The ladies of the Keep fluttering about like brightly coloured garden flits in their best frocks, hair intricately coiffed. Intent upon proving they could be both gentle and demure. Though when the dinner gong had sounded, the race to the seats situated on either side of Brandth at the long dining table almost undid all their efforts. The two victors proving to be both the fastest and with the sharpest elbows. The lady seated on Brandth’s immediate left having to work hard throughout the meal at pretending her left eye was neither blackening nor swelling.
It was interesting for Talac to note that the servants rarely refreshed the ladies’ mead, whilst those visitors of a male persuasion had their goblets kept full to overbrimming. Turning his own goblet upside down, Talac had glared down anyone who tried to right it.
His female dinner companions seated on either side, had initially thought they might pump him for information regarding Brandth, the Prince and the Palace. But Talac’s monosyllabic responses and shrugs soon dissuaded them of that fact.
Whilst his own forays in questioning the ladies about the notorious Gloomenthrall Beast were met with nothing but blank looks, polite smiles and artful, regretful shakes of their heads. Eventually both ladies turning to the dining companions seated on their other side in order to practise their demure smiles and not too clever conversational skills. Leaving Talac to eat in peace, whilst he surreptitiously observed the intriguing comings and goings of the servants.
Several mysteries immediately becoming apparent.
Only one easily solved. Keeping the gentlemen’s glasses constantly refilled kept the guests happy, content, and meant they would sleep well and deeply. But why anytime a suitor rose to their feet, did a servant trail behind them? Generally, it was only so the man in question could visit the closest facilities to relieve himself. But if anyone chose to rise to wander about to idly stretch their legs, they were quickly, yet politely, led back to their seat.
Keeping them corralled? But why? For safety reasons? Or to prevent them from wandering somewhere they shouldn’t and discovering something his Lordship would prefer they not know?
Intriguing, and then there were the three servants who didn’t fit. All were diligent in their duties. Dressed exactly like the others, yet something set them apart. Tweaking Talac’s instincts.
There was an older man, thin yet wiry with a limp, who was a little slow when it came to his duties. Often earning him a rebuke or a negligent slap from one of the gentleman suitors. His ability to roll with the hits too professional. Clearly having had training in how to minimise physical damage.
The next was a lad barely out of short pants, a mop of overlong dark hair covering his eyes, his nose long, his lips always tightly clamped together. He was gangly, looking like he’d recently just undergone a growth spurt, but he moved like quicksilver, reminding Talac of the street thieves he’d observed doing a brisk pickpocket trade amongst the crowds that lingered on the St Minoit docks.
The lad never spoke, and when he used his hands to communicate with others, it became quickly apparent he was incapable of speech. A mute. For the most part the suitors ignored him. So much so that the lad’s habit of lingering near tables for long stretches of time went unremarked upon.
The third servant that caused Talac’s instincts to clamour was a woman. Short, bosomy, middle-aged, her cheeks bright red, matching her greying red hair pulled up in a bun. Carrying a water urn, she was constantly on the move, only stopping when someone gestured they would like their water freshened. Often the person asking was one of the young ladies, though there was a cluster of older women up one end of a table, presumably Lord Gloomenthrall’s sisters, who often called for the servant to approach them.
It wasn’t the servant so much who aroused Talac’s suspicions. It was the behaviour of the ladies. The overly emphatically casual way in which they gestured for the water carrier to approach. Followed by some fumbling as they - it took him a little while to work out – placed a folded note in the large front pocket of the maid’s apron when she leaned forward to pour more water. Secret messages? Instructions? All the while the maid looked like she had no knowledge of the communications and continued about her business. Disappearing occasionally back to the kitchen to fetch more water and probably empty her apron pocket Talac suspected.
Curious and curiouser.
Talac’s job was to ferret out secrets but he couldn’t do that trapped here in the great hall. Time to go to work.
As everyone rose upon completion of the meal to split up into smaller informal groups to chat or play dice or cards, Talac tripped one passing gentleman, giving his arm a little added push so that the contents of his full goblet splashed five other gentlemen. There was much complaining. No one wanted to sit in the cold draughty great hall in damp garments, the five insisting upon returning to their rooms. Five Keep servants dutifully accompanying them to ensure they wouldn’t stray on their way there or back to the great hall.
Next Talac discreetly bumped a table, he was already several steps away when the picked over meat platter that had yet to be collected went crashing to the floor. Spraying several ladies clustered nearby with cooking juices and scraps.
They had to work hard to switch their initial cries of surprise and outrage into more modified lady-like demure expressions of dismay as Brandth descended into their midst to ensure they were all safe and well. His friend was good. Creating even more drama as he insisted the ladies would need escorts to their rooms to change. Selecting volunteers from amongst the nearby gentleman. More servants splitting off to trail behind them as they ascended the stairs.
Numbers were thinning fast of available servants to keep watch and corral the remaining guests. And Brandth, Gods love him, moved erratically about the hall diligently checking on the welfare of all the remaining ladies, young and old.
Talac seizing the opportunity to slide stealthily backwards into a deep shadow. Pausing, taking a moment to consider where he should head first. The Baron’s private suite perhaps. Or… suddenly he became aware of a strange rhythmic drumming sound… the noise growing louder, closer. His attention immediately switching to Baron Gloomenthrall, observing him make a quick gesture for his steward to approach. His Lordship giving the man rapid emphatic whispered instructions. His shaggy eyebrows so lowered by the scowl clinging to his forehead his eyes had all but disappeared. His words accompanied by a stabbing finger pointed in the direction of several groups of guests. The Keep’s master was not happy.
The steward nodded quickly, bowing low, hurriedly heading off, snapping his finger for several guards to accompany him. Talac noting the mute servant boy trailing closely on their heels. Ah, decision made. He too moved off in the same direction, making good use of the abundant available shadows.
For his efforts Talac found himself back in the dimly lit entrance foyer. The arched entrance doors to the muddy courtyard beyond wide open like a maw revealing a dark wet throat. Talac didn’t hesitate, slipping outside, staying close to the building, taking advantage of the limited protection the jutting decorative stonework above provided from the pouring rain.
The drumming was louder now, closer, and accompanied by the pounding of many hooves hitting the ground. Across the hellishly muddy space Talac noted the wide portcullis of the large looming fortified mystery structure was in the process of being opened. Flickering flames emanating from brasseries lit up a brick pathway but everything beyond that was nothing but darkness.
The steward of the Keep stood on the lowest stone step, surrounded by four guards, all of whom had their hands resting on their sword hilts. Their body language growing more and more tense as the rhythmic drumming and sound of pounding hooves striking the ground grew louder and louder. Until finally a group of riders burst out of the eastern woods as if the hounds from the nine circles of hell were on their heels. Mud splattering as they sped past, the earth trembling slightly under their impact.
The steward nudged one of the guards, who raised a lantern, waving it back and forth. Whilst a large number of the new arrivals had already disappeared through the portcullis across the way, those at the tail end of the party drew their horses, along with a wagon, to a halt. The drumming abruptly ceasing, and other than the heavy breathing of the horses, and the pouring rain, the mounted riders were eerily silent and so very intriguing to Talac.
Their horses for one, were almost twice the size of those he and his men rode. Their hooves the size of dinner plates. Their snouts wider than normal, displaying large sets of prominent teeth. They came in a variety of colours but three of them were nothing but the colour of pitch night. It was the riders of these three animals who split off from the group, bringing their mounts to a halt some ten feet from the steward and the waiting guards.
They were big men, the riders, what little Talac could see of them in the dark, and pouring rain. Their clothes obscuring their shapes and features even further, as all wore dark hooded capes, well oiled, as the rain ran off them like they were made of stone. Beneath the hoods they appeared to have scarves or rags wrapped around their lower faces, perhaps shielding them from the mud thrown up by the massive hooves belonging to their mounts.
They waited silently, those three, and the seven behind them that guarded the wagon. A vehicle fitted with over large thin wheels, looking specifically designed and built to travel fast. Thanks to the two dimly lit lanterns tied to the back of the wagon, Talac noted it was full of animal carcasses. And not just any dead animals, keymoats.
Which should have been impossible. Everyone knew the rare reclusive keymoats lived in the Green Hills Realm located across the treacherous seas to the North.
Their large curling horns were much sought after by artists who carved intricate designs and scenes on them. Turning around and selling them for an even more obscene amount to wealthy collectors. Whilst the hooves and spurs of the keymoats were in much demand amongst doctors and apothecaries. Ground down, the bone was considered a vital ingredient in elixirs that helped the heart beat strongly. And many rumoured that it blessed older men with more vigour when it came to the ladies. As a result, measures of keymoat ground bone were as costly as gold dust.
