Ever since he had been summoned back to Vulpinsula, there had been a clock ticking in the back of Hazie’s mind.
First, the money. Any purchases that Hazie made on the Freemont’s credit would be known first to Eadric, and presumably to Kristine and Livia two minutes later. So, Hazie went shopping. He bought golden paw and tail rings, fancy pocketwatches, and silver antiques. Kitschy souvenirs any foppish fool would purchase as a tourist in Zann’s Backyard. He bought things both expensive, and easily liquidated. He signed his name for the receipts that would eventually pass his father’s desk. He resold every last item anonymously for gilders.
The clock ticked.
Second, the outfits. Amarone had pinched all Vulpinsula’s most famous tailors more or less by Imperial Decree, but that did not mean Bully was drained of all her talent, or cloth. Hazie and his entourage scouted every tailor and seamstress that served the Insanely Rich, enquiring after any canceled commissions - any suits half-finished, left lying around after a dissatisfied client took their business elsewhere. Anything that could, with a few adjustments, be repurposed to their needs at very short notice. It was the only way to get a month's work done in a week. Five different tailors were put to work on five different outfits, clean and untraceable cash ensuring queues were skipped and the lamps remained lit well into the night.
The clock ticked.
Third, the rehearsals. An etiquette instructor was hired. They practiced formal greetings, formal audiences, formal farewells. Silver cutlery was laid out on a table, and the purpose of each piece memorised. Pronunciations were practiced, accents affected. They got through a whole dinner without anyone belching, crashing their elbows onto the table, or picking their teeth with a carving knife.
The clock ticked.
“It’s an honour to meet you, Lord Freemont.”
“It’s been too long, Father.”
“I am your ‘umble… I am your humble servant, Lady Freemont.”
“I hope you will accept this gift, Mother.”
“At once, my lady. At once, my lady!”
“Krissy, I’m not calling you Kristine the Great. I’m not calling you Kristine the Great. You’re hardly fat enough. Haha! Should I really say that? It’ll start a fight.”
“She’s your sister. Start a fight.”
The clock ticked.
Fourth, the transport. Unlike regular postal and passenger services to the rest of Vulpinsula, the porters from Bully Harbour to Amarone only ran when they had a booking. The message was clear, even to the town’s elite - think twice before you trouble yourself to approach the capital.
Hazie hired two coupé style enclosed carriages, each drawn by burly fox and wildcat porters - fearsome looking beasts, all ex-military, with no criminal records to complicate matters at the inspection checkpoint. Hazie traveled in the first carriage, leather protective case of paperwork at the ready. Beside him sat Elowen, the vixen of the group, elegantly boxed presents piled so high in her lap she couldn’t see out the window. Her pockets were stuffed with ribbons.
They’d tie the ribbons onto the boxes to keep the lids down, after the Stoatorian Guard inspected them.
“Here we go..” Hazie muttered, as they reached the checkpoint, and the porters shuffled to a stop. The second carriage pulled in close behind, the other three members of his entourage squeezed in together. The Stoatorian Guard surrounded them, immaculately uniformed and unerringly disciplined.
“Relax,” Elowen urged, not a note of calm in her voice whatsoever. She swore, her black-felt ears twitching as she heard the approach of shiny Stoatorian boots. “…and of course now I need to pee.”
The whole group was politely shown out of the carriages. They were courteously relieved of papers, presents, effects, and eventually even a few articles of clothing. They were patted down, scrutinised, questioned, and kept waiting until Elowen was squirming, her muzzle scrunched in discomfort. Then, just as Hazie was starting to feel his stomach coming up to his throat, everything was returned to them, with the addition of a dated stamp on their papers. The barrier across the road was lifted, and the porters hauled the carriages through.
Hazie waited until they were out of sight of the guardhouse and passing a picturesque grove of greenery, before he rapped on the window and ordered the porters to pull over to the side of the road. Elowen virtually flew out of the carriage and into the bushes. There was no fear of her being spotted by anybeast else.
They had entered the most heavily guarded exclusion zone in the Imperium.
The clock in Hazie’s head ticked out its last few seconds, as the carriages rolled up the perfectly-raked white gravel drive of the Freemont Estate. They were following an entire armada of carriages, as all Amarone’s finest swarmed for another famous Freemont gala affair. Already Hazie was catching glimpses of nobles in finery, servants in uniform, guards discreetly positioned and patrolling.
Hazie bunched his paws, and drew a shaky breath. “What if they don’t-…”
“Hazie.”
Hazie turned to look at Elowen, and she returned his gaze earnestly. “You told me not to let you what if.”
His muzzle twisted into a wry smile. He took another breath, deep and steady this time. “Alright. I’m ready.”
The carriage came to a halt. Hazie peered out at the enormous estate, taking in the perfectly trimmed hedges, the gently sprinkling fountains, the rows of neatly parked gilded carriages, and the banners of Freemont green wafting in the breeze.
“See the conquering hero comes,” Hazie murmured to himself, a musical hum to his tone. His face went blank and thoroughly Hazie-like for a moment. Then, he was wearing the confident, chin-high expression of the hero, a modest grin on his lips.
A servant opened the carriage door.
