Ward of the White Worm

The morning sun had groggily stumbled down the streets of Paeth, which were already bustling with fishermen running down to the wharf, women with dazzling eyes retiring from the street to their hidden homes, costermongers rattling down the road, and reedy men or plump women packing up carts with small tables, lamp-stoves, cracked cups and bags of low-grade coffee to take their mobile coffee-houses from the streets of Paeth to the weary miners further out.

Inside the White Pillar Inn, which still boasted its high class clientele even though its grandeur had become faded, two men sat together at a table done up for a breakfast (if a breakfast frequently included various sorts of fish in numerous states of preservation and freshness). One of them was Theodore, who was much refreshed from resting in a proper bed even though he still had the paleness of a consumption victim. The dark circles under his eyes certainly aided the impression as well.

Beside him, still red-faced and red-coated but now much more sharply put together, was Captain Rourke. His hair had been combed and his clothes were now no longer in a disarray, instead being finely pressed and washed almost free of wine stains. He was enjoying a hearty pie of moor dove, having just polished off a fish pudding and a pulped fish spread on bread, and was lightly washing it down with his third cup of port.

Theodore had only eaten a slice of bread with marmalade and a fish head, his fingers still around a cup of oddly moldy tasting coffee. “Have you the time to listen now, Captain Rourke?” Theodore asked with a bloodless smile.

“Mphm!” The militia man nodded, holding up his hand for a moment as he swallowed. “Yes, now you may continue.”

“As I said, the only information I managed to get was that his name was Robert. He was wearing a naval officer’s uniform, but I cannot recall any distinguishing marks upon it.” Theodore said. Outside the large dining room, where four other round tables stood although empty, Theodore caught a glance of some of the inn’s maids running up to the stairs with bedsheets.

Captain Rourke nodded, stroking a thin and short beard as he did so. “That’s two more pieces of information to the mystery. If he were not a godling, honestly, I feel we would not be so concerned about this.”

“Have you gotten anything from his comrades who scattered into the moor?” Theodore asked. Voices, indistinct and fluttering, floated up and down the hall and stairs outside.

“No, we have not even found one yet,” Captain Rourke said shamefaced. “My men are a feckless lot. They did not want to go any further into the moor during the night. This morning in fact I heard some of them suspecting they are already dead, and that searching the entire moor would be meaningless. I told them this was ridiculous, of course, and as soon as the sun was visible on the horizon I sent them right off in search of the villains.” Captain Rourke then had another face, that of one hoping for praise for his actions.

Theodore wondered why the brave captain had decided to breakfast with him, rather than simply talk quickly before going to join his men on the hunt. “Unfortunate that Robert did not stay around longer, he stepped into another street and quickly cut off the path. I could not identify the town he was fleeing into.”

A shadow crossed over the door, blotting out the light from it as a form leaned in after Theodore finished speaking. The two men had time to look over at the new arrival to see a mountain of a man, well dressed in smart blacks with his hat in hand and his long bushy brown beard finely groomed. His face was ruddy with the color of a sporting man, but his eyes shined with delight like a child’s, especially as they focused on Theodore.

“Ah,” Theodore stood up. “Captain Rourke, this is-”

The man came towards Theodore in quick powerful strides, his deep voice bellowing in joy, "HOLA, MON VAILLANT AMI ET FRERE D'ARMES!"

Theodore gave a smile, one of a long suffering but still gladhearted friend as the larger man strolled up to him, beginning to speak before suddenly lifted off his feet. "Bonjour Ber- PAR TOUS LES DIEUX, MON DOS! LÂCHE-MOI, TU VAS ME LE CASSER!" The arms around him were like those of a bear being consumed by an inferno, powerful and crushing as the air was knocked from him.

"Le dos d'un Ver ne peut pas être si aisément brisé, n'aie point de doute en ta résistance!" Bernard’s laughter was hearty and even warmer than his body as his embrace tightened. Something popped in Theodore’s chest.

"Mes côtes se plient!"

"... Oh, tu voulais dire tes os... Mille pardons! Prenons donc un bain chaud pour alléger ces douleurs!" Bernard gently set Theodore on the ground, and Theodore for his part immediately slumped into his chair and let out a pained wheezing. Bernard then turned his attention to the alarmed Captain Rourke who had moved his chair back far enough to be out of range of Bernard’s arms. “Hello!”

“H-hello, wh… who…?”

“Captain, this is Baron de Mausargille,” Theodore coughed. “A very good friend of mine from our days as boys in the academy. Bernard, will you sit with us if you have the time?”

The Captain’s demeanor instantly changed as he rose to his feet to give the baron a crisp bow. “Your lordship.”

“Bah! Call me Bernard,” the man said as he moved to sit beside Theodore. The chair he had chosen, sturdy oak with a worn red cushion, creaked in despair at the mountain of a man atop it. He looked over the spread of food still in the table, “my, Theodore! Did you eat at all before you came to Paeth?”

“I did, I even went to the inn for a light meal. This meal is to share,” he gestured to the table to signal to Bernard he was equally welcome to partake. He picked up his cup of coffee and directed his gaze to the wall for the moment. The White Pillar had paintings in all the rooms of note. In the room he rested in there had been three paintings of young women in simple gowns doing ordinary domestic activities. Here in the dining room the paintings had a more religious bend to them. The one he was gazing at most as he sorted his thoughts out and let his crushed lungs recover was a painting of Saint Agatha in her tree, passing fruit to the Starving Man.

“Oh, young lady!” Bernard had called out to a passing servant, who paused in her step. “Might you draw a hot bath for my friend?”

“I do not need another bath,” Theodore said, pulled from his thoughts. “I took one upon arrival. Bernard, I was speaking with Captain Rourke about the highwayman that has been haunting the Brynemoor. Have you heard of this?”

Bernard’s face took a more grave color, “the highwayman? Yes, I have heard of the brigand. Did you come face to face with him?”

“Yes,” Captain Rourke interjected. “It was quite terrible, I say. Luckily my men and I had come to his side in time.”

“Quite a story,” Theodore said thinly, sipping his cold coffee.

“I had read in the Shield and Herald that the leader of these bandits is a Welltraveler,” Bernard said as he buttered a slice of bread. “He lurks around the Brynemoor, striking anyone upon the road with his men and then quickly retreating with his ill-gained lucre. Oh yes, we have been hearing quite some noise about these crimes. Mister Bander has called the militia into question,” Bernard’s eyes settled on Captain Rourke. “Not that I would disparage you, my good sir. This is just what I have read in Mister Bander’s articles.”

Captain Rourke’s face had grown slightly redder, whether it was from his newest glass of port or from the mention of the journalist, it was hard to say. “Yes, well, mere mortals like I and my men can hardly be expected to leap such large distances at once like he can. While the information we have been given is a help, I do not know how much aid it can truly bring.”

“What information?” Bernard inquired.

“He wore a naval officer uniform, and his name was Robert,” Theodore said.

“Hm,” Bernard stroked his beard.

“Unfortunately, Robert is a rather common name, and then upon that is having naval officer clothes does not necessarily mean he is an officer,” Theodore sighed. His gaze had moved from Saint Agatha to Saint Kessel who was pictured being pulled up to the night sky by skeletal hands. “There is still the question of why anyone would be robbing people in the moor, it is known he robs anyone, including the poorer miners that go to the Inn who are lucky to have three shillings in their pocket.”

“My friend,” Bernard said, piling pulped fish atop his bread now. “Perhaps it is not for the wealth that he is doing it? Maybe it is under some other’s auspices?”

“Some other…” Captain Rourke suddenly got to his feet. “I beg your pardon, but I must send a letter to Wenlock Fort!”

“Go in good health,” Theodore said.

“Farewell, Captain!” Bernard added. He then turned back to Theodore, “anyway my friend, what brings you to Paeth? If we had known we would be meeting you here, I would have brought my family down to come eat with us. Cecilia is feeling much better after our trip to Takesea, and the children have grown since you last saw them.”

“It is something of a story, if you have time I can tell you, but I would not w-”

“I have all the time in the world, my friend!”

Theodore, trapped by his own words, settled into his chair to begin explaining everything.