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“Locke, look alive!”
The door to their room swung open as Jean strode in, waving a letter. Their lodging was simple; two beds – one of which had a pile of blankets on it – dominated the sparsely furnished room. In response to Jean’s arrival the blankets moved slightly, but no response was heard.
Jean never broke his stride, instead grabbing a heavy bag on his way across the room and throwing it towards the pile in the bed.
“Hey!” Locke’s disheveled head finally popped out of the blankets. “You don’t throw bags at people!”
“My bad. Could have sworn there was no one there; what with the not responding to speech thing that was going on.”
“Fine. Sorry. What is it?”
“A letter. We’ve finally gotten an invitation for dinner.”
“Truly?” Locke was out of bed in a second, pulling clothes on. “Who responded? Where are we going?”’
“Jaqule Reeves”
Locke made a face. “Ugh. The bread-man.” He picked up a small purse – on of their last – and slipped it into a pocket. “Oh well, at least it’s not another meeting with Mr. No-money.”
“You mean Mr. Petry?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. To think we sat through that whole sorry excuse for dinner only to be told that he’s poorer than us and would never invest!”
“This one has money though.”
“Money dripping out of his ass!” Locke, having finally managed to get dressed, tugged the letter from Jean’s grip and scanned it. “This is exactly what we’ve been waiting for. I didn’t think he would actually meet with us!”
“Me neither. I wonder what convinced him?”
“Surely it was your bright optimism!”
“Haha.” Jean swiped the letter back and stashed it in his jacket. “Let’s get going. We have some shopping to do.”
Having used the last of there meager supply of coins to buy suitable outfits for the occasion – it wouldn’t do to show up in the same suit of clothes they had been wearing for the last couple of weeks – they set out for Reeves’ house as soon as the sun touched the rooftops.
When they arrived, having walked the whole way, the guard at the doors eyed their dirtied boots with disapproval, but let them in with nothing but a disapproving look when Jean showed the invitation.
In the courtyard beyond was a woman dressed in similar clothes as the guard, but elaborately decorated. As soon as she spotted them she strode over with assured steps and a stiff smile.
“Gentlemen! Welcome to the mansion of Mr. Reeves. I am the captain of the guards, here to escort you to the venue in which you will enjoy your dinner.”
“It truly is a beautiful home.” Locke regarded the large buildings encircling the yard. They were all decorated with elaborate flourishes, and the windows reached from a meter of the ground almost to the roof. “I didn’t know bread baking could pay so well!”
“Mr. Reeves does not bake.” The guard sniffed, but the smile on her lips turned a tad more genuine. “Mr. Reeves is an inventor, and bread is his medium.”
“He’s certainly made his medium his bread and butter.”
Jean snorted in response, and Locke allowed a smile to grace his lips as they moved into the building to the right. They were immediately greeted by an open room, as lavishly decorated as everything else they’d seen, but dominated by a huge table standing in the middle of the floor. The guard captain lead them inside and then stopped, gesturing to the room as a whole.
“Here we are, gentlemen. The dining room.”
Both Jean and Locke looked around, but they were alone in the room with the guard captain.
“This is a very fancy room, to be sure,” said Locke. “But I have to ask: where is our host?”
“Mr. Reeves is concluding some business and will be with you shortly. Feel free to partake in some refreshments while you wait.” She gestured to a table to the side, laden with small rolls and biscuits. At the side of the table was a small basket of bread, covered with a fine cloth, and Locke grabbed a bun.
“These must be the famous Reeves Bread buns? I’ve been dying to try them!”
“Ah… The bread is actually meant for the dinner, Mr. Leocanto.” The guard captain had taken a step towards Locke and now hovered uncertainly a couple of meters away.
“I’m sure Mr. Reeves won’t mind me sampling some of this deliciously smelling bread before dinner.” Locke smiled. “Besides, it’s the family’s specialty, right? Would be a shame to let it go stale before we have a chance to taste it.”
“Of course, Mr. Leocanto. Forgive my rudeness.” She still looked unhappy about it, but she didn’t move to intercept Locke, so he bit into the bun and his smile grew.
“This is truly something!” he gestured towards the basket, “Tavrin, you should try some.”
“I’ll wait until dinner, thanks. In contrast to you I actually have some manners.”
The guard captain seemed to relax marginally, but Locke only shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
A moment later Mr. Reeves himself entered, trailed by a scribe clutching a pile of documents. They seemed to be engaged in a conversation, but as soon as Mr. Reeves spotted his two guests he waved the scribe away and walked over with a big smile.
“Mr. Callas, Mr. Leocanto! It’s good to finally meet you. Welcome to my home.”
“Mr. Reeves,” their host reached Jean first, and the two men clasped hands. “Thank you for inviting us. It is an honor.”
“I’m sure, I’m sure.” Mr. Reeves quickly moved on to Locke, greeting them both with a wide smile but short handshakes. “Please, have a seat.”
As they moved to sit down the guard captain moved to the other side of the room from where they had entered and unveiled a door from behind a heavy curtain. She gave the door a couple of heavy knocks, and servant immediately swarmed into the room carrying plates and bowls heaped with food. For a disorienting couple of minutes the hall was swarming with people, but suddenly the servants disappeared left beautifully presented food covering the table in their wake.
“Allow me to present the first course.” Reeves gestured towards the small bowls of soup and the basket of bread in the middle of the table. “Garmugia soup, and of course, our family’s specialty, the famous Reeves Bread.”
“I’ve heard about this bread,” Locke exclaimed, dusting a crumb of his coat. “It’s the foundation for your family’s success, am I right?”
“Right you are, Mr. Leocanto. The Reeves Bread is widely beloved, and a must in any home of any standing! Please, both of you, don’t be shy.”
As they happily indulged in the delicious food the conversation started to flow. Reeves had explained that the bread was meant to be eaten after the soup, but before long Locke began to feel a heaviness in his stomach, along with a persistent feeling that he had swallowed something down the wrong pipe. He cleared his throat to try and dislodge it, but all he managed to do was make the feeling worse. As Jean and Reeves discussed the possibility of an investment Locke found himself struggling more and more to even draw breath. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Locke tried to get jean’s attention discreetly, but as the room started to spin he grabbed Jean’s sleeve and tugged to get his attention.
“Hng–… Tavris. Tavris, something’s wrong.”
“What’s this, master Leocanto?” Reeve asked with a fake smile plastered across his face. “Are you not feeling well?”
“What’s the matter, Leo?” Jean was obviously trying to control his voice, and panic, but both were wavering.
“I… I can’t– It’s all spinning.”
“He’s obviously had too much to drink.” Reeve sneered at him, but Locke didn’t miss the angry and disapproving look he shot the guard captain even as he himself had to fight for every wheezing breath. “I’d heard that you Camorri weren’t used to the strength of our wine, but this is embarrassing…”
“This isn’t because of the wine.” Jean was on his feet, hovering behind Locke, crouching down into a fighting stance. “What’s the meaning of this?”
“Damn it!” Reeves turned towards the guard captain, glaring. “You were supposed to watch them before I got here! What’s the meaning of this?!”
“I’m sorry Mr. Reeves. He grabbed the bread before I could do anything… I tried to stop him, but—”
“The bread?” Jean interrupted, staring at the basked still placed in the middle of the table. “What’s wrong with the bread?”
“Poisoned.” Locke wheezed as he clutched at his shirt, struggling to his feet. “You poisoned the bread.”
“Well, yes,” Reeves had the decency to at least look mildly embarrassed. “Very observant of you.”
“You did what?!” In a movement too fast for Locke’s bleary eyes to follow he had the sisters grasped firmly in his hands. Locke motioned for him to stand down as the room spun around him; there had to be a better solution. A faster solution.
“Why?” He managed to gasp, feeling nausea rising and swallowing thickly to hold it back.
“You are negotiating with Mr. Petry – my worst rival. Don’t think I didn’t hear about that.”
“Mr. Petry? The cheapskate with no money?” Jean’s gaze, which had been flickering between Locke and Reeves nonstop, fixed itself on Reeves in pure astonishment. “Why would we have any business with him?!”
“I have my contacts,” Reeves said with a sneer. “And the man himself hasn’t been quiet about his recent meeting with promising merchants. Merchants from Camorr.”
“God damn it!” Jean was in front of Reeves in an instant, baring both teeth and hatchets, warning the guard captain to remain where she was with a glare. “We have no business with that man. We went to one dinner, and that was it!”
“Sure it was.” Reeves looked anything but convinced, but he faltered when Jean let one of the sisters rest at his throat. “You can calm down; it’s nothing fatal.”
“I’ll show you fatal—”
Locke reached blindly for Jean as he tried to get his breath back, feeling the nausea rise with a vengeance, cutting the man off. “Tavrin… I have to— “
Locke leaned on the table and disposed of the appetizer in a foul wave of vomit that left him shaking and fighting for breath, and Jean moved quickly back to his side.
“Let’s get out of here,” Jean muttered, dragging Locke’s arm across his shoulders and heaving him towards the doors.
“Now wait just a moment. I take my business interests very seriously. I will not allow Mr. Petry to gain a single foothold in my areas of interest.”
“For the last time, we are not—”
Jean was cut off as Mr. Reeves gestured for the guard captain, who knocked loudly on the door behind her before stalking towards the unstable pair. The door opened, and another guard emerged into the room, immediately following the captain across the room towards Jean.
“Oh, goddammit,” Jean swore, shrugging out of Locke’s grip. “I’m sorry, Leo. You’ll have to stand on your own two feet for just a moment.”
Locke sank to the floor.
This guard captain knew her stuff. As Jean blocked another jab from her sword with the sisters and felt the jarring force travel up his arms, he had to admit that. As he countered and saw a wide opening on her right side – quickly remedied, but not forgotten – he prayed to the nameless thirteenth that he could end this fight quickly. As he blocked another jab he saw the new guard weasel his way past him, going straight for Locke, and he swore. He had to end this now.
Locke struggled to his feet, vision blurry, as the new guard approached. He wasn’t much of a fight in the best of circumstances, but the thirteenth never smiled on the complacent.
“Itching for a fight, huh?” He muttered, wiping bile from his chin. “I’ll make you regret it.”
He dodged the first punch, but the second one connects solidly with his stomach, and he would have dropped to the floor again if the guard hadn’t seized him by the scruff of his shirt. The moment of relief Locke felt at not being intimately reintroduced to the floor was short-lived, however, as the guard’s fist enthusiastically greeted his face. His already bleary vision turned completely white for a second, and the room started spinning faster. Where am I? Where’s Jean?
“Jean,” he croaked loudly before the guard’s second punch brought some sense back into his mind. “Tavris!”
The man suddenly slumped and released his grip on Locke’s shirt. As they both sank down towards the floor Jean was revealed; one of the sisters still raised. Jean quickly looked Locke over, but finding nothing more pressing than a black eye and the wheezy breath from before he quickly strode towards Revees, stepping over the whimpering guard captain on his way, and dragged the man over towards Locke.
“The antidote.”
“There’s none. I already told you: it’s not lethal! It was only meant to inconvenience you enough to hinder your affairs with Mr. Petry!”
“Not lethal, you say? Well then.” That was all the warning Jean gave before he lunged for the table, grabbing Reeves by the arm and the chin. As he dug his fingers into Reeve’s face the other man squealed, but soon enough his mouth was pried open, and Jean showed a bun into his mouth. As the other man struggled in his grip Jean showed no mercy, and he only released Reeves when the man had swallowed every last crumb. Jean then heaved Locker up from the floor and started towards the door, leaving the whimpering Reeves behind them.
“Is he going to be okay?” Locke asked, still wheezing for breath and clutching his bleeding nose.
“Honestly, who cares,” Jean answered. “Rich and a bastard. We have a patent on that.”
It took a couple of days, but the dizziness and nausea gradually waned. Locke groaned as he slowly sat up from the bed he had barricaded himself in for the duration of his recovery.
“Still alive?” Jean looked up from where he was reading a book in a chair in the opposite side of the room.
“More or less,” Locke groaned and brought a hand up to his face. “My nose feels like it checked out early and left a nasty surprise behind. Does it look as shitty as it feels?”
“If it feels like Father Chain’s attempt at stuffed sheep's bladder then it’s about right.”
“Great. Just great.”
“Well… We made it out.”
“Mhm.”
“And I might have stolen the purse of the cursed man.”
Locke’s head snapped up. “You didn’t?”
“And the guard captain’s purse,” Jean responded with a smile growing across his face. “And the other guards. We have enough coin to last us to a new city.”
Locke laughed, ignoring the throbbing pain growing across his face, “That’s Tavrin Callas for you! Praise the thirteenth. I was afraid I completely messed up this whole affair.”
Jean’s face turned grave. “It was that paranoid fuckers’ fault. I regret letting him get off that easy.”
“He went through the same thing I did,” Locke waved him off. “And if this city’s best and brightest is a glorified baker we are better of elsewhere anyway!”
Jean brought a goblet of wine over, diluted enough to more resemble the bruise on Locke’s face than good wine. Locke frowned but accepted the cup.
“To new adventures,” he raised the cup towards Jean, smiling.
“To richer – less paranoid – bastards.”
“To us!”