Story : The Three Lions Inn
From Ars Magica
Ambrosius arrives in Church Stretton
On the 18th day of April, the Sabbath, in the year of our Lord 1220, the weather in the vale of Stretton was fair and fresh. A spring breeze ruffled the grass, carrying an earthy smell.
Watling Street, an old roman road, ran southwest from Sarop down the vale, which was flanked on the north-western side by the Long Mynd, and on the south-western side by number of hills. Across the vale from Church Stretton lay Caer Caradoc, Helmeth Hill with Willstone Hill rising behind it, Hazler Hill, and Ragleth Hill, whose sides bore more of the same forest which hugged the base of the Long Mynd. In the past, the vale had been entirely covered by forest, but now a broad strip had been cleared, and the road was lined with fields.
The manor proper sat well back from the road, at the end of a broad and deeply rutted track, beside the manor's church, a sturdy stone building dedicated to Saint Laurence. At the junction where a track led off toward the manor and church, was a long, low building, in front of which stood a tall post bearing a sign with three lions; a reminder to all who passed by that Stretton-en-le-vale was now a royal manor.
Inside, the Inn of the Three Lions was warm from the heat of the cooking fire, the occupants, and the bright sunlight. The main room was busy with people sitting on benches as they ate meals from trestled tables. The travelers dined with an assortment of knives, and drank weak ale from cups of leather or clay.
Beneath one of the tables, the Innkeeper's dog sat amidst the rushes strewn on the cobbled floor, watching as the tavern maids bustled hither and yon with trays laden with platters. Upon spotting travelers through a window, one of the servants shouted across the din and clatter to the Innkeeper, a portly man, who ambles in an easy fashion over to the door, to greet the new arrivals. As the Innkeeper looked up, he saw a couple just outside one of the open windows, the woman apparently calling after an older boy who had stopped to pet a stray dog. The man, by the looks of it, the boy's brother, the Innkeeper thought, had a patient smile on his face and turned to the young lady and spoke softly into her ear just before turning and pushing open the door to enter the Inn. There was something about the man, plain as he may appear, that the Innkeeper did not like. It wasn't anything that he could put his finger on; it was just something that made him uneasy.
The brown haired young man pushed his way through the door and, glancing around, made his way to the empty end of the table near the cold hearth. He was dressed in a pair of tanned breeches and off-white wool shirt. His waist was girded with a belt of leather with brass discs of some type. On his feet he wore typical walking boots, though the breeched were tucked and the seam was wrapped with some type of fine steel chain. His shoulder length brown hair was pulled back and secured into a horse's tail with the same fine chain. Over his shoulder, he had slung a heavy bag that clanked slightly as he set it down by the trestle. It was clear, from the way that he looked to the timber ceiling with a sigh of relief that he had been walking quite a distance before alighting upon the Three Lions.
Behind him came the young woman, modestly dressed in a simple kirtle over her undergown, though the kirtle was mudstained from the road. What could be seen of her face beneath the wimple was open and appealing and intelligence sparkled in her eyes. She dragged the young boy with her, he was apparently more interested in something outside, but she remonstrated with him sternly, "Llewys, there is a time and place for that, and this is neither. Sit. Conjugate 'to love' now."
With a sigh, the boy began, "Amo, amas, amat ..."
The Innkeeper watched the man intently. The closer he got and the more he saw, the more uncomfortable he became. The uneasiness didn't abate - in fact, it had grown more certain, more palatable; much like grease solidifying on the top of a stew. This was not a feeling that the Innkeeper had experienced often, but his Inn was a popular one, and he knew that his instincts were seldom wrong. This man could be trouble; and trouble was something he intended to prevent. The Innkeeper saw one of the serving maids heading for the table dodging this way and that through the rowdy bunch of men at the tables near the bar counter. He had a bit of trouble catching her eye, but he did, and waved her off. He'd tend to this visitor himself.
The Innkeeper made his way through the patrons and stopped in front of the man's table.
"Welcome da-the Inn o'the Three Lions," he said without much enthusiasm. "What cin I do fer ya?" All the while, the Innkeeper was searching the man and his possessions again. Something about this man was a threat; something was not right - why couldn't he figure out what it was?
"Salv…er," Ambrosius looks briefly around, "I mean to say, thank you. I'm Ambrosius ex Verditius. I would like a room for my brother and I, er… myself…er, me, and a room for my Alicia. She’s, ah, my brother's tutor, you see. We’d love some bread and stew, if you have any left. We’re really very, um, you know, hungry." The man held up his hand with a few coins, but the Innkeeper did not move to take them. With a shrug that seemed to say "As you wish," the man set the coins down on the table.
The Innkeeper looked down at the coins for a few moments before deftly scooping them into his hand. "It'll be a bit before its ready," he said, turning to make his way back to the bar. The man noticed that he stopped twice on the way back - once to speak to one of the serving girls and once to speak to a man in a chair against the wall; a man sporting a royal crest upon his breast.
There was only one chair in the room, and the Bailiff lounged in it at an angle, with his head propped up by one hand and a goblet of wine loosely held in the other. He gazed into the red liquid as he gently swilled it around; lost in his memories. The Innkeeper began to address him, and he looked up with a start. A scowl passing across his face upon being disturbed, that quickly melted into a vague look of concern as he heeded the Innkeeper's words. He looked the man, and then spoke briefly to the Innkeeper, who glanced nervously back at them.
With a wave of the hand, the Innkeeper was dismissed, and reluctantly headed back toward where the strange man sat. "Our Bailiff bids you welcome to Church Stretton, and kindly asks where your company is bound for on this fine day." A happy and welcoming smile spread across the Innkeeper's slightly chubby face; a well practiced mask from years of working as a host. In less boisterous surroundings, Ambrosius might have noticed the contradictory, nervous rigidity of Innkeeper's body that would have betrayed their true feelings.
“I was hoping to meet a young lady here - what I mean is, I am supposed to meet a young lady here by the name of Mnemosyne. Mnemosyne ex Guernicus." The Innkeeper's expression soured ever so slightly before he recovered. Ambrosius didn't appear to notice. "You haven't seen her yet, have you?" Ambrosius reached down into the bag at the table leg. Iron clanked on iron as he rummaged around and eventually produced a folded parchment, creased and dusty from riding unprotected in the satchel with his meager smithing tools. "The seal - VAE! The seal broke off! It must be in here, somewhere" Again, Ambrosius rummaged through his backpack. "Ah, here it is!" He held out the letter and the seal to the Innkeeper who eyed them both warily, but made no move to take either.
Usually a very attentive man, the Innkeeper could only hope that he was off his game this day because of the oddness of this man Ambrosius, but it was until the man held out the letter and seal that he noticed that Ambrosius’ right hand was very badly scarred, as if it had been dipped in molten steel. If he hadn’t already had the shivers, he’d have them now, for certain.
"I suppose I can just fix it later, er, ask her to fix it when she gets here." He paused for a second or two, looking up at the Innkeeper expectantly and then stuttered, "But, I'm sorry, you asked where we were bound for. Well, we are bound for, uhhh, well, here, I guess. We are looking for a home!"
The Innkeeper nearly blanched at this last declaration. As he tried in vain to produce a kind reply, he caught some of the odd glances being thrown at Ambrosius by those sat close by. "Roan!" he called across the room to one of the serving girls, "Put out some tables in the west room." He turned back to Ambrosius and said "If you'll go into the room next door, I'll have the girls bring your supper directly. There is barely any room for you to swing your elbows here." Upon having said that, he swept away toward the Bailiff to report Ambrosius's answer.
Roan, the barmaid, entered a door to the left of the entrance, and a room, very much like the one they currently occupied, lay beyond it. She set about placing trestles, lifting heavily scarred, wooden tabletops onto them, and once that was done, noisily dragged some long benches across the cobbles.
Mnemosyne's arduous journey draws to an end
Two horses trotted up to a halt outside the inn. One was ridden by a large man wearing a leather helm, scale hauberk and carrying a mace hanging off his belt. A long spear was strapped across his back, but he did not look very relaxed on the horse. The woman with him seemed even less so, riding side saddle with evident discomfort and a slightly greenish tinge around the gills. She was clad in a grey woollen dress and a travelling cloak with a hood. Both had travelling bags slung over the horses's backs.
"This is the place, mistress," said the man. "We're here at last." He swung himself gratefully down the ground and came around to help the woman down.
"Thank you, Geraldous," Mnemosyne said, thankful to be off that awful beast. She staggered slightly and the shield grog grabbed her arm to support her. As she found her footing, he quickly released her. She gave him a nod of acknowledgement.
"Are you well, mistress?" Geraldous asked.
"Well enough," she said grimly, then relented somewhat. "I don't think I have anything left in my stomach to worry about and we're here now." He nodded and offered to see to the horses. Mnemosyne unslung one of her bags, with her most valuable possessions in it, and entered the Three Lions.
As she entered, she was greeted by a girl in a grass green gown. Her enthusiastic smile, beer-splashed clothing, and the rather large earthenware flagon of weak ale she held, all marked her as one of the barmaids. "Hello madam, and welcome to our Inn. What can I fetch for you?" she said with well-practiced ease.
Through the open doorway behind her, Mnemosyne could hear Geraldous talking to the inn's stablehand about their horses.
"An ale to start off with," replied Mnemosyne looking around at the inn's patrons. "Something to wash the taste of the road from my mouth." The serving girl nodded a little less confidently. Something about this woman made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up a little. As she turned away Mnemosyne stopped her with a gesture. "Oh... and I arranged to meet some companions here. Do you know if any of them have arrived yet?"
The barmaid took a slight step back, so as to not be quite so close to Mnemosyne. "Well, most folk arrived yesterday, and are taking leave from their travels on account of the Sabbath. 'Part from this man here," she said, gesturing to a man seated not far from the door, "and the Bailiff an' his men," now pointing across to the far side of the room, "I can't say I know."
Across the room, the Innkeeper could be seen talking deferentially to a man seated in a high-backed chair. Nearby, at a small table placed close to the head table, were seated four men who could scarcely be anyone other than the Bailiff's men. As Mnemosyne watched, the Innkeeper finished talking with the Bailiff, and began picking his way back across the room to greet another fresh arrival.
Mnemosyne had originally intended to arrive here a couple of days ago, but she had not been able to make as fast progress as she had hoped. For one thing, she was not an experienced rider, and for a second, it appeared that travelling on horseback made her feel wretched. The speed they had been able to make had been limited by frequent stop offs to throw up and recover. She was most glad to have arrived finally.
Seeing the Innkeeper approach, the barmaid scurried off to fill cups and dodge wandering hands. "Welcome da-the Inn o'the Three Lions," he said while gazing past her at Geraldous, who still stood outside talking with the servant, "What cin I be doin fer ya, my dear?" Evidently this was his stock welcome, and not one he seemed to be tiring of. "Something t'settle your stomach, per'aps, or a quiet room?" He had a look about him as though he suspected something was amiss, but was sufficiently distracted by the large, armed guard, that he failed to give any thought to whether Mnemosyne was the type to avail herself of the house, and then abscond without reimbursing him.
It was then that Roan emerged from the door beside the Innkeeper, and said "The rooms prepared..." and halted in mid-sentence upon seeing Mnemosyne. "We've some more guests," he said, gesturing to Mnemosyne and Geraldous. "Why don't you fetch a dry towel and some warm water for this lady, and tell Master Verditius to go through."
Mnemosyne had not been paying the Innkeep a great deal of attention as he whittered on. Instead she had been surveying his patrons. The bailiff had got the once over carefully, but she was pleased to note that he seemed to be ensconced in his chair and in no hurry to move. Sometimes, small town officials could be rather inconvenient when it came to strangers and asking questions which were none of their business. She was also pleased to note there were no clergy in residence either. They were other potential trouble-makers. In fact, the only person of any real interest seemed to be...
"Did you say Verditius?" she asked sharply, turning her piercing gaze on the Innkeep and pinning him to the spot. He babbled for a moment, his speech filled with irrelevancies. He did however confirm that he had heard correctly, which was all that Mnemosyne really required. The odds that one of the Founders had come back from the dead and had chosen to stop here as rather remote. The odds that there would a different member of House Verditius here than the one she had been in communication was significantly better, but still fairly slight. This had to be Ambrosius - or at least she hoped so. In addition, she spotted the young fellow who could be the brother he mentioned in his last missive.
"Bring everything along to room as well," Mnemosyne ordered in the manner of one who is used to giving orders and having them obeyed. "And make sure my armsman has what he requires and knows where I am, when he finishes with the horses." With that she dismissed the Innkeep from her mind and breezed past him to approach the man sitting at table, notably wrapped in links of chain. She glanced at the young man who had stopped his conversation as she approached, and at the woman he had been talking to. She thought she had heard a snatch of Latin as she had approached. Had he been proclaiming his love for her? He really did not seem old enough.
However, it was the man who held her attention. Although he was fairly non-descript, accessories not included, Mnemosyne felt sure that this was one of her kind. There was the low spark of recognition she felt whenever she was in the company of one with the Gift - or at least she thought there was. Sometimes mistakes were made over such things. She felt sure that given the place and date this was not one of those times though.
"Ambrosius ex Verditius?" she asked bluntly, cutting straight to the point as she stopped in front of the table. Spotting the recognition and his words of affirmation, Mnemosyne gave a cool smile and introduced herself. "Mnemosyne filia Hironius ex Guernicus. Salve sodalis. I suggest we move to the room you have apparently had prepared for us and continue this meeting in more private surroundings..." she said in Latin.
“Mnemosyne,” Ambrosius said, looking up with a broad smile. “Salve Sodalis! It is good to meet you in person. It has been such a long journ…ah, where are my, ah, manners? I’d like to present to you my brother, Llewys and his tutor and my traveling companion, Alicia. Alicia, ummmmm, Llewys, this is Mnemosyne ex Guernicus. She is the maga that I told, I mean, she is the maga that sent the letter and asked, er, invited us here.” Ambrosius paused awkwardly as Llewys and Alicia greeted Mnemosyne.
"Salve, maga," said Alicia in excellent Latin, "Llewys, magae dice 'salve."
"Salve, magae ..." started Llewys.
"Llewys ... casus nominativus," said Alicia.
"Umm, Salve maga!" said Llewys.
Alicia smiled, "Good Llewys. A pleasure to meet you, maga Mnemosyne."
Switching back to Middle English, Ambrosius said, “Sodale Mnemosyne, the Innkeeper didn’t seem all too keen with me,” he glanced towards the businessman. A brief smile, bordering on mischievous, came to his face, “I can’t imagine why… Anyway, as you say, he’s had this other room prepared for us to sup, er, to dine in – I didn’t have to request it! I am very much looking forward to, ah, hearing your thoughts on building, er…forming a covenant.” He paused and seemed to remember something, “But of course you are right! Let’s retire to the, ah,” he looks around, as if getting his bearings, “west room were we won’t be a, um…distraction.”
Mnemosyne and Ambrosius withdraw to the West Room
Mnemosyne was rather relieved to be in a quieter room now. The presence of so many mundanes made her feel, not exactly uncomfortable, but a little ill at ease. To be fair, mundanes often seemed to take a bit of getting used to her as well. Feeling a little more comfortable she had informed Geraldous that he could make himself at ease in the common room, but that he should also keep an eye on the door to the private room to make sure no trouble was going to come in that way.
Now, seated with something to sip and the last of her travel sickness fading away she was feeling much more herself. Past the basic introductions with Ambrosius, she filled him in on some of the details of her trip here from Northumberland and made light chit-chat on his own recent travels and their mutual impressions about the countryside they had passed through.
Phaedrus enters the Three Lions
When the regulars have finally settled down after the previous stranger's arrivals, two other dusty travelers come through the door. Warren Osborn, tall and fit turned to his reclusive companion, “Just when you thought that all the inns upon a road look alike, you stumble across an innovation like this one! I shall never cease to be amazed, my mystical friend!” Warren smiled his most charming smile as he scanned the room and mentally identified the staff and the customers. Seeing the bailiff in the high backed chair was near as powerful as blow to the stomach. His face slightly pale, he turned back to Phaedrus, most of the joviality absent from his voice. "Seems we have some royal company amongst us...and not the kind that I dare say I’d enjoy becoming acquainted with. Perhaps we can acquire a private room in which to await your brothers and sisters in art. I’ll,” he paused as he cast a sidelong glance towards the bailiff, “speak with the good Innkeeper to see what I can arrange.”
As has become their habit the last few days, Phaedrus tries to be as inconspicuous as possible while Warren talks to the Innkeeper. Now being "inconspicuous" with an unhooded Kestrel on the shoulder and carrying a traveling pack is an interesting proposition...
Phaedrus had trouble making out much of what Warren said. Stepping closer he heard the Innkeeper's chuckle as Warren finished, "...and that would be my good friend Phaedrus with the drowned feather duster perched upon his shoulder." Clearly taken by Warren's charm, the Innkeeper's voice rose above the background noise as he answered a question that Phaedrus apparently missed; "Indeed, and not two hours before yourselves. We shewed them into this room here." As the Innkeeper said this, Warren took him expertly by the arm and guided him to the door, all the while allowing the Innkeeper to believe he had chosen the path the whole time. It was not lost upon Phaedrus that Warren had deftly used the Innkeeper and patrons to shield himself from the bailiff. Upon reaching the far side of the room, the Innkeeper knocked twice upon a door, and then opened it a little. "Excuse the intrusion, but there are two men here who say they know ye."
Phaedrus introduces himself to Mnemosyne and Ambrosius
Mnemosyne looked up at the new arrivals. She did not know either man. This was not terribly surprising as she had only met one of the other magi who were coming to the meeting and she remembered Longinus had suggested he might be able to rustle up another name or two, so she might not even have heard of either of these two, presuming that either of them were magi themselves. What was sure was that neither of them was the Redcap Reynaldous. She looked from one to the other trying to guess if one of them was Longinus, but the impressions she had gleaned from her letters were not useful here. The thing which stood out strongest was the kestrel which sat on one of the men's shoulders, unhooded and so well behaved.
"Salvete," Mnemosyne greeted them in latin, looking at a point midway between the pair, unsure of which one should recieve her full attention. "I am Mnemosyne filia Hironius ex Guernicus." She did not make a habit of giving out her full name to random strangers, especially if they might be mundanes, but by couching it in latin she felt that there was a fair chance that it would go over the head of those it was not supposed to reach and help identify the others as magi or not as soon as possible.
"Salve sodalis," Phaedrus answered, " I am Phaedrus filius Petrus ex Miscellanea. Pleased to meet you at last." Indicating his companion he continued, "This is Warren Osborn, whom I met while traveling here. He kind of adopted me when an Innkeeper was about to leave me outside in the rain, and has been traveling with me since then."
Warren flashed a near perfect smile and continued in near perfect Latin, “It is a pleasure to one so beautiful as yourself, Mnemosyne filia Hironius ex Guernicus.” Warren reached out and, before Mnemosyne knew it, found that he was kneeling slightly and pressing the back of her hand to his lips. The softness of this grip and lack of calluses was an uncommon feeling in this harsh existence; Mnemosyne noticed it almost instictively. She got the impression that it had been sometime since Warren had ever had the need to do any real work – if ever. “As my supernatural associate has said, I took pity upon him a number of towns back and he was about to be thrown out into the street by a, shall we say, overly sensitive inn keeper. I could not stand by and let the poor bird be as drenched as his owner, so I took pity on them both.”
Mnemosyne snatched her hand back from Warren's, rather as if she had been burned and took a step back. "How fortunate for him," she said acerbicly. "I'm sure he appreciates your gesture."
Turning to face Phaedrus, and angling to cut Warren out of the conversation, "Petrus ex Miscellanea you say? I presume this is not the maga who was a famed elementalist from Cornwall?"
"Well, I usually associate my parens with his merculiar tradition, but what he managed to create with the combination might have aquired some fame. Yes."
"Ah... my mistake," apologised Mnemosyne. "The woman who I was thinking of was named Petra, and now I actually come to think of it, I vaguely recall my parens mentioning something about a tragic laboratory accident some years past. Anyway, that is off the topic I suppose. We were talking about your parens. Have you chosen to follow him in the same tradition, or have you branched out into your own research? Perhaps it is a little early for this, with us being so recently Gauntleted and all... But we have a bright future ahead of us." She smiled a little thinking of what she could accomplish in the years ahead with her own resources and enough study. Her own parens had focused her studies rather obsessively.
"I did not follow my Parens tradition," Phaedrus answered, " my fey heritage had a major clash with the rigidity of the merculiar tradition. I can still hear Petrus moaning about control, actually I got rather good at it but not in the way of the merculiar tradition." Wtih an answering smile Phaedrus went on about research, "My own interest is books, and trading, and I have a few ideas for research in that direction. You must have some interesting reserach ideas yourself, since you are initiating somethin like this, would you care to expand on them?"
Marcus descends upon the inn
The church bells rang the sexta hora, noon, and shortly thereafter a figure came out of the Church of Saint Laurence up the road from the Three Lions and began to make its way down to the Inn. The man, for man it was, was spotted by one of the household of the Inn who hailed him cheerfully, "Ho, Brother Marcus! Come for a drink?"
"Aye, Hugo, that I am," said Marcus in heavily accented English that betrayed his Irish origins. He came closer and shook his plain brown habit to knock the dust off it, "Many travellers today?"
"Oh, a few," said the lad. "And some very strange ones, indeed. Himself has put them in the back room, so they don't scare the crowd. They are a strange lot, a man with a hawk, a woman with a bodyguard who looked sick, another man with his brother and a tutor - a woman tutor!' The lad shook his head at the strangeness of the world.
"Really?" said the monk with a strange expression on his face. "We are all God's creatures, Hugo. I should perhaps attend to their needs." With a little wave, he entered the Inn. Though he had only been in the village for a day or two, he waved at several of the locals and paused once to ask a man about his son's illness before reaching the back room. He stepped through, closed the door behind him and spoke in Latin, "My name is Marcus Severus, sectator Jerbitonis." Then he moved forward to join his sodales.
Ambrosius, Marcus, Mnemosyne and Phaedrus hold discourse behind closed doors
Mnemosyne gave Marcus a cool smile of greeting and nodded to him as she gestured that he should make himself welcome and comfortable. She was pleased to see another arrival and to get a chance to meet this mage who Reynaldous had recommended. His Irish accent was not a surprise given the Tribunal he had been living in, but his appearance as a monk was. It set her back somewhat, but the followers of Jerbiton were an odd lot in many ways. Which of course went for most of the Order if truth be told. However, Mnemosyne wondered what sort of dynamic it would bring the proceedings. She had always been taught to steer a path clear of Mother Church, not due to any lack of piety, but rather because it meant there would be a far lesser chance of antagonising the Church if one had little to do with it - and if ever there was a group of mundanes which should not be interfered with, never mind antagonised, it was the Church.
"Salve, sodalis," she greeted Marcus back, matching his latin. She guessed he spoke English, but was not sure - after all, some form of Gaelic was the native tongue of Hibernia if she remembered correctly - and anyway, latin made it more difficult for people to eavesdrop their conversation. "I am Mnemosyne filia Hironius ex Guernicus, and I am pleased both to meet you in person and that you have arrived here safely. I do hope that you had a pleasant journey and were able to enjoy the choir at Sarop you mentioned in your last letter." She smiled a little more warmly as she began to let the reality of Marcus fit in with her mental preconceptions.
"I was indeed, and splendid they were," said Marcus all joviality.
As Marcus turned to the others, Warren stepped up and introduced himself in Middle English. “Welcome, father! I am Warren Osborn, merchant and trader at your service. That’s not to say that I’ll be attending your services, of course!” Warren chuckled at his own jest.
Marcus chuckled, "A little slower, friend, my ear is not tuned to the music of English as well as it might be."
Warren switched to Latin, “English not your ball of wax, eh? I understand. I never did like languages.” Warren gestured to Phaedrus, “And this is my close personal friend, the Magus Phaedrus.”
A little surpriced at being introduced that way, and by Warren, Phaedrus greets Marcus, "Salve, sodalis, I am Phaedrus filius Petrus ex Miscellanea. I gather from your apperance that you have not traveled today, have you stayed here for long?"
As Marcus turned to the man, woman and boy at the end of the table, the elder rose. “Salve Sodalis. I am Ambrosius ex Verditus…ah, filius Galfridus. It is a, ah, pleasure to make your acquaintance, brother.” Ambrosius motioned to Llewys and Alicia, indicating each in turn. “This remarkable young man is Llewys, my brother. I’ve been responsible for raising him since our mother died many years ago.” Ambrosius paused for just a moment as he looked down upon his sibling, the love and caring in his eyes painfully clear to anyone watching. He seemed to come back to himself quickly, “And I could not have done so with out the help of Alicia, my good friend – and traveling companion - who tutors Llewys in the subjects that I am unable to, be it time… or, um, ability that limits me.” Ambrosius paused while Alicia and Llewys greeted the monk, which they did respectfully.
“I am curious, Sodalis Marcus, if I may…ah…be so bold as to ask, how is it that you come to wear the robes of a monk? I had heard that it was possible, but I’ve never actually met a priest of Jehovah who was also a magus. Don’t you find the domains interfere with each other?” Ambrosius listened carefully to the monk as he spoke.
"They might, but ..." Marcus dropped his voice, "I take a little liberty in my dress. I was raised for many years in a monastary before Julius found me, but I never took orders. I find that if I dress this way, I am often taken for a wandering monk, and I sometimes forget to correct the misapprehension. I do not, however, ever claim to be a priest - that would endanger the souls of those who believed me to be such. And you Ambrosius, are you not a Christian? The way you say 'priest of Jehovah' makes me wonder."
“ “Am I not a Christian?” Ambrosius paused to consider. “Sodalis, when I was a, ahhh, small child. I believed in magic because I…um, knew it to be. I don’t know how I knew that long ago, but I did.” Ambrosius scuffed his foot on the floor, childlike in gesture, “When my parents took me to the Abbott in Shrewsbury, and he, um, gave me over to Ishachus ex Miscellanea, I remember that I had no doubts and was not , er, surprised.
“ “But with the church, it seems like doubts are all I have. How can a man who, uh, cannot even read the scripture he proposes to teach be responsible for so, ah, so many souls?” Ambrosius’ cheeks flushed slightly as he became more passionate about his topic. “How can the church declare who is and who is not, um, going to heaven when they are supposed to be serving an all-powerful God, not dictating to Him? How can a child who dies before some ignorant priest has a chance to bless and baptize him be damned and forced beyond the pale, when they have not yet sinned?” He shook his head, “No, sodale, I have Creo and Perdo, Rego and Muto. I can feel and control. I beg you to forgive me, but I believe I will stick to what I know.” Ambrosius smiled at Marcus.
Mnemosyne looked a little uncomfortable at the way the conversation was turning. While she was Christian herself of course, her years under her parens had drummed into her that the Church held different opinions on the Order. In some cases, it was friendly, in most it was at best cool. She was pleased to find out that while Marcus was obviously devout, he was not actually a monk. A clash was best avoided by minimising contact and if a member of the Covenant was to be a monk, that could have been difficult. She said nothing and hoped for a change of conversation, but suspected that such a philosophical matter being raised by keen minds would not be put down so easily.
"Questions, so many questions, but you do not ask the right ones. Who created all this?" Marcus gestured widely somehow managing to indicate the entire world. "The Church is not God, it unlike God is made of fallible men. To answer one of your points, they do not dictate to him who is going to Heaven, they have been granted the power to intercede with God who, in his infinite mercy, takes them to heaven. And the children are not damned, they do not go to Hell and suffer there; they go to the limbus puerorum, where they have a kind of happiness I think. But, sodalis meus, you need not ask my forgiveness for your belief. Now, let us speak of other things."
Marcus' charm combined with a beautiful rich voice soon won over most of the company. Soon he was settled down and trying to tease the story of everyone's journey out of them, while sharing the local village gossip with those who were interested.
Once Mnemosyne had got over her surprise at Marcus' appearance, she discovered he was a pleasant conversationalist and found herself listening with interest to his stories and allowing details to be dragged out of her regarding her own travels. She could see that he was going to be an asset to the Covenant. So many magi were reclusive and while articulate, preferred not to interact with world at large - which Mnemosyne knew was one of her own faults. While she was perfectly comfortable with other magi, dealing with mundanes was a chore and as far as she was concerned a potential death trap.
"I must say, Marcus," she said almost warmly. "It appears as if you have already begun to aquaint yourself well with the local situation. Until we are able to survey the area more thoroughly we will not be able to say for sure where our Covenant shall be situated, but perhaps you have already heard of something which will be of use. Location alone will not be a factor, the people of the area will be important as well."
"I agree completely, sodalis. If we are to thrive, we must be on good terms with our neighbors - unless we wish to grow our own food, milk our own cows, shear our own sheep ... and so on," he laughed, "and I for one am not so interested in those things. I have only been here a few days, staying with the priest up near the church. I've heard a few things. The folk hereabout have an interesting relationship with the Long Mynd, they respect it and, I think, fear it. They use it of course, it's a water source and the grazing for the sheep is apparently good up there but ..." he trailed off for a moment, "But there are other things as well, suggestive things. Ruins of tombs or the remains of castles perhaps that legend says predate the Romans. And sometimes folk go missing on the Mynd." He leaned back, obviously quite satisfied with the effect of his words.
"That is very interesting and exactly the sort of information which will prove helpful," Mnemosyne said, pondering Marcus' words. "This... Long Mynd you speak of seems like it could provide a likely place to start our search. Buildings which could perhaps be adapted to our use and strange occurrences which could signify the presence of a regio. Depending on the nature of the ruins, they could also be sites where an aura has formed. I wonder if there any standing stones or the like up there?"
(time passes)
Shortly before dusk, Alicia rose. "Ambrosius, it is nearly dark ... I must retire to my room now, I shall return as soon as I can." As she bowed to Marcus, Phaedrus and Mnemosyne and said, "Valete, magi magaque,” Ambrosius spoke to Llewys, “It is time for you to head up as well, my little friend.” He rubbed the boy’s head. “It has been a long day of travel, and I suspect,” he looked meaningfully at the other magi about them, “that the days are not going to grow any shorter any time soon.” Alicia withdrew, Llewys following in on her heels.
Prees the Carter delivers a passenger
It was near dusk, when the door swung open, and a large blonde young man, dressed in a plain long tunic, tied up by his belt, showing worn breeches, and solid, old boots entered. Over he wore a full hood, hanging well down his back. With him came the slight, familiar smell of oxen, and from outside could be heard their lowing.
He peered quickly around the inn, spotted the Innkeeper, and headed straight for him, a worried look on his face. He introduces himself, quite loudly "I'm Prees, a carter from Chester, and I'm working for this man Beddows, a Welshman, see. He's looking to stay here overnight, so I'm looking to see if ye've a place, food, and somewhere that I may rest and water the team." He drops his voice slightly and continues "He's a bit odd, mind, but he can pay, and he's been no trouble on the journey south so far. He's been keeping himself to himself in the back of the cart mainly, mind, and spent last evening making notes in a large ledger book he carries." He stops, as if trying to remember something, then continues, a bit louder. "Oh, and he said he's to meet someone here, a Mr Nimmosson, or somelike. He said they'd probably be needing a quiet corner to meet, and was most insistent that we travelled on today to make it on time, despite it being the Lords day tomorrow when I'll have to travel back."
As Prees continued arranging things with the Innkeeper the door had opened quietly, and another man could be seen standing just outside the door, watching and listening. Better dressed than the carter, his long tunic hung down below a shorter, belted overtunic, and he wore a foreign-looking cap, with a point overhanging his brow. He was of slight build and dark haired, by appearance a clerk, but his clothes were of a better cloth and cut than would be expected. He looked quickly around the inn from the doorway, looking at each group in turn, but waited before entering until one of the maids caught his eye and, shivering at the draught blowing in from the road, waved for him to enter and close the door.
The barmaid appraised the man, and arrived at a not terribly complimentary picture. "Welcome," she said flatly, "if you're one of them that the group in the back room be expectin' then you can go through," she raised a finger and pointed, "that door there. If not, then sit yerself by the fire'n I'll be along in a minute to see to you." Her matter of fact manner could have been due to a long and hard day, but as she turned to leave, he thought he caught her mutter "... never rains, but..."
As the man stood by the door, he made to call out to the departing barmaid, then stopped, as he saw Prees returning to him. Prees spoke, slowly and clearly to him "You'll be wanting to go through there where your friends are waiting, I'll see to the beasts, and making your goods and the the cart secure, and we'll see about unloading come the morning". The man nodded, and headed towards the door indicated by the barmaid.
Bedo presents himself to the assembled magi
He stopped, knocked quietly, and without waiting for an answer stepped into the room, looking around the assembled faces.
"Salvete Sodales, I am Bedo ap, er, ex Bonisagus. Do I take it that you" and he looked directly at Mnemosyne "are Mnemosyne ex Guernicus, and these are the others of our sodales you have invited?"
"You presume correctly, Bedo," Mnemosyne replied and proceeded to introduce the other magi present, ignoring any hangers on, grogs or other servents who had not yet been banished to the common room. The room had filled up a bit by this stage. "This is Ambrosius filius Galfridus ex Verditius,” Ambrosius approached, smiling and shook Bedo’s hand, “Phaedrus filius Petrus ex Miscellenea and Marcus Severus filius Julii ex Jerbiton. We were beginning to become concerned that you would not be coming today. It appears that at least two of our Order who signified attendance have been delayed. Please, sit and make yourself welcome as you recover from your long journey." Warren made a comical, “I’m hurt!” expression as Mnemosyne passed over him.
"Bedo joins us today from the Rhine Tribunal and has the singular honour of being the one who has travelled furthest to be here today," Mnemosyne commented to the rest of the group for those of them who had not had a run down of the expected attendees.
" Travelled the furthest, to be the closest to home perhaps" he replied "I am originally of Rhudd din, perhaps 20 leagues from here, heading up into North Wales. I thank you for your kind welcome. Is there urgency in your invitation that must be dealt with at length tonight, or can we take our time and wait until the others you have invited have arrived?"
"No, no," replied Mnemosyne. "I hope that we may still yet got some late arrivals and even if we do not, I'm sure there will be enough to do on the morrow without us having to make any major decisions which should include all concerned to allow them a day or even two of grace. I had hoped that Longinus would have been here already. It was he who suggested this exact location to start with, though I had thought the Marches would be excellent local. It may be that he has some useful information to impart. Still, I would imagine it will take us some time to track down a suitable area with the right kind of aura."
Mnemosyne did not really want to get into the nitty gritty of discusion about the how's and wherefores of the Covenant just yet, but it seemed to her that there was quite a lot which could be accomplished even if people were delayed. Until a decision was made on an exact site and all concerned agreed that it was in their best interest to work together, this was nothing more than meeting of like minds. Which was probably the most important thing which was being accomplished she reflected. A chance to get to know those who could be her close colleagues for many years to come and for them to get to know a little about her. There was no guarentee that they would all hit it off and decide to link their destinies.
Longinus arrives
Shortly after dusk the door swung open yet again. A brown haired man with the tough look of an experienced mercenary pushed through. He scanned the poorly lit room and then turned over his shoulder and muttered something unintelligible before advancing into the room.
The Innkeep approached to welcome the latecomer but as he opened his mouth to give his usual welcome the mercenary forestalled him with a hand and headed directly towards the relaxed figure of the bailiff, still in the rooms sole chair. Before the Innkeep could take offense at this rudeness his attention was distracted by the entrance of a dazzlingly white robed figure with a deep cowl. As his dog jumped to its feet and started barking the Innkeep realised with a sinking feeling that no wool was ever that white and no traveller was ever that clean. Even more suspiciously the robed man seemed to have no intention of lowering his cowl.
Caught between the rude mercenary and the strange robed figure the Innkeep looked at one then the other and giving up cursed in the direction of the dog. All three ignored him. "Ain' 'ere for touble, thah" grunted the mercenary, showing a gummy smile to the bailiff. "Da lawdlin' hath a meetin".
The bailiff cocked his head, studying both of the newcomers. "Aye then. See me tomorrow if you are staying longer than one night."
Regathering his composure the Innkeep gestured to the back room. "I b'lieve yu'll be wantin' ta join the gatherin' in the back room? I'll have the gurl bring bread and broth."
The mercenary looked back at the cowled figure and without a word they both moved toward the door to the back room. The Innkeep shuddered behind them. White robes or not, something wasn't right with that one.
Longinus meets the magi
Mnemosyne stood as the new arrival entered the room. She did not recognise him, but she was becoming used to this by now. "Salve sodalis," she greeted with a nod. "I am Mnemosyne filia Hironius ex Guernicus. I bid you welcome to this gathering." She rather hoped that this was Longinus, as there were only three magi left on her list who she was expecting to attend. This was not Reynaldous and the third magi was apparently a woman, though Mnemosyne knew very little about her - or even if she would be attending. Still, news sometimes travelled further than expected and they may have picked up a stray.
Ambrosius, who had been standing by the now fired hearth as Longinus entered the west room, stepped forward and bowed uncharacteristically. “Salve Sodalis. Ambrosius, filius Galfridus, ex Verditius. I am pleased to…aaah, meet you, sodalis.” Ambrosius flushed slightly, realizing that he’s repeated himself. His eyes had been drawn to the sleeves of the newly arrived magus. While Ambrosius often had difficulty communicating, particularly in front of strangers, his profession granted him a more attentive mindset that most gave him credit for. When it came to noticing and working with details, very few could surpass Ambrosius. While standing still, there was nothing unusually about the way the magus’ robes rested against this body, but when he moved, like when he entered the room, Ambrosius was quick to note that the sleeves did not move correctly. He surmised that there was a secret under those robes...but then, what was a magus without secrets?
Warren Osborn was not quite so astute, and rose from his place where he’d been trying in vain to converse with Mnemosyne, approached the magus and stuck out his arm in greeting, “Welcome to our little party, tall, white and mysterious! I am Warren Osborn, expert trader, negotiator and merchant, at your service.” When the new mage did not extend a hand to shake his, Warren took it in stride. “Allow me to continue the introductions! This masterful gentleman with the bird of prey alit upon his shoulder is my good friend and companion, Phaedrus ex Miscellanea.”
With a subtle head gesture the cowl of the newcomer slid back to reveal a plain face with a slightly too-long nose, partially covered with a short beard. He face showed tiredness but the rest of him appeared fresh and distinctly lacking in travel dust. 'Hands' as always clasped together within the voluminous sleeves of his too-white robe, the newcomer bowed his head briefly and gave greeting to each who had introduced themselves as Magi of the Order in turn, then followed with a polite nod to each of the others in the room. "Salvete Sodales. Longinus filius Mercantus scholae Mercere. My apologies for the lateness of my arrival. Maga Mnemosyne, I thank you for your welcome. It is good to meet you in person. Magus Ambrosius, the pleasure I hope, will be mine." Turning towards the heretofore silent 'magus' with the Kestral, Longinus decided to play it safe as to which was which. "Magus Phaedrus, your silent companion is a magnificent addition to our little company." Addressing the room in general Longinus asked "May I assume that all who are gathered here are acquainted with our purpose? Or at least familiar with our talents?"
Bedo replied, "Longinus, I believe that I am aware of why I am here, but I am certainly not aware individually of the talents that our individual gifts bestow. I would hope that when and while we eat, and I would hope that that feast may be soon, that we may get to know each other better, and that when we have eaten, that Mnemosyne may explain her intent in bringing us here more fully. For myself, I am content so far that I shall stay here tonight, and eat and talk with my sodales - content enough tht I shall warn Prees that I have no intent to move on this night, and that he should ensure that he and his beasts are fed and comfortable for the night."
"I hope you will excuse me while I do that". With that he gets up and walks out of the room, through the main room of the inn,and around to the stables. On the way, he stops, stands in a quiet place in the shadows by the side of the building and studies the stars that are starting to appear in the evening sky. Ensuring that no one seems to be watching, he performs his regular quiet ritual, before continuing to the stables to speak to the carter.
"Actually... I presume that you are referring not so much to our specific talents and areas of individual study," Mnemosyne said to Longinus. "But rather to the fact that we are members of the Order and that these here if not actually members themselves are aware of what that means. In which case, the answer to that questions and the one you preceeded it with is 'Yes' in both accounts."
"Indeed Maga. I would not wish to alarm the uninformed when I apply my Arts in an obvious manner" he replied. A small iron knife floated out of an opening in his robes and over to the table where it embedded itself upright in the darkest corner.
Addressing Mnemosyne Longinus asked "Are you expecting more? I wrote a number of letters to Magi not yet present but am unsure of the delivery."
The maga made an ambivilant gesture in response to Longinus' question. "Well, I was expecting the Redcap Reynaldous to put in an appearance, as he was most valuable in helping to set this meeting up and many of us may have in fact already met him. Besides, he has expressed an interest in making formal ties with our budding Covenant. Apart from that... I am not sure. Possibly. Phaedrus here was not someone who I had communicated with previously. One of your contacts? Who else did you write to?" She looked to Phaedrus as he entered the topic of conversation, including him.
Eirlys makes a bold entrance
The last light of the setting sun had long since departed when there came a knock at the entryway. With curiosity and a bit of suspicion, the barmaid looked up from the pitcher she was filling; no one knocks at the front door of an inn, especially not when the door is open! She hastened to the entry out of curiosity.
Standing there was a young woman, perhaps fourteen or fifteen years of age, with dark hair and vivid deep violet eyes. She was deeply engrossed in a heated, whispered argument with... some sort of large weasel? The woman's comment of "I'm just trying to be polite!" was nearly drowned out by the animal's "Look, you just don't knock at an inn, you just walk in, so don't make fools of us!"
Lucia the barmaid nearly fainted; in fact, she swayed a bit where she stood. A man she hadn't noticed before reached out to steady her. Once she regained her composure, she made to thank him, but he had already withdrawn and was standing a bit away from his companions, looking on with a bored expression. Lucia turned back to those odd companions.
The woman was standing with the beast around the back of her neck, with head and tail curling around her shoulders, almost like a living shawl. Where before, they were both facing each other and whispering fervently, now they were both facing forward with enormous smiles on their faces. Lucia couldn't tell whose expression was more predatory: the beast's, or the woman's. She cleared her throat to speak, but found that words wouldn't come. With a muffled gasp, she dropped her pitcher and shuffled into the kitchen as quickly as she could.
"See, I TOLD you that you were going to screw things up by knocking," the weasel-like creature admonished.
"Me? You're the one who scared her by talking!" she replied hotly. "Mundanes don't have polecats who can talk. Stinky weasel."
"Oh, like *I'M* so scary just because I can talk-- Miss Walks-on-Hooves. Hey, fix your skirt. I bet your grammar scares them more than my clearly enunciated and verbosely verisimilitude speech." He preened a bit, where he perched.
"What? 'Verbosely verisimilitude speech'? That doesn't even make any sense! You're commenting on MY grammar? And I don't see anything wrong with my--"
A tap on the shoulder caught the woman's attention; her silent companion gestured towards the inn's proprietor before them.
The innkeeper cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Ah, miss..." his eyes glanced down, to where the tip of one shaggy hoof was protruding awkwardly out from under her long linen shift, "My, ah, esteemed lady..." his eyes glanced back up over the doorway nervously, then back to her: "Perhaps I can show you to a room?"
The dark-haired woman nodded her head graciously. "Why yes, that would be lovely," she replied.
"If you'll follow me, then..." As the man turned his back, she stepped through the entrance, and craned her neck to see what the old man had been looking at; there was an old iron horseshoe nailed carefully over the entryway. "I told you I needed to knock," she whispered. With a gesture and a mutter, the woman walked through the room, leaving behind her a sad-looking doorway with a lonely nail driven into the wood above it.
The room was emptier than it had been before dusk, but it seemed no less noisy as the ale did its work. The other patrons had pulled stools and benches over to the snug, though more for the light of the fire than for the heat it cast into the room. Three men in the corner, however, drank by the light of a candle, and kept very much to themselves; from a glance about the room, it appeared to be a mutually agreeable arrangement.
The innkeeper walked over to the fire, and lit a candle. With a chubby finger poked through the metal loop of the holder, he proceeded to lead her across the room, to a sturdy oak door. Pulling it open, a narrow set of stairs could be made out by the flickering candlelight. With a nod to Eirlys, he began to ascend them; his bulk blocking out most of the light from the candle. He winced at the sound of Eirlys's hooves upon each and every stair as they climbed, imagining the folk in the bar below staring toward the staircase in puzzlement. "You should have worn the longer dress, I did tell you so," the little polecat whispered as they walked.
Eirlys was shown to a small room, which was fitted with two tall cots that almost entirely filled the room. "You an' the young master can take either cot, but if you'll be retiring early, I'd suggest the far one, as having people clamber over you isn't the nicest way to be woken. We're full to the rafters tonight, what with the new party downstairs coming along today."
Had Eirlys not been raised by the fae, in fantastic surroundings, she might have been alarmed by the reaction of the Innkeeper. He seemed to be taking her hooves, and companion, in his stride, however, behind his back, the fingers of his other hand worried a ragged bit of thumbnail as he vexed himself over his hellish predicament.
"Are you needin' ought?" Lucia called up the stairwell, more to check if the Innkeeper was intact than out of any desire to fulfil her duties; a tremble of fear in her voice. He stepped away from Eirlys, perhaps a little too quickly, and, poking his head out into the corridor, replied "No, no... I'll be down by and by." Looking at Eirlys once more, or rather, looking at the weasel on her shoulder, he continued, "is that all, or can I leave you in peace?"
The fey woman loosened her hair (in front of two men she didn't know!) and tossed her travel pack onto the cot. She leaned onto her holly staff and grinned. "You mentioned a party downstairs-- I love parties! Perhaps you can show me the way while my friend here brings in our belongings. If you could show me where I can find this party, then you can bring some food and drink for my friends and myself, and we'll all have a pleasant evening together. Would that be acceptable, good Innkeep?"
The portly man nodded quickly, and wiped his brow. "Certainly, miss... I mean, if we have anything that your.." -he gestured with his hands, a bit wildly- "...that your sort can eat."
Eirlys's hand whipped out like a lightning bolt and grabbed the old fellow's hand, shaking it vigorously. "The deal is made. I'm sure I can find something to eat here. You do serve babies, don't you? I don't like them after they've started walking, they're so stringy."
The man paled visibly at that, and gestured down the hallway. He wasn't sure what bothered him worse: fear for the newborn children in the village, or the realization that he'd just unwittingly struck a bargain with a faerie. "Ah-- no, this inn does not cook babies, unfortunately. I hope this means you won't be finding your meal elsewhere?" His hands began to quiver slightly, as he thought of the young children of Church Stretton.
Eirlys smiled that broad, predatory grin once more, then clapped the man on his back. "I kid, I kid, good Innkeep! Pun unintentional, of course. I don't eat babies at all, I just couldn't help but notice how distraught you seemed over the sight of my shoes. They make funny things in Scotland, I tell you, but it's good to be back. I'd like some roast mutton and dark bread, and a spot of good whisky, if you have it."
He seemed to breathe easier then (but not by much), and led her to the room where the other magi were assembled. "Of course, miss. I knew all along that a lovely lady of the Fair Court wouldn't dine upon human children." He knew no such thing, of course; just another example of the smooth banter that he carried on with his patrons. Years of reassuring and flattering patrons lent his words a touch of concern, but his true concern lay with lightening the load on her purse strings.
He could vaguely remember from his youth, the old village crony would place dishes of cream and honey on the windowsills at night, for the faire folk-- so that the redcaps would not eat the children, and the brownies might ensure a bountiful crop. Some mornings, the old woman said, those dishes were empty... One day the village priest had noticed her antics, and she had been held to account. She had pleaded that she put it out for her cat, but the Priest had found the truth of the matter, and she had been taken away. Noone dared speak of the fair folk, lest it reach the priest's ear.
The innkeeper made a herculean effort not to wince at the clop-CLOP, trip-TRAP behind him, speaking perhaps louder than necessary to distract himself from the sound. "We have some wonderful mutton chops this evening, an' it please you, and Roan's oatbread will not disappoint. As for whiskey, we have a fine cask in from Caledonia, just this week." He looked back at her and smiled proudly at that, relaxing a little.
That relaxation was short-lived, as a muttered voice behind him piped up: "Mmmm, mutton. I like mutton. Rats are so greasy, and I'm always hungry again within an hour of eating them, though I bet I could find a whole lot of 'em around this place," whispered the polecat, loud enough for the innkeeper to hear. "Can I have my own chop this time?"
The faerie woman scratched the top of his head, smiling. "I'll get you your own mutton chop, love. Just behave yourself. No marking any of the furniture, understand me?"
The poor innkeeper turned a bit pink, then gestured towards a wooden door. "I suspect these would be the folks you're looking for, right through here, miss. I'll, ah, show your man down here when he's ready."
She smiled graciously and entered the room, trying not to smirk too gleefully at the older man's reaction.
The innkeeper watched and the door closed behind the young fae lass, if that was indeed all that she was, and he wondered at his composure. If he’d known the wonders he’d be faced with when he’d arisen from bed this daybreak, he’d have pulled the wool blanket to his eyes and cried like a baby; over all though, he felt he'd handled it better than was to be expected. What had started off as simply a nice day with an official visitor, turned strange from the moment that plain looking man - what did he call himself? Amber? Ambrose Verdios? - entered his inn, and from there it only seemed to spiral downward into some type of dream that you just can’t wake from. He thought briefly after Marcus, the swift friend of Church Stretton, in that room among those...others. He seemed like a good man. He considered looking in to check on the monk as he stopped at the bar to pour the woman with the cloven hooves her whiskey. As he started to pull a fired clay cask from under the bar, he stopped, peering at it thoughtfully. "Seems ta me," he said to himself, "that if there was ever a time, or a set of guests that should get the good stuff, this is it;" his voice was one of resignation rather than pride. He returned the container to its place and reached to the back of the shelf, withdrawing an ornate blown glass bottle with a woven birchwood base. He poured a half cup for the lass and then a full cup for himself, which he promptly drank down in three long, satisfyingly burning swallows.
After shaking his head like a wet dog, he re-corked the bottle before returning it to its hiding place, and then took a long look at the half glass of whiskey on the bar. Feeling the fortifying effect of his own drink begin to counter the tremulous sensations of fear and worry, he picked up the cup, plastered his best, “Welcome to the Three Lions” smile upon his face, and made for the west room and its occupants.
The hamlet of Church Stretton had seen a number of changes recently, what with the King’s interest and all, but as the innkeep knocked on the west room’s door he thought to himself, “I’m thinkin’ the changes are just getting’ started.”
Eirlys joins the party
Mnemosyne stood once more as the latest arrival entered the room. It seemed fair that as the main organiser of this meeting it was her duty to greet each new arrival. It looked as if the compliment was almost full. She was pleased that even at this late hour a straggler had appeared - though once again she felt a little disappointed it was not Reynaldous. It seemed as if the Redcap had become delayed, no doubt on important business for the Order. This though, had to be the maga she had only been half expecting. In fact, Mnemosyne was not even sure of her name. All she knew was she was from the Loch Leglean Tribunal. It would be nice to have some female company.
"Salve sodalis," she started, now with practiced ease and rather more confidence. "I bid you welcome to our gathering. I am Mnemosyne filia Hironius ex Guernicus and..." She trailed off, the smile freezing on her face. She had spotted the demonic looking hooves poking visible under Eirlys' skirts. Mnemosyne quickly considered the possibility that she had been mistaken and this was not in fact a member of the Order of Hermes, but rather a poorly disguised demon. If she was then things were probably about to get very nasty indeed. Of course, there was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. It was just that right now Mnemosyne could not think of one, occupied as she was with thinking about which of her spells would stand the best chance of melting the demoness' mind.
Suddenly a very cold and unpleasant thought struck Mnemosyne. It almost physically made her sick - a throw back to the rocking motion of that cursed horse possibly. "Aah... excuse me," she stumbled. "I suddenly don't feel so well. I must... ah... visit the privies... yes, that's it, the privies!" She abruptly rushed from the room, taking the other door from which Eirlys had entered from and fled into the corridor, banging the door closed behind her.
As the door banged shut, the door behind Eirlys opened, and Bedo returned to the room. He stood watching quietly and listening, from just within the threshold.
The dark-haired fey girl blinked twice, then turned back to the rest of the room. "Well honestly, one would hope that a gauntleted magus would not be so distraught at the sight of fey. Perhaps my House has been lax in educating the rest of the Order about our kind..." She sighed, but her face quickly lit to a broad, charming smile. "I am Eirlys ex Merinita, filia Drystan. Only daughter of Lord Alithas the Bold, Priestess of Cailleach Bheur, and Lady of the Fourth House in the Court of Winter. I apologise that I've not yet chosen a proper Hermetic name; it's one of the many things that vexes my dear parens." Eirlys made a florid bow.
"Hey, what about me?" came a plaintive Welsh-speaking voice at her shoulder.
She laughed, an odd sound which was reminiscent of tinkling bells. "This is my friend and companion, Aloysius. Also of the Winter Court, though lacking any semblance of nobility, either by birth or in manner."
The little polecat scurried down the girl's small body to land on the wooden floor, then rose up on his hind legs. "Please, my good fellows, disregard those barbed words of my ill-mannered companion. I'll have you know that my father squired for Sir Dalath, a lesser-known knight of the Great Hunt. It is my pleasure to make the acquaintance of such esteemed colleagues." He fluorished an elaborate bow which would have looked quite noble from a human, but was only comical from his weaselly form.
Eirlys looked about the room, with a smile for each magus. "Mind if I take a seat? It's been quite a long journey."
Longinus silently rose to his feet, hands still clasped together within his sleeves.. "Longinus filus Mercantus scholae Mercere" he said in a dry voice with a small smile, followed by his customary inclined head gesture. "It seems Maga, to the loss of us all, that your house has been lax in many areas of education. But be seated with our welcome, nonetheless." Straightening, his smile grew blander as he resumed his seat and leaned back further from the light.
Ambrosius looked after the door through which Mnemosyne so quickly departed. Nervously, he stood and began to speak. Before the first syllable could proceed between his lips, however, Warren shot to his feet and stepped gingerly in front of the maga. “I would be honored, my lady, if you would take my seat. One as beautiful as yourself should not be required to find a seat of her own.” He reached down and gently took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “ it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Warren Osborn of London. Merchant, Trader and master negotiator, I am at your service, day. . . or night.” Warren sighed. “Sadly, it is time for me to leave you mystics to your discussions as I attend to more mundane matters.” With a flourish, he pulled open the door, bowed, his eyes on Eirlys, and stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him.
The fey woman smiled slyly as the honey-tongued man took his leave, and seated herself at the table.
With an arched eyebrow and a grin, Ambrosius watched Warren leave. When he realized that he was in the spotlight, he paled visibly. “Salve, sodalis Eirlys,” he stammered. “I am Ambrosius, filius Galfridus, ex Verditius. I welcome you and Aloysius, ah, on behalf of the maga Mnemosyne.”
Eirlys smiled graciously and rose to her feet, moving to place her right hand on Ambrosius' right shoulder in traditional satyr greeting. When she touched him, however, she flinched as if struck, and involuntarily jumped back a pace. "Ahh... ummm... yes, nice to meet you, Ambrosius." She quickly resumed her seat and focused those odd violet eyes upon the table.
Ambrosius looked around, gesturing nervously to the assorted occupants of the room. Ambrosius continued, stopping at each magi in turn, “Please allow me to introduce Phaedrus filius Petra…er…Petrus, ex Miscellenea, Marcus Severus ex Jerbiton filia, I mean, filius Julii, and Bedo ex Bonisagus.” Ambrosius turned to Bedo, “ I’m sorry, sodalis, I don’t recall who you said your parens was?” Ambrosius listened to his reply. "Ah - indeed I didn't, he is Archmage Caelicus of Durenmar" Bedo replied. "No insult was intended to his good name by failing to mention it".
“Well, aah, for a brief moment, we had everyone here except, um, the Redcap that Mnemosyne mentioned. What was his name?” Ambrosius paused while the question was answered. “But where in the 12 levels of hades did Mnemosyne go?”
In the stableyard
Fleeing down the corridor, Mnemosyne stepped out into the night of the stableyard and looked around hurridly, but failed to spot anyone. She could hear sounds from inside the inn, but that was of no concern to her. She had suddenly realised exactly what time it was. The sun had set. Some time ago in fact. And she had been deep in conversation, unaware of the time and rather wrapped up in the unusual experience of having so many fellow magi to converse with. It had been a heady experience for her. Too heady and it had made her forget one of the basic rules - though admitidly one she had only been allowed to observe following her Gauntlet.
Mnemosyne quickly began the ritual which would raise her parma magica. It would take a full two minutes, she knew. During that time she would be totally vulnerable to any spells cast against her, which is why she could not do it back inside. Two minutes was a short time, but an age when one considered the amount of spells which someone could fling at you if they realised you were defenceless.
Preparations
The innkeeper emerged a few minutes later looking slightly worse than when he went in, but far better than had he done so without a double measure of courage. He proceeded directly into the kitchen, and splashed water on his face from a bowl. Cleaner, but still sweating slightly, he regarded the serving staff as he wiped the water from his chin with the grubby end of his apron.
"Right," he said to Lucia, who had since regained a measure of composure, but a slight one at that, "you will be responsible for making sure that the bailiff's men, or what's left'o'them, stay happy, and get upto no mischief. I want you in the main room. Tend to cups as need be, but there'll be no special requests for nibbles from the pantry." He then turned to the chef, and in a strict voice, continued "Roan here is going to help you, an' the lad do some cooking. I need a feast o' mutton chops for the party in the backroom. I've made a deal see, but don'you worry... they'll be payin' fer what they eat. An' some of them legumes that the bailiff was chasin' after." The cook, the scullion, and Roan looked at the innkeeper in puzzlement. "Set to work, they'll be hungry, and it's barely half an hour til the meal. They'll have to wait for the meat, but I'm sure you can find a course or two to occupy them. Like I said, they'll be paying, so use whatever we had prepared for the morrow's meals if you have to. Now, I'll be pleased if you would give me ten minutes," and with that he left.
He made his way back to the main room, to find Geraldous. "Could you tell yer master that the chef is cookin' up a meal o'mutton chops, as requested, and we'll be servin' the starter at in less than an hour, if that be to their likin'."
He listened to Geraldous's reply, before scurrying away to his chamber to despair in private. Ten minutes later, a timid knocking rapped on the innkeeper's door. "Hold fast!" he called out, and a few moments passed before he stepped out of the room wearing his jacket and boots. "Sorry t'disturb you, but what should we do if they start askin' for the fine stuff? They'll be wantin' wine with their meal, given what your servin' them," Roan asked with a concerned tone. "Don't touch that rack at the back o'the cellar, but otherwise, I don' mind if they're willin't'pay. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to check the stables. They'll be wantin' to put their men in there, and I bet that lazy sod Wurt hasn't tended to their horses yet." Roan looked at the innkeeper for a moment, but said nothing. "Right, I'll be back in a minute."
As he approached the door to the yard, Mnemosyne entered. "Ah, is everything in order young miss?" he said to the woman who was probably two-thirds his age, by the look of her, "I was just headin' out into the yard now, to check that Wurt has your horses an' wotnot in good order." He rather hoped she'd found the lad hard at work, rather than sprawled, asleep, across a couple of haybales.
After listening to her reply, the innkeeper returned to the kitchen, the sound of sizzling fat whispered, and a glorious smell of mutton and herbs was beginning to fill the air. He collapsed on a stool by the cooking fire and let out a long, slow breath. Leaning back against the warm bricks of the fireplace, he thought "Maybe this'll all turn out all right, after all."
Next page: Supper in the West Room.
