Despite its lack of a legible sign, Bertronius didn't have much trouble finding the Thorned Duchess. It was a rather rundown establishment in a section of Susselfen where Bertronius mercifully had not had reason to explore in his time in the city. The buildings here were similarly ramshackle to the rest of the city's architecture, but they had the additional distinction of being coated in a fine layer of stone dust that, combined with heavy fog, left the Thorned Duchess and the neighboring buildings begrimed with a sickly, grayish paste. The interior bar lacked all the warmth and welcoming atmosphere of the Blushing Loaf, which between its beautiful staff and atmosphere that managed to make the habitual use of drug and alcohol seem considerably less sordid than it did in less hospitable settings. In contrast, the walls of the Thorned Duchess, already painted a dark color, were stained with all manner of a foul looking substances, which made it seem that the light being emitted from the paltry collection of oil lamps disappeared within mere inches of their weak flames. There were only a handful of patrons in the bar, but all of them were drinking alone, with eyes downcast, Bertronius observed that this was not the sort of place that one came to enjoy the fellowship of others.
Bertronius approached the bar, where a man of indeterminate age with exceptionally greasy hair was watching him with a look that betrayed little appreciation for the finer points of customer service. "I'm looking for Kennack," Bertronius said decisively when he reached the counter.
The bartender's expression did not change with Bertronius' inquiry, and he stared back with a vacant look for a long moment before he jerked his head towards a red elf sitting in the bar's back corner. Bertronius thanked the bartender, and made his way over to the elf who was disinterestedly watching the conversation between the reticent bartender and the well-scrubbed lad who clearly did not fit with the establishment's usual clientele. Kennack looked to be about middle aged, though it was quite clear that his life had not been easy -- a chunk of his right ear was missing, and the lines on his face were well-worn, like riverbeds on an arid plain. "Kennack?" Bertronius asked in the most confident voice he could muster.
A slow, malicious sort of grin spread its way across the elf's face, twisting his already unpleasant countenance into a leer. "Who wants ta know?" he asked, leaning across the table towards
Bertronius, the foul stench of rotted teeth and stale alcohol apparent on his clammy breath.
"McNab sent me. He said you might have some information for us," he responded brusquely, trying not to swoon from the repugnance emanating from the red elf.
"Ahhh, did he now? Well I don' know why he would send ye ta me! McNab knows perfectly well tha' me memory ain' so good...so I don' t’ink I can be too much help ta ye," Kennack replied in a highly affected fashion, that left little doubt in Bertronius's mind about what would jog his memory. Bertronius slid the bag of gold across the table worldlessly, and the elf accepted it just as deftly. "I jus' remembered somet’in', all o' a sudden! Funny how tha' happens, isn' it?" he asked in a mocking tone.
"Well let's have it then," Bertronius said, trying to suppress his impatience at the elf's condescending demeanor.
"Patience, lad, patience!" he said with a chiding sneer. "I'm gettin' ta it. I happen ta ha'e it from a reliable source tha' there's a certain organization what's been funnelin' money given fer ostensibly honest an’ patriotic purposes ta ta Rebel Forces."
"What's this organization you're talking about?" Bertronius asked. He found that the more he conversed with this elf, the less he liked him. Kennack's condescending tone and ironic sneers made it quite clear that he was not taking the young human seriously, which instigated a prickling feeling of distate in Bertronius's mind. Kennack was, above all other things, impolite.
"It migh’ come as a suprise ta ye, lad, actually, as 'tis one o' ta most respec'ed foundations in all o' Susselfen. Fact o' ta matter is, I don' t'ink ye'd believe me if I told ye," the elf replied, while making a pretense of being somewhat bashful. Bertronius continued to stare evenly and resolutely at Kennack, prompting the elf to reduce the amount of disdain in his interaction. "'Tis ta Sisters o’ Benevolence ye should be bendin’ yer eyes toward! Their outward appearance o' kindness an’ charity is not’in' more than a mask fer their actual aims: ta destruction o' yer fine country!" he said with overly dramatic irony, before taking a long, sloppy drink from his smudge-covered mug.
Bertronius examined the elf's face for signs that this was another joke at his expense, but it appeared that Kennack was being truthful -- or at least as truthful as he ever was, which might not mean much, Bertronius reasoned. Kennack began fiddling with a pipe, apparently taking no notice of Bertronius. After a moment, he fixed the boy with an exasperated look, and asked him, "Why are ye still here? Tha's all I got, begone wit' ye!"
The young spy felt a strong urge to respond in a way unbecoming in a well-bred vassal, but he thought better of it and wordlessly left the mean-looking elf to his ignoble environs.
As it was still fairly early in the day, Bertronius decided that he might as well look into the tip that Kennack had provided. He made his way out of the dust-caked streets of the stone working district, and headed towards what passed for Susselfen's most upscale neighborhood. He had walked through this part of town before, but had never had any reason to enter the neat, slate-gray multi-story quarters that housed charitable organizations, professional offices, and the seat of local government. The efforts to make these buildings appear reputable and permanent in the midst of their ramshackle, wooden counterparts gave an impression of desperation on the part of their designers and occupants that Bertronius found perhaps a little sad. He thought of the fabulous estates and palaces that he had been privy to as a member of Elothnin's upper strata, and how these pale imitations of the opulence of Neerhemhind and Opleneer would be scorned and ridiculed by the citizens of those wealthier cities.
The Sisters of Benevolence -- a charitable organization with a long history of assisting Elothinian orphans and widows -- was headquartered in a square, four-story stone house, whose small, leaded windows glowed with an inviting warmth that made Bertronius quicken his pace so that he could escape from the chilly rain falling from the seemingly perpetual bank of gray clouds that enveloped Susselfen. He knocked on a heavy brass ring on the thick double doors of the house, which sent a very satisfying thunk through the house.
The door was answered by an attractive young woman of about 16, with blonde hair, brown eyes, and a girlish face that caused Bertronius to smile immediately. "May I help you? Are you here for the meeting?" she asked in a friendly tone.
Bertronius quickly stifled the attraction he felt for her, and confirmed that he was in fact there for the meeting, whatever it might be about. She led him through the warm, cheerful foyer, into a room populated with about twenty people, most of whom were middle aged women dressed in the regalia of Elothnin's bourgeoisie. It was the kind of group of people that he was used to seeing at parties his family attended, and from experience, they tended to be well-meaning, but hopelessly unaware of the world around them. He smiled inwardly, confident in his ability to move effortlessly among these people, and sniff out any impropriety that might be afoot.
Bertronius thanked the girl for leading him to the meeting, and began to make his way about the room. He walked about slowly, listening to snippets of conversations, trying to identify anyone that might be more than an affable matron trying to raise funds for orphans. As he made his way about, Bertronius was careful to introduce himself and engage in the socially mandated pleasantries of such affairs so as not to appear suspicious.
He had not heard anything worthy of note by the time a stately woman in her 70's cleared her throat at a podium in the front of the room, and asked everyone to seat themselves at the half dozen round tables that filled the room. Bertronius took a seat at a table with some overly friendly old widows, who insisted on pinching his cheeks and tousling his hair, as he tried to find out what this meeting was actually about.
"Greetings my fellow Sisters of Benevolence and esteemed citizens of Susselfens," the woman began. Despite her age, she was still tall and stood stock straight, moving with the energy and decisiveness of a younger woman. "We have called this meeting to address that most worthy of causes, the children. The plight of orphans in our fair city, and our great land more broadly, is truly appalling. As a city, as a society, we have failed them," she said to polite applause from the audience. As Bertronius listened to the woman speak and looked about the room, he was becoming increasingly doubtful that the Sisters of Benevolence was bent on the violent destruction of Elothnin. He was reluctant to doubt someone that McNab had vouched for, but it struck the lad as highly unlikely that these people were engaged in anything more seditious than selling overpriced baked goods at fundraisers for their pitiable wards.
The meeting continued in a businesslike way, with such topics as the plight of war widows on the Fethilian front and the Sisters of Benevolence's annual flower show, all of which elicited vigorously tedious contributions from some members of the elderly crowd. They spoke in the repetitive, meandering way that is typical of mature people eager to occupy their time with matters deemed boring and unimportant by their juniors; the same topics were hashed and rehashed to such an extent that by the end of the meeting Bertronius found his usually swift mind more befuddled than after a night of heavy revelry.
When the meeting had at last concluded two unbelievably long hours later, Bertronius made a half-hearted attempt to find any indication of the nefarious activities Kennack had described by doing a cursory search of the Sisters' headquarters. He carefully slipped away from the remaining meeting goers who were idly chatting in the room, and headed up the servants' stairs in the back of the building. He saw that there were a number of people on the second floor of the building, so he made his way up another floor where the narrow stairs ended in a large, musty room full of papers, boxes, and other miscellany. There didn't seem to be anyone in the room, though there was a single gas light burning on the wall that provided enough light for him to read if he squinted.
Bertronius quickly made his way about the room, thinking that if there was a conspiracy at the ostensibly charitable organization, some sign of it would probably be found here. He flipped through long reports about orphanages in Susselfen, accounts of the Sisters' finances, and copies of its newsletter. After an hour of fruitless searching, Bertronius still had found nothing to indicate that this charity was anything other than it purported to be. He sighed to himself, and snuck back out of the house completely convinced that there wasn't anything to be found at the Sisters of Benevolence beyond a handful of middle aged women, trying desperately to stem the tide of injustice in an unforgiving world.
Jellihondor woke at dawn the next morning and carefully stepped out of the tent while Glothnafar snored on. He stretched and stoked the previous night’s fire to boil some water, and rifled through his pack for the small bag of grain Elcrona had secured for him some time ago. Following her carefully penned instructions, he turned the grain into a thick, bland, porridge. Looking at the pot of mush, Jellihondor felt himself gag a little – he truly could not think of a less appetizing dish and had no idea why other races found it so delicious.
Jellihondor scribbled a quick note (written in archaic Athenorkos, lest it should be intercepted) to the others at the camp letting them know that they were retuning and to expect them in four day’s time and asking them to send word to Rethnaki that what he needed to be confirmed was indeed confirmed. He slipped the note into a compartment in the belly of a small mechanical bird Moshel had given him before he left, turned the key to wind the tiny clockwork beast up, input the coordinates to the camp, and tossed it into the air. He shook his head in wonder as the bird spread its wings and soared off – no different from a living one, and repeated the process for the second bird. Jellihondor was famed for his prodigious talents in the graces and glamours – those social magicks red elves are known for - and had proved himself to be an accomplished elementalist as well, but he knew he had not the slightest knack for tinkering. The magick of the silver elves captivated and amused him precisely because he could not emulate it, and he could not but marvel at their completely incomprehensible, but subtly brilliant works.
The snoring stopped, signaling that the great centaur was waking. Jellihondor stirred the terrible looking paste again, wrinkling his nose in disgust, and pulled it off the fire. “Ye awake, Glothie? ‘Cause if ye are, I ha’e a surprise fer ye,” he called out cheerfully.
“I’m awake. What smells so good?” the centaur answered as he stretched himself in the morning sun.
Jellihondor smiled, and watched the powerful musculature of Glothnafar’s torso ripple in the bright sunlight, as his chestnut haunches gleamed majestically. “It’s yer favorite…it’s mush.”
Glothnafar looked at Jellihondor in disbelief. “You made mush?”
“Mmhmmm,” Jellihondor replied, a proud smile spreading across his face.
“But, Jelli, you can hardly stand to be in the same room with it!” the centaur exclaimed, shock still permeating his voice.
“Well, lucky we’re outdoors, then, eh? Now eat up while I fix meself somet’in’ decent,” Jellihondor replied. “I figured ye earned it, wha’ wit’ ye bein’ proven righ’ ‘bout fate an’ destiny an’ all tha’ nonsense last nigh’. So, how is it?”
Glothnafar grinned from ear to ear – an expression that broke apart his usually somber countenance so infrequently. Jellihondor mused that he looked younger, more carefree, and happier in that moment than he had seen him in years. Part of the old elf wished that they had been born into more peaceful times, times that would have allowed this boyish side of the centaur to flourish. “It’s delicious! Are you sure you don’t want any?” Glothnafar asked with earnest gratitude.
Jellihondor felt a little green just at the idea of eating the awful smelling porridge. “No, no, ‘tis all fer ye, Glothie.”
“You know, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Jelli,” Glothnafar said in between heaping spoonfuls of mush. “Why did you tell the boy about my past?”
Jellihondor blushed deeply. “Did tha’ little git say somet’in’ ta ye?” Glothnafar nodded. “Oh fer ta love o’….I’m sorry Glothie! I know I o’erstepped me bounds, ‘twas jus’ tha’ ye had been comin’ down so hard on him, an’ I thought ‘twould make him take yer abuse in stride a bit more.”
Glothnafar stopped eating and regarded his companion with raised eyebrows. “Abuse?”
“Oh, aye. Abuse. Tha’ boy may not be ta brightest in ta bunch, but he’s no dafter than Helkint. An’ ye know ye treat him differen’ ‘cause ye can’ stand ta be ‘round his kind,” replied Jellihondor civilly.
Glothnafar looked as if he wanted to defend himself, but thought the better of it and nodded thoughtfully. As he polished off the mush, even going so far as to use his fingers to get the last of it out of the corners of the pot, Glothnafar realized that he did have much to apologize to the boy about, especially now that Jarthen had been revealed to be the one to lead the Rebel Forces to victory. Glothnafar marveled at the strength it must have taken the boy to come to him, who had been so vindictive and harsh with him for so long, that night and quietly empathize with the centaur’s hatred of humans. Glothnafar handed the pot and spoon to Jellihondor, thanking him again for the mush. Jellihondor patted the centaur’s massive, dark hand warmly, saying, “’Twas me great pleasure. Glad ye enjoyed it so.”
Glothnafar set about breaking down the tent while Jellihondor doused the fire and packed things up. The pair worked in silence for some time. Glothnafar cleared his throat to get Jellihondor’s attention. “I was thinking, Jelli, and I have to say you made the right call bringing the boy along,” he said, his voice somewhat strained.
Jellihondor smirked. “Well, o’ course ye’d say tha’ now, wha’ wit’ him bein’ our savior and me havin’ ta protect him an’ all.”
“No, no, I mean prophecy aside, I take back everything I ever said about him. Our Jarthen is a brave lad with a lot of character: he’s been thrust into such a strange life so young, with me breathing down his neck no less, and he’s come through for us time and again. So, I take it all back. I’ll make my amends with the boy when we see him next,” Glothnafar said with a ruminative look in his eye, before quickly returning to his work. Jellihondor breathed a sigh of relief and allowed himself a private, knowing smile.
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