Interlude - Home Free

A recap for the reader.

As a child, Hemlock Justinian lost his twin sister, Tigerlily, in an attack on their estates.  Hemlock was hidden in an ore shuttle and escaped into space, where he was apprenticed to the Charioteers under the pseudonym of Keats.  As an adult, Hemlock re-emerged to claim his birthright.

Only, as we’re about to see, that’s not quite what happened.

More recently, supporting the endeavours of an old friend (the Charioteer Cortez), Keats and Anton, the Marquis De Havilland, were taken prisoner and sent to Antioch.  Two years passed.  Anton escaped from the Palindrax’s prison, and found Keats, who it seems had suffered some sort of mental breakdown and was living as Tigerlily.  Anton’s appearance rekindled Keats’ lost memories, and they escaped Antioch together.

Now, in a stolen Vuldrok explorer, Anton and Keats have jumped through to the system they last saw their friends and communicated their return.  It’s a week’s voyage, but Anton and Keats are, at last, home free.

*****

Keats un-hunches from over the pilot’s console, sits back in the chair and exhales.  ‘Course set,’ he rubs his eyes.  ‘If you’re going to keep this ship, you’re going to need a proper pilot.’

Anton snorts, amused.  The bridge is a dim, tight place: the screens show star-fields; most light comes from consoles and indicators.  Sat in the captain’s chair with his wild-man beard, Anton looks every inch the pirate.

‘I can keep an eye on things.  Get some rest.’

Keats nods, unfolds from the chair, but stops and perches on its arm.  Warily, ‘Back on Antioch, how did you find me?’

‘A magic lantern show I saw in prison.  You were in the arena.  They said your name was Tigerlily.’

‘A magic lantern show featured me?’ Keats frowns, ‘her?’

‘Arcadia called you that,’ Anton mentions, almost nonchalant.

Keats nods.  Grey overalls, head shaved.  Androgynous.  A tattoo down the side of his face proclaims – for those who understand it – that he fought for and won his freedom.

‘I couldn’t let him be dead,’ it comes out quiet, plaintive.  Keats looks up from the floor and stares at Anton, ‘All the time on Antioch, I thought I’d saved him.  When you and I were captured things got jumbled in my head.  I thought I’d got Hemlock to safety: that they never appeared from the dark and cut his throat, that they took me away instead.  Things never seemed right, like there was something I had to do if only I could remember it.  But Hemlock wasn’t dead: he was somewhere back among the known worlds, happy, alive.  I think I was content.’

‘Will he return?’

Keats shrugs, looking lost, ‘Maybe it’s enough.  Sir Hemlock has deeds to his name!  He helped clear Arcadia’s name at the tournament of St Gavin, slew the enemy who framed her, fought an inquisitor, came out in society, hosted a Decados and was in a way betrayed, publicly duelled, made friends, madeenemies, at least one mortal,’ Keats’ eyes shine wetly, ‘He lives!  Unless –’

‘Don’t worry.  I shan’t tell a soul.  You have my word,’ which seems to calm Keats, ‘But what about Tigerlily?’

‘She was lost.  In the attack on the family estates.’ Keats hunches.  For all the world, he sounds like he grieves for a loved one.

‘Why?’

‘One of us died.  If Tigerlily were alive, then Hemlock must be dead,’ then, quietly, ‘I miss her.’

Anton strokes his beard.  It doesn’t put the beard in any better order.  He thinks he follows, that this makes a sort of twisted sense.  Maybe he should let Keats rest.  But maybe, next time he asks, Keats won’t be so forthcoming or coherent.  It seems cathartic.

‘And what about Keats?’

Keats looks up and quotes, ‘ “It would go easier on you, if you were a boy”.’  He laughs, a manic edge, and stops himself suddenly, ‘It’s what he said.  The old retainer – Hobbs – who bundled me into the oreshuttle.  The letter he gave me was the sort of thing you’d give a bastard: give this child a home and teach them a trade.  It didn’t mention my name.  So I chose to be a boy.  And no-one cared enough to pry, or to make anything of it if they saw through it.  And then I met Cortez, and was in his shadow.  It was just common knowledge that Keats was a boy.’

‘Did Cortez help?’

‘He never knew!’ Keats bites his lip, ‘I never meant to lie to him!  The longer it went on: I just couldn’tbring myself –’ he laughs again, that manic edge, and Anton wonders if he’s pushed too hard, ‘I think... I think, at the end, just before we were captured, when things got jumbled: I might’ve told him.  I don’t remember too well.’

‘Whatever happened, he’ll be pleased to see you alive.’

‘I hope so.’

‘And who will you be?’

‘Keats.  Just Keats, I think,’ looking up at Anton as if seeking permission, ‘For a while, at least.  Being a noble is just so complicated.’

Anton laughs.  Keats doesn’t know the half of it.  Keats is at the door when Anton calls, ‘You know, there’s a flaw in your logic.’

Keats turns with a look of panic.

‘Who knows that only one twin survived?’

Keats shakes his head, ‘Everything burnt down.’

‘Hemlock was just a child, and in all the smoke and darkness maybe his mistook what he saw.  Maybe Tigerlily survived, and was sold as a slave, wound up on Antioch and won her freedom.’  While Hemlock stares, thunderstruck, Anton adds, ‘And anyone who contradicts the arithmetic, well, they know something about the attack, and you might want to have words with them.’

Keats stands in the doorway as if at the edge of a precipice.  Possibilities unspool in his mind.

‘Keats.  For now, just Keats.’

Bredonia

The hole in the ground looked tiny to his eyes, but somehow the overriding sense of the depth of it upset him.  It really just felt as though they were trying to hide her away or perhaps deny that she had ever truly existed at all.  He just stood there, deep in thought, with the rain falling upon the hood of his weather-all.  He watched a few water droplets fall from the lip of his hood and listened to the clatter of the storm drum all around him. Even worse than standing out here in this wretched weather was the constant smell of freshly cut turf.  He had loved the smell of a ploughed field as a child, but after all the broken battlefields and burials he had witnessed over the years he had finally begun to loathe it.

He wondered again now why she had chosen to be buried.  It was an unusual choice for her, he thought.  He had been witness to a large range of funeral rites over the years, either after battle or because he had been off-world and just passing by.  Still, this one had been unexpected.  At least he had been able to see her before the end.  At least that was something.  He wondered, staring at this place in the ground whether perhaps before he had turned up if she had ever felt lonely or afraid?  Maybe everything turned out in the end just as she planned it? Maybe she had more regrets than she was willing to let on?  She had been a wise old bird and as he had aged himself he had increasingly begun to appreciate the time he had spent with her, under her tutelage.  He wasn't officially a pupil of hers of course, but the lessons The Brothers passed on somehow didn't seem to connect with him in quite the same way that she could.  No doubting it.  She was a one-of-a-kind.

There were many veterans just like Airi within that retirement home on Bredonia.  The proximity of the home to the Lextius Academy often allowed some of the residents to visit the school and offer their own insights.  Airi had never taught any official classes despite being as cunning as a fox.  But more so, Anton considered her to be extremely wise with it.  Somehow he could see all that residing deep within her from the very first moment of their meeting.  Without her presence here he doubted he would have made it through the academy at all.  He really would miss her.  Greatly.

De Havilland felt a hand gently brush at his elbow, and he carefully turned round in the rains.  He nodded to Ylanath and then turned back to the grave.  He sighed, and then turned and left.

___________________


“You have the key?”, asked the robed official.  De Havilland pulled up at a chain from around his neck.  Extending it fully outwards the key drops from the neck of his tunic and is suspended next to De Havillands hand.  He lifts the chain and key from round his neck and hands them both over.

The key is unlike any he has seen before, or more precisely any that he has had a cause to see before.  It is large, golden, tubular and contains a series of pins all around its mechanism.  It reminded him of some kind of musical box.
The official takes the key over to flat marked section of the wall behind him and inserts it into a keyhole.   After a few moments of key rotations both left and right, the face of a box snaps forward with the key still at the very centre of it.  The official brings both the box and key to De Havilland.

“The viewing room is to your left sir.  May I remind you though that both the key and box belong to this establishment.  The contents are yours entirely, of course.”

___________________


The old man sighs deeply, pulls his glasses from his face and drops back into the faded leather chair.  He rubs at the stubble on is chin and looks up from his musings.  Ylanath is sat in a chair opposite him, with De Havilland resting back on a metal frame seat to the far0 corner of the orangery.  The Marquis is peering out of the window, the rain hammering at the panes of glass surrounding them.  He is looking over to the garden of the retirement home, watching rivers of rainwater run across the face of an elaborate water feature.

The old man leans forward and jabs a finger into the pages of a leather bound book sat open on the table in front of him.

“Are you sure no one else has read this?” has asks, looking to De Havilland.

Not turning, De Havilland raises his left hand and brushes away some condensation on the glass beside him.

“You know who she was Southerby. No one knows...yet.”

“I do hope you aren't making the mistake of blackmailing me boy” the old man responds.

De Havilland's eyes snap over to the veteran Hawkwood.

“I do not...” he whispers, “as I do not need to.”

The old man bites at his lip, staring intently at the younger Hawkwood; this Phoenix Knight.  Curse Alexius and his bloody meddling!  Picks the best and then trains the buggers to go messing in other peoples affairs.

“You are certain that this is the only copy?” he asks.

“As certain as any of us can be.”

The rain continues its unending drum upon the glass of the orangery.  Other than that there is complete silence.  A faint smile spreads across the lips of Ylanath as Southerby eyes her suspiciously.

“Is your witch reading my mind, boy?” he asks.

De Havilland exhorts a laugh.  “Ha! No Southerby, she is reading your face.  Now lets stop pretending this isn't what you wanted and give me what Airi asked for.”

___________________


“Are you perfectly sure sir, this is all highly unusual?” suggests the robed official.

“Yes Lowry, I want you to open my box and hand it to me.  There is something in there I need to give this Phoenix Knight.”  Those last words dripped from his lips like a poison.

The robed official did as he was asked and when Southerby opens his box he takes out a manuscript from a bundle of other documents, books and letters and hands it over to The Marquis.  He then places Airi's book into his own collection and then hands the lot over tothe official to have the box returned safely to its own burial place.

Interlude - Provenance

“What about that one over there, then?” queried Keats.

De Havilland raised a set of digital binoculars and started focussing on the details of the vessel.

“It's The Provenance” responds Ylanath, her mouth turning sourly downwards after she had spoken.  “It belongs to the the Paladindrax.  It transports all his own personal wares and interests.  We should keep well clear of that one.”

Ylanath and Keats started looking back across the range of the spaceport for alternatives from the edge of the cliff edge they were lying upon.  De Havilland had kept his eyes firmly on The Provenance, a faint smile spreading across his lips.  Keats turned round and noticed it.  He looked back to the ship and then quickly back to De Havilland.

“Anton, it's unnecessarily risky.  We don't need to do that.”

“It's the last place they would ever think of looking for us.  You have got to admit it.”

Keats turned back to look at the ship.  It was beautiful to behold, the sweeping arcs of the lines across its fuselage suggested subtle power lay underneath that grim dark exterior.  A little spark lit up in his mind as he toyed with the idea of letting lose with such a majestic beast.

“I'm with Keats, Anton”, spoke Ylanath, “It will be well guarded. They wont really be looking for us here now, too much time has passed since we escaped.  We would be wise to seek passage on another vessel.”

The more he thought of it the more the idea pulled at him though.  Having been a guest of The Paladindrax for many months the idea of leaving this domain in his own ship really appealed to him.

“Keats, you have the final say here.  If things go south then it would all be down to you to navigate us back to Twilight safely.  Its your call.”

Keats nodded and looked back at the options laid out below. Lots of good ships, all prospects. 

“We should look to the dock schedule.  That would tell us when ships came in and when they are due to leave. If it were down to me, I would look to that first to determine our best option.”

De Havilland nodded his agreement. “Good call Keats”, he responded and turning to Ylanath asked, “Any idea where they would keep such a thing?” 

*******

Keats poured over the document within the dimly lit office.

“Well, anything?” asks De Havilland urgently. 

Keats lowers the desk lamp further and runs his fingers across the pages.

“Actually, The Provenance is due to set sail in 7 days time.  Not the first ship to leave but its not as far down the list as I had anticipated.  It might be enough time.”

“Enough time?” queried Ylanath leaning over Keats to get a look at the document.  De Havilland held an office door open ajar and was peering into the darkness of the corridor.

“Yes...”, followed Keats, “Enough time to work out how the hell we are going to get on board... AND, before you suggest it Anton they wont be taking any laundry baskets aboard”

De Havilland had his mouth open but promptly shut it again and turned his attention back to the corridor.

*******

There exists only the low pounding drum of the engines whirring not so very far away.  Ylanath and Keats are packed snugly into a small service room that acted as an interlnk hub between different service tunnels for the ship.  The whirring is endless, but comforts Keats, for whom the cold embrace of space feels like sanctuary, like home.  Keats eyes Ylanath unflinchingly suspiciously.  Ylanath looks distinctly uncomfortable about it and starts looking around the room at something else.

The original introduction by De Havilland to Ylanath had been kept very brief and momentum since then had meant that there had not been time to really begin to determine much about her.  There were a few clear observations though; she was breathtakingly pretty, something which Keats was certain De Havilland would not have failed to miss.  She had high cheek bones and dark brown eyes which she emphasised with a mist of black make-up.  She was very tall, long limbed and looked way too thin.  Keats had seen such creatures before in images of court from Masque magic lantern shows.  All beauty and no brains, and not much good in a fight either.  Having said that though, Keats suddenly thought of Chastity. Deadly beauty, brains and lethal at a pinch.

Ylanath wore mostly dark clothes, a mix of leggings, warm layers with an overlayer of finery, similar to lace. She had good boots now that Keats came to think of it, more practical than he had perhaps realised before.  Clearly she was used to walking long distances.

Keats leant forward slowly, “Ylanath, I feel I need to speak plainly with you.”

Ylanath looked at Keats and waited expectantly.

“Our entry on board this ship.  I cannot explain it.  I don't think anyone can explain it.  Certainly not anyone I have ever met.”

Ylanath just looked on at Keats clearly wondering what to say next.

Keats continued, “That is not to say that I am not grateful.  Because I am.  But...”  there was a pause as Keats thought through the next words carefully.

“Anton”, responded Ylanath suddenly, “You are worried for him...”

Keats rested back against the metallic wall behind.

“He's been a good friend to me over recent years.  Stuck by me.  I value that loyalty, Ylanath,  and would gladly repay it tenfold.”

Ylanath leant forward and was about to speak when a grill next to her was suddenly swung open and De Havilland pushes his way though.

“Bloody awful squeeze”, he gasps, “Their engineers must be midgets.”

Keats and Ylanath look to each other knowingly.  Perhaps more would have to be said in the future but for now at least perhaps Ylanath would understand this Keats a little better

Where are they now? - Part 4 - Notable non-nobles

In preparation for the restart of our campaign here's some further updates concerning some of our previous supporting cast.  This time we look outside the nobility:

Father Konrad

Still acting as confessor to Lady Stephanie, Konrad sees heresy and apostasy at every turn. He enforces Orthodox worship within Stephanie's lands and has regular public floggings of those who are "insufficient in their devotions or showing of wanton sinfulness".  The peasants fear him but do seem to enjoy the spectacle of the punishments.  The floggings draw sizeable crowds after Luxday worship and many serfs are eager to gain favour by reporting on their neighbours (or rivals...or old enemies...or simply people that are different to them...). 

While not an official inquisitor Konrad has worked on their behalf in the past (such as following the "Husk Incident") and he has recently been receiving visits from Inquisitional colleagues who are working in Baron Samuel's library. It is possible that they may engage him in the investigation of Baron Tochiro, especially as he has a history with some of the parties involved.

Sister Cassie

Now a penitent psychic, "sister" Cassie is a constant shadow around Father Konrad. He makes use of her gifts in his "Pancreator ordained work" but treats her with the contempt she deserves as a corrupt and sinful heretic. She seems to accept her place in the Celestial Order and follows his bidding without hesitation, whether it is pulling the truth from other sinners' minds or amplifying the impact of the Father's righteous fervour during his sermons. She continues to serve, quietly and penitently...

Boss "Frisky" Wilson

With the Church's investigation into Baron Tochiro's activities and the black market trade in artefacts the Ravenna branch of the Scravers Guild has become extremely quiet. There is a general assumption that the Guild were involved, the issue is who and how deep. Frisky is typical of the local bosses; he is too high ranking and notable to just disappear but also so connected that the expectation is that he must have been involved in some way.  As such he is keeping his nose as clean as possible, conducting open and legitimate business and being very public in doing so. 

Chief Louie

Louie is gets by as always, making deals, trading goods and trying to remain one step ahead of his creditors, over observant Reeves and the the prying eyes of do-gooder church types. Rumours that the jump route to a new lost world may soon be open for trade has peaked his interest but he's not necessarily in a financial position to exploit it. Yet.