Chapter 1320: The Return - Part 3
And wherever one looked, that wealth was echoed, in the clothing of the passersby, and in the many statues that stood in front of storefronts, and on street sides. The finest craftsmanship had been put into every part of the city. Even the tall lamp posts, that burned with thick candles by evening, were home to intricate details, as metal workers competed with others for the finest sculpture.
No two lamp posts were alike – each were art pieces.
"You didn't knock hard enough," Blackthorn guessed, when there was no response forthcoming from inside the house. She ought to have been resting after her journey, but she'd thrown herself into their minor mission as soon as there was an opportunity to be presented.
Verdant had come as well, stating that, if there were any problems at the gates, as Greeves supposed there might be due to the Guild, then it would be better to have a name that could be leveraged.
"That was hard enough," Oliver said. "Any harder, and you'd put a hole in the door."
Blackthorn poked at where Oliver stood with her hand, a thoroughly cat-like motion, one of the many gestures that she used to avoid having to say more than she otherwise needed to. Oliver sighed, and cleared the way for her.
Then she pounded on the door herself.
BOAM! BOAM! BOAM!
Oliver looked around in an embarrassed panic. She'd knocked like she was trying to tear the thing off its hinges – as if they had business with the people inside that was something less than pleasant. Somehow Lasha all of a sudden seemed like the most terrifying of bailiffs.
"That… was undignified," Verdant told her, when the echo of the noise had finally died, and the briefly curious passersby continued on with her day.
Before Oliver could leverage a complaint of his own, though, the door was flung open from the inside, and an angry face, with a vein throbbing in its head, presented itself through the gap, with a stopper chain dangling between them.
"…Ser Patrick?" Harmon said, stunned. "I wasn't expecting you till the morrow… And I especially wasn't expecting you to come yourself. Do come in."
He took out the chain in a hurry, and gestured for them to come inside.
The three of them were armoured as if they were to go marching towards a battlefield that very second. Their armour was polished to a shine, and the jewels that Verdant and Lasha had inlaid on their plate metal sparkled with the sun. Dressed as they were, with their purpose written in their clothing, they made all the more intimidating a sight.
A woman was in the room, her appearance nervous as she hung behind a wall. The counter where Harmon would ordinarily have been taking his orders was abandoned, and undusted. The shelves behind it were all empty. That reception room of the shop, that would have once been packed with proud pieces, was as void of life as it could be.
"Wife, this is Ser Patrick. Lord Idris and…. Perhaps Lady Blackthorn?" Daniel Harmon said, guessing at Blackthorn's title, having not met with her in person before. She gave him a brief nod of approval.
The woman curtsied to them, her hands shaking from the action. She shot Harmon an accusing look. Clearly, she was not ready for their arrival. She was not wearing the sort of dress that she would take to the Ernest streets in. It was a dress worn for the sake of household comfort.
"I had… not expected anyone until the morrow," she said, choosing her words carefully, and still all but echoing the same thing that her husband had said.
"Indeed," Oliver said, hurrying forward with an explanation. "It would seem that I have business in the Capital that will require my departing this night, or tomorrow. I thought it best to see you safely in your new home before then, Harmon."
The smith nodded once, then twice, his relief unmistakable. "I had hoped you would send someone… Greeves had promised you would. I wondered if my worries were unfounded… Just there's a tension, you know? Doesn't feel right, putting my family at risk for my choices. Wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something were to happen to them.
But I say, Ser, there's no reason for a smith like myself to warrant such a noble guard. If you had business, you should have put it above me."
"You may take it as an indication of your value, Harmon," Oliver said. "We too are of the opinion that nothing ought to be allowed to go wrong. There is indeed a tension. My presence here isn't necessarily an accusation on that front, but an acknowledgement that a competition… of sorts… is likely to get out of hand. Deterrence, I think, would be better to put our reason for being here."
"A carriage has been prepared for you," Verdant put in. "Your journey will be a short one, but it ought to be comfortable. My Lord understands that, in violating the agreed upon time, we have put you in something of a bind. How long do you suppose it might take you to get ready?"
Husband and wife shared a look. The wife answered first. "The carriage would need loading… But we are packed… I shall need to change, your Lordship, and I will have to see our daughter changed as well. Perhaps fifteen minutes—"
"Would an hour suffice?" Verdant said. "You need not rush. We have set aside the day for this task."
"You're making many allowances for us," Harmon said, dipping his head. "You have my gratitude, Ser Patrick, Lord Idris. I'll go and ask the neighbours for a hand with these boxes. Where might I find the carriage?"
"The carriage should be right outside," Oliver said. "If you'd point us to these boxes, we'll see them loaded."
"W-what?" Harmon, of everything, looked the most taken aback by that. "Loading boxes, Ser? That's, that's servant work, at best. I couldn't ask it of a member of the nobility… Not a Ser, or a Lord, or a Lady…"