News travels fast in Bree-town, the Baker had learnt.
Rafel and Hound had witnessed her flour delivery being stopped and she was in a state about what she was to do.
The news travelled back to the courtyard of the Pony, and Saerias approached her with an offer of seeing about this flour delivery and sorting something out for her. She agreed, not knowing what other choice she had. Without flour, she wasn't a Baker.
The instructions were easy enough to follow. Follow the path next to the Prancing Pony to the gate, turn left and follow the wooden signs into Combe; ask the Watch if you get stuck. The journey should be short and simple, slightly longer if taken on foot but short all the same. Bridgitte had left him a package of food at the Inn for collection on the morning of the journey, a ‘picnic’ as she had previously joked, whether he wished to accept it or not was up to him.
The road into Combe was like all the others leading in and out of the rural parts of Breeland, fields of green stretched out from the path with trees surrounding the area and the odd Watch member patrolling the road. Soon, the sight of the Combe gate came into view. Two guards stood on either side of the gate, watching those coming in and out. Through the gate, the road into town can be seen. The guards eyed him as he approached.
“Halt!” One of them commands.
Saerias wasn’t all too pleased at the food left for him, complaining to whomever gave it that it was unnecessary, but he did take it. Not because he wanted it for himself, but because it might be useful somewhere.
He navigated his way out of Bree and toward Combe, following directions that he’s heard of, making his way out of the Combe Gate and then around the Hill. He had his sword at his hip, just in case, and his knife. It didn’t help the foreigner look in any way unsuspicious.
He halted when the guard asked him to stop, but he smiled casually and greeted the man. “Greetings?” He asked him, “Have I done anything wrong, Guardsman? Did I take a misstep anywhere?”
The guard looked him over, not hiding his distrust in the slightest.
“Never seen you around these parts ‘ere. State your business.” The same guard replied.
The other one seemed to have moved his position to back up his colleague, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword almost as instinct at the armoured chap, suspicion clear as day on his expression.
Saerias evaluated them, their weapons and their gear simply out of habit as they stood before him, considering his words as he did so. The casual smile was easy coming, even at the potential hindrance to his purpose. “This is my first trip to Combe, I’ve heard it was a lovely place,” he said at first, assuring them that they had not indeed seen him here before, “I’ve a delivery of lunch to make,” he said, showing off the ‘picnic’ goods, “on behalf of a friend to their man at the… lumberyard, I believe it is. On the other side of Combe.”
The guards looked at him, matching his evaluation of them. The one who had placed their hand to their sword, seemed to relax slightly, but the one speaking did not quite give up their position just yet.
“Oh aye.” They say at first, still watching Saerias carefully. “You don’t look like the type to be making.. Lunch deliveries.” The same guard said, with an eyebrow cocked. “A friend of yours you say? Someone we know?”
“Do I, Guardsman?” He said and glanced down at himself, “you are right, of course. Times being what they are, can you blame a man for taking whatever coin he can?” He said to them, “I don’t know if you’d know her, but her name is Lauren Ambler,” he said, making it up as he went along, glancing at the guards as he did, searching their features to see if they bought it. It may have been unnecessary to lie, but he didn’t know yet what he intended to do here.
The main guard regards him for a moment at this. Takes another long look up and down Saerias’ frame before nodding, only once. “Fair point, you have there, stranger.” The guard at the back pipes up for a moment, “Oh aye Capt’n isn’t that old Malvin’s lass?” The first guard shoots them a look to shut them up and turns their attention back to Saerias. “Lumberyard is just outside town. Turn right once you hit the Comb and Wattle. And watch yourself, stranger.” And with that, they step aside, leaving the gate open and the road ahead.
Saerias smiled at them both and gave them a wink, “thank you, lads,” he said to them, “I hope you have a fine day and that your own ladies are thinking of you as Lauren Ambler is thinking of hers!” He smiled and went about his way, carrying the lunch into Combe in search of the wagon driver, his gaze searchingly scanning the town.
He took his time in a slow walk through Combe in search of anyone who’d be working around any Wagons, to ask if they were Tom, but if he failed that he’d go to where everyone else would go when looking for someone or information: the inn and ask whomever was working the counter.
The road into Combe was lined with a stone built wall. Just past the gate there were two younger looking stable hands, forking fresh hay into troughs for horses that were not in their stables yet.
Just past where the stable hand was a building with signage advertising “Cartwell the Leecher.” The road continued on into town and a few house looking buildings lined the rest of the road. A few townspeople went about their business, some glancing questioning looks at the stranger walking into town. At the end of the road was a town centre, a tree and grass in the middle and a range of buildings on the outskirts. To the right of the road was a larger, double storied building with wooden platforms around it. A few townspeople were in conversation under one of the platforms.
Saerias spent a few minutes looking around, inspecting everything that was available for his eyes to see - other plans for other things pouring in, a little want to spend a bit of time in this little town. He conducted himself with some measure of patience, then upon seeing the group beneath the platform, he approached with a wave of his hand. “Greetings,” He said to them, smiling quickly, “Do any of you know where Tom might be found? The wagon driver?”
The group in conversation, on closer inspection, looked quite the unsavoury lot. Rumours were that ruffians had taken up in parts of Breeland, and perhaps these were some of them. One of the group, a man in his late thirties with shabby looking leather gear looked at Saerias with an unwelcoming expression. “No.” He says flatly. “Try the inn.” And he points upwards, before going back to his conversation and acknowledging Saerias no further.
Saerias smiled at the group, his learned eye easily marking them for what they were, head tilted. “Thank you ever so kindly,” he said to the one who pointed him in the Inn’s direction and proceeded to step into it, nudging the door and shutting it after himself. He swept his gaze through the room, but his intentions were already to make his way to the counter and to ask about Tom with whomever was working it. He carried the lunch with him everywhere he went for now.
Up the stairs and onto the platform he climbed, the door to the Inn signposted only by the lone man drinking outside, head bowed over his bottle. Through the door he stepped, the first room greeting him with the smell and sounds of any other Inn. Another group of unsavoury patrons were huddled in a corner. A lone chicken strutted around, pecking at the floor. To the left of the doorway was a bar, with a weary looking woman standing behind it, wiping a tankard with a cloth that had seen better days.
Saerias briefly glanced at the group of patrons, only ever smiling at them if they noticed him. He made his way toward the counter, eyes fixed on the woman and with his smile diminishing as he asked the question. “Greetings,” he said, trying to get her attention, but not beating around the bush on the matter, “I’m looking for a Wagon Driver named Tom, I believe,” he said and plucked up a few coins from his purse, enough to buy a drink though he didn’t order - they were simply offered as compensation for the woman’s time.
The patrons in the corner raise their heads to watch the newcomer, but quickly go back to their hushed chatter. None of them acknowledged his smile, if he gave it. The woman looked up at the sound of the door opening and greeted him with a weary smile, bags under her eyes, “Drink love?” She asks, “Oh, Tom eh?” She quickly adds, her gaze caught by the purse. She holds her hand out to accept the coin. “Who’s asking?” An eyebrow raises.
Saerias dropped the coins into her open hand, then added another as if to placate her question that followed his, “I’m asking,” he said vaguely, coupled with the formation of an enigmatic smile and a telling gaze fixed to her eyes in order to help drive forward his hopes of withholding that information for now.
The woman takes the coins and pockets them, her gaze over Saerias’ shoulder to the patrons. One of them seemed to have started paying attention to the sound of coin. She begins pouring him a pint that he hadn’t asked for. “Oh aye your father has been looking for you.” She says with some force, her gaze flitting between the lot in the back and Saerias. She slides the pint to him, her hand lingering on the cup a little longer than normal.
Saerias gripped the cup and leaned in, looking into her eyes as he paid not quite so much attention to those around him. “Has he now?” He asked cautiously, his gaze fixed solely on the woman in front of him, though there was something expectant, almost demanding about his gaze at this point.
The woman leant in towards him, matching his gaze, she placed herself close enough to talk lowly into his ear. “Watch your back flashing that purse around those lot. Ol’ Tom’s house is down by the crafting hall. But he may be at his table outside.” And she tilts her head towards the door. Leaning back, she bursts into laughter, hiding her face with her hand. “Don’ let your Pa hear you talk like that you cheeky fool.”
Saerias chuckled vocally as she mentioned that lot but the perceived threat seemed to rouse a smile. He nevertheless does thank her for the information, “Thank you,” he uttered and pushed himself up, taking the drink and lifting it for a few big gulps, his head tilting back into it. He planted the cup down on the table when done and then grinned at the woman, “To spare him his pride?” He teased her, “where do you think I learnt it from?” He beamed a grin, then turned and started to make his way out of the inn.
If nothing came between him and the exit, he’d begin to pass out of the door and search the indicated table for Tom. If he didn’t find him there, he’d begin making his way toward the house near the crafting hall.
The woman gave him a raised eyebrow at his response but a knowing smile crept on her lips. Once he had finished with his cup she took it and began cleaning it, watching him leave. The patrons in the corner looked up from their conversation once again to watch him leave, but made no move on him as he exited. Once outside he could see that the once occupied table was now empty. However, a vaguely familiar figure was making a stumbling journey down the road towards where the woman had directed.
Saerias glanced at the table, inspecting its emptiness before his gaze eventually climbed up toward the direction of the inn, settling there. He tilted his head at the figure who made their way and strides over to catch up. His steps were audible over the cobbles and dirt, giving the figure some warning of his approach. “Tom?” He asked once in audible distance.
The figure stops, wobbling on his legs slightly. The figure turns and Saerias is met with the face of an older gentleman, his hair greying and his eyes wrinkled. A scruffy beard grew out of his chin and he smelt strongly of liquor. “Eh?” The figure says, squinting to see who had addressed him. “What’ya want?” The figure belches.
“A nice little chat with your employer,” he said to him, coming up to Tom. “Hungry?” He asked and offered Bridgitte’s lunch toward the drunk man, smiling all too casually at him. He assumed, based on the reaction, that this may well have been the Tom that he was looking for.
Tom sways and looks down at the offering of food, he snatches the first thing he can get his hands on and begins tucking in. Around mouthfuls of food he manages to say, “Employer?” He questions the word as if it sounds foreign, then he twigs, “Mr Bell?” He stops stuffing his face to look Saerias up and down, albeit swaying slightly. “What’ya want with Bell?” He stops and really studies Saerias, best he can in his state. “Yer not from round ‘ere.”
“I just mean to talk business with him, man-to-man,” he said to Tom and smiled at his observation, “well-noted,” he said, “No, I’m not around here but I do hear that Mister Bell is quite the shrewd merchant and quite the supplier of goods. I’m in need of goods, quite urgently if you don’t mind,” he uttered to Tom, smiling at the drunk all the while.
Tom looked at Saerias without a glimmer of disbelief, he was buying it. “Oh aye that he is. Good business man aye.” The man nods, rather enthusiastically, and nearly falls over with it. He resumes stuffing his face, reaching out to snatch more food if it was still available. “Well,” He looks up at the sky, discerning the time, “Likely be in his office. Down by the lumberyard.” And he gestures with another head nod down the road in the direction he was walking before Saerias caught up with him.
Saerias laid a firm hand on Tom's shoulder when he wobbled dangerously, clasping him tight to ensure that he didn't topple. He patted the shoulder off once he was sure he was secure and let him have as much of the lunch as he wanted, in fact, Saerias gave it all to him. He smiled a little more at the mention of the lumberyard and how conveniently it fell with an earlier lie. "Thank you, Tom," he said to him, "do have a good day now and have a few drinks of water, will you? Otherwise waking up shan't be quite so enjoyable," he smiled to him, offering those last words of wisdom which the man probably already knew, but may well have needed a reminder off, then turned to continue up the unfamiliar road toward the lumberyard.
Tom gave a wide grin to Saerias, exposing his gums with some teeth missing. "Oh aye water." He repeated, like a child trying to please a teacher. He accepted the lunch happily and continued his wobbled wander down the road, munching as he walked.
The rest of the street was very much the same as the entrance to Combe. Stone built wall lined the road that lead to the crafting hall and beyond to the lumber yard, houses of mixed sizes lining the street. Towards the end, just before the lumberyard was a large barracks type building. Guards posted outside watched Saerias carefully as he passed. Finally at the end of the road, before the lumberyard began, was a small thatched building, stone built as all the others had been. The wooden door was draped with a curtain of fine fabric, an engraved plaque outside identified 'M. Bell, supplier of grand goods.'
Saerias halted upon the lumberyard's precipice, there he'd lingered for a short while and observe the place. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back as though to lace his idleness in innocence, but his gaze took the time to very carefully inspect the lumberyard and surroundings, scrutinising the spaces and regarding the moods of the faces. He habitually laid a particular interest in searching for weapons and to single out any armed with weapons, unless the lumberyard were otherwise empty in its entirety. His gaze eventually fell on the sign, which brought a hint of amusement about him. "Not quite so subtle," he said to himself.
The lumberyard was going about its usual business. There were four men in Saerias' direct view. Two hauling a large log from one space to the next, the other two operating a double sided saw that they were using in unison to try and cut a log down to size. In the distance a small work cabin can be seen, a figure barely visible sitting outside watching the men work. None of them paid Saerias any mind for the moment, busy with their workload.
Saerias left them to it, turning away from the lumberyard and starting into the direction of the thatched building. He approached the building and stopped at the door, nudging the drape aside in order to bring his knuckles to the wooden surface and to deliver three good knocks against it. Then he waited and listened, anticipation clinging to him as he stood there in hopes of seeing this Mister Bell.
A voice calls from within, "Enter!" Before Saerias can open the door himself, a small shabby looking child opens it for him, from the inside. The room is simple in layout. A desk sits in the middle, a small kitchen to the right side, a cot to the left side. A fire burns in the hearth behind the desk. The child scampers back to the cot and commences playing with a wooden horse.
Saerias stepped in after the child scampered off. He took in his surroundings first, starting with the child who offered a warm little smile, then everything else. The tall foreigner eyed it all with an absence of familiarity to begin with, but his habits left him with a particular eye that hunted for anything that could harm him. He firmly shut the door before long, feeling the mechanism settle in and hold it before he turned his attention to the direction of the voice that called him, a little smile clinging to his lips as he did.
Upon further inspection, Saerias would see that first glances of this room looked to be simple. However, now that he was studying he would see the exterior was gaudy with fine fabrics and silverware. Plates and tankards shone, hanging from hooks in the kitchen. Even the cot was draped with furs and fabrics too fine for a cabin near a lumberyard. The child watched him from the cot, their expression blank. "Well good day!" The same voice called from behind the desk. The figure sitting there was a character that would give Remington a run for his money: dressed in finery and feathers, pale colours made with expensive dyes. The figure looked Saerias up and down as if they were examining goods. The figure looked to be male, but the voice was prime and proper and artificial, the pitch higher than what would be expected.
Saerias admired the wealth on display around him with an ever so curious tilt of his head, his own interest piqued somewhat by the value of his surroundings though he didn't address it when he locked eyes with the man behind the desk. "Mister Bell, I take it?" He asked with a measure of enthusiasm, his own gaze treating him the same, inspecting him, searching him in hopes of discerning what much he can about the figure with his eyes to behold him. He approached the desk as he did so, looming over it. "Lovely to make your acquaintance," he uttered to him, the tone pleasant.
With a flurry of fine fabrics the figure raises to his feet, arms outstretched. "It is I!" He bends in a ridiculous bow, arm waving as he bows. The figure, now known to be Bell, clicks his fingers at the child. It scampers off to the kitchen and returns with a tea tray. Two cups and saucers and a bottle of something sit upon it. "And what do I owe the pleasure?" Bell purrs as the drink is served.
Saerias glanced as the child scampered off. He settled beside the desk if there weren't any extra chairs, though didn't seem to mind standing if it were the case. His smile maintained, a little more enigmatic as the man's theatrics came on display. "Saerias," he introduced himself, appreciating the man jumping straight to the matter at hand, "there's a slight... let's say, hereditary issue that I need to take up with you. Unpleasant business, I know, sours the mood," he said with amusement rippling through his tone.
Bell clicks his fingers once more and the child scampers towards the door, from beside it, the little one drags a chair for Saerias to sit on if he wishes. "Mister Saerias. Saerias." Bell repeats his name, getting the feel of it in his mouth. His theatrical smile beaming, until he hears Saerias' next words. Bell's smile falters like a pouting child, "Oh now where is the fun in that?" He slides a delicate looking tea up towards Saerias, the liquid smelling strongly of liquor rather than tea. Still putting on a theatrical pout, Bell continues, "Hereditary you say? You are a little old to be one of mine." And he bursts into guffawing laughter at his own attempt at humour.
Saerias wasn't quite taken by the joke, but he offered a waning smile all the same. He glanced at the child, then adjusted the chair before he lowered himself into it, leaning his back against the backrest and crossing one leg over the other. He didn't touch the tea, but its alcoholic scent hit his nose as he levelled his gaze with Bell's. With the amusement having faltered, there was a slight touch of coldness about Saerias, "Just Saerias, if you will," he said quietly to him, "though I imagine being one of yours comes with some grand privileges," he said at first, then slowly dropped the name, drawing it out to be clear upon whose behest he had come. "Bridgitte, that's the one who is afflicted. Nice lady, the Baker." He anticipated that the words would only further sour the interaction, but watched Bell's expression expectantly.
"Saerias." Bell repeats, still giggling to himself. He picks up his own teacup, blows it then takes a sip. The cup hovering in front of his lips as he pauses for a moment, considering Saerius' words. "Oh yes.." His gaze on Saerias begins to look like a child eyeing candy or a toy they really want, but the gaze falters at the mention of the name, "Bridgitte you say? Never heard of her." Bell goes to take another sip then blurts, "The Baker?" He pauses, "No.. doesn't ring any bells." And he giggles again, that theatrical grin returning.
Saerias smiled at him and the smile grew ever more as Bell drew out his play on ignorance. Saerias looked gradually more and more delighted at the toying and was at first silent, breathing it all in over the span of a few breaths, enough for Bell to get a good sip of his drink if he took one. He eventually leaned forward, the motion slow, moving at the predatory pace of a stalking hunter. "You know, Mister Bell," he began, "I find myself to be an agreeable man, or at least I try to be. It doesn't always work so well, sadly," his words were drawn out and slow, "but I will give you the pleasure of my patience and try again: Bridgitte, the Baker or perhaps even the Baker's Wife as you might think of her," he tilted his head then, eyes fixed on the man, "the widower, yes? Ring any _bells_?"
Bell took the moment of pause to take a good long drink from his teacup, nearly draining it in one sitting. As Saerias resumed speaking he placed the cup down on the saucer with a _chink_. "Agreeable oh yes indeed Mis- Saerias." The smile falters for a moment, then a tamer smile returns, not quite a full grin. He takes a moment to tap his chin in thought, all for show of course, before his face over exaggerates recognition. "Oh, the Baker's wife. Now then why didn't you _say_. Yes, tragic really. To go down in your own flames, and to take the whole street with you!" He tsks. "What about her?" His tone is flat, his pitch more manly.
"Oh, yes, a tragedy indeed," said Saerias immediately, some assertion adding an influx to his tone just a little, then amusement trickled into the following words: "but not quite so much a tragedy to anyone who might benefit from her oh-so vulnerable situation, isn't that right, Mister Bell?"
Bell's arms folded across his chest in an attempt to assert himself. His posture straightens in his chair and his chest puffs, "Now I do not like the sound of what you are implying. Strolling into my office and accusing me of such things. You ought to watch your manners." The fingers click once more and the child scampers off towards the kitchen, and out a door that was originally hidden from view due to one of the drapes of fabric.
"I'm doing no such thing, Mister Bell," Saerias answered, casting a glance toward the child as they went out of a door. He smiled a little wider, as if he fully expected that something would come of it later. It further drove the amusement in his tone, which came back as he looked toward Bell, "My manners are in check, but there are a series of... regrettable, besmirching rumours that have been going around lately," he laid his right elbow on the table, leaning his weight into the wood. His left hand gripped the pommel of his sword, his thumb caressing the metal counterbalance with rising anticipation.
"Besmirching rumours?" Bell's gaze follows Saerias' to the door for a moment, then back to meet his. "Who has been besmirching my name? I shall have the Watch know about this." It was very obvious that man was stalling for time, avoiding the manner at hand. Nervous glances were over Saerias' shoulder to the main entrance and then to the child's secret door. He tried to hide his nerves behind his theatrical grin once more. "If you have come to protect my honour, there shall be reward in it for you." And his hand lowers to something out of Saerias' gaze.
"I can't say who," said Saerias as he watched the hand, indicating his awareness of it with a tilt of his head. "But I can say what, though before I do, Mister Bell, I should hope that you aren't planning to do anything that would solidify those rumours of nefarious intent?" He uttered and chuckled vocally, his smile brightened, but his blue eyes were bright with predatory challenge - almost wanting and daring the man to do something. His thumb caressed faster on the counterbalance, fingers gripping tighter in excitement. "It would be quite the shame to see your business here come to such an abrupt end, over a matter that could quite so easily be resolved too," he said with a colder sting to his tone, but it danced back to amusement with a disconcerting ease, "I would very much have liked to do business with you, beyond this troublesome affair."
Bell's free hand comes up, palm out, in a gesture of surrender. With his other hand, the sound of a key in a lock can be heard over the silence of the two men. "Now, now. Let us not jump to conclusions. Perhaps we can _talk_." The hand returns from behind the desk to drop a medium sized bag of coin onto the table, his hand still resting atop it. "I am a businessman, Saerias, it is what I do!" The theatrical pitch and tone was back to his voice and the flourish was there with his free hand. "Now, being the business man that I am. I aim to please prospective clients." He chuckles, "I would not know the meaning of nefarious." Bell sits back in his chair slightly, his hand still on top of the coin purse. "Now. What would a man like you have to do with that _baker_? Or his widow for that matter?" Bell is staring at Saerias, trying to read his genuineness. "Tragic is it not? Poor dear. Dead husband, dead son. No shop." He gives a small shrug of the shoulders, "You do not look like a relative, too old to be another of their heirs.." He looks Saerias over, almost eating him with his eyes. "Well then, out with it."
Saerias stared at him, blue eyes lingering. His lips twitched at the lack of immediate hostility, a hint of disappointing crossing over him. He still anticipated an interruption and climbed to his feet, nudging the chair back on the floor with the uncomfortable noise of the wooden feet scrapping at the surface. He turned, eyes shifting from Bell as he went to the nearest window - if there was one, to look out and watch the way toward the building. "It has everything to do with the Baker, Mister Bell," he said to him, jabbing a glance in his direction. "Whatsoever decisions _you've_ made with the Baker speaks for your integrity, do they not?"
There was indeed a small window, hidden behind further drapes of finery. Up the path, the small child was standing, watching the 'office'. Inside the cabin, Bell mimicked Saerias' actions and rose to his feet, his own chair making the same unpleasant sound. His hand remained on the coin for lack of trust of his intruder. "_My_ decisions?" It takes a beat, until a sly smirk creeps onto the man's lips, "Now I would really like to know how you know the family.. I fear you have me all wrong. My integrity is completely intact." At this point, the sound of a drawer sliding open can be heard, and the coin purse disappears back into it, being locked once again. Bell comes out from behind the desk slightly. "I am a _businessman_," Bell repeats with emphasis, "Not a scoundrel as you seem to have in your mind. I still do not really know why you are here. Rumours seem not worth your time, a man such as yourself. So what do you want?" The theatrical tone falters, his voice sterner than before.
Saerias pushed aside the drape and held to the wall with the weight of his shoulder, which he leaned against as he watched the path outside. His hand fell from the pommel as the theatrics dissipated, "I want you to fulfil your obligation to the family," he said to him, "it's quite so simple. Give the Baker her flour, every little crumb that's owed and I'll be on my merry way. Though quite hopeful to do more business with you," then his gaze slowly trailed back to Bell, "but if there are some aspects to this story that will dispel any further vilification of your name, then I would so very much like to hear them."
Bell watched him carefully, watched his hand slide away from the pommel, and a devilish grin crept onto his features. "Oh dear, dear man." Bell returned to his seat, positioning it so his legs were outstretched to the side of the desk, one foot over the other at the ankles. "The thing is, dear Mr Baker, Ned, as you may well know him.. was in a bit of a situation." He chuckled to himself, a devilish glee taking hold in him over the entire thing. "Your dear.. what was her name.. oh yes.. Bridgitte." Bell looks him up and down and says, as merely a passing comment, "Doesn't look like your type dear man." He resumes, "Ned had found himself in a situation. His suppliers had run dry, crop had pests, and a little birdy sent him my way. But you see, my premium supply was simply out of his budget. Not that I'm sure he told his wife that." The smirk remained, "Dear Tom sacrificed a week's pay to allow that woman those last bags of flour, but my charity and Tom's wife, has run out of favours. If anything.. I am doing _her_ a service by not airing her husband's dirty washing to the whole of Combe.. they have had enough tragedy after all." Bell leans back in his chair, places his hands interlocking fingers onto his stomach in a relaxed position. "If the woman ever comes into some coin, send her my way. Until then, I owe her nothing."
Saerias turned and leaned back against the window, "And I suppose you are inclined to give me the truth and nothing but the whole truth," he said toward Bell, his tone was quieter now. He didn't find the words that were shared entirely unbelievable, though he wasn't completely satisfied with them either. "And I'd hear the same story coming from Tom and his wife, if I were to ask?" He teased, head tilting toward Bell as he inspected the man and the way he moved. Saerias smiled slightly again, "that's assuming that you wouldn't have amassed your many, many... expensive possessions and disappeared by the time I returned. Unfortunately, I cannot verify anything that you've said due to your apparent burning of that contract. How strange that all of Bridgitte's hopes tend to end with fire," he uttered and chuckled to himself, tragic as all those things were the irony struck a point of amusement with him.
Bell's smile widened. "Be my guest!" A flourish of hands, "I imagine you saw old Tom swaying his way home as he is wont to do on his days off. Mrs Tom is a _mean_ one. We certainly know who wears the breeches." He giggles to himself, "Burning of a contract? What kind of businessman do you take me for? If a man _owes me money_ I always obtain _proof_." Bell's hands move from his belly, his posture now upright in his chair as he goes back to the hidden drawer. The sound of key in lock is heard again and he pulls the drawer open, pulling out a stack of papers. He rifles through it for a moment and then draws out a piece of paper. He offers it to Saerias, "See for yourself. I had allowed him to make monthly payments on the initial sum he sought. With occasional increases in produce when he had a good run in the shop." His finger prods to something, "The widow is lucky I write off dead people's debt and do not chase family members for it." He thrusts it towards Saerias again.
Saerias firmly took the piece of paper, if Bell released it to his hold. "Did you?" He asked him, frowning and tilting his head. "I was told that you'd taken the contract and saw it burnt. Why, who would produce such a fiction and for what purpose?" He asked Bell, assessing his features with immense care, blue eyes setting keen focus on the shifts of his reactions. "I do begin to wonder who would go about their way to besmirch your good name, Mister Bell," he hummed thoughtfully. While he accepted some of the information given there was only ever an escalation of suspicion in his eyes, cynicism competing with the businessman's compelling rhetoric.
Bell let him take the paper. The piece of paper is a clear outline of the goods sold, the money paid and money to be paid, with quite a substantial amount of debt accrued over the time period from the contracts start date. Ned's name is at the bottom along with a very over the top signature, presumably Bell's. "My inclination is perhaps _their_ copy of the contract burnt. Mr Baker certainly had one when the deal was agreed. I keep all of my paperwork in check you see." He begins to straighten the remaining pile of papers. "Now that you have trifled through my _personal affairs_, client information is usually _confidential_ you see, but you seem a trustworthy fellow." His expression did not match his words in that moment, doubting Saerias' character plain as day, however Bell's expression was otherwise calm. "As I said. I am happy to resume ties. Even happy to resume Ned's previous contract.. but as you can see from the sum owing, I do not believe the widow would manage that amount." Bell regards Saerias, "Unless.."
Saerias give the paper a read or he pretended to, he skimmed what things he could understand; the numbers in particular, which he could make use of to discern the full depth of what's owed. He folded the paper and then tucked it down the inside of his leather vest, pressed between his chest and the armour. "Oh, do go on," he said to Bell, something bitter biting into his tone now at the sense of time having been wasted with the affair, but the agitation inched in, detectable on his features, in those lines of age and in his eyes.
Bell is about to protest Saerias taking the document, then glancing at his weapon, decides against it. "Are you looking for work?" He asks, matter of factly. Bell doesn't seem too concerned by the man's agitation, it was not him who sent him on this chase.
"Always," Saerias answered pointedly, crossing his arms over his chest now as he watched Bell.
"Fancy yourself as a bit of hired muscle. Bodyguard, debt collector, lift some lumber now and then, some crates of goods into Ol' Tom's wagon.. and you'll be paid for your time.. and perhaps Mrs Baker… or.. Miss?" Bell shrugs, not really caring, "Will get her flour back. If you take a small cut to pay towards her.. _situation_." The devilish smirk returns.
Saerias chuckled at that, almost mockingly. "I'm not writing out my associations with the Baker," he clarified to the man, "but I was offered something if I were to see this matter settled with you," then he inhaled a breath before he continued. "I can be bodyguard, I can be a debt collector. I'd even go so far as to _remind_ someone of a debt that is owed," he locked eyes with the man, smiling as if to properly convey an amenability toward acts of a sinister variety. "But the Baker gets her flour first. One _last_ act of charity from the most magnanimous, big-hearted, Mister Bell," he uttered with amusement rippling through his tone. His chin lifting ever so slightly. "And you will have my services at a reduced expense."
Bell laughs to himself, finding his own glee in summation about Saerias and the Baker's wife, whether truth be there or not. "Oh you _were_? Well I best make it worth your while then, hmm?" He reaches into the drawer and pulls out the bag of coin once more, he aims to throw it to Saerias, if he wishes to catch it. "Your first payment, no deduction. One last act of _charity_ from the illustrious, generous, handsome, businessman Mister Bell. I shall send Ol' Tom with the wagon first thing in the morning, providing his head has recovered and his wife.. Well.. his wife." There was a sinister look about his expression. He lets out a small giggle, "Pleasure doing business, Mister Saerius." He stands and gives an exaggerated bow with plenty of hand flourishes. He stays bent for a lot longer than necessary, clearly hoping Saerias would just leave.
Saerias caught the coin quickly in his hand. He sent Bell an ever so pleased smile, though his eyes had some manner of enigmatic delight in them. "You can find me at the Inn of the Prancing Pony, if you need me," he said to the man and started on his way to the door but paused near the desk and considered the coin. "Coin is such a heavy thing, Mister Bell. I do prefer to trade in favours, if you won't mind?" He asked him.
Bell was just about returning to his seat when Saerias stopped in the door, the man was clearly irritated now. "Favours?" He eyed him suspiciously. "No I do not think so. Take the coin or leave it. But I do not commit to things with no substance. _Favours_." He repeated the word with an expression like something tasted bad. "If you wish to reconsider our arrangement.. you have no obligation." The smirk had returned.
Saerias huffed and adjusted his hold on the purse. "Keep it out of your oh-so meticulously kept books, Mister Bell," he said to him, in a way citing what was preferred and what was his reasoning to the matter behind favours. He peacefully strolled out of the door then, if not hindered in the process, taking the coin with him as he went about his departure.
Bell's chuckling could be heard as Saerias made his exit. The small child had scurried up the road and was waiting to the side of the door outside of the cabin. "Bye, Mister." The little voice said.
Stepped off of the porch, barely acknowledging the child as he passed. He carried on his way, greeting the sunlight on his way out and back toward town.
