East Riding Oct 29th 761 Barovian Calendar
Primeiro waits outside the receiving room for a short while, pacing the tessellated floor and watching the wall clock.
A well-fleshed, dandyish man passes Primeiro, coming out of the parlor. He whistles a jaunty tune.
Seeing Primeiro, the pudgy man pauses to have a word-
"Dear boy, so good to see you again! Come now, no kiss on the cheek for your old friend d’Marasso?”
The young aristocrat smells something on the man, under the scent of hair oil and musk—maybe cooked meat. Pork?
“It’s been too long. I missed you and your companions when the ships brought you home from Gauntcliff. The bookseller told me you were having quite an adventure! You really must tell me all about it at my celebratory dinner this evening. But you must excuse me now. “
The Baron D’Marasso leans in close to give Primeiro a friendly squeeze on the arm. The man’s fleshy lips almost graze Primeiro’s ear as he whispers-
"Thank you.”
The wall clock strikes noon. A lean, grizzled valet steps out and waves for Primeiro to enter the receiving room.
The handsome, dark-haired man behind the desk smiles and half rises from his upholstered chair. "Come in, come in. Be seated.”
The Marquis favors Primeiro with a warm smile. He offers Primeiro uncovers a small ceramic bowl on his desk and offers Primeiro a fancy little crab cake. It looks just like the ones Denys’ cook made back on Gauntcliff, before the fall of Sancerre’s estate.
"That clever bookseller from Richemulot brought the crabs to us in a barrel on his little boat. So nice of him, don’t you think?”
The nobleman eats his cake with obvious delight.
“If you do happen to see Mister Gerhman and his associates again, you must tell them of my admiration for their heroic endeavors. Forgive me for not receiving you all together, in proper style, before they left for the mainland. I was in an ill humor. No matter…’’
Stezen D’Polarno pauses to ogle a buxom dairy girl walking past the window with pails of milk rocking on a yoke over her tanned shoulders.
"Mmmmm…. I’ve settled governorship of Gauntcliff on the Baron D’Marasso. He is a very intelligent man and has served me faithfully for many long years.
You have earned a reward as well. I offer you a choice. Your first option is to take a post as Bailiff of Gauntcliff, and remain on that island to help D’Marasso rule it in my name. Perhaps you can improve the soil there, or make something of those salubrious hot springs poor Denys Sancerre raved about so much? If the sedentary life doesn’t suit you, you may continue to travel. You are a very young man yet, and no debt you’ve many a maiden to woo, a duel to fight, and sundry other adventures to undertake. Ah! How I wish I could go with you!”
The Marquis laughs. A spark of mischief glints in his ageless, deep eyes.
“But, alas, I must remain here. But stay a few days and we’ll have a grand time; there are balls to attend, feasts, fox hunts, and so much more! ”
The lord of Ghastria opens a drawer in his desk and removes a small parcel.
"Should you choose to continue your adventures aboard, I expect you’ll start by returning to Pont-a-Museau, yes? This package contains a letter of credit, some contact information, and other material related to the hardtack business. Our products are reaching further inland now. No one likes to eat the stuff—not even Pont-a-Museau rats, I’ll wager! Of course, I don’t expect you to sully your hands with common trade. You may simply turn the information over to a trusted servant—you really must get one of those—and let him handle the business.
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Port of Blaustein, November 6th 761, B.C., midnight
The boy hides under the boardwalk. His gang is at his back, all tense, all ready for action--all but Dark One. The dwarf-shadow creeps ahead, nosing about the lower edge of the plank walkway, like a big black rat sniffing for a meal.
Dark One flits back to the boy and whispers in his ear.
"The pirates on deck are all asleep, but for a single sentry. The strongbox…”Gruz and Smezel mumble something about ‘shinies.’
"…is guarded by three men in the hold.”
The Chief sidles up to Jürgen, careful not to brush against Dark One’s inky form.
"You got order?”
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Saulbridge Asylum, Mordentshire
Nov 25th 761 Barovian Calendar
"I can’t honestly say how long till she has fully recovered. Her body is sound; fit as a fiddle as the saying goes. Her mind, though—well, she has suffered a terrible shock-- several hard shocks, I should think. I don’t think she’s incapable of living in normal society, but…”
The spectacled, owlish mesmerist slides a piece of paper across the desk for Eustace to examine.
“She drew this in our last session, while mesmerized.”
The paper is covered in complex designs, like the maps of a vast cave system. Creepy one-eyed monsters, horned mushrooms, and less definable shapes fill the borders. Peering closer, Eustace makes out letters hidden in the twisting tunnels and oddly shaped chambers—letters which form words.
DODDS DESERVES TO DIE
EVERLINE DESERVES TO KILL HIM
JoIn THe Circle
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Gehrman Detection Agency offices (and residence), Pont-a-Museau, Yule 761 B.C.
Charlotte enters the dining room/back office with a heaped of pastries on a big wooden platter.
She sets it down before her husband his guests. ‘’Benn, Dorgio, more mulled wine? Thom, shall I refill that coffee?”
Jonas snatches a pastry and stuffs it in his mouth. ‘’Pasteee--mmmhhrrmmrph!’’
Lorna, the girl from the sea, laughs and squeezes Dorgio’s arm. "He’s such a little cutie! Seeing kids makes me miss working for the Wilcotts, taking care of their son.”
The dark haired girl kisses Dorgio on his cheek and then tugs at his mustache.
Charlotte fetches drinks.
Afterward, sitting down with the rest of the company, she tells Benn.
"Oh, we had a delivery today. At first sight, I hoped it was from Monsieur Sancerre. I’m worried about him. Arkandale is supposed to be infested with man-eating wolves, and he goes down there to set up as a river-merchant? Well, I guess he’s safe. I mean, wolves don’t go on boats, right?”
She gives a nervous little laugh, and then hops up to fetch a long, flat package from the back of the room.
"Here it is. Sent from Ghastria. Yuletide gift, the note says, from the Marquis Stezen D’Polrano. Ugh, I hope it isn’t food!”
Charlotte opens the parcel, revealing a painted canvas and frame. She flips it over and holds it open for the others to see, while she reads a note on the back.
"It says he found this in a closet at his house in East Riding. A genuine Fredrik Dodds painting, the very last one sent from Gauntcliff…”
FINIS