hiram raised his glass in a toast. “I’ll drink to that.”

“And will you take the house?” she pressed.

“I feel I should see it before I say yes,” Hiram replied.

“Of course. I’ll take you there myself.”

That was not what he wanted. Mistress Tate saw a great deal more than he was comfortable with. To spend more time in her company, with her in the presence of Mule, of Phlox, of his rather suspicious amount of baggage… And yet there was no elegant way out of it.

“Of course,” he said. “I’m much obliged to you, Mistress. Allow me to pay for your beer.”

She smiled at him. “Cheers,” she said. “Now drink up. The sooner we get there, the sooner you’ll begin to start cleaning.”