Six days ago, in the West End...
It wasn't comfortable weather - there was a clear sky and very cold wind, alternating between frigid blasts and baking sunlight. The workers weren't happy, and Alain wasn't, either. Every time a gust howled, the old buildings a block down the street groaned, and those nearby didn't even shudder. It was a neighborhood in the process of redevelopment, thanks in part to the once-crumbling warehouses and apartments bought up, flipped, and sold under Jaster's careful direction, and with all local help; the process part meant the older parts of it were little better than a glorified ghetto, and the fringe might be a delimitarized zone.
Makos had made this their territory not all that long ago. Alain squinted at an abandoned house down the street with their markings spraypainted all over the wraparound porch within the last year. He blew a sigh out his nose, pushed up his sunglasses, and turned to the bustle of activity nearby - a couple master builders pulled from the Barony and a handful of local workers crawling all over the front yard of an ivy-choked manse.
Calling it a yard was a little generous. In places the weeds were three feet tall, and the fountain had been completely overwhelmed by some kind of moss. The woman from the Barony had recommended demolishing the thing, and Alain had to consider that... But the building had strong foundations, a deep basement and no obvious hexes, and the young House head felt sure now, this was a good investment. Spell-lamps, too, and other spellboxed items seemed (relatively) stable, the tech-magick hybrids worked up by Silas Greyshott and the Aurkindar mechanics as functional as could be hoped for in the West End. More brownouts than proper blackouts.
It was a distinct lifestyle, but one Alain had accustomed himself to with many long hours in the S.P.I. offices in the past. All that remained to get used to was...
"Sir." The half-elf in a leather jacket standing ten feet behind him jerked his head; it was a bodyguard, posing right now (as he often did) as a traveling aide, pretending to take notes while thinking about his surroundings and his small arsenal of concealed weapons. Changing roles meant changing burdens, and it chagrined Alain to accept this one more than most of the others. But it had its advantages - he saw Prince Yza'ir's aide, Saji Darleen, hurry his way over, followed by a large, swarthy man in a purple-and-black patterned keffiyeh, wearing a likely ornamental scimitar on his hip and a certainly less ornamental pistol at his hip.
"Baron DeMuer!" Darleen said as he stopped short and bowed very low, ready to kiss Alain's ring if it looked like he'd expect it of him. "My master sends his compliments."
"And I return them ten-fold, Mr. Darleen," Alain replied as he'd learned to on his first visit to Vrashne; the aide straightened while Alain's bodyguard did his best to melt into the background. They collectively moved for a shaded spot with a small bench, away from the trickle of traffic. "What brings you to the West End?"
Darleen laughed, clearly nervous to be in this part of the city; the surly royal guard checked over his shoulder again with a frown behind his thick moustache. "You are very brave to venture here..." He was a sycophant, but Alain suspected the Prince, a much cooler customer and a man to be feared in his own backyard, arranged the contrast intentionally.
Alain merely smiled, and otherwise didn't answer that remark. He sat down on the bench, and Darleen followed suit, and soon got his answer to Alain's question off to an awkward start. "Well, I have come here to find you - clearly, of course - and to ask your aid for a venture on our frontier..."
"On your frontier," Alain repeated. The Prince's demesne was in a well-populated, highly-developed area on the coast, almost completely surrounded by other urbanized territories.
"The Rashim Desert," Darleen explained with an apologetic bow. The Rashim was an extensive desert in the interior of the continent on the northern half, much colder than the well-known and very romanticized Sahara but just as deadly. "We have established a miners' camp there in the summer for the gold and the kerosene. Because of the windstorms, we had little news since, ah... since your New Year, I would suppose, but no sooner did the messengers and couriers start again than, well... they stopped."
The aide shifted uncomfortably as he continued, "My master became, ah, most irate when he received the last message... that they had made contact with envoys from a man named, ah, Yonathan Perry."
"Jonathan?" Alain asked at once, sliding off his sunglasses. "Jonathan Perry?"
Darleen nodded eagerly. "You know this man? He came to see my master not long after you arrived, in one of the other convoys that followed yours. He made an offer on my master's claim in the desert and became enraged when he was turned down."
"Oh, I know Perry," Alain said with a smile. Now seemed like another good time to light a cigarette. Darleen seemed on the verge of stammering out a request, and Alain cut it off by relinquishing the pack and lighter. Children raced by chasing after a ball, their footsteps and laughter punctuating the silence; when they were past, he spoke again. "He worked for me for a little while. Came from a big security company based in the Star's End... I didn't learn much about him until one of his old bosses warned me, he'd been fired from the company by using a team as his own personal expeditionary force." He stopped long enough to click a little pen in his shirt pocket. "Exploited low-tech areas with his heavily-armed goons to press unfair claims. Little more than looting. Soon as I found out, I had him fired. That was six months ago."
"Perhaps, Lord Baron, that is what has happened now," Darleen said with a frown. "The last message to get through said the camp's guards had all been killed or kidnapped, and many of their workers and their families had been taken, also. It would seem they have guns that... well, the bullets, apparently they..."
"Automatics," Alain said, and Darleen looked up and nodded vigorously. "Send Prince Yza'ir my compliments, and tell him help is on the way."
"Lord Baron, I mean no offense, but... do you have an army that can face this villain?"
"Sure I do," Alain said. He replaced his sunglasses and tossed his cigarette onto the cobblestones as he got up. Across the street, the woman from the Barony had spotted a problem with one of the columns on the front porch. "It'll be good for him to see his old colleagues, and besides -- the Division could use a good time."
It wasn't comfortable weather - there was a clear sky and very cold wind, alternating between frigid blasts and baking sunlight. The workers weren't happy, and Alain wasn't, either. Every time a gust howled, the old buildings a block down the street groaned, and those nearby didn't even shudder. It was a neighborhood in the process of redevelopment, thanks in part to the once-crumbling warehouses and apartments bought up, flipped, and sold under Jaster's careful direction, and with all local help; the process part meant the older parts of it were little better than a glorified ghetto, and the fringe might be a delimitarized zone.
Makos had made this their territory not all that long ago. Alain squinted at an abandoned house down the street with their markings spraypainted all over the wraparound porch within the last year. He blew a sigh out his nose, pushed up his sunglasses, and turned to the bustle of activity nearby - a couple master builders pulled from the Barony and a handful of local workers crawling all over the front yard of an ivy-choked manse.
Calling it a yard was a little generous. In places the weeds were three feet tall, and the fountain had been completely overwhelmed by some kind of moss. The woman from the Barony had recommended demolishing the thing, and Alain had to consider that... But the building had strong foundations, a deep basement and no obvious hexes, and the young House head felt sure now, this was a good investment. Spell-lamps, too, and other spellboxed items seemed (relatively) stable, the tech-magick hybrids worked up by Silas Greyshott and the Aurkindar mechanics as functional as could be hoped for in the West End. More brownouts than proper blackouts.
It was a distinct lifestyle, but one Alain had accustomed himself to with many long hours in the S.P.I. offices in the past. All that remained to get used to was...
"Sir." The half-elf in a leather jacket standing ten feet behind him jerked his head; it was a bodyguard, posing right now (as he often did) as a traveling aide, pretending to take notes while thinking about his surroundings and his small arsenal of concealed weapons. Changing roles meant changing burdens, and it chagrined Alain to accept this one more than most of the others. But it had its advantages - he saw Prince Yza'ir's aide, Saji Darleen, hurry his way over, followed by a large, swarthy man in a purple-and-black patterned keffiyeh, wearing a likely ornamental scimitar on his hip and a certainly less ornamental pistol at his hip.
"Baron DeMuer!" Darleen said as he stopped short and bowed very low, ready to kiss Alain's ring if it looked like he'd expect it of him. "My master sends his compliments."
"And I return them ten-fold, Mr. Darleen," Alain replied as he'd learned to on his first visit to Vrashne; the aide straightened while Alain's bodyguard did his best to melt into the background. They collectively moved for a shaded spot with a small bench, away from the trickle of traffic. "What brings you to the West End?"
Darleen laughed, clearly nervous to be in this part of the city; the surly royal guard checked over his shoulder again with a frown behind his thick moustache. "You are very brave to venture here..." He was a sycophant, but Alain suspected the Prince, a much cooler customer and a man to be feared in his own backyard, arranged the contrast intentionally.
Alain merely smiled, and otherwise didn't answer that remark. He sat down on the bench, and Darleen followed suit, and soon got his answer to Alain's question off to an awkward start. "Well, I have come here to find you - clearly, of course - and to ask your aid for a venture on our frontier..."
"On your frontier," Alain repeated. The Prince's demesne was in a well-populated, highly-developed area on the coast, almost completely surrounded by other urbanized territories.
"The Rashim Desert," Darleen explained with an apologetic bow. The Rashim was an extensive desert in the interior of the continent on the northern half, much colder than the well-known and very romanticized Sahara but just as deadly. "We have established a miners' camp there in the summer for the gold and the kerosene. Because of the windstorms, we had little news since, ah... since your New Year, I would suppose, but no sooner did the messengers and couriers start again than, well... they stopped."
The aide shifted uncomfortably as he continued, "My master became, ah, most irate when he received the last message... that they had made contact with envoys from a man named, ah, Yonathan Perry."
"Jonathan?" Alain asked at once, sliding off his sunglasses. "Jonathan Perry?"
Darleen nodded eagerly. "You know this man? He came to see my master not long after you arrived, in one of the other convoys that followed yours. He made an offer on my master's claim in the desert and became enraged when he was turned down."
"Oh, I know Perry," Alain said with a smile. Now seemed like another good time to light a cigarette. Darleen seemed on the verge of stammering out a request, and Alain cut it off by relinquishing the pack and lighter. Children raced by chasing after a ball, their footsteps and laughter punctuating the silence; when they were past, he spoke again. "He worked for me for a little while. Came from a big security company based in the Star's End... I didn't learn much about him until one of his old bosses warned me, he'd been fired from the company by using a team as his own personal expeditionary force." He stopped long enough to click a little pen in his shirt pocket. "Exploited low-tech areas with his heavily-armed goons to press unfair claims. Little more than looting. Soon as I found out, I had him fired. That was six months ago."
"Perhaps, Lord Baron, that is what has happened now," Darleen said with a frown. "The last message to get through said the camp's guards had all been killed or kidnapped, and many of their workers and their families had been taken, also. It would seem they have guns that... well, the bullets, apparently they..."
"Automatics," Alain said, and Darleen looked up and nodded vigorously. "Send Prince Yza'ir my compliments, and tell him help is on the way."
"Lord Baron, I mean no offense, but... do you have an army that can face this villain?"
"Sure I do," Alain said. He replaced his sunglasses and tossed his cigarette onto the cobblestones as he got up. Across the street, the woman from the Barony had spotted a problem with one of the columns on the front porch. "It'll be good for him to see his old colleagues, and besides -- the Division could use a good time."