Valkyrie's Shadow

Chapter 8

“Just how much do they want me to stay in touch with them?”

The Shadow Demon said nothing as Liam sorted through the packs of supplies it had just delivered. Since it looked like they would be stuck in Re-Blumrushur for the next little while, he figured it would be a good time to restock. Between delivering Liam’s reports to the Sorcerous Kingdom and assembling the necessary consumables, Liam’s shadowy companion had spent just over a day apart from him. Little did he know that it would return with so much.

Sixty-four Message scrolls…

In addition, there were a dozen scrolls of Invisibility and See Invisible, as well as a variety of other utility scrolls, such as Silence and several sets for locating various objects through divination. He wondered how many sheep they had skinned to make so many.

Healing potions, curatives, poisons, cosmetic salve…?

The latter was supposed to be a gift for Countess Beaumont, so that was one less thing he had to manage. Still, one could be fooled into thinking they were being sent into a war with how much stuff there was. The last time he was sent into a war zone, each infiltrator carried far less.

There weren’t any updates to his missions included in the delivery, so he had little to do but sort everything out and figure out where to put all the extra stuff. Lady Beaumont had granted him the use of a footman’s room – she had actually invited him to stay in her room, but he had politely declined – so the best option he had was to hide it away in some unseen place.

As he searched his room for conveniently installed secret compartments, a knock sounded from the door.

“What is it?”

“Dinner is being served in the hall.”

Liam stuffed his stuff under his bed and went to open the door. A smiling Claire awaited him on the other side.

“How’s the new Cook?” Liam asked.

Claire’s smile faded somewhat.

“He knows his way around a kitchen,” the Maid replied. “Reed and his men are testing his food right now.”

That was all that mattered to Liam. So long as the new guy was a Cook, the opportunity to improve would eventually turn him into one capable of meeting the demands of an aristocratic household. Whether he needed recipes or he would figure them out himself was a question not answered in the Scriptures, but they would know when they got there.

Liam accompanied Claire to the great hall, where, as the Maid mentioned, Reed and his men were already partaking of the new Cook’s offerings. As with most regular Nobles, the great hall was also where Lady Beaumont’s armsmen were accommodated. Rows of unmade bedrolls lined the walls while the men chatted around well-stocked braziers as they enjoyed their meals. Many greeted Liam as he walked past them.

“Were there any issues getting Mister Kettle’s family here?” Liam asked.

“They arrived in one piece,” Claire answered. “If Mister Kettle passes review, Lady Beaumont instructed me to put them up in the Cook’s quarters.”

“Did she say anything about what happened?”

The Maid’s placid expression faltered.

“I didn’t say anything about it,” she said. “I didn’t want to add to Lady Beaumont’s worries.”

They made their way to the head of the hall, where Reed occupied one end of the long table. The woodsman-turned-armsman-turned-sergeant looked up at them with a roll sticking out of his mouth.

“That good, huh?” Liam said.

“I’ll go and get our portions,” Claire said.

The Maid disappeared into the servant’s entrance as Reed worked his mouthful down. He reached out for his tankard to wash it all down, then eyed the thing balefully as he leaned back into his seat.

“Water,” he grumbled. “A sure way to ruin a good meal.”

“Does that mean you approve of the new Cook?” Liam asked.

“Dunno,” Reed answered. “City food’s weird. Nothing’s fresh ‘cept the bread. I’ll reserve judgement for when we get back to Beaumont.”

“If Mister Kettle makes it back to Beaumont,” Liam said, “he’ll already have been hired.”

Claire reappeared from the servant’s entrance bearing two wooden trenchers. She set them down in front of Liam before lifting her skirts to sit beside him on the bench with a renewed smile.

“At least it looks like a meal you’d see at an inn,” Liam said.

The Eight Fingers’ kitchen on the wharf produced food that amounted to a thin vegetable soup and tough sourdough made from rye. It was a meal that anyone could cook, which meant that the kitchen’s workers weren’t necessarily Cooks. All Liam could do was watch how each worker conducted themselves and make guesses from there.

As a result, the trencher placed before him contained a few rolls of bread with slices of roast venison slathered in a generous portion of onions and gravy. A few sprigs of steamed fiddleheads were arranged about the dish in a desperate attempt to improve its presentation. Going by how the woodsmen were ravenously wolfing down their meals, they didn’t care at all about that.

“Shouldn’t it be fancier?” Claire asked.

“What did you ask for?” Liam asked back.

“A dish suitable for the armsmen,” Claire answered. “This doesn’t look much better than what we’ve been having recently.”

Claire’s lip curled as Reed released a long, loud burp. Liam silently compared his current meal to the ones he had enjoyed in the Holy Kingdom. Right away, he knew that the two couldn’t be compared. The forces from the Southern Holy Kingdom brought their own Cooks with them and they received ample ingredients from the south and the sea. One could eat beef, crab, and lobster every day as a member of one of their elite regiments and the food issued to the lower ranks wasn’t terrible either. Of course, the Nobles of the Azerlisian Marches weren’t anywhere near as wealthy or organised as their counterparts from Roble and they didn’t have access to the same stuff.

He may have been inclined to compare their fare to the offerings of Warden’s Vale, but Reed had a point about city food. Without access to preservation magic, most ingredients from the countryside deteriorated in quality while being delivered to and stored in the city.

No, what’s important is that we let this Cook cook.

The more experience the Cook gained, the better his food would get even when using the same ingredients. It was pointless to worry about anything aside from the guy being lazy or putting in the bare minimum effort to get by. The threat of being released in the current conditions of the city would likely be threat enough to keep that from happening.

“Just so we’re on the same page here,” Liam said, “regular meals for households aren’t super fancy. Also, if it’s this decent now, it’ll be much better when we get back to Beaumont County and he’s settled himself in.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Claire said.

That’s how followers of The Four thought about it, at any rate. They believed that people could be anything they wanted to be and that those who excelled at one particular thing were ‘geniuses’ in their field. By the measures of the Scriptures, those ‘geniuses’ were merely people who achieved their potential early while true phenoms clearly towered above the rest.

“Sounds like we’re keepin’ this guy,” Reed said.

“That’s Lady Beaumont’s decision to make,” Liam said. “She’ll probably ask you what you think of Mister Kettle’s cooking, so make sure you have a serious response prepared.”

Reed frowned down at the remains of his trencher. It wasn’t a matter to take lightly. Positions in aristocratic households were highly sought after because they could often become hereditary. Much like any other profession, children took over their parents’ trade. The children of a loyal Cook who was well versed in the preferred cuisine of a noble household were basically guaranteed a position serving the lord of the next generation unless something went terribly wrong.

“Did Lady Beaumont mention when she would be finished with Baroness Illerand?” Liam asked.

“She said she was going to be staying past dinner,” Claire answered. “I’m supposed to return to her side once Mister Kettle proved himself a capable Cook.”

“Well, he’s done that much, at least,” Liam said. “I’ll escort you over to Illerand Manor. Reed, can you get a couple dozen men together?”

“Why?”

“Because the guys we left over there haven’t eaten yet?”

“Oh. Right. Gimme a minute…”

The woodsman let out a groan as he rose from his seat. Maybe the food before him wasn’t his first helping. Liam returned to his room, putting away his newly delivered supplies before making his way to the manor entrance. Claire attached herself to his elbow the moment they stepped through the gate.

“The upper city’s pretty safe,” Liam told her.

“Is that so…?”

Claire clung to him even harder, seemingly intent on wedging him between her arm and her bosom. No matter where he looked, Liam still couldn’t detect any observers or even household staff running about performing errands. About halfway to Illerand Manor, however, the distant sound of many hooves stopped them in their tracks.

“Do you hear that?” Liam asked as he untangled himself from Claire.

“Yeah,” one of Reed’s woodsmen said. “A whole lotta horses comin’ down from the castle.”

Had the food shipments finally arrived? The captain at the gate mentioned something about moving quickly with sufficient force to prevent the commonfolk from mucking things up.

A column of men appeared from uphill, led by a handful of Knights and their cavalry squadrons. Though it was still far from twilight, two rows of armsmen held burning torches aloft. They were clearly planning on doing something that would last well into the night.

The column slowed to a halt as they crossed paths with Liam’s party. Liam inclined his head respectfully as one of the Knights approached.

“Good afternoon, Sir Damien,” Liam said. “Has food for the citizens finally arrived?”

“The first shipments are due to arrive at the castle harbour tomorrow morning,” the golden-haired Knight replied. “This sortie is for another pressing piece of business.”

Liam glanced at the ranks of grim-faced men behind Sir Damien. The aggressive tone driving the Knight’s words didn’t bode well for whoever they were targeting.

“What business might that be, good sir?” Liam asked.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“You should already be well aware of it, footman,” the Knight said as his gaze slid to the fearful-looking Maid hiding behind Liam. “A member of your household was attacked in the lower city. Lord Reginald turned livid upon hearing the news of the incident. This blemish on the honour of House Blumrush shall be erased in no uncertain terms. The teeming mass of maggots infesting the lower city will know what it means to spit on the benevolence of our most venerable establishment and we will finally have order!”

Voices of steely affirmation rose from the regiment in answer to the Knight’s declaration.

This is my fault.

A leaden lump formed in the pit of Liam’s stomach. His decision to have their group avoid notice and enter the lower city on food had led to the ‘attack’ on Claire. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t really an attack: what mattered was the fact that a retainer of House Beaumont and thus a person under the protection of House Blumrush had been endangered by the desperate actions of the citizens. If he had gone with the original plan and used the carriage bearing the sigil of House Beaumont, they probably would have experienced a few delays from needy petitioners and some dirty looks at worst.

“Claire,” Liam said, “go to Lady Beaumont with the men. There’s no need for you to stay outside for any longer than necessary. Sir Damien, I will bear witness to the actions taken on behalf of House Beaumont and report them to my lady.”

“Of course, footman. Be sure to stay on our side of the lines lest you be misidentified by one of our men in the confusion.”

Liam nodded, the lump in his stomach growing heavier as he walked alongside the column behind the ranks of cavalry. He could think of nothing that would stop the House Blumrush regiment from carrying out their orders that wouldn’t also impede his missions.

After entering the lower city, the regiment split into multiple columns, each commanded by a Knight. The rain pelting the city over the past few days had abated, offering both sides a clear view of their surroundings. As far as Liam could tell, they were spreading out to cordon off the general area of the city where Claire had been ‘attacked’. Upon seeing what was going on, the citizens retreated as far as they could into the ruined city blocks.

As time stretched on, Liam wondered if House Blumrush would be satisfied with making a show of force. That proved to be wishful thinking.

“Citizens of Re-Blumrushur!” Sir Damien’s voice boomed from the centre of the plaza in the middle of the quarter. “Do not think we will let your crimes go unanswered! Late this morning, a Maid of House Beaumont was attacked by a mob from this area of the city. House Beaumont, who was the very first to deliver critical materials for the reconstruction of the city; whose leader even now has committed herself to rallying the aristocracy to aid you in your time of need…there can only be one answer to the actions of animalistic ingrates such as yourselves.”

The Knight raised his lance and pointed it forward. Several ranks of armsmen advanced, crossing into the charred husks of the nearest buildings. The people fled before them, but direct harm was not the objective of House Blumrush’s men.

Mournful cries rose as crude tents and makeshift shelters were set ablaze. Armsmen raised their voices and warned away anyone who tried to salvage what was left of their lives. Those who went against those warnings were cut down and fell victim to the flames, adding their cries of torment to the chorus of the citizens.

Once the initial chaos settled, Sir Damien raised his voice once more.

“Lord Reginald has so kindly allowed city rents to be suspended for the duration of the reconstruction. Effective immediately, this privilege has been suspended! Each household is expected to pay their rent if they wish to occupy space in the city.”

How are they supposed to pay anything if they have nothing?

Liam watched as a controlled blaze was guided through the ruins of the city quarter. The citizens who dwelt there were herded into a narrow space against the outer wall. There, they were made to stand and watch as they lost their homes once more.

As evening approached, a set of officials adorned in Blumrush livery occupied the same plaza where Sir Damien had started his purge of the quarter. They set about raising a small base enclosed in spiked wooden barricades. Once they were finished setting things up, a group of harried citizens was marched before a plump official sitting behind a long oak table. The official fished out a sheet of paper from the stack before him.

“Name?”

The members of the group exchanged confused looks. An inpatient look formed on the official’s face before he gestured to the armsmen nearby. Shouts of panic rose as the people were pulled apart and reorganised into a line.

“Name?” The official asked.

“Stef…Steffan,” the timid-looking man at the front of the line answered.

“Steffan? That’s it? No surname?”

Steffan shook his head. The official sneered. As Liam very well knew, only having one name was a very bad thing in Re-Estize.

“Do you have a skill, Steffan?” The official asked.

“I worked in the warehouse district, sir. You know, moving things.”

“I see,” the official’s expression grew bored. “Family?”

“I’ve got a daughter, sir.”

“Does this ‘daughter’ have a mother?”

“She…we lost her in the fire, sir.”

The official’s quill scratched over the piece of paper. After reviewing his work, he added it to an empty ledger.

“Plot 401,” he said.

“Plot…what?”

Before he could get his answer, a pair of armsmen took him by the shoulders and marched him off. Liam slipped in behind them to see what was going on. Eventually, they reached a space in the ruins of a burnt-down apartment marked out in chalk. Live cinders peeked out from under the recently reburnt beams and the ground was blackened with soot.

“What’s this? Steffan asked.

“Plot 401,” one of the armsmen answered. “You see the markings there? Good. Everything inside is your tenancy while the city’s being rebuilt. You are responsible for maintaining this space, which includes keeping it sanitary.”

“B-But there’s nothing here,” Steffan protested. “How are we supposed to live like this?”

“You may earn food and sundries through honest labour,” the armsman told him. “Report to the labour office at the plaza on butcher’s row for your work assignment.”

With that, the armsmen turned on their heels and left. Steffan glanced at his surroundings before disappearing as well. Liam stepped out to examine ‘Plot 401’.

The plot was small – less than nine square metres. It was barely enough to house two people and it looked like the entire block had been divided into similar spaces. On a positive note, there was a stone well not too far away. He wasn’t sure how people would dispose of their waste, but there were probably plenty of sewer openings hidden amongst the ruins.

“Who are you?”

Liam turned to find Steffan. A little girl clung to his hand, looking up at Liam with big, grey eyes.

“I’m…a footman from House Beaumont,” Liam replied.

Steffan’s eyes grew as wide as his daughter’s.

“H-House Beaumont?” He said as he hid the girl behind him, “You mean the one the Knight was talking about?”

“Yeah.”

“…are you here to kill us?”

“Huh? No. Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Someone attacked the Nobles so you’re attacking back.”

“That’s technically true…look, I was there when the ‘attack’ this morning happened. It was just a mob of people desperate to find a way out of trouble. It’s not like they did it because they hate us.”

“Then why…”

“Because what happened can still be seen as a challenge to the nobility,” Liam told him. “Lord Reginald is obliged to answer that challenge. Do you understand that?”

Steffan’s gaze went to the muddy mess at his feet.

“You don’t have to like it,” Liam said, “but do you understand?”

“Does that mean that you don’t hate us?” Steffan asked.

“Well, no one would be happy if something like that happened to one of their people,” Liam answered, “but Countess Beaumont doesn’t hate anyone for it. It’s as Sir Damien said: she’s working to encourage the other Nobles to help rebuild the city. The faster that gets done, the faster we can return to our regular lives.”

The man nodded slowly in response, but Liam couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Just so you know,” Liam said, “word’s out that the first shipments of food will arrive sometime tomorrow. It’s not as if the city’s been left to starve.”

“If that’s true,” Steffan replied, “then I should get myself over to that labour office of theirs. Steffanie, see what you can do to get our new home cleaned up. Don’t get hurt.”

The girl nodded obediently and shuffled into Plot 401. Her father gave her one last look of concern before leaving in the direction of House Blumrush’s ‘office’ in the plaza. Steffanie found a broken plank and started using it to push away the debris littering her new home.

Others started to arrive in the area to occupy their newly assigned plots. The scene was starting to look like a work camp in the Holy Kingdom.

No, it’s pretty much what it is.

There were differences, of course. The Nobles of the southern Holy Kingdom had superior logistics and were far more organised, even if they were split into two factions. Additionally, Roble’s retinues were far more expansive and disciplined than what House Blumrush had deployed. Most importantly, Re-Blumrushur didn’t belong to the Crown. With the notorious house in complete control, things didn’t bode well for the city’s residents.

“Name?”

The official was still going through the same routine when Liam returned to the plaza. A long line had formed now that the citizens realised what was going on, though it looked like it was populated by the lowest rungs of the city’s labour pool.

“Brenda.”

“Do you have a skill, Brenda?”

“I worked at an inn for the last five years, sir,” Brenda replied. “The Strangled Goose. I did serving, cleaning, a little bit of cooking…that sort of thing.”

The official eyed the woman up and down before scribing her documents.

“Plot 319,” he said. “Report to Kitchen Four by the evening bell.”

“Where’s Kitchen Four, sir?”

“The plaza on Mithil Lane. Next!”

Brenda snatched up her papers before she was whisked out of the office. Liam followed her, curious about how her treatment would differ from Steffan’s. Her path led her to one of the somewhat intact portions of the city, namely the metalworker’s district. The cold forges they passed along the way reminded everyone that the Guilds continued to resist Lord Reginald’s power grab.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

“Do you think they’ll reignite the forges soon?” Liam asked.

The woman’s posture stiffened at the sound of Liam’s voice. Liam picked up his pace to walk alongside her.

“I’m Liam,” he said, offering a friendly smile.

“Brenda,” the woman smiled back. “You looking to apprentice with a smith?”

“No, I’m a footman,” Liam replied. “The Nobles want the city rebuilt and running just like everyone else. We have a hard winter ahead of us.”

“So the rumours are true?”

Liam nodded.

“It seems like it. Food shipments are coming in, but things will probably still be tight.”

Brenda stopped at a plot just behind the kitchens being set up in the plaza. The woman placed her hands on her hips, projecting an intrepid air.

“Well, this is it,” she said. “Home sweet home. For now.”

Liam scanned the confines of Brenda’s plot. It was a bit larger than Steffan’s, but it shared most of the same hazards.

“You’re being pretty positive about all this,” Liam said.

“Things aren’t so bad,” Brenda replied. “I got a job and my place is right behind the kitchen. Once I get a few things to hold in the heat, I figure life will be nice and comfy.”

“You’re not mad at House Blumrush for doing what they did just now?”

“Why would I be? You know what’s been going on since the fire? Nothing. Nothing but waiting and worrying. It’s about time someone did something.”

It was a familiar stance: one he often heard in Roble’s work camps. Most people only cared that their families were fed and they had a safe place to sleep. Issues for the far future were something for Nobles to worry about.

“It doesn’t look like the Guilds are cooperating,” Liam noted. “Isn’t anyone worried that reconstruction will be kinda sketchy without them?”

Brenda snorted.

“They’ve always been a snooty bunch,” she said. “Especially the metalworkers. A taste of humility is exactly what they need.”

The woman pointedly gestured at a small crowd that had formed in the nearby plaza. Liam made his way closer, discovering that a confrontation between the local artisans and the city administration was brewing.

“If you will not work,” an official said, “then your workshops will be given over to those who will.”

“You’re insane!” A man in the crowd shouted, “We built these workshops and we’ve run them for generations. You have no right to do this!”

“On the contrary,” the official said. “The city belongs to House Blumrush. You may have built your workshop, but you merely lease the land it stands upon. Similarly, your license to operate as a Blacksmith is issued by the local authorities. There will be no patience for your sense of entitlement and laziness while the city and its people face this current crisis.”

The Blacksmiths’ faces went from pink to red to purple as the official droned on.

“You know what?” One of the Blacksmiths fumed, “Fuck this. Fuck this city and fuck you! Plenty of places would welcome a man of my skills with open arm–”

An arrow to the chest quelled the Blacksmith’s defiance. His fellows froze mid-protest, mouths aghast.

“Those who do not hold contracts with House Blumrush are nothing more than vagrants,” the official shrugged. “The penalty for vagrancy is…well, it was slave labour a few years ago. That’s illegal now, so be sure to thank the Crown for our resorting to the alternative.”

The assembled Blacksmiths took one last look at their fallen guildmate before falling in line. No one came to retrieve the corpse.

Pride comes before a fall.

As much as people wanted to apply the saying to the powerful and wealthy who stood above them, the opposite was more often the case. Those like Steffan survived by accepting their new reality without complaint. People like Brenda were quick to praise the people in charge while working to gain advantages for themselves. Those who stood proudly like the defiant Blacksmith fooled themselves into believing that they were more than nails standing proudly before a hammer.

Amidst the sound of axes and picks breaking down the ruins of Re-Blumrushur, Liam made his way back to the upper city. He had seen enough. House Blumrush was well on its way to controlling every aspect of the city and he didn’t want to be around to witness the results.