Chapter 15: Renfont Manor, Day (1)

A welcome delegation of household guards watched us as we took in the Renfont Manor's gardens. I had no doubt that there was more security to be had than simply the watchful eyes as we followed the head butler through the maze of wealth.

Perhaps unexpectedly of a noble family's estate here in Blackrose, little effort was made to hide the value of the statues that were within dash and grabbing distance of the small streets and hidden alleys that still existed in the Noble District.

Stone busts of historical figures, miniature replicas of infamous vessels and even armaments were displayed between the neatly trimmed hedgerows and rows of spring flowers.

Here in Blackrose, open displays of wealth was a clear statement of influence. That none of the stone podiums were emptied, or that whatever had been filched could quickly be replaced, was the surest sign yet that our potential client was more than just passing nobility.

The Renfont family were likely titled. Barons at the minimum. I didn't know enough about heraldry to understand the status that each curling flourish painted onto the guards' shields denoted, but if I had to guess, the lions emblazoned on the green field signalled they were at least viscounts. For whatever reason, nobles made it a point that lions of all things were hallowed. If a member of the nobility tried wearing a lion crest and weren't sufficiently rich enough, it was a swift slide to oblivion.

AdvertisementsREPORT THIS ADFor a brief moment, I wondered if I even would have to haggle.

The hope vanished away when I remembered where I was. Whether it was a merchant out of a stall or a noble in his own manor, the only difference during a business transaction was the décor of the surroundings.

The butler held out the door to the manor for us. The gesture indicated that we wouldn't need to wait long to be met, and I wasn't disappointed by the sight in front of me.

An immaculately well-dressed, ageing man stood in the middle of a luxurious red carpet. Everything from his moustache to his clothes were more presentable than even our weapons after a visit to the blacksmith. Joined at his side was a comely woman at least three times his younger. She had long lashes and ringlets in her hair, and her dress was layered like bands of a silken cloud.

Both smiled at our coming.

That was the easy part. Now came the hard.

I sucked in a short breath, remembering my years as the son of a merchant family. True, my parents were little more than village traders like the ones seen passing through Coral. But that didn't that mean we played by different rules.

Big town or small, the game of haggling was all the same. And I knew by the way the owners of this estate were waiting for us in person that ours was a coming long anticipated.

The commission reward now looked considerably more flexible.

"Ordained heroes."

The man offered a polite dip of his head, appraising each of us in turn. As was usual, his clear eyes wavered on Iris, who by now took ogling as a fact of life.

Whether it was a drunk adventurer in a bar or a nobleman in his estate, she took the customary gawking at the perfect features of her face as a compliment on most days. The obvious glances to her sizeable bust were but a passing distraction.

It was only when the eyes wandered the length and breadth of her tall figure that she normally made her displeasure known. Usually by a fist in the face. Rather than asking them to turn away, ensuring that darkness was all they saw was a suitable preventative measure to ensure her dignity.

Fortunately for all of us, how such a measure would be viewed by household guards didn't need to be tested today. The lady by his side cleared her throat, and the temporary haze that Iris often imparted on men was lifted.

I had to hold back a smile. We were talking about witches earlier. Going by the criteria that a witch's beauty was usually their most formidable weapon, it could be argued that we had one of the deadliest in our party. If Iris ever decided to build a hut and don a pointed black hat, she could easily make a fortune for herself as an advisor of kings.

"I welcome you to my estate," said the man, eyes turning to me at the centre of our party. "I am Baron Henry Renfont. Together with me is my wife, Baroness Ilsa Renfont. It is an honour to host such splendid guests in the City of Fortune."

I nodded, holding back my surprise. Only a baron. With this wealth, it could only have been by choice. Was it to stay clear of the political game in favour of mercantile aspirations?

A shrewd approach. And therefore a much more favourable man to deal with. If possible, we could be able to exchange the falcs for dira at a reasonable rate.

"I scarcely believed it true," he continued, seizing the small pause in my reaction. "I had half a mind to send my sentry back. To have the Mirror Blade, the Sword Princess and the Scorched Dragon answer my call to help is a boon I did not expect the Goddess of Love to grant me. Not after so long."

I smiled. I doubted if he knew who we were before the sentry relayed it. But if he was freely willing to admit how long he'd waited for heroes to arrive, then it meant these were going to be very favourable negotiations.

"Baron Renfont, on behalf of my party, I thank you for the welcome. We've come to discuss the details of your commission, and offer what assistance we can in these trying times."

The baron looked appraisingly at me.

"That I will gladly look to accept. But before we begin, I must ask. Are the hundred verses known in full among any of your ordained party? I do not wish to convey impoliteness, but in previous answers to my call, well-meaning heroes have overestimated their knowledge of the scripture to great loss. A phoenix goblet is by no means a simple acquisition."

I let my smile radiate. The same one used by my parents when sensing a deal to strike with all the cards held in their favour.

"Actually, my parents were quite devout. They never even allowed me outside until I'd learned all one hundred of the verses, and could recite passages on demand."

The baron's eyes twinkled with expectation.

The hard part, I knew, was already over.

~ ~ ~

It was past midday by the time we'd settled the details of the commission.

Remuneration would be provided in a healthy mix of both falcs and dira, assuming the successful completion of the task. The amount secured was greater than I could have hoped for after first spying out the commission, and I knew my companions felt the same.

More than maintain our equipment, we'd be able to afford new ones.

Neither Magnus nor Iris felt the need to gainsay me during the negotiations. It wasn't that I'd expected them to, either. But for Magnus to not even offer a threatening grunt was both a nod to the wealthy position of our client as well as his clear weakness. It was obvious that ordained heroes were hard to come across in Blackrose, and making a point of it was unlikely to earn additional favours.

Magnus was a swaggering beast. But he was also a hunter. And while not a mercantile man, he knew prey. If there was a man who could score a clearer kill than him, he was respectful enough to follow the hierarchy of the hunt.

In this regard, I was reasonably certain I didn't disappoint.

"Then the ritual will be completed tonight," said Baron Renfont, already looking younger as he held out his wine glass in a gesture of a toast. "To boons offered and received by the Goddess of Love."

I returned the toast from afar.

"To boons offered and received."

Baron Renfont was sitting at the end of an exquisitely carved rectangular table with only his glass as his advisor throughout these negotiations. As he sipped the wine, he wore an expression of delight that I knew was only partly induced by the alcohol, if indeed any of it was. It was a fine vintage brought from the south, a red berry aroma mixed with the taste of old oak and a long passed summer.

I sat on the other end of the table, politely sipping the wine. Magnus and Iris were doing the same, albeit with varying levels of table manners on display. If there was one boast that Magnus had that we truly had no counter to, it was that his admiration of vintages went beyond either of us. He'd likely be able to tell us the date the grapes were harvested, just before downing it was if it was watered down ale served by the tankard.

Sadly, he seemed to be of the opinion that if something was worth drinking, it was worth doing so before anyone else could take it from him. Not that I thought this was possible.

"To boons offered and received," said Magnus with a broad grin, joining the toast not with his wine glass, but with the entire bottle.

I felt a small shake of the table as a high heel was kicked against Magnus's shin. He ignored it as easily as if it were a feather tossed against his chest.

Baron Renfont smiled, taking the sight of Magnus destroying his costly wine collection with the gravitas of a man who had many more to his name.

"A fine vintage, is it not?" he said. "Purchased for my wife as an anniversary gift. She has a taste for the lighter flavours. Sadly, it truly is a taste and no more. I'd feared that the entire collection would spoil before she would be able to finish it."

"I'll rectify that fear," replied Magnus gallantly. "Rendova Red. Berries and plum harvested in midsummer. Spring water gathered from the Everfalls. And a century old oaken barrel. A good wine."

I raised an eyebrow. I didn't even notice the plum, much less the taste of the water source.

"Indeed, you're correct," said Baron Renfont, eyes narrowing as he viewed Magnus with a more curious look. "Impressive. The use of water from the Everfalls lessens the acidity of the grapes while adding a distinct sharpness unique to this blend. However, the subtleness is often lost on the tongue, particularly as this vintage of Rendova Red was matured for fifteen years."

Magnus laughed. Again, I felt another kick shake the table. This time harder.

"This wasn't matured for fifteen years."

"Excuse me?"

"Try six months. Less, even."

For the first time today, Baron Renfont frowned. I suddenly felt a cold sweat appear as I realised it was possible for Magnus to insult the host without using the word 'shit'.

"That, I believe, is quite unlikely. The production of this wine is no guarded secret."

Magnus took a swig of the wine, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Yeah? Well, this isn't the one shown to tourists. This is what's sold to morons with money than experience."

This time, the kick shook the table so hard that every pair of eyes was forced to turn on the assailant.

Iris bit her lips, then forced them into the shape of a pleasant smile. She couldn't do the same with her eyes as they stared daggers at Magnus.

"Magnus, I believe you've forgotten your manners. This wine is excellent, and there are no indications that it's anything less."

The man replied with a casual wave of the bottle.

"You wouldn't know if this was bad even if there were rocks floating inside it."

A moment of silence passed. Iris looked like she was formulating how best to physically chasten Magnus. Instead, she turned her smile to Baron Renfont. Her eyes grew noticeably kinder.

"I believe what my companion is saying is that he is drunk, and that every word he's saying should be immediately disregarded."

Magnus snorted, letting the bottle drop to the table as if it were a heavy flagon.

"Try ten more bottles. And then replace what's inside with northern spirits. This isn't even enough to wet my throat."

"Then perhaps you should try water to quench your thirst. And in doing so, you can spare the Baron his highly prized selection of personal wines which he is providing out of courtesy."

It was the kind of argument I saw everyday between Iris and Magnus. It was also the kind of argument which should never be witnessed in front of a very influential and wealthy client.

Fortunately, the very public argument that was about to occur was cut short. Not by Magnus or Iris ceding ground, or by my planned intervention.

Instead, it was Baron Renfont himself who quietly chuckled. In doing so, he cleared the floor of all hostilities. Whether he actually found any of this amusing or he was simply diplomatic enough to know when to steer the conversation, I couldn't say.

AdvertisementsREPORT THIS AD"I said it was unlikely," he said calmly, still wearing his friendly facade. "Not that it was impossible. The wine is sold by the Howzant Company, an extremely reputable merchant guild in the south. But they work with their own intermediaries. It isn't a stretch of the imagination to believe that the occasional miscreants have made their way into the chain of supply."

Magnus raised the bottle again and grinned.

"And here's to the miscreants. Never said it wasn't good."

I heard Iris let out a tiny groan. I didn't copy her quiet despair at Magnus's unneeded opinions. But I did follow her up on downing my own glass of wine. Everything was easier when alcohol was involved. Doubly so when it came to Magnus.

"Indeed," said Baron Renfont, raising his glass once more to each of us in turn. "And yet I dare say I have finer still. Would there be interest in perusing my cellars later? There's time yet before the night arrives. There's also a considerable amount to take in from the estate at large. I would be more than delighted to offer the freedom of my residence during your time here."

"We would be honoured to take up that offer," I replied before Magnus could.

I wasn't sure what he'd say that could give offence, knowing his interest in the cellar. But it was better to circumvent it nonetheless.

"Excellent."

Baron Renfont picked up a small bell from the table and rung it once.

The melodic chime that ensued was both for the servants to make their appearance, as well as the signal that the crux of this discussion was over until closer to evening.

I almost relaxed, stopping myself before I did so. The day I allowed myself to breathe a sigh of relief before a task was even complete would likely end up being my last.

AdvertisementsREPORT THIS AD"Then, I invite you to wander the grounds at your leisure," he said. "To ordained heroes, none of the estate is off-limits, and I invite you to browse both my library and my armoury. Few as they are, I believe that there will be enough items of note to peak your interest until the evening bell. My household staff will act as your chaperones to ensure your comfort is maintained."

So chaperones are what he called his guards.

Naturally, I didn't fault him. Ordained heroes or not, it couldn't be denied that more than a few times in history, even those blessed by the Goddess of Love would pocket an item of value if the situation called for it. And often, even if it didn't.

Certainly, the White Knight would never be caught pilfering even to server a greater cause. But none of us here were idealists. We were pragmatists. And so I held back a wry smile.

"Thank you, Baron Renfont. Your hospitality is gracious."

The baron nodded, satisfied at this exchange. As he did so, the door to the dining room we were having this discussion in swung open.

And then I realised I'd made a mistake.

Our chaperones wouldn't be guards. They'd be maids.

Except that these maids did not look like the ones I often saw sweeping outside a wealthy abode.

Three girls filed into the dining room, enthusiastic smiles on their faces as they lined up beside the door. The colour of the uniforms they wore matched those of a maid's. Black with white aprons.

And that's where the similarities ended.

Their black shoes were accompanied by matching black stockings and garter belts. They didn't wear the functional long dresses and full body aprons of their peers. Instead, they wore black skirts short enough to reveal the entirety of their upper thighs. Were they an inch shorter, I had no doubt that their undergarments would be on full display. The apron also began and ended with the skirt, itself a frilly half-moon of white that could no sooner stop a stain than it could a puff of wind.

AdvertisementsREPORT THIS ADIn place of the upper dress, a tightly fitting black corset secured their midriff. The puffy white fabric which peeked above was enough to just cover their busts while leaving their cleavages exposed.

I gawked, not remembering until it was too late that I was at the table of a wealthy aristocrat. But then again, perhaps there was little use pretending that this reaction wasn't precisely that the baron of this household had intended.

The man coughed. I looked in his direction, grateful for the opportunity to no longer be caught staring. I suspected that in a few more moments, my shin would also have experienced the sensation of Iris's heel against it.

"These maids are adept at providing any service required," he said, knowing this was all the explanation he needed to offer. He then turned to Iris specifically. "I apologise, my lady, as we employ no butlers of sufficient qualities to offer as your chaperone. However, if you should request so, I can amend this in reasonable short order."

Iris's polite smile was terse, but she maintained it nonetheless.

"Thank you for the offer, Baron Renfont. However, I would not dream of taking up the valuable time of your hard working … chaperones. If possible, I would like to take up your generous offer of touring the wonders of your estate while under the care of guards already posted. And I believe I speak on behalf of my companions as well when I say this."

In instant defiance to her words, Magnus stood up.

His chair was pushed roughly back as both his lecherous eyes and his equally deviant grin aimed at one of the maids.

Or perhaps all of them.

"I'll need a chaperone," he said, voice almost in reverence. "… You know what? I might get so lost in this magnificent, holy place that I'll need more than one."

Iris's jaw was slack as she stared at Magnus. He only saw the maids glancing at Baron Renfont for instructions.

AdvertisementsREPORT THIS ADThe baron himself looked at me in response, his gaze querying. I didn't falter. Well aware of the end of my life should I do anything else, I instantly nodded while gesturing towards Magnus.

"Very well," said Baron Renfont. "Additional guards will be assigned to the manor for your security. Even so, I'd ask that you not wander where my staff members are not present. If you require rest, either my guards or my maids will show you to the guest rooms."

"I require rest," said Magnus, who for the first time in his life looked like he wouldn't say a single word to disrespect authority.

Still open mouthed, Iris's eyes blinked in disbelief as the man stood up with that stupid grin on his face. Almost immediately, the three maids were bowing to Magnus as he went over.

All I could do was watch as he swept out of the room with three maids hanging off his arms. And it was only when the sound of giggling had disappeared down the corridor that an angry flush of indignation appeared on Iris's cheeks.

Usually, that was where it ended. Exasperation at Magnus's ceaseless antics followed by wilful obliviousness. But not this time.

Catching my glance, Iris looked at me.

And then, after a moment, she turned her expression into one which carried a smile.

What that smile could mean, I honestly had no idea. Except that I was soon likely to find out.

And Magnus, as well.