Rast wakes early the next morning, his jaw setting in determination before he even rises from his bed. Imma’s property is on the docket today, but it’s not going to stay there. “I’d just buy it myself, if I could,” he mutters, splashing cold water on his face and reaching for his razor, but he expects that the bidding will drive the price beyond what he can pay or borrow, even with the proceeds from his father’s farm and the money he’s made for himself over the last few months in Bree. “Maybe if I had another few years…”
Carefully shaved, and dressed in his best town clothes, he steps out into the pre-dawn chill and starts up the hill toward the town gate. He means to be there when they open it, at sunrise. “It’ll be nice when I can get my own place,” he thinks, “not spending money letting a room” – and for a moment his thoughts drift toward a rosy future, where he’s got his own house, Imma whistling in the kitchen, his father brought safely down from the north and working profitably as a miller – preferably a good distance away, no over-worked fields or angry orcs anywhere in sight. The he shakes his head to clear the distraction. None of that will happen unless Imma forgives him; so it’s rescuing her property that matters now.
At the first intersection he pauses, considering whether or not he should fetch Immalaine and bring her with him. But no, she complained repeatedly of feeling unwell yesterday; he should let her sleep. And, besides, his efforts, and then the look of disappointment she’d have? He tosses his head again, to cast away the unwelcome thought. So, let her sleep. He turns toward Bree. He can do this. As he hurries towards town, he’s unable to suppress the occasional grin at the mental image of her happy face. If he can bring her good news. If.
Goeff Leafwood is waiting for Rastellion inside the small bakery they both frequent. Rast smiles at the other man. “Thanks for coming, Goeff,” he says.
Goeff waves a negligent hand as he finishes a last sip of dark coffee. “I’m glad to help. My warehouse would still be full of lumber if you’d not introduced me to that dwarven caravan master last month. So I figure I can get up an hour early to say a few words in the right ears for ya.”
Rast nods. “May not even be necessary, if the clerk’ll see reason. But I can’t afford to take the chance.”
“No, no, you were right to come find me last night,” the other replies, licking the last bit of syrup off his fingers from his sweetbread. “Bonnie’s a real stickler about the rules, for fear she’ll disappoint the mayor. You’ve dealt with her – you should know.”
“Well, I’ll be glad of your help, that’s certain,” Rast replies, waving off the baker’s assistant who’s come over to take his order. “I’d just feel bad if I’ve troubled you for nothing. But we should go.”
“Oh, not for nothing,” Goeff says with a grin as he stands. Pointing to Rast, he tells the serving girl, “he’s paying.”
Rast spends ten minutes hopping from foot to foot outside the mayor’s office before it opens, causing Goeff to observe that it was a good thing Rast didn’t order any coffee, and another ten inside, waiting for Bonnie to arrive. Goeff parks himself in an out-of-the-way corner of the office and watches men filing in to the building, to take seats in the hall and consult the small printed pamphlet that lists the items being auctioned that morning.
Finally Bonnie arrives and, as soon as she’s settled, Rast hurries into her office.
“Master Rastellion,” she says, a shadow touching her features. “Can I help you?”
Rast produces the new affidavit and places it on her desk, along with their original. “An addendum,” he explains, “with the third signature, establishing Immalaine’s identity and her status as heir to her father’s property.”
But Bonnie is shaking her head before he finishes. “I’m sorry, sir, but that property is already on the docket this morning, printed up and everything. And you’ve not got the young lady with you to verify her identity.”
Rast’s fists clench. “But you know it’s her. You checked that last time. You said all we needed was the remaining signature. Here it is.”
Bonnie continues to shke her head, mulishly, straightening her spine and jutting her chin aggressively. “Be that as it may, sir, my hands are tied. The rules clearly state…”
“Bonnie!” Goeff has appeared at the door to her office, and now steps in.
“Oh, Master Leafwood! Good morning sir,” she says, rising. “How can I help you?”
Goeff strolls in to stand by Rast and place his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Tell me; what’s this I overheard just now about some problems with my young friend’s property here?”
Bonnie bites her lip, looking between them. “It’s the rules, sir…” she starts, uncertainly.
“Bonnie, Bonnie. Is there any doubt of the identity of the young woman in question?” he asks. Bonnie shakes her head. “Or that the amended affidavit is in order? Or that the lands is, by all legal and moral rights, the property of my friend’s client?” Bonnie continues to shake her head. “Well then … what’s the difficulty?”
“It’s just,” Bonnie begins, “the procedure requires…”
“Bonnie, dear, do you remember when the mayor had that spot of bother last summer?” Bonnie nods. “And how I helped him out?” She nods again. “Now, was that done exactly by the book?” Her head shakes. “Well then, what do you suppose he would he think of you if I were to speak to him this afternoon, and tell him how you’re all but stealing the property of an innocent young girl because you aren’t willing to show that same measure of common-sense and charity, hmmm?”
Bonnie seems to shrink into herself at each question, and now hurriedly sits down, reaching for parchment and ink stamp. “No, no… there’ll be no need for that, sir. I’ll happily take care of it, if you think the mayor would approve.” She pauses then, and her eyes flick up to him, a hint of defiance returning. “You will tell him so yourself, if he does object.”
Goeff smiles. “Of course, of course.” He gestures around at all the papers. “If he even notices amid all this.” Reassured, Bonnie returns to her writing.
Some minutes later, a brief announcement is made in the auction hall. “Gentlemen, your pardon. Some irregularities have arisen with item number five on your list, Abandoned Farm with Attendant Lands and Orchards.” The auctioneer smiles wryly. “Seems the farm wasn’t abandoned, for the owner has appeared – quite literally at the last minute, eh?” He chuckles. “So, after this next item, we’ll be moving on to the sixth listing, the antique chairs and dining set from Little Delving.”
In the hallway, Rast shakes Goeff’s hand. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me,” he says.
Goeff returns the grip. “Happy to help. And, as I said to Bonnie, it was the right thing too.” He strikes a military pose. “I have won this skirmish against bureaucrats and paperwork!” He chuckles, then gives Rast a push toward the door. “Now, you go tell that young lady of yours the good news.”
Rast nods his thanks and hurries off. He's done it! He's made up for oversleeping yesterday; Imma has her property back; everything will be okay now. He grins to himself as he hurries down the street. Immalaine's going to be so relieved and happy! Maybe they'll even be able to have that conversation about their future that didn't happen at the Inn.
As Goeff turns to fetch his cloak, he’s knocked aside by someone passing him toward the door. “Hey!” he exclaims, regaining his balance and turning, but only catches sight of a tall, dark-haired man striding out into the courtyard, a fine cloak swirling behind him in the early morning wind.
Anger darkens the tall man’s face like shadows of an approaching storm. His jaw clenches as he strides towards Rastellion, his long gait closing the distance between them, despite Rast’s haste. He’s within a few paces of the young man, lifting his arm to grip the young man’s shoulder… when he suddenly slows, looking thoughtful.
At a hand gesture, two servants, who have been hurrying after him, now trot up to his side. He gives quick instructions. One of the men darts away, to retrieve a horse from the nearby stable and race off toward one of the town’s gates. The other man follows after his master, who returns to his pursuit of Rastellion, though no longer trying to close the distance between them.
“Very well, you young fool,” S---- murmurs in his low, silky voice. “You may think you’ve won. But just you lead me to where that little girl has been hiding herself all this time…. And then we shall see what we shall see.”
(c) 2015 by Rastellion of Laurelin (i.e. by his typist)
