[04] Rations & Rumors

▪︎▪︎▪︎William Du Duecant, Numbered Noble▪︎▪︎▪︎

'Expect the worst out of events, and you may come out unscathed.'

A phrase often solicited, rather unwarranted, by my father in times of great distress. A rather contradictory adage one would assume to come out of an irascible philosopher whose mind forsook the logical and dredge deeper into madness, yet, somehow, it came from the one person whom I admired the most.

My eyes travelled far, scouting the reactions of the group and the factions within.

The Colored nobles, as is their persona, openly discussed their plans whilst they traversed the port, nary a care if the other factions hear of their plan. Sebastian, their leader, followed suit, speaking a phrase or two to soothe their worries. After all, as high aristocrats, they might be; they still need the brains of a genius like him. It seemed they intend to first acquire the Myrtle bread from the bakers of King's Barrow, who serve only the finest of society, which, to their minds, they seemed to be already part of.

At least Greythorne could restrain the arrogant fools before they humiliate the Academy, I thought.

Then there's Ryker and his sullied goons, too thick for the social awareness to procure the Myrtle bread nor do they have the patience to successfully barter for the fruits and vegetables.

They must be heading to the other side of the port for the grains, I thought.

Of course, such as there are factions, there will also be individuals who sought the spot for themselves alone or in pairs, believing themselves capable enough to accomplish the trial.

Suiko Takenouchi and her blood-sworn guard, Althea, disinterestedly strode towards the markets like swans gallivanting through their own ponds. I would shake my head, but it would be remiss of me to criticize the royalty of another nation, however annoyingly lackadaisical they may be.

My gaze trained on my previous servant, now my closest of friend, and the occasional pain in my ass, who's just finished begrudging Major Quimbly. His eyes locked onto mine and a silent communication passed between us. It seems he has a plan.

Our steps echoed as we grew closer, meeting halfway up the steps of the port, merely inches away from each other.

"I would assume you have a plan?" I ask with a raised brow.

"Why ever would you assume that, lowly sire?" He replied, clearly frustrated by my lack of help during his escapade.

"I do believe you are capable of fighting your own battle, however stupid a battle it may be." I supplant his anger. Now is not the time for a petty quarrel. "I have a plan."

He hummed in reply, but the glare I sent him subdued his frustrations. "Fine, later, then. I too have a plan. The same plan as you."

"And pray tell why you're beating around the bush?"

He then gave me a sheepish smile before continuing. "Do you perhaps remember the gentlemen to which I may have had a slight disagreement with but a few moments ago?"

No.

"It would seem that he and I are fated to meet yet again."

Fuck.

▪︎▪︎▪︎Roman Salazar, Casimiran Colonial▪︎▪︎▪︎

Deep within the island of King's Barrow lies a towering glass pyramid that houses most, if not all, of the logistical efforts of the Prismatic Navy within the region of Phylantory. Here, the quartermasters and logistical officers spend their days crunching numbers and holding up the Navy in its mind-swirling bureaucracies. Nary a grain nor pence would leave their sight without a single form or document to prove it ends up wherever it needed to be, yet will its almost sociopathic tendency to record everything, still is one of the most corrupt departments in the Navy.

Nodding at the busy-bodies who traversed the well-worn path towards the Reservoir Pyramid, I jovially make my way towards one of the desk receptionists with William in tow.

"Ever the silent maiden, are we, William?" I remarked, flashing a raised eyebrow at him. I must have him be agreeable when our presence grace the logistical officers at the Pyramid, less than his best attitude and we shall have our bodies stretch and groan under the weights of the grains.

His reply merely assuaged my fears as he grunted and walked in front of me.

"Must I rip the words out of your mouth, William?" I suggested, walking faster to meet his steps. "You are worried?"

Another grunt formed his curt reply, but once he saw my unyielding gaze, he indulged me with a longer one. "Beaten within an inch of his life, Roman. The Chief Quartermaster's son. Lest the younger Whitehall be a bastard hedonistic traitor, we are most assuredly fucked."

"Ah," I replied, for his concerns were but valid, yet an explicable feeling arose from within my very essence. "Let me handle that particular problem."

The hustle and bustle of the Pyramid lobby did not detract from the grandiose display of its wealth with a large crystalline chandelier lit by a dozen multi-coloured candles that hung over the gilded circular desk of the reception area. A detailed glass map of the Phylantory region is affixed atop the southern wall of the establishment with the fortress and known landmarks lit up with a crimson glow.

"Beautiful morning, is it not?" I greeted, bowing my head in subservience in deference to my status, rank, and, of course, their superior contempt over me. "I am a servant of William Du Duecant, Viscount heir, and he is quite in need of help to find a certain person." My hands then waved towards William, whose chin was upturned in a fake noble-like attitude.

"Indeed." He assented, supplying further information. "I have recently graduated from the Royal Naval Academy's Elite class and have been informed to produce myself towards the younger Adross Whitehall upon my arrival at King's Barrow."

Amusement graced my lips as the mere mention of the younger Whitehall seemed to have halted the busywork of those who hear it, yet a simple sharp glance from my lovely actor sent them on their way.

"Oh, well, normally, we do not have a problem sending you the information, however, an occasion had-had made Lord Whitehall unable to attend his duties." Said the female receptionist, whose blond locks of hair swung as she bowed to William. "But I can arrange a meeting with his assistant. Would that be agreeable, Lord Duecant?" She flashed her thick eyebrows at him, emphasizing her favour.

"Indeed." was his reply.

Abominable, truly, I thought as slyly turned my head to glare at him, which, of course, he pretended not to see.

"Then, please, follow me." The blonde woman nodded and removed herself from the kiosk, her steps echoing against the polished marble floor of the Pyramid as she led us towards the western halls.

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎

The creaks of the elevating chambers did not ease the anxiety flowing within my body. Though I had assured William of my ability to acquire the candy, it would be remiss of me to actually believe our quest to be anything but difficult.

I glanced at William, who was barely hiding his disinterest at the flirtatious glances of the blonde receptionist, who was apparently named Felicia, though I very much doubt he would remember it.

"Dear Felicia, pray tell, is Lord Whitehall quite all right? It seemed this occasion happen to... disturb even a beauty such as you?" I say, halting her attempts to throw herself off William. "I must say, I am quite worried for my sire?"

Blushing at the mixed-in compliment, Felicia nodded at my words before sighing. "Well, if you promise not to tell..." she began, eliciting a smile and a nod from me. "Well, Lord Whitehall seemed to have stolen his father's, Admiral Whitehall's, uniform and impersonated a bunch of recruits for the Cerulean Dragoons..."

A gasp escaped me, to which she nodded in approval. "I quite know, rather scandalous. In fact, he came back with a Dragoon, a first mate at that, and was sent to the brig. To be flogged ordered the Dragoon." She continued. "Never quite like him. Too... spoiled, thinks his father owns the whole of the Pyramid."

"Does he not?" Asks William, surprising Felicia, who tucked in a few strands of her loose hair.

"Undoubtedly, that is, of course, should he want to, nary any other Admiral within the Pyramid would dare to veto his decisions." She replied, respectfulness and admiration in her tone. "Yet the admiral is strict, very much so. To the logistical officers, to his accountants, to his alchemists, to his engineers, to his son, and more so to himself. Yet for all that strictness, it all came from a place of love... love to his country, to his family, and to his duty. I... I truly admire him."

My word, such an intense zeal towards a figure she rarely meets. "You have a way for words, Lady Felicia. I dare say they should have you as our propaganda officer." I replied with a compliment, which she responded to with a shy laugh.

"Do you think so, too, Lord Duecant?" She asks, her hands steepled under her belly which made her moderate bust more prominent.

William gave me a questioning look and, knowing him too well, I nodded in answer.

"Please, call me William." He said. "And yes, a fit too perfect." His hands gently brushed hers.

Before she could relish in advancing her friendship with William, the chamber halted its incline as a deep dull bell rang and the doors opened to another level of the Reservoir Pyramid.

"May we have a moment, Lady Felicia?" My smile was apologetic and my hands held the brass rails of the chamber.

"Of course, I shall see if his attendant is free, Lord William." She replied with a curtsy at William's direction.

My gaze upturned as she bounded towards the west, the sigh bubbling within my throat escaped as soon as her figure removed itself from my vision. "Fuck me," I said.

"I rather think she has her eyes on me, not you." William joked as he, too, sighed. "Did you hear her words?"

"Oh, yes, Lord William," I said as I steepled my hands and puffed my chest at him, my tone ingratiating and sultry. "I do hope, Lord William, you can see it too?"

"Hush, now." He replied, waving me off. "Her words towards the Admiral, we could use that."

"And the rumours about young Whitehall's nature and what we have seen of him would suggest his rather impulsive tendency." Which we could use to entrap him, I implied.

"Indeed. So, we have a second plan, then?" His smile turned predatorial, now that our plan no longer relied on the graciousness of our host and the power of my charm and audacity.

His smile seemed infectious as I stepped off the elevating chamber. "We do, indeed."