2372 Iclis 28, Briss

"Careful, now," Elred surveyed the mass of servants settled atop stepladders by the trangene tree in the middle of the platform. Most of them were hanging lights and other decorations in it. It was customary for Feasts to have a symbol representing Helinfirth in the opening ceremony. This year, Elred chose a trangene tree for the sole reason of its bright orange leaves and gray trunks. They were scattered in abundance in the Upper Cities. It was only fitting to have it as this year's symbol.

When the process was giong along smoothly in the tree, Elred turned and went to the table being set up with empty bowls, pitchers, and platters. Today, they're just seeing how everything would be arranged without the actual things yet. The sweet smell of the Helinfirth's Queen bouquets courtesy of the Sylwen family filled Elred's nose in thick wafts. Those by the door looked nice.

She surveyed the rows of tables lining the perimeter of the hall. This was done to make the guests feel like there's bounty everywhere they look. Servants and the planners whizzed in Elred's periphery, each absorbed in their own tasks. Everything appeared to be going the proper way apart from the occasional disruption.

Then, screams of pain erupted from somewhere behind Elred. She turned to the trangene tree to watch a shrieking servant stumble back from her ladder and crash to the ground, cradling her hand. Elred didn't need to leave her post to see the servant's hand bright red. Burned, more like, but she shouldn't discount the possibility of being cut.

A curse tore from Elred's lips. Unlike the benign ones she was used to, this one was particularly foul. Heads turned to her but she paid them no mind. The other servants and planners forgot their duties and rushed to aid or to ogle. Elred caught the whiff of expensive perfume and that could only mean one thing.

The clan decided it was the perfect time to do an inspection.

"What's going on here?" Erlan Valkalin waved a hand close to his nose, his face scrunched up in disgust. "Why does it smell like rubbish?"

Well, had he smelled himself, lately? Elred didn't bother toning her frown down as she faced her relative. "Nice of you to drop by," she said in a flat tone.

Erlan sniffed. "Ah, well," he dusted his perfectly fine embroidered vest. "There has been rumors of the goddess bringing down a curse upon our family and what disaster the planning for the Feast has been going. I thought I should see it."

Elred recoiled. Her own family's doubting her now? "I got everything covered," she hissed. Why was she even feeling cornered? It's just her pathetic relative. "Planning's been going along fine."

Her relative matched her apprehension. "I'll be the judge of that," he leaned to the side to peer at things going on behind Elred. "It looks like the rumors are true. We need to pray to the great goddess to save our heads."

"No one's cursed," Elred stepped forward, driving her relative back. "Is that all you came here for?"

Erlan crossed his arms. "The clan is concerned," he said. "They are considering removing you from the planning committee. We can't risk a year without Crintine's blessing, after all."

A burning pike buried itself in Elred's gut. Rudik's breeches. This was the worst. Elred clicked her tongue. "Tell the family I can handle it," she said. "I got the Garde looking into the pelgar and the maid incident. You'll have an answer and a culprit at the end of the month."

Erlan shrugged. "Spare me the technicalities, Your Grace," he turned and began walking away. "Don't mess this up or we'll all coming for you."

Without waiting for Elred's reply, he was out of the hall. Elred's nails dugs into her palms so much her wrists hurt. Gazes from every direction speared her back and scratched her skin. Her teeth ground against each other. These damned vermin. They think they could push her around like this.

Savel hasn't been in touch with her so it seemed he was having a hard time doing his job. With everyone busy with the Feast, she had no choice now. She's going to investigate on her own. Whoever was doing these things was toying with her. Poking sticks into her side until she bleeds out on her own.

She wouldn't stand by it.

Despite what everyone told her to stay and focus on the Feast, she was out of the hall and the Roserice Mansion in a whole minute. Her wings flashed bright against the afternoon sun as she summoned it. Flying across Abshire, she marveled at how small everything was. For something so minute, they sure hold this territory together.

And Elred wouldn't be the one to destroy all that. Not if she could help it.

She dove down, the wind pushing her hair back and making her skirts flutter. By the time she touched down in front of the Servant's Quarter, the sun was beginning to set. No matter. She'd have the entire evening to get her hands on the things she set to do.

The Servant's Quarter was a patch of land by the border between Abshire and Xixora. It was supposed to be the first line of defense should Herkalyn clan decided to invade them because that's just how benevolent the shard fairies were.

Elred's shoes scratched against worn cobblestones leading to a sole building in the middle of the land the size of an estate. The wind had cooled enough to send shivers up her arms as it kissed her skin. Her clothes looked so out of place with the amount of rotting boards, balwort-infested towers, and trangene trees with marred trunks. The grass were tall and hazy, as if the last time someone thought to mow here were several years ago. For people who kept the rest of Abshire spot-free, why couldn't they do it to their home?

She reached the flimsy door to the wooden building labeled Inventory in hand-painted Keijula characters. The absence of glass structures and instead replaced by wood threw her off. Still, if she was to investigate the source of the flammable materials thrown in the lights, she would find her answers here. Everything coming and going in Abshire pass by this place. It made her wonder why the Servants' Quarter wasn't paid more attention?

The door cracked open when she pushed it gently. A dark and musty lobby greeted her. "Hello?" she called. Her voice echoed across the wood lesser than it did on glass.

A small squeak caught her attention. There. By the left wing. She stepped inside, following her memory from where she heard the sound. It sounded like someone choking on their dinner or something. She rounded a corner, keeping watch of the glass-paned windows showing her an obstructed view of the city beyond. From here, everything looked so far away when a huge stretch of trees and plants blocked it.

She came across the only door at the end of the corridor. It was left ajar, showing light from the inside. Judging from how it flickered here and there, it was either from a lamp or a candle. Couldn't they have light rods here?

Elred approached the door and pushed it in. A man was hunched over his meal of stew and ale. He froze when he sensed her presence. "Hi," Elred said. "Can I look at the recent month's logs?"

The man set his bowl of stew on a nearby desk. "No," he said. Then, he swallowed and added, "Your Grace."

She narrowed her eyes. Just from his unkempt hair and unshaved beard, she gleaned this man wasn't particularly interested in hygiene or pleasing nobles and royals. "Why not?"

"For safekeeping," the man picked up his spoon and shoveled the wrangly meat into his mouth. Some of the soup got into his beard. He didn't bother wiping it off.

"Did you say that to the Garde too?" Elred looked behind her as if to prove a point.

The man leaned back in his chair which creaked under his weight. "Aye, Your Grace," he said. "Royalty or no, I guard the logs like my life. It's equivalent to that, anyway."

Elred blew a breath. She didn't have time for this trifle. "Look, I really need the records. It's for a case," she said. "Helinfirth's fate depends on it."

A disdainful sniff resounded from the man. "Only the Valkalins', I presume," he wrapped his fingers around the cup of ale and down the whole thing in one gulp. "Helinfirth will still stand without you brats prancing around."

Heat rushed to Elred's face. "Brats—"

"I'm right, ain't I?" The man winked and jabbed a fist to his chest. He let out a hearty belch. "Don't look at me like I'm the scum of the earth, lass. You high people aren't so different."

Elred shook her head, washing her disposition free of annoyance. "What would make you consider lending me the records?"

A toothy grin broke free from the man's face. "Ah, now we're talkin'," he shifted on his seat, making himself more open. "All those Garde idiots don't know how to drive a bargain."

She groaned internally. Neither did she, to be honest. But now that she's dug her own grave, might as well jump into it. "What do you want?" she asked.

"A month's supply of ale," the man said. "That and some bread for my kids."

"Kids?"

A wistful look passed across the man's face. "Two and five," he said, telling Elred of their ages. "Would be nice if they're lindenmeres, too."

Lindenmeres...

What in Crintine's name were those?

"Ah, we'll talk details later, Your Grace," the man waved his hands in front of his face and extended his hand to Elred. "Do we have a deal?"

Elred exhaled through her nose. Well, what would a month's supply of ale do to their supplies? "Deal," she clasped the man's hand. When he let het go, a sticky feeling slathered on her palm. Oh. Um.

The man bent over and fished a set of keys from his boot. He crawled underneath his desk and unlocked a metal case. Elred leaned to the side to watch the entire process. Now that she's in the room longer, several details began popping out. Metal cases much like the one the man was unlocking filled the room. Some were stacked under more desks and others were propped atop them. More line the walls, climbed the shelves, and collected dust on each corners of the room. All these were records?

A thud resounded in the dark. She turned to find the man dusting his hands. A stack of hand-written records sat atop the table. "Here you go, Your Grace," the man propped his hands on his hips like he was pleased with a jod well done. "Have fun."

Elred steeled her nerves and, just like the trip to the archives, braced herself for a sinus-full of dust. Her fingers tore through the past months' records. Nothing out of the ordinary. Most of the entries were the supplies which arrived from different parts of Helinfirth according to their order. Then, she reached a page dating a few weeks ago, right before the incidents started taking place.

She squinted at the scrawling handwriting. Was this the record-keeper's own handwriting? The ink used wasn't the best, too, making the lines more blotched and almost bleeding into each other. Holy Crintine. The dim light from the candles stuck in their own molten wax by the window sills wasn't helping.

Iclis 03 - Outgoing: Wires (7 yards); Stock left: 12 yards.
Iclis 03 - Outgoing: Vipiel thorns (half a kilogram); Stock left: 0 kilogram.
Iclis 03 - Outgoing: Dried Atalfa leaves (1 cup); Stock left: 10 kilograms.
Iclis 03 - Incoming: Lesium ores (10 buckets); Stock left: 20 buckets.
Iclis 03 - Incoming: Enya Leather (15 yards); Stock left: 15 yards.
Iclis 04 - Outgoing: Vorkee horns - pulverized (10 grams); Stock left: 0 grams.

Elred tapped a finger at that page. "Who made these orders?" she showed the page to the man who peered at it. "Our team sure didn't make it. Did they get it directly from here?"

The man tapped his chin. "Third of Iclis, huh?" he looked up as if piecing something in his head. Then, he snapped his fingers. "Ah! I remember. Sunny day. Little bit too much for my taste. I remember eating luuro for desert—one peddled by merchants from Rabante up the plateau."

He rambled about that particular day, going about how he did his work and morning routine. Elred rolled her eyes. "Then this strange fellow came in," the man said. That piqued her interest.

"What did he look like?" Elred asked.

The man stuck his bottom lip out. "Didn't see," he said. "He wore a mask over his face."

"They're male, though," she interjected.

"Yeah, I guess," the man scratched his beard and flicked dirt from his nails. "Anyway, he asked for those stocks and as I made the request, I asked him what he would use them for."

"Did he say anything?"

The man hummed. "You bet," he said. "If my memory serves, he rambled about bringing glory or something."

Elred frowned. Almost all the nobles in Helinfrith says that. On a daily basis. "He didn't say anything more?"

"Nah," the man crossed his legs at the ankles and waved a hand at the stack of parchment between them. "Take it how you will. I only known vipiel thorns taste like heaven when mixed with tea. But put too much and you'll see Pidmena faster than the light."

Her intestines twisted. Did he plan on poisoning everyone in the Feast? She should tell the cooks to be vigilant when preparing the cuisine. "What else do you remember about this man?" she asked.

"Oh," the man locked eyes with her. It had taken her all this time to realize they were bright green. "He wore a red cloak. Kept thinking it weird since most nobles hate the color but here we was sauntering in with pride."

Elred cursed. "So he's not from the noble families?"

The man shrugged. "Could be," he said. "Or he could be fooling everyone to think he's not from you people."

Well, that settled it. Elred has to find Red Cloak. If it's not him, then, he could lead her to the rightful culprit. She would pull thread after thread until she unravels the whole tapestry of them who would dare bring down the Valkalin clan.

Just they wait.

"Thank you," Elred nodded to the man and turned to go.

"You'll keep our deal, right?" the man called before her.

Elred didn't bother stopping as she disappeared into the corner. "Expect it in a week."

She summoned her wings again the moment she stepped out of the inventory building. She has to see Savel at the soonest. They've got a rebel to catch.