House Call. [Santhia]

[Eitan Angevin]

73rd Searing, 121 Steel

To say that he was comfortable in the headquarters of the Order of Reconciliation would be untrue. He had as much right to be in the Hall of Servitors as he did the barracks of the Air Defense Corps, but his uniforms didn't fit quite the same. Due to his name and his early acceptance at the battle academia, he was in a fairly unique position, existing in both spheres, laboring as both Watcher and Commander. The Order gave him special dispensation, and so it was rare that they called for him to do specific work for them other than what a Watcher could do as part of the military of Zaichaer.

But then they had dropped Florian Albrecht in his lap, which made sense given his position.

And now he was here again, wrapping up a meeting with a Vigilant.

"If there are no other questions," she said. Though she led with a conditional if, it was clear she expected none. It was not a question.

"I would appreciate you looking into the matter of my report on the Noble Gambit's latest mission. Then you will have the context to review my petition to requisition certain sundry tools—an aura glass, various abjinurium tools—to better safeguard the Lysanrin asset, as well as to be better equipped against the magical threats that threaten Zaichaer's outlying settlements."

She considered. "Perform well today and I will consider it."

"Thank you, Vigilant." He managed not to grit his teeth. Bureaucracy was a necessary evil with a population like Zaichaer's and a mission like the Order of Reconciliators. He didn't have to like it, however.

Eitan stood and bowed.

"Best of luck, Watcher."

"Vigilant."

And then he was gone. The address was well-to-do. He didn't need to look at a map to find it or ask for directions, but he was only vaguely aware of the man to whom it belonged. The Vigilant had offered him some intelligence, but the rest was up to him to discover. He got the feeling this would become more of a standard procedure whenever the Noble Gambit was moored in the High City. Patrols were frequent, but there were always airships present in case of an attack. When people could bend space to make travel instantaneous, there was no such thing as too rapid a response.

He considered stopping to change his clothes, but the exigencies of the Order would brook no delay, and so he took a cab to the man's address and knocked at the door. When it opened, he smiled.

"Hello. Eitan Angevin calling on the master of the house."

[Santhia]

Santhia stood by the large glass window of the brownstone manor, hidden behind thick velvet curtains as her lord sat in a large chair that turned away from the little bit of sunlight slipping through the dreary sky. She couldn’t see much, however, what she could see would beat the dark alley in the back any day. She often forgot how pretty the front of the manor is even in such terrible weather. The brownstone was linked to others similar-looking except this particular manor stood out slightly more since space was made alongside the stairwell leading to the front door to place an array of lavender flowers. It’s an eyesore. Flowers weren’t exactly the problem, it was the choice that had made the manor standout considering this particular flower wasn’t used for exterior decoration. She heard the lord chose the flowers for his late wife, who passed before her time. So she somewhat understood the choice although Santhia couldn’t believe there was any sort of meaning behind it considering all that she’s been through.

“Stormborne,” the lord disregarded her actual name, “please check on my supper. If it isn’t done, remind the others what’ll happen.” He spoke in a calm tone, flipping through his newspaper as if what he said wasn’t the threat it was meant to be.

Silently nodding, Santhia moved swiftly. The kitchen wasn’t far from the lounge, she was quick too so it wasn’t long before she reached the kitchen door. The other Lysanrin knew what it meant when she checked upon them, so the Lysanrins did not meet each other with kindness. There was panic amongst the kitchen servants, eyes bulging out at the sight of Santhia. She hardly uttered a word.

“It’ll be done soon! The brisket needs only a couple more minutes!” One shouted at her. There was an angry expression on the person’s face, but their voice was shaking the entire time. Not matching their tone of voice at all.

Santhia continued keeping her mouth shut. She only nodded as she made her way out of the kitchen. It was only when she began closing the door that she heard a knock at the front door. She knew their lord wasn’t expecting visitors and that made her heart drop. The Lysanrin were free to roam when there were no visitors. They would have to perform some chores of course, but it was the only time they had outside of the basement. Leaving the kitchen, Santhia let out a loud whistle, a signal to the others that it is time to retreat.

“Please, a minute!” She called out to whoever was on the other side of the door so that her comrades had enough time to hide. Santhia moved slowly to the mahogany double doors soon afterward, placing her hands on the knobs and when she could no longer hear footsteps throughout the house, she pulled the door open to greet the guest.

“Ah, you’re here to see Lord Fverard.” Santhia’s eyes were glued to the floor as she spoke. She called out to the man of the house, who answered with the sound of him flipping through pages. “Follow me.”

Santhia worked her way to the lounge she was previously at, the lord was still in his chair and he would take some time before greeting his guest.

“A man of the order?” Santhia’s captive, a man in his seventies, asked with a steady voice. “What can I do for you?” He finally put his paper down to look at Eitan, motioning for him to sit on a red couch in the room that matches his chair in the material.

“Surely you aren’t here to call me back. I’m far too old.” He chuckled at his joke, his turkey gizzard of a neck moving roughly as he did so.

[Eitan Angevin]

The Vigilant hadn't given him much to go on, then proceeded to hang her due diligence on whether he performed admirably or not. It rankled, but by the time he arrived in the neighborhood, he was no longer gritting his teeth. Following up with the relevant neighbors had mentioned various Lysanrin, but little else. That in itself wasn't a crime, of course, but while someone like Florian Albrecht could be useful to the crew of the Noble Gambit, a collective of Lysanrin acting on their own could be a potent group ripe for insurrection and that could not be allowed.

"Yes, thank you," he said politely to the Lysanrin. He was well brought up and treated servants with respect unlike some of his ilk. One woman of color, he said, checking off a box on some list in his mind. His eyes took in the foyer of the brownstone. It was certainly nice, though he had grown up on an estate that put it to shame. But he was more comfortable in his tiny cabin on an airship than his father's home so he wasn't here to cast judgment, at least about relative wealth and home décor.

The place seemed empty of people, but he didn't know whether that ought to be suspicious. If this Lysanrin was one of very few servants, that might explain the wait at the front door.

"Thank you, Lord Fverard," he said with a radiant smile. He could turn on the charm when he had to; he had been raised in high society. "I am Commander Eitan Angevin of the Noble Gambit and I also have the honor of serving the High City as a Watcher of Purity. Unfortunately, it's in the latter capacity that I'm visiting you. I'm certain we can clear it up quickly so you can return to enjoying your well-deserved rest."

He didn't know if his name would open doors or close them. His father was a hero, and every citizen had at least heard his name. Whether Lord Fverard had ever swum in such lofty circles, Eitan couldn't say. He didn't recognize him. He hoped there was nothing; he didn't enjoy the idea of spoiling a veteran's day.

[Santhia]

Gregory Fverard.

After escorting the young man into her lord’s lounge, she was reminded about what her brethren told her about the man she served. Lord Fverard was a poor man at a point in his life who joined the military in hopes of acquiring a better life. He was nothing more than a low-ranking soldier of the defense corp until he met his wife, a blueblood woman who hailed from a family of longstanding mages under the thumb of the Zaichaer military. Which wasn’t all bad considering the amount of wealth and privileges their sheer power and name afforded amongst the order. It afforded so much to the point Gregory took his wife’s last name instead of his own to give the illusion that he too was a blueblood. As a result of taking his wife’s last name, Gregory was given a proper education well into adulthood and mentored by his father-in-law so that he could leave the defense corp in favor of the Order of Reconciliation where he would become a scholar and carry on his father’s studies before retiring early in favor of the money his wife’s family left behind.

And so here he sat. Fat and happy off of hard-earned money he could hardly earn with a self-given title to make himself feel all the more important.

Adjusting the glasses on his round face, Lord Fverard leaned forward a bit as the man spoke. Squinting his eyes, he showed no interest in the commander’s background or anything else he truly had to say. But he gave him a solemn nod to show that he was listening. “I am happy to clear anything up. As a man who has served this city for so long,” he paused to point to a fireplace where a display of rewards sat, “I’d do any and everything for a man of the law. Zaichaer I serve, Zaichaer I’ll always answer to.” He smiled, showing a mouth of yellow teeth that seemed to be slowly decaying.

Lord Fverard would pause to listen to whatever Eitan had to say, but he would interrupt at some point to send Santhia away.

“Excuse me, darling, would you be so kind as to get this man of honor a cup of tea?”

[Eitan Angevin]

Having read Fverard's file before he came—at least the parts that weren't redacted due to classified magical studies—Angevin knew him to be an opportunist. Certainly, his career with the College of Minders was adequate to the needs of the High City, but his nobility was trumpery as his grandmother would have called it had he asked her about the man. He hadn't even used his considerable wealth to see to his personal hygiene, which was an offense to the spirit of Zaichaer, but Angevin smiled and looked dutifully to his array of honors.

"Of course, and while I wouldn't want to call my labors on behalf of the Order perfunctory, someone did have to come lest the complaints go ignored." He looked appraisingly at the woman's back as she departed.

"Lovely, exotic creatures," he remarked. "Best kept in menageries, I should think, but would you believe they assigned me a Lysanrin private aboard an Air Defense Corps airship?" It would have been easier if he could have brought Albrecht, who could have possibly taken the servant girl aside to do some investigation of his own, but Angevin would just have to be clever and deceptive in his reconnaissance. Spying wasn't his forte nor his area of expertise, but this was a test and he would ace it.

"Thankfully, I can ward the creature and order him to strengthen the wards on the ship. He can be useful." He paused. "But you were an esteemed member of the College of Minders. Is there any advice you can offer to keep them in line, keep them tractable?" His smile was conspiratorial. After all, Fverard had his maid well in check. Either he could draw the man out or at least get hints on how to deal with Albrecht more effectively. Two birds, one stone.

[Santhia]

Santhia kept her eyes lowered, standing behind her lord she noticed the small ticks made with his left foot. Gregory was doing his best to hold his composure, but there was something about this man and his title that made him nervous. Or maybe it was him showing up unannounced on behalf of the order. Aside from gossip among the Lysanrin, she knew little of the order. All Santhia knew is that they were some sort of officials in the city, they held power even in the lord’s house where he claimed to reign free of any laws or regulations. But she witnessed him eating his own words. She had no clue why this tanned man showed up, Santhia just had a feeling Gregory had to answer for something.

“Yes sir.” She clasped her hands together and strode out the room. Santhia heard the comment made about her, that she deserved to be kept in some sort of exhibit, and it took a lot for her not to turn around and spit on this man. To be hated is one thing, it hinted at superiority and pure disdain. That’s as far as it’ll ever go usually. But this insult was new to her and it went beyond any other that she’s ever received. It implied that she was no greater than an exotic animal, something that, if not in their natural habitat, could always face the possibility of being owned and deserved.

Her blood was boiling as she stepped out of the room, Santhia stomped the entire way to the kitchen. She made the tea and stared at the cup she planned on handing to the guest. Santhia was ready to spit in the cup, taint it with her saliva, but everything seemed to click for her within that second. “Shit,” Santhia uttered, lingering in the kitchen as she decided what to do.

Meanwhile, Gregory sat quietly after Santhia left the room. His mind was racing, but he hid it well behind his nasty grin. “Lovely indeed. That doesn’t make up for their sins, unfortunately.” He answered. “I can vouch that they make good servants. That Lysanrin won’t compare to our kind, but I’m sure the sinful delight will do your bidding.”

Gregory clapped once Eitan confirmed what he said, pointing a finger at him before switching positions. “What did I tell you? None will compare to you and me on a job. Still, they have some sort of place.” He scratched his neck and frowned when the soldier asked for advice. The question didn’t register. “I don’t see the correlation, my good man. I’ve had my fair share of servants, but I preferred to do my research on my own uninterrupted.” Gregory was growing irritated.

“What’s your reasoning for being here? Surely, it’s not for advice. You’re an accomplished man from the looks of it. Why did the order send you?”

[Eitan Angevin]

Eitan pretended to ignore the woman, though he wished he could get her alone to question her. He wasn't sure if she would speak as Fverard seemed to have her well in hand, but he could almost feel her seething behind him. Perhaps he would only hurt some feelings and inconvenience people today, but he needed to shake something loose.

"Sinful delight?" he asked, laughing softly. "Captain Merovech runs a strict ship, I assure you."

He let Fverard talk, hoping for something he could latch onto, something suspicious. But he was just an unpleasant old man, it seemed.

"Oh, I thought that with your well-behaved Lysanrin staff, you would have some insight into how I might better manage a Lysanrin subordinate. I apologize if the correlation wasn't clear." And it appeared that the man himself was growing irritated despite Eitan's polished manners and polite repartee. His servant wasn't the only one upset by what the young officer had to say, apparently. He decided to lean into it. There was no reason he had to curry favor with this man. He was of bluer blood and higher rank. The man was riding on his dead wife's money and status and a mediocre career with the Order that was over. If he was breaking the law, it didn't matter anyway.

"And as I said, I only asked for advice because we are here together and the opportunity seemed to merit it. And, again, as I said earlier, the Order sent me here to follow up on complaints that you have quite a few suspicious Lysanrin coming and going from the house. I came here in good faith and in good humor, but if you would prefer that I show you credentials and warrant, we can do things the hard way. I only wanted to show due respect for your years of service to the State."

[Santhia]

“I’m sure he does.” He said.

Gregory’s brows furrowed further, it was becoming harder for him to hold his composure, but then again he wasn’t so good at holding it in the first place. The old man greeted Eitan with the full intention of being a kind, gentleman folk. He wanted to see Eitan as an equal when in reality he saw him as nothing more than a subordinate that wasn’t close to dedicating the amount of time he gave to the military. All the years he dedicated made him feel excluded from investigations like the one taking place as well.

“Well, I assure you I do not know how to handle a single race. That’s merely impossible.” He yawned as he contradicted his previous statement. Fverard showed less interest in the conversation now, leaning back in his chair to further show his exasperation.

“I’d prefer you’d cut to the chase if you are to ever approach me again. From one to another, if you are to ever approach me or another soldier of the same order, I assure you that this tactic--this dance around and conversation of nonsense-- will not work considering we’ve all been in your shoes, m’dear boy.” His irritation turned to joy, Gregory even cackled a bit once he heard the real reason for him being here. “Well, there’s your advice on what happens when you work with demons! I’ve had the same servant for years, the girl that was in this room since she was but a small girl! Immortality doesn’t exist, surely she had to grow, right?”

As if on cue, Santhia entered the room again with a tray of beautifully decorated cups and tea. She ignored Eitan, walking right past him with the tea at first to give her lord his own first. “M’lord.” She said, placing his cup on a stand beside his chair. Santhia slowly moved toward Eitan next. She stared deeply into his eyes as if she were trying to dig at his soul.

“You may leave.” Gregory waved his hand before reaching for his tea. But Santhia didn’t stop moving toward Eitan. She got close enough to him only to trip and spill tea all over his lap. It was cold tea, lukewarm at best.

“I am so sorry, sir!” Santhia said to Eitan, but it was drowned out by Lord Fverard’s chuckling. She fixed the cup on top of the trey then purposely placed it on top of Eitan’s feet hoping he would get a good view of the cup where there was noticeable black ink bleeding inside the cup.

BASEMENT was written inside the cup yet it wouldn’t be readable for long.

[Eitan Angevin]

"Sir," he said with all due respect, "I made my reasons for being here clear as soon as I arrived." His tone wasn't chiding, but it was clear that Fverard was trying to take offense at nothing. He might be angry with his neighbors for reporting him, but not with Angevin for seeing to the safety of the High City. And, in any case, he ought to support people reporting suspicious behavior as that was how the people kept each other and themselves safe from degenerate mages and lesser races.

He already knew from his short association with Private Albrecht that Lysanrin could be useful members of society, albeit second-class citizens if citizens at all.

"If you don't support expedient turnaround on reports of suspicious behavior, I will make your opinion known in my report." He brushed down the front of his uniform. "I have come to inspect the premises and found one Lysanrin maid, and— oh, blast." Now he looked as though he had wet himself, though Fverard looked like he was a few days from needing adult diapers. He stood and began to brush at the front of his trousers.

"Blast." He bit back harsher curses. "Girl. Show me to a restroom and then I'll be on my way."

Gathering what dignity he could, he bowed curtly to Fverard.

"I will be certain a copy of my report is forwarded to you. I will not apologize for doing my duty, but I do apologize for upsetting you, sir." He turned a black gaze upon the woman. "Let's go."

Not waiting for her response, he turned whence he had come and began to walk out, whether she would catch up and lead him to a restroom or directly to the basement, he would soon find out, but it was best to see what needed to be seen before Fverard became suspicious of the manner of his exit. But already, he keyed an anchor to his gauntlet and began to spin a shield about himself in a perfect sphere. He wouldn't draw his sidearm, but he would be prepared to withstand anything, lest he find the worst in the bowls of the odious man's home.

[Santhia]

Fverard could care less about what he assumed to be threats. He was most likely no higher in society than the man investigating him, but he believed his wife’s last name would act as a raft in a situation that would leave him stranded. Although most members under the name were long gone, including his wife and father-in-law, Gregory believed that the remnants of his last name held some sort of power or maybe respect. His connections are long gone, but he would take his chances any day of the week.

There was a worrisome look on Santhia’s face. Her lord did not scold her for what she had done. Aside from cackling at the matter, he ignored the situation. The lord picked at his ear as he shooed the officer away, permitting him to use their restroom. “Quickly, Santhia. The boy’s time here is limited, help get him all cleaned up.”

She nodded as she cleaned the floor, her eyes slowly looking the man up and down before gathering her trey. “Yes, sir.” She motioned for the man to follow her, her hands beginning to tremble. Santhia was not so sure that she made the right decision. Her hands trembled in fear for the Lysanrins living in the basement. She prayed that she gave this information to the right man, that he would do what was right with this information. Santhia knew what he was looking for and she could easily trust him with it, however, she did not know if he trusted her. Or the other Lysanrin for that matter.

“Did you mean it?” She spoke once they were out of earshot. “What you said about Lysanrin...did you mean it?”