Chapter 7: Manor Briefings and Midnight Whispers

  As the adventuring team left the Wandering Mule, they took in mid market district’s evening lights. Taverns, shopkeepers, sailors, merchants, lordlings, and ladies filled the streets with life. A poignant beauty that covered the darkness of Fischholme’s underbelly. Many a villager had visited Fischholme for the first time and returned home eyes ablaze with tales of the grand city. Fischholme could tell you any story you wanted. If you wanted adventure, it would be found, power, aplenty, peace was ever present. Adon knew under all the trappings of trade and wealth lay the true story of Fischholme. Plots and schemes ran this city, and it was a crown jewel ready for the taking.

  Adon never knew how or why she ended up in Fischholme. Her earliest memories were living on the street. She couldn’t remember her mother at all. Likely she was just another street urchin. How Adon survived her youngest years lay in a dense fog of mystery. Finding Tark and Jack, forming friendships had likely saved her life. They had done gritty, dark things necessary for survival, until that fateful day when Elf spotted her picking pockets in the market. Of course, Adon hadn’t forgotten Tark and Jack after her adoption. She would steal food from the kitchens and bring it out to them every week while of course keeping a stash in her room for when Altin and Marineli came to their senses and cast her back to the streets. It would be years before Adon realized she didn’t need to hide food anymore.

  Elf Montray stood outside the inn next to the largest covered carriage from the Manor. The size and grandeur of the carriage drew admirable glances from the adventuring crew. Gilded wheels, double doors and intricate paint work revealed the wealth the Resha Shipping Empire. Closer inspection revealed the unfortunate truth of the current state of affairs. Only one large horse stood where two horses should be pulling the wagon. Dry rot was devouring one corner of the stately roof and the passenger step needed a fresh coat of paint.

  Opening the doors wide for the group Elf in his most polite and dignified voice rumbled, “Please feel free to join us at the manor this evening to prepare for the early departure.” Adon clutched Willow’s hand and squealed, “this is going to be SO FUN! Sleepover!” Willow smiled widely as the young women jumped up into the cab with unabashed joy.

  Dignified as always Cedric nimbly stepped up and joined the ladies with Marik in tow, but Jimothy and Agrippa stayed on the ground. “I think I need to go let me co-workers know where I’ll be.” Jimothy explained while stroking his beard, “I’ll be at the docks by morning.”

  “Yeah, same. I need to take care of some…some stuff” Agrippa muttered.

  “As you wish good sirs,” Elf bowed slightly towards the gnome and the human. “Fredderick! Let us be off.” Elf called to the driver as he shut the doors to the carriage and clambered up next to him. The giant horse strained to pull the carriage burdened by the weight of the entire group. Slowly the cart began to rumble across the cobbled streets towards Resha Manor.

  Inside the cab, Adon and Willow talked excitedly while Marik and Cedric sat in silent reflection. Eventually, the carriage finally turned onto the grand drive leading up to Resha Manor. The pale stone edifice loomed large, its many windows mostly dark. It still possessed an undeniable grandeur, but Adon, privy to its inner workings, saw the subtle signs of neglect creeping in around the edges, a slightly overgrown patch of lawn near the fountain, a faint layer of city grime clinging to the lower stonework. Signs of a house whose master had lost his guiding focus.

  As the carriage rolled to a stop, Elf opened the door with practiced efficiency, his imposing figure silhouetted against the light spilling from the entrance hall.

  "Welcome to Resha Manor," Elf announced formally, his gaze sweeping over the occupants as they disembarked. "Staff are prepared to assist with any immediate needs. Please, come inside."

  Adon led the way, stepping into the familiar, cavernous main hall. Polished wood floors reflected the dim light from the few lit sconces. Ancestral portraits stared down from the high walls, their painted eyes seeming to follow the newcomers. The air felt still, heavy with silence and the faint scent of old polish and dust.

  As Elf was quietly directing a pair of footmen in ill-fitting suits regarding the guests' bags, a figure emerged slowly from the doorway of the main study. Altin Resha blinked in the relative brightness of the hall, running a hand through his prematurely graying hair. He looked tired, his expensive clothes slightly rumpled, his eyes holding the familiar, distant sorrow that had become his constant companion.

  "Adon?" he murmured, his voice raspy. “Is everything all right?”

  Adon immediately slipped into her most dutiful daughter role, rushing forward with a bright smile. "Daddy! Everything's perfect! Remember I told you about needing to check on our contacts and maybe explore new opportunities way out east, towards Allurna?" She kept her tone light, breezy. "We're just getting things prepared before we head to the docks. Super early start tomorrow!"

  Altin frowned vaguely, "Allurna? Yes... yes, I suppose you mentioned... important business..." His gaze drifted over the assembled group, standing somewhat awkwardly in his grand hall. He offered them a weak, distracted wave. "Good of you all to... assist Adon. Important work." Altin took in the sight of his daughter’s traveling companions with a sullen look covering his features.

  His eyes, however, cleared slightly as they landed on Cedric, who stepped forward smoothly. "Altin, my dear fellow," Cedric greeted him warmly, offering a polite bow. "Just ensuring young Adon has everything required for her venture. Expanding Resha interests eastward is a bold, commendable strategy in these trying times."

  "Cedric!" A flicker of genuine recognition sparked in Altin’s eyes, and he reached out to grasp the halfling’s offered hand. "Always good to see you. Yes... bold strategy. Needs... needs capable hands." He seemed to lean on Cedric's presence for a moment, the familiar connection a brief anchor in his fog of grief. "You're... joining her then? Excellent."

  "Merely offering perspective where I can, Altin," Cedric replied easily, subtly reinforcing Adon's cover story. “I will ensure all logistical considerations.”

  Altin nodded, but his focus was already wandering again. "Good. Good." He patted Cedric’s arm vaguely, then looked back at Adon, his expression clouding over. "Just... be careful, child. It's a long way." He sighed, the sound heavy with unspoken losses. "I... I should return to my ledgers." Without further ceremony, he turned and shuffled back towards the door of his study, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

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  Adon watched him go, her bright smile faltering for just a second before snapping back into place. She turned back to the group, clapping her hands together.

  "Okay! So, Elf will show you guys where the guest rooms are.” Her voice was deliberately cheerful, overriding the somber note Altin had cast. “Plenty to do before the fifth hour! Willow, before you go to your room, want a tour?”

  Adon and Willow talked for an hour, walking through the manor. The conversation drifted easily through light topics. Adon found herself relaxing, caught up in Willow’s genuine warmth and infectious optimism. It was a dangerous feeling. Eventually, Willow’s yawns grew more frequent. “Oh dear,” she murmured, blinking sleepily. “The day has caught up with me. And with such an early start tomorrow…”

  “Totally understandable,” Adon said, “Lets head to your room.” Willow nodded, and they said goodnight, eventually parting in front of the sturdy oak door. Back in the shadowed corridor, Adon let out a slow breath, the friendly mask dissolving. She pictured Willow inside, perhaps clutching her holy symbol in prayer to end the day, radiating an uncomplicated goodness that felt utterly alien.

  She’s essential, Adon thought. That healing, we won’t survive without it. But the very quality that made Willow invaluable also made her a profound liability. Her earnest faith, her intrinsic belief in truth and redemption – she could never comprehend Adon’s reality, the blood on her hands, the cold pact chilling her soul. If Willow ever suspected the truth behind Adon’s carefully crafted facade, behind the 'noble' quest to stop the forger, the entire endeavor could shatter. Willow's horrified reaction, her potential betrayal, witting or unwitting, could be disastrous.

  She can never know, Adon decided firmly, pushing away from the door and didn’t turn toward her chambers. The key was proximity, control. Keep Willow close, shower her with friendship, earn her trust, subtly guide her perceptions. Make herself indispensable as a friend and protector, reinforcing Willow’s belief in the righteousness of their cause. Willow needed to see Adon as the bright, slightly naive heiress fighting the good fight. She needed to remain the loyal healer, the moral compass pointing firmly in the direction Adon dictated, blind to the darkness navigating her light. Adon touched the cool sapphire ring on her finger, its subtle warmth a deceptive counterpoint to the chilling resolve hardening within her. Willow was an asset, a vital tool. And Adon would keep her sharp, safe, and pointed precisely where needed, ensuring the dwarf never, ever suspected the true nature of the hand that wielded her. Adon turned down the hall that led to Tark’s workshop.

  The familiar scent of arcane reagents and old parchment grew stronger as she approached the heavy wooden door. Inside, the familiar, cluttered space was lit by the cool, steady glow of enchanted crystals and a few flickering oil lamps. Tark sat hunched over a workbench, examining one of the forged Allurnan documents through a complex system of magnifying lenses he’d likely constructed himself. Jack Dorsey perched on a high stool nearby, meticulously cleaning and oiling a set of intricate lock picks, whistling a tuneless shanty under his breath. Elf Montray stood near the far wall, a silent, imposing bronze statue partially obscured by shadows, his presence both reassuring and unsettling. The atmosphere was one of focused work and clandestine purpose, a stark contrast to the forced cheerfulness Adon had employed earlier. Here, she could drop the mask.

  “Report,” Adon said quietly as she entered, closing the door behind her. Her voice was low, devoid of the bubbly affectation she wore elsewhere.

  Tark looked up, pushing his spectacles up his nose. “Analysis confirms the unique papyrus weave consistent with Allurnan marsh reed, Lady Adon. The ink contains trace elements highly specific to fungal binders used historically in Fillsarda’s artisan quarter.

  “So,” Jack chimed in, snapping a pick back into its case, “it’s definitely an Allurna job. And a professional one.”

  “Precisely,” Adon confirmed, moving further into the room. “Which is why simply destroying the documents or exposing Sterling isn’t enough. The source remains active. The threat persists.” She met their gazes. “I’m going to Allurna. To Fillsarda. I intend to find this forger.”

  Jack whistled softly. “Allurna? Boss, that’s… ambitious. And a hell of a long way.”

  “The logistical challenges are considerable,” Tark added, setting aside his lens. “Crossing the Veil overland is treacherous.”

  Elf spoke for the first time, his voice a low rumble from the shadows. “Lady Adon has already decided her course. There is no need to try to dissuade her.”

  “While I’m gone,” Adon continued, shifting focus, “I need you two managing things here. Maintain our networks, keep pressure on the smaller gangs, ensure the legitimate Resha shipments continue smoothly despite my father’s… distraction. But there’s something else.” She paused, letting the weight settle. “Elf has picked up whispers through his… wider channels.”

  Elf stepped forward slightly. “There is increasing, though heavily suppressed, rumor concerning the Thureman Empire’s slave trade. Specifically, that they have grown bolder. The whispers suggest they may have recently targeted and successfully abducted a high-profile individual. Potentially minor royalty or a significant noble heir from one of the western Elven nations, or perhaps even a southern principality. There has been no official report, no ransom demand, nothing public. It explains increased patrols in the bay.”

  “Which likely means,” Tark interjected, his mind clearly working fast, “that either the abduction is deniable, the victim’s nation is trying to handle it quietly to avoid panic or war, or the Thuremans have a specific, non-monetary goal for this individual.”

  “Exactly,” Adon said. “A situation like that could destabilize political alliances, disrupt trade agreements… it could have far-reaching consequences for everyone, especially us, especially given Dross’s proximity across the bay.” She looked directly at her butler, and core team. “I need you three to investigate this while I’m focused on Allurna. Quietly. Carefully. Tark, cross-reference ship arrivals from Dross with known slaver captains, dig into recent diplomatic communiques for hints of suppressed panic or unusual negotiations, check genealogies of potentially vulnerable noble houses in the elven capitals: Astarn, Clestra, Eulatria, and the southern coasts.”

  Adon turned to Jack. “Work your street contacts. Listen for whispers about Thureman agents operating outside their usual haunts, any unusual cargo being moved discreetly, any talk of high-value ‘property’ changing hands. See if the slavers operating within Fischholme’s shadows have heard anything.

  “Also, in my absence, Elf will give you direction as needed.”

  They both nodded, accepting their assignments without question. This was familiar territory. Adon directing, them executing complex, dangerous tasks within Fischholme’s intricate web.

  “Keep each other informed. Unless it’s critical, don’t contact me directly while I’m en route; it’s too risky,” Adon said. “Maintain the appearance that I am merely on an extended trade mission for my father.” She checked the chronometer on Tark’s workbench. She would need some sleep before the early morning. “I need to go. Ensure everything is ready for the River Maiden’s departure.”

  With final nods exchanged, Adon slipped back out of the workshop and walked to her room. She navigated the familiar corridors, her mind buzzing. One mission launched eastward with a team of volatile strangers, another simmering beneath the surface here in Fischholme, entrusted to her oldest allies. Juggling these intricate plans, managing the different facets of her life, felt like walking a razor’s edge. She toyed with the sapphire ring, its warmth a comfort. The path to power was complex, demanding, and utterly solitary, even when surrounded by allies. She reached her room and tucked into bed, the perfect image of a merchant’s daughter resting before a long journey. Tomorrow, the adventure began in earnest.