The nice and heavy ticking of Arlo’s watch comforted him while he spread a perfumed tincture of witch hazel over his freshly-shaved neck and jaw. It did not have the juniper and bergamot odor of the aftershave he’d been using for years, but it did have a sweet enough smell somewhere in the bay leaf and tobacco realm and it did remind him of his childhood memories of his uncle rather than the tantrum-throwing wreck he’d come home to. Arlo stepped back from the mirror in the world of marble and gilt that was Treistan’s private bathroom and surveyed his exposed ribs with some melancholy. The last few months had left him somewhat reduced, despite his regular meals from Moriah and his daily dog treats.
He determined to tuck in hardy when he could from now on, and then slipped into a dressing gown that was too many sizes too big for him, such that it constantly threatened to slip off his shoulders. With his watch swinging from his hand on its rotting cord he stepped out of the private washroom and found his uncle waiting for him with a large open sea chest at the foot of an immense bed piled with cushions that looked as though they had never been touched. Arlo supposed Treistan was more the type to sleep on a cot in his ready-room next to the bridge.
“Are these the donations?” asked Arlo as he knelt by the trunk. It was nearly full to the brim with all manner of clothes, and many trinkets and baubles as well.
“My officers had quite a lot to give, it turns out.” answered Treistan, though he was seated on the edge of the bed with an open folder in his hand that seemed to take all of his attention.
Arlo nodded, grateful, and pulled out the lone pair of boots. Miss Giltnam had given him a pair of almost red brown riding boots that had a wide square toe with a brass cap. Arlo took a pair of uniform khakis to go with it, and then started searching through the shirts. While he dug, he spoke to his uncle.
“Will you tell me what House Haradin is doing here, Uncle? The Lemurs said that the locals were fleeing because of what you were planning.”
Treistan flipped a page in his file but stuck his finger in it to hold the spot before flipping back to the front. Blurry photographs were affixed to the front page of the report with a pin. The collotype negative had been slightly melted before the final picture was developed, but it clearly depicted bunker emplacements along a beach. Treistan turned to extend this to Arlo, only to find his nephew standing in front of a tall mirror by the bed comparing two cravats. He grumbled inwardly, but eventually decided a few blurry rectangles on a glossy page weren’t going to be much help anyway.
“The Church of Khaldon has been operating a secret cult on the isle of Redbrook for the last sixteen years, by our estimates. Their vile Speaker Siran started it all up in the guise of an orphanage, so I’m told.” Treistan decided to say in the end. “Last winter, they had gotten in so deep that cultists were in the governor’s office and the harbor as well. Imperial Intelligence had sources who witnessed Church vessels in full regalia docking and resupplying in broad daylight. The few Beastfolk subjects Her Majesty has on the island, may she watch over them, also began to disappear. Finally, the Tribune they sent to audit the governor disappeared along with a somewhat sizable detachment of troops under his direct command.”
“I can see why the Empire might want to make an example of them.” Arlo replied, though he was still engaged in the long work of dressing himself; a simple task made arduous by the combination of his mixed choices in fashion and his affliction with the curse of dandyism. Two shirts that looked an identical beige to Treistan were held in front of Arlo’s chest, before both were discarded for one that had a single drop more of yellow when it was dyed. Treistan felt his brow furrowing, watching as Arlo knelt and held a grey waistcoat and then a green one in front of his boots and then his hair. Once the green waistcoat was set aside, Arlo drew some assorted pins and trinkets from the box and took them to the mirror as well.
“It’s not an example!” Treistan eventually snarled, and the rage in his voice caused Arlo to bounce away from the mirror fumbling with a wooden brooch that bounced from one hand to the other three times before landing on the floor in such a way that the pin broke off the back. Arlo looked down sadly at the piece before nervously turning his eyes back to his uncle.
“We assume that island is lost!” Treistan told him, then modulated his tone to calm and went on a bit more professionally for a short stretch before being taken up in anger all over again. “Government believes that island is in full control of the Church now. That horrible woman has taken it from us in Khaldon’s wicked name, may-his-followers-perish-a-thousand-times!”
This crescendo necessitated another calming, and Arlo was somewhat impressed that Treistan seemed to be avoiding another tantrum. “They want it back, they want the cultists killed, Khaldonites routed, and Holy Order restored. Your Uncle Treistan, boy, has insinuated himself into this situation because Imperial Command will not turn down the support of two cruisers, a destroyer, and most importantly a homeship of twelve batteries.”
Arlo inched one hand up to the collar of the green waistcoat he’d been looking at before while keeping his eyes fixed upon Treistan, as though he were worried his uncle was some kind of potentially dangerous animal in the room. “What do you mean to say when you say you ‘insinuated’ yourself?”
Treistan gave a grim smile. “I mean that I made myself available on purpose so I could have the chance to tilt at Cultists.”
This only seemed to make Arlo feel more confused. “Why exactly would you want to do that?”
Treistan leapt to his feet and surged to Arlo, grabbing fistfulls of the slightly yellower shirt to bring the young man close to his face. “They killed your bloody parents, you goddess-cursed reefer! Isn’t that enough for you?”
Arlo winced, but allowed himself to be handled. He doubted Treistan was going to sprain his knee like Dragil Khan had. He was even surprised at how fresh the man’s breath was for someone who spent so much time screaming; for it was the smell of orancello and mint that wafted up and burned his eyes. Still, the thought of his parents did bring a pang of sorrow. “I didn’t realize these men were from the same cohort.”
“Fool!” Treistan slapped him now and Arlo wrenched free from the grip and huddled himself into the corner of the room while the old man loomed over him. “There’s no way to know if they are or not! It’s one and the same with these folk! They convert or kill, that’s all they do. And their disgusting sacrilegious heresy tells them they are allowed to do whatever they want to outsiders.”
Arlo had always thought of The Church and The Red Ships as being more or less just like another Empire from the other side of the world. He had no concept of their individuals, and the way his mother had raised him he was trained to believe that people were generally good. Sure, he could agree that perhaps the wholesale slaughter of Beastfolk was to be despised; but this was something he’d decided was the result of misguided ignorance more than malice. Many Imperial citizens harbored some sense that the mutants were somehow tainted or unclean as well– despite The Divine Orderhood’s prescription to love them as any other children of The Goddess. Treistan’s hateful consequentialism made him second-guess some of these feelings; not abandoning his innate sense of fairness exactly so much as wondering how much danger he was about to be in if he ever found himself in Church waters.
More than that, he was thinking of his parents.
“What do you want me to do, Uncle?” he asked in a mousey voice with his hands crossed in front of him. “I am of little use on a battlefield.”
Treistan sighed, and reached into the corner to gingerly pull Arlo out, agreeing, “Yes, of that I am sorely aware. I can see as much quite clearly, boy. You will handle my distractions for me. Let me deal with the siege preparations– let me focus on them. Let me be free to handle my vengeful little hobby by handling those who hound me persistently.”
Arlo nodded and stepped back in front of the mirror now, trying to dress a bit more rapidly. He wore his trusty garrison belt, dark green waistcoat, cream shirt with an open collar, khaki trousers, brown riding boots. It would do. For a splash of color, he selected a cravat of red with a green and yellow moth-wing paisley pattern on it and decided it was good enough even though it was sateen and not silk. Finally, he knelt again over the open sea chest and took out one of the only two coats available. The one he’d left behind was a long, beige thing of waxed canvas that he was certain had been made for a woman. Though it suited him somewhat less, he felt the green bolero which seemed to match his waistcoat would do well enough for shipboard life. As he smoothed down the fabric and straightened the lapels, Treistan reappeared to affix a badge to the one over his left breast.
It was the head and neck of an Imperial wolfhound rendered in gold on a bordered slab of green enamel with black geometric shapes wound throughout it. Known by their extremely long snouts and tall prick-ears, the animal was known for being extremely loyal and protective of its master. It was also the symbol of House Haradin.
“Speaking of things which hound me;” said the older man, attempting to charge some levity back into the room– not that it soothed Arlo’s stinging cheek from the slap. “You no doubt recognize this fellow from the family coat-of-arms. He is to be your badge of office. People know it means that you will speak for me. It also shows that the Haradin clan will stay loyal and protect The Jade Queen from the wolves at our borders.”
“She watches.” Arlo murmured back, which caused Treistan to pat his shoulder and repeat it.
“I will give you charter-command of the Sunseeker, a Wallrunning destroyer of four guns.” Treistan continued, now stepping back to look Arlo up and down. “You will not give direct orders to the captain. Let him run his ship how he pleases; simply tell him where you need to go and let him handle the rest. His name is Elroyal Hardwick, and he is your cousin-by-writ.”
“I will need command of a vessel to discharge the needs of your visitors in the waiting room?” asked Arlo with one eyebrow climbing.
Treistan shrugged. “I shouldn’t think so, but I do hold out hope, lad. I would prefer them gone altogether if it could be so. In either case, even if they wish something to be brought here you can use the Sunseeker to go and get it for them. It’s your resource to allow me and my fleet to stay here so that slab-sided Southerner, Rickets, doesn’t launch the siege without me or worse: call the bloody thing off.
“I understand.” responded Arlo. He gave his uncle something of a half-bow mimicking Agatha and went to stuffing the clothes he’d strewn all over the place along with his tubular satchel into the sea chest that had been provided for him. He’d need to procure a shaving kit still, and he had no notion of how he was meant to care for the gear he was to be given the next day; but he at least felt much more human with something like a wardrobe to choose from again. He took one last look in the mirror and admired his new badge, and was surprised when Treistan returned one last time with something else in his hand.
“I have one more thing for you.” he explained while pulling Arlo’s watch out by its shabby little cord. Arlo’s favorite sailing knot from his time aboard the Sea Haven Foamer came undone fairly easily under Treistan’s hand and the ugly strip of hemp was cast aside. In its place, the old man slipped a golden spiraled wheat chain. Even though it was not a watch chain, he strung it through the bottom buttonhole of Arlo’s waistcoat before clipping it back to itself. A little pendant hung down from the chain, a teardrop of amber resin inside of which had been suspended a tiny paper hellebore flower.
Treistan stepped back and looked at it with a tear in his eye. “This was your mother’s prayer charm. She was wearing it when she was killed. I… should hope it will protect you in some way.”
Seeing Treistan so emotional gave Arlo a somewhat awkward feeling in light of everything else, but he had to admit he was touched by the gift. He smiled in earnest at his uncle. “Thank you, Uncle Treistan. I’ll wear it next time you’re mad at me and see if my cheek turns out any less pink.”
After helping himself to the next tray of fruit that Treistan turned down, Arlo parted ways with his uncle. A servant with a dolly had been dispatched to transfer the sea chest to his quarters in the squat little tower on the Dawnstorm’s other hull, freeing up Arlo to head back to the waiting room on his own. At first he tried to reverse-engineer the route he’d taken to end up in his uncle’s quarters, but after walking into the mailroom for the second time he was given a little fourteen year-old midshipman to lead him around like a stray dog. The boy seemed put out that he had to lead a lubber around the conning tower when there was work to be done, but bore the task with good enough humor that he spent almost the entire trip rattling off little facts about the ship. Of course, when he was delivered to the audience chamber through a side door and did not present the little runt with a challenge coin the boy looked like any other courier who hadn’t been tipped and presently disappeared in a huff. Arlo didn’t pay it much mind.
He, too, had been a selfish reptile as a teenager; and apparently into adulthood as well if recent criticisms were to be believed. The determination he had tried to set himself with last time he had been in this room had not yet taken hold and Arlo was not sure if it ever would. On the other hand, a crew of three uniformed men were hard at work putting the room back to rights. A wagon of sorts was planted in the middle of the floor filled with the wood splinters from all the broken furniture. The torn painting was facing inwards against a wall out of its frame, and a worker was knelt before it carefully brushing the back of the tear itself with a thin slop of off-white paint. A new writing desk had been brought in and a worker was polishing its surface while another sat on the floor with tools repairing the typewriter.
“I’m amazed at how quickly you have got it back together.” Arlo told them.
The man on the floor with the typewriter looked up with a smile at this and said, “Thankee, sire. Happy to hear it.”
“Did any of you happen to see whether or not the three visitors are still in the waiting room?” he asked next.
“They’re still in there, all right.” said the desk polisher.
“I suppose I had better do my duty, then.” sighed Arlo.
The women had moved since he’d last seen them. The red-skinned beastman had not. The little Tribune was seated at the table now, playing a solitaire of some sort with a deck of cards. She glanced up at Arlo as he entered, and he gave a slight bow to her. The huge woman in robes was seated in the opposite corner of the room, crosslegged even though she was on a chair. Her arms were draped over her knees and her eyes seemed to be so close to shut that only narrow whites showed through the slits. Arlo decided to show a leg to the unmoving beastman instead and then seat himself at the head of the table, so the Tribune would be to his right and the other two could at least occupy his direct periphery.
The Tribune was the first to speak, her voice mockingly coy. “You cleaned up alright, princeling. Almost fit to be a Limiter’s kept-pet.”
Arlo turned to respond to the short, bossy woman and found himself somewhat slack-jawed. When he looked down at the deck of cards spread out on the table, he felt his eyes widen to realize they were rude sailors’ cards. Units from the Green Knights, The Blue Knights, and the Blue Thieves suits were all visible to him and instead of medieval warriors like they were traditionally meant to be, the little Tribune’s deck was full of cards that depicted nude women in poses Arlo found to be extremely anatomical.
“Ah.” he tried, “Cards.”
It was not a very good come-back.
This being little to have said, and the Tribune’s condescending smirk returning to her face, he cleared his throat and spoke a touch more deliberately. “My uncle… That is to say, the Clannarch, has given me powers and resources to aid you three in whatever way need be so that he may focus his energy on the siege of Redbrook Bay.”
The Tribune laughed at him, then placed another card. The Blue Knight Commander wore the same peaked visor cap as her, only in blue instead of green, and did not seem to require the greatcoat or much else for that matter. The Tribune laughed at this as well, then elbowed Arlo meaningfully while she doffed her hat to mime fanning herself with it. Arlo schooled his features into as close to a good-natured smile as he could muster before the sands in the hourglass of his patience ran out.
“Would any of you condescend to tell me what it is you need?”
The little Tribune shrugged, then finally said in a tone of boredom. “I don’t need anything.”
This caused the woman in the priestly robes to pipe up with her eyes slowly gliding open, “I don’t need anything either.”
Frustrated, Arlo leveled a gaze at the red creature in the corner and when the creature said nothing he muttered, “I suppose it was too much to ask from you as well, friend.”
“Fine, wonderful, then.” Arlo said now, spreading his downturned hands flat against the surface of the table and attempting to summon what grace he could. “Why do you waste your time here, when you could be using it in manners much more pleasing to yourselves or Her Most Divine Majesty?”
“She watches.” came in stereo from the women, and the Tribune shot a dirty look at the larger woman as though it had been mocking rather than faithful.
Finally, and Arlo thanked the Jade Queen that it happened, the Tribune said, “I’m just here to observe. I finished my audit last week. Went through the books, interviewed the infochandler, inspected the homeship. Everything checks out. I just want to observe a single operation before I pen my report to the Tribunal Committee back in Corovos.”
“Great!” Arlo cheered, uplifted at once. If he could contrive to get one of the others to need them to run off somewhere with the Sunseeker, he could just drag this woman along and then be rid of her. He presented his hand. “I’m Arlo Haradin-Harkon, Agent of the Clan. I’m pleased to meet you, you can accompany me on whatever operation I embark on next.”
They locked hand-to-wrist and shook. “Happy to hear it, Harkon. I’m Irina Rathbone, Tribune, First Degree. In Her Name We Seek.”
“It’s an honor, I’m sure,” Arlo rebounded, genuinely pleased to be making some progress now. “Well, in the meantime, I will leave you to your fine, eh…” His eyes drifted down to the cards again and the mirth left his smile. “Your pass-time.”
Next, he turned back to the woman in the robes and confronted her. “By your manner-of-dress I would wager you either fell through a fine tapestry and a suit of armor on your way in, or you are an Oathkeeper. Is that right?”
A little tiny smattering of applause from the huge woman kept the mirth from returning to Arlo’s face. Her face, however, glowed with it and not much else. Her eyelids seemed so heavy and her expression so dull that Arlo was almost certain she couldn’t have been paying attention, except she said, and with no apparent sarcasm, “Yes, I am. That’s very astute of you to notice.”
Arlo nodded as though this was a genuine compliment to him. “I see what I see. So, Miss Oathkeeper, if not to ask for any boon, what brings you here?”
“I’m a gift.” she answered proudly. “Your Uncle Treistan donated a great sum of money four years ago in the name of his sister Leliana, in her memory to my home chapel. He built an entire wing and the money will take care of many sick people for a long time.”
“And you’re a gift?” Arlo repeated, since this was the part that gave him trouble.
The woman nodded again, joyfully. “I told Chapelmaster Josten that I felt we ought to do something to pay House Haradin back for its great generosity. He said that it would be a great look for the Chapel of Saint Tetra if their strongest and most feared Oathkeeper were to come and serve the clan directly.”
Arlo shrugged and panned, “I suppose it’s true the Chapelmaster is always right, in matters of taste.”
But this joke did not seem to penetrate the Oathkeeper, who though still smiling, shook her head. “No, he is wrong about a lot of things. But I think he was right about this one. And I’ve already met so many wonderful people, yourself included Mister Arlo. I love you.”
Arlo felt his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. If he’d had something in his mouth he would’ve spit it out. “Miss, we’ve only just met and I don’t even know your name!”
The Oathkeeper chuckled, an adorable little tittering noise fluttering in her gullet while she covered her dopey grin with a hand covered by a baggy sleeve. “Not like that, silly. I can’t love anybody like that.”
Now Arlo felt himself on the backfoot with this woman, but snatched his eyebrows back down into a furrowed brow and stared at her trying to figure out what on the Stone she possibly meant by this. Irina interrupted his pontification with another elbow before leaning over to mutter conspiratorially behind one hand, “She’s a soul-sucker, lad. They don’t got feelings, them types.”
“Oathkeepers?” Arlo shot back with his eyebrows really trying to figure out which end of his head they ought to be on. “I thought they were supposed to be the most compassionate folk in all of creation.”
Finally, the giant red thing in the corner spoke. It wasn’t the beast itself that seemed to speak, though. Certainly the voice came from it, but its mouth didn’t move. Its head turned, it took a few steps forward, and it seemed to look at Arlo; but all of these motions were unnatural somehow. They were rigid, inflexible. The voice itself came from the goggles over the beastman’s eyes, the teal light inside them flashing white and blue in time with the words while a very professorial voice said in lecturing tones, “Miss Placelle Lamella of Saint Tetra is an Oathkeeper of the Marrowed Bone order of the Divine Orderhood of the Trampled Rose. The Marrowed Bone order specializes in the treatment of foundlings and orphans suffering from an illness known in the scientific community as Antigastronomic Sentiphilia. Due to some mutation of her birth, she cannot obtain sustenance from food, and somehow through strange mystical processes is fed by the emotional resonance of the people around her. These individuals are more commonly known by the word ‘Heartleech’ or as Madame Tribune Rathbone so colloquially put it: ‘soul-suckers’. While she is just as intellectually intelligent as you, or perhaps even I; her emotional capacity is much more simplistic. Think of her emotional character as being more like that of a dog.”
At this, the Oathkeeper made a childish little ‘bouf’ noise and then tittered again before adding, “I am grateful for the introduction.”
But Arlo was completely off the Oathkeeper altogether in light of this giant creature and his amazing talking goggles. He leaned back in his chair to size the fellow up before asking, “Now could you do the same sort of thing for… whatever it is you are?”
The beastman was frozen in place for a moment, and then suddenly it straightened up and raised a hand in a wave. “Forgive me my lack of manners. I was journaling earlier. Allow me to introduce us.”
The raised hand now came down and then pointed inwards. “This person you see before you is named Razor Skunch; the Chieftain of the now-disbanded Blood Orc tribe of Beastfolk. He is sound asleep and has been for sixteen months now.”
Now, the creature turned around and raised a hitched thumb over one shoulder to point at the metal backpack strapped to its back. “I am in this ‘backpack’, in a manner of speaking. My name is Doctor Herden Pluramon, Professor of Natural Philosophy and Biomechanical Science; and thanks to an agreement with Razor I am now able to operate his body like a fleshy-marionette of sorts in order to continue my work after the rather unfortunate loss of my human body.”
Of all the revelations so far, Arlo took this latest one with the least feeling. At some point, he figured, it was best to just sort of let things happen. He wondered idly if this was the sort of stuff that gave seasoned Imperial soldiers and sailors the ‘stiff upper lip’ mentality they were known for. What other sort of upper lip could one have on the Ten Thousand Seas when you could as likely meet a psychic lamprey as a brain-in-a-jar puppeteering a giant sleeping red goblin? Arlo rubbed his temples and then forced another smile.
“Okay, thank you for the information, Doctor.” he managed after a fashion. “Is there any chance you might have something you need from my Uncle that I can provide in his place?”
Then, casting a look over to Irina who smiled darkly back at him, he added, “Something that could be an operation our fine Tribune here could observe on?”
“Yes.” replied the headset on Skunch’s dormant face. “Your Uncle hired me to head the clan’s ar-and-dee division via radiogram some time ago, but I’ve only just arrived aboard the Dawnstorm a few days hence. My lab equipment was meant to follow me from Hookthorn Isle, but it has not. My attempts to radio Hookthorn have all failed.”
“I see.” replied Arlo. This was one of those times he suspected his uncle expected him to think. But the only thing he could think of was that if suddenly all contact was lost with an island, it perhaps was unwise to go there. “What do you think happened?”
“I would surmise they were hit by a powerful storm which knocked out their radio tower.” It was somewhat amazing how still the mutant was as Pluramon spoke. Arlo wondered what would happen if the monster tried to ‘roll over in bed’ or whatever its equivalent was. “Conceivably, said storm could have grounded the ship with my lab equipment as well. Potentially it could have been sunk, or its officers or crew injured. I would like to go and see. My equipment is very valuable. If there’s any way it can be recovered, I must attempt to do so.”
“We should also render aid to any Imperial subjects on that island.” Irina put in, now gathering her cards in a suddenly businesslike manner.
When Pluramon offered no statement on whether or not said subjects would be present, Arlo at least made the effort to ask, “Would this suffice as an exercise for you to observe, Madame Tribune?”
While it didn’t look like it really was what she was looking for, Irina made a sideways face before finally just shrugging in mild acquiescence. “I guess.”
“It’s settled, then.” said Arlo, smacking the table in the best show of confidence he could muster as he slid his chair back and leapt to his feet. “I will notify the Sunseeker to make all preparations for a voyage to Hookthorn Isle. I have some equipment being made up for me in the forge here. I must also make some arrangements here on the ship. I recommend we reconvene in the larboard boathouse tomorrow morning at seven of the blood watch. I will notify the clan coxswain to prepare something to carry us over.”
“Thank you,” replied Pluramon instantly. He contorted Razor Skunch into the approximation of a bow. “I will remember that House Haradin expended this energy for my sake.”
At this, Irina clacked her deck of cards against the table and slid them into a gilded sleeve before rising with a cartoonish stretch and then excusing herself, “Whelp, now that’s sorted, I’ll see you lot in the red. There’s a dice game in the starboard dredgehouse, and I aim to get into it if ever I can. Try not to let a band of Guilders burn the place to the ground while I’m out, hey?”
Arlo pursed his lips at the barb. Remembering how he’d heard his Uncle’s tantrum through the door before, he realized that these people probably all knew everything about him. That they’d seen him at his worst before being corralled by him did nothing to mar his shame. Still, he said nothing to the Tribune and was satisfied to just let her be gone. Pluramon was at least a little kinder with another approximation of a bow and a pleasant little chirp of, “Until then, Mister Harkon.”
Dusting his hands as he stepped out of the room, Arlo was almost satisfied when he felt the presence looming behind him. Peering over his shoulder, he found the huge Oathkeeper Placelle Lamella looking sweetly back at him with that half-lidded bovine smirk. She seemed to perpetually have the look of someone who had been making love all day after drinking all night. He smiled back at her mirthlessly and started walking down the passageway again. He only walked a few more paces before he felt her there again. It was like being a child at play when his mother could tell he was about to do something very stupid, the way he seemed to feel her vacant stare like a glow washing over his back. He turned around again and flashed another mirthless smile at her.
“I’m sorry, Placelle.” he began.
“It’s Placelle Lamella.” she corrected gently. “My whole name is Placelle Lamella of Saint Tetra, because I’m a foundling raised in Saint Tetra’s Cathedral. So my first name is ‘Placelle Lamella’ and my family name is ‘of Saint Tetra’.”
“Your Imperial Identification Card must be very wide.” commented Arlo with his eyes starting to droop like hers. “But still, I’m sorry, did I fail to attend to you in some way?”
“You didn’t give me any sort of instructions.” answered the big woman with a big smile, “What kind of gift would I be if you didn’t use me?”
Arlo looked down at his feet, then beckoned her to walk along with him as he turned on his heel. “Very well, I suppose. I must admit I am not sure what House Haradin should do with an Oathkeeper.”
“Should I go ask the Clannarch?”
Arlo stopped again so he could put a hand against her shoulder. “No, definitely not that. He specifically asked me to make sure he didn’t have to deal with anybody else.”
When they started walking again, Placelle Lamella allowed them to at least make it to the corner before asking, “Can I come with you to Hookthorn Isle?”
A few more paces made it beneath them while Arlo considered this. If the island was, in fact, a dangerous place then it would stand to reason that this giant woman with her gun and her hammer would be a fantastic sort of person to stand behind. In fact, he considered that if he could get the little Tribune and the big Oathkeeper in front of him and Skunch behind him, a potential attacker may not even realize that there was a fop hidden in the forest of dangerous-looking people.
“It does seem like a good way to keep all of us out of Uncle Treistan’s hair.” he eventually said, “I’ll make sure to arrange a berth for you.”
Placelle Lamella repeated her typical display of happiness and wiggled a little dance while she walked and clapped a tiny applause with her pinkish eyes twinkling. “Thank you, Arlo, I’m so happy I get to go with you! I love you!”
Now, Arlo found himself stopping again, this time only putting out two fingers to stop the ogress. When he looked over and saw that he was prodding her cuirass just above where he imagined one of her breasts to be he slid his fingers up to her shoulder even though there was no way for them to possibly feel each other.
“I must ask,” he said, “Why do you keep saying that?”
Placelle Lamella looked down at him with such a compassionate and gentle look, then reached up to stroke his head– and not in the affectionate way that Moriah would, but from top-to-temple-to-cheek as though he were a treasure to be cherished. “Because I can taste how hard you’re trying.”
There was a sinking feeling in his gut in that moment, the sudden realization of what exactly a heartleech actually was. She wasn’t just sustaining herself off of the emotions of the people around her in some simple way. She could tell what they were feeling, she could sample it like a sommelier working his palate around a fine wine. And as this sense of unease, shame, and exposure grew in Arlo he could see that Placelle Lamella’s smile was growing as well. The shock of the realization he felt was fed to her next and her eyelids rose ever-so-slightly. Her mouth parted just a touch, and Arlo couldn’t help but wince and start walking off again with his hands hugging his arms close to himself. When he heard her footsteps behind him as she followed complacently along, Arlo asked bitterly, “Why can’t you go eat by sitting in the crowd at a theatre or something!?”
“I can.” she answered dutifully, “But those feelings aren’t as good for me. That’s why I’m so big and strong.”
Arlo sneered, but kept walking. He didn’t want to dignify her with another stopping in place, and he certainly didn’t want to touch her again. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“Well, I get more from negative emotions like pain or anguish.” she explained with such incredible patience for someone who was clearly being shunned, “Think of them as meat and veggies, while laughter and joy is like candy, cake, and junk food. The building I grew up in was one-part orphanage and one-part asylum.”
So she was a corn-fed psychic lamprey.
Arlo huffed pitifully, and then instantly huffed again imagining that his first huff was a little snack for the huge woman. The cascading realization made him feel like he was just this overflowing feeding trough, a being radiating pure snack energy into the endless hungry gullet of the monster behind him. Now he saw why Irina had been so hostile towards her, the way these heartleeches could get a person stuck in a sort of feedback loop with every meaning of both parts of the word. He seethed and grit his teeth and tightened his fists in a ball while he stomped off down the hall until he felt her arms close around him.
“No, no, no, you mustn’t.” she was cooing. Placelle Lamella had jogged up to grasp him from behind and now she squeezed Arlo tight and turned him to pull him to her bosom. The armor plate was cold against his cheek and at first he felt humiliated while she held him and petted over his back and shoulders, whispering, “No, I don’t want you to feel like this. Hush now, don’t be so upset. The Goddess loves you and watches over you, Arlo. Don’t let her see you hurting.”
Eventually, Arlo relented and lifted his arms to gently hug Placelle Lamella back. It wasn’t that he was entirely past the sense of vulnerability she gave him. He definitely had not conquered his severe case of the creeps. But another part of him did feel ashamed for acting like she was so disgusting, knowing she could ‘taste’ that as much as anything else. And then there was that part of him that had drank up every drop of affection Moriah was willing to give him, that lost boy inside who had been so desperate to be cared for when it seemed like the world had little use for him. He tried to lean against Placelle Lamella there in the passageway and just exhale softly through his nose. When he was calm again, she released him and the fact that she could tell suddenly was as useful to him as it had been ugly before. Somewhat exhausted, he gave the huge woman two gentle pats on the veritable boiler of a breastplate she wore before saying, “Miss ‘of Saint Tetra’, I need to get to the radiography room. I don’t have time to be embraced in the corridor. If I am lucky, I could have dinner on the island tonight with someone I met on my last ship. So, if you’ll excuse me…”
She smiled at him gingerly and tucked a strand of her wispy hair behind one ear. “Of course, Arlo. Good luck, then.”
