Private Amarone Freemont The Landing Party

[Eadric Freemont]

The Freemont estate in Amarone, one of several holdings of the influential marten family in the Imperium and most certainly one of the grandest, was in a flurry of preparations to celebrate the return of Hashwin, the Hero of the Imperium. The kitchen was abuzz with activity, and servants darted through the halls of the main mansion, ensuring everything was in place and ready for the guests attending from the highest of echelons in Imperial society. Distinctly absent from the proceedings was the Freemont patriarch.

Eadric sat at his desk, the door to his office closed. The marten scribbled at a ledger, muttering to himself, paws stained with ink. Though he wore the finery necessary for what would undoubtedly be a party lauded by all in Amarone–the Freemonts never missed an opportunity to impress with their parties–his jacket hung over his chair and his vest had been unevenly buttoned, his simple cravat untied and loose around his neck. He seemed completely unperturbed by the commotion of preparations in the hall adjacent to his office, content to continue his work.

A knock sounded on the door. Chewing nervously on the end of his pen, he paused and looked up, frowning. With a click of his tongue, he went back to writing.

“Enter,” he called out, scratching at his cheek, unwittingly transferring a splotch of ink onto his fur.

 

[Livia Agrippina Freemont]

Livia Agrippina Freemont scowled at her husband as she entered his office, though she couldn't quite keep a bit of a smile from creeping in at the corner. "I thought I might find you in here," she remarked, approaching her husband with an attitude of familiarity. She crossed around the desk to put her paws on her husband's shoulders, idly working at the muscles beneath as she peered at her husband's work. "Are you going to hide in here with your ledgers all night and leave me to deal with the guests?" There was as much teasing affection as exasperated rebuke in her voice, the familiarity of the years lending nuance to tone and word choice. "You don't need to; none of the Ryalors have been invited, save for that waif that Amélie keeps as a pet, and she'll never be allowed outside the palace anyway. The worst you'll have to deal with is the Viscount of Tully Shore's bad breath and his even worse fishing stories." One invitation to the Ryalor couple had been enough to earn them a standing disinvitation from any events hosted by House Freemont, and the invitation to a 'house representative' who would never actually attend had been their workaround for the sake of propriety. Tonight they would be surrounded by friends, or at least as close as anyone came to it in Amarone.

 

[Kristine Freemont]

Kristine was quite well aware that her mother went amiss and exactly could pinpoint where she went. Reading her parents, after all, was something she had more time to learn than any other skill, considering how long did she knew them.

And whatever were they talking about, she was not going to miss on it. The fact that the party was to include her brother she was glad to see go was already setting her on edge. She could not leave anything to chance today.

And as such, even if had failed to intercept her mother, she still came to her father's office in record time, weaselling through the corridors trying to avoid being seen was after all, slowing her down. But it was worth the effort.

She simply entered the room without knocking, looking with her black eyes at the beasts who's sum of blood made her great.

"Mother, Father." She stated with respect in her voice, if none in her act. "I was pondering where did you disappear. Greeting the guests without your presence may bring less respect for you hosting the party." She continued in flat tone, yet showing bodily distress with great gesticulations.

 

[Hashwin 'Hazie' Freemont]

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.

 

[Teague Raleigh]

Another beast, not a servant, but one who would-- and had already-- be confused for one before the night was over, stood halfway up the steps leading up into the grandly appointed home. A pine marten jack, his dark fur well (if simply) groomed, clothed in a suit of dark grey that did not look so very different from those worn by the various servants of the house. He did not begrudge those who had mistaken him. How could he, when he had spent as much energy as anybeast to make himself into just Teague? Better to allow himself a quiet pride in a job well done than to spend the energy wishing things were other than they were.

As Hazie emerged from the carriage, Teague inclined his head in polite greeting. "Welcome home, cousin. I believe your parents and your sister are all in your father's study, though I suspect they will be joining the festivities shortly." If he gave a wry smile, it was the sort that lived out its life as a sly twinkle in his gold-brown eyes.

 

[Eadric Freemont]

Eadric sighed and set down his pen, allowing himself to relax into Livia's touch. He managed a dry chuckle, though his tension was evident in the hold of his shoulders. "It's n-n-not the guests I'm worried about," he said, his stutter more pronounced, as was typical when it came to social stressors for the Freemont patriarch. "It's s-s-seeing Hashwin after all this t-time."

He was interrupted form any further elaboration by Kristine as their daughter entered the room. Eadric closed the ledger, sighing again. Despite how unsettling her behavior was to the average beast, Eadric had always taken his daughter's unique traits in stride. "Yes, of course. You are right." Pushing back from his chair, he stood and idly began to put on his jacket despite that his vest was still buttoned unevenly. "Has Hashwin arrived yet?"

 

[Livia Agrippina Freemont]

Livia tensed as her daughter entered the room. For all of her wit, she would never know how she had gone so right and so wrong with Kristine. Certainly Kristine was brilliant and shrewd, far beyond most of her peers and certainly beyond her fool of a brother, at least setting his uncanny luck aside. Physically, she was an impressive warrior and attractive enough to turn heads at a ball, and she was sensible enough not to be wasting her energy obsessing over jacks or the latest fashion from Saulloc. Really, Livia should have been proud of her daughter, and likely would have been if she didn't see the lack of affection for her parents that manifested as a dark void in the jill's eyes. I focused so hard on making sure she could compete with the Ryalors, she reflected, that I turned her into one. The irony was sharp enough to stab through an emperor's heart. Maybe I should have given her a few more hugs and a few less history lessons.

"Thank you, Kristine," she stated, straightening up and patting her husband on the shoulder as she moved around the desk to stand by the window. Peering down at the promenade leading up to the mansion, she could see Teague opening the door to a carriage (of all the extravagance! Hadn't she taught the boy how to walk on his own two footpaws?) and allowing Hashwin to descend. "He's arrived," Livia remarked, the disapproval clear in her voice, "and dressed like a peacock as well." In truth, the suit was nothing remarkably extravagant by Amaronian standards, but Livia tended to view all fashion from after the reign of Milarkus as a terrible mistake. Her own simple purple stola and the accompanying palla were, in most eyes at least, terribly antiquated, but that was a point to which Livia adhered. The Freemonts did not have to concern themselves with fashion; power need not bow to the whims of pageantry. If only I'd managed to drill that into the boy's head.

At least Teague was on paw to manage Hashwin and ensure he didn't embarrass the family. Livia often wondered if the gods (if any indeed existed) had been mocking her when they made the most agreeable of the younger generation the one born illegitimate. It was a shame, really; certainly he lacked Hashwin's dynamism or Kristine's raw cunning, but as far as one who could take up the mantle of stewarding the house through its trials, Livia would have trusted Teague the most. Alas, though, without knowing his parentage (and certainly his mother had never told), the chances of being able to legitimize him into the family, or indeed any family, were slim. Instead he would remain the family's bit of dirty laundry, the one they kept hanging on the line so no one would come digging through the hampers looking for more. Not that there truly was much of substance, but after something messy like Gordon's fall from grace, you never could tell. Certainly if his son by that wretched what's-her-face with the stupid name, Sven or something similarly ridiculous, ever showed his face again, then the family might have to concern itself with protecting its reputation, but for now, they were the Freemonts: unshakable and unassailable, the foundation upon which stood the Empire itself.

Livia turned to her husband and daughter, trying and failing to master her scowl into something more pleasant. Not as easy to do as it used to be. "Well then," she suggested, "shall we go see what the prodigal son has brought home?"

 

[Kristine Freemont]

Kristine was quite approving of both her mother and father showing the reason. Even if she could tell that her mother was tensed by her presence and her father being especially calmed by her. Reading them was as easy to her as breathing, especially as forgetting to do the latter was deadly as she almost found out a few times.

Still, mention of Hashwin resulted in absolutely no reaction from Kristine. Even when her mother said he had arrived, seeing her scowl and displeasure, Kristine could only continue her machinations. She was fond of her brother in a way one is fond of a loyal slave. As long as he was useful and easy to manipulate into her plans, she didn't mind him being... well, himself.

"I do believe we should." She replied flatly, staring towards the window, her tail unflinching. "We probably have about eleven minutes or so before he makes a fool of himself and of a house. Realistically, it is for the best you have put my dear cousin to manage them properly."

Kristine liked Teague enough to not be dismissive of him. He was competent rogue and Kristine enjoyed discussing subterfuge and methods of spycraft with him. She wished he too was her brother. However his position was so valuable, it was really for the best he stayed as he was.

Kristine then remembered rules of social interaction and she moved to give a quick, gentle pat to each of her parents. While doing so, her face showed no love whatsoever, but her body definitely wasn't moving mechanically, it was genuine sign of affection one that Kristine, despite all her skill, failed to notice herself before turning around and leaving to see her actual brother.

 

[Hashwin 'Hazie' Freemont]

The pine marten that stepped out of the carriage looked very different to the one that had left the estate some eight years ago. The Hashwin Freemont that existed in fragmented memories had been somewhat shorter (his growth spurt had come late), and considerably plumper, with a typical teenage scowl and enough lacey frills adorning his clothes to pass for a particularly large and grumpy chocolate-orange-and-whipped-cream dessert. To be fair on the young Hashwin, going around wearing bedsheets as per his mother’s fashion sensibilities would have been utterly mortifying, and frills had been very rebellious and trendy for youths at the time.

Even amongst their Amaronian guests, this pine marten stood out. He was tall, with as broad a chest and shoulders as a mustelid could hope for. His fur was brushed and glossed to a perfect shimmer as the light caught it, particularly along his long, luxuriant tail. His outfit was in a military cut, and so white that it seemed almost to glow. It had been given a wash with smalt, a blue pigment to bring out a cold white rather than a cream or beige, which made it perfect for a shock of contrast with the golden frogging that adorned his chest, and the vibrant green sash from his shoulder to his narrow waist.

The boot that touched the marble steps was mirror-polish black. His left shoulder was covered in a furred pelisse of some exotic spotted monster. Hazie ascended the steps slowly, as though he was in a dream, his gaze fixed on the marten jack waiting to greet him. His grin widened into something more fond, and he reached out as if to grab Teague and bodily lift him into a wolverine-like embrace - only to be frozen to the spot by a sharp ahem from the vixen following in his wake, her yellow eyes glaring from around the stack of presents in her arms. In her fierce red jacket, light blue puffy breeches and white-tanned boots of shark leather, she evoked the scarlet macaw her outfit had been inspired by. Her bicorne hat (an incredibly modern and daring fore-and-aft style) was crested with red parrot feathers to complete the look. Hazie twisted his neck to return her look, his grin fading, one ear twitching.

“Would it please my lord to comport himself with dignity in front of guests?” Elowen growled, nodding her head to the other arriving nobles, who had stopped to gawk at the guest of honour.

Hazie’s grin grew crooked, and mischievous.

“No.”

Hazie hugged Teague, a full and close embrace with apparently nothing held back. He chuckled, and patted a paw onto the other marten’s shoulder. “Come on cousin, I think eight years away deserves more than a polite nod and a pawshake!”

The voice Hazie spoke in was perfectly elocuted, his accent refined and clipped as if he had only come back from a gentlebeast’s club for the Insanely Rich. Yet behind his smile, there was a searching look in his eyes as he regarded Teague. Something uncertain, something that yearned for approval, as though he wasn’t truly sure if his cousin would be so pleased to see him.

By this time, the rest of Hazie’s entourage had un-piled themselves from the second carriage. The four of them almost matched Hazie in the riot of colours that brought the jungles of the Mahsterious Sahthern Cahntinent right to the Freemont’s doorstep. All of them were burdened with luggage - apparently Hazie had brought home an entire catalogue’s worth of wardrobe and interior decoration.

“I brought some guests of my own, as it happens! I haven’t been out of sight of this sorry lot in… oh, I must have met them my first week in the Army… no, must have been at least the first month. Ahem! Let me make the introductions.”

“Hazie!” The entourage groaned and snapped collectively. Hazie’s tail poofed out, and his ears wilted.

“Right! Heavy! Heavy items you’re carrying. Better dump the lot inside, eh? Not to make more work for the servants, but I mean-…”

“Oh shift it for Vulpuz’s sake, Hazie, I’ve got a trunk so stuffed with gold it probably outranks you!” The male ferret of the group snarled. He was a silvermitt, with pale cream fur and a mask of handsome glossy grey, his outfit coloured in purple with pink facings and white frogging, the shining iridescent scales of some enormous sea creature clasped around his shoulders. His long spine was curved back, as he strained with the heavy traveling case, which visibly bulged around the heavy straps and buckles holding it shut.

Grinning and winking at Teague as though he was merely humouring everybeast, Hazie allowed himself to be cajoled, escorted, and near enough buffeted physically up the rest of the way by his long-suffering lackeys. A pair of doorbeasts, their collars so stiff it kept their heads permanently raised at a haughty angle, opened the front doors in unison, and Hazie stepped at last into the Freemont residence.

He could hear the murmur of guests in the next room, but for the moment, the entrance hall was absent any other beasts besides those that had come in with him. His four companions dumped the mountain of boxes, cases and chests right in the middle of the decorative rug, and fell silent as Hazie walked ahead of them. He stood in the middle of the hall, and took in the space. It was as though the world had drawn in a breath, and all was quiet for this single moment.

Hazie’s grin was gone, and there was a sober, thoughtful look on his face. The moment passed, and there was motion and sound again as servants bustled in to organise his luggage. Hazie’s ears flicked, and a frown crept across his features.

“The boxes are for my family. Take everything else to my rooms, please,” he instructed. He patted down his clothing, and brought his grin back for Teague, his eyebrows raising into a look of faint embarrassment. “Do I look alright? I was worried the blasted jacket would get crumpled on the carriage ride!”

 

[Eadric Freemont]

Eadric went to look out the window beside his wife, resting a paw gently on her hip in a supportive rather than suggestive way, a gesture borne from familiarity and decades together. He stroked his whiskers as he looked down at his son.

"I d-d-don't think he looks t-too bad," he said quietly. "He's grown. Looks like my brother at that age."

At Livia's suggestion to greet Hashwin, and Kristine's agreement, the patriarch of the Freemonts turned to leave the room. Kristine's touch surprised him, and he flashed a genuine smile at his daughter. Expressions of affection from her were rare, and to most beasts likely did not come across as such, but Eadric had a soft spot for Kristine, different than his soft spot for Hashwin. Where his wife was a jill made of iron, Eadric wore his emotions on his sleeve when it came to his family, especially his children. Kristine would always be the little armful of fuzz, staring up at him with wide eyes, tiny paw clutching at his finger.

However, he did take issue with how she treated her brother, and it seemed that, despite the years intervening since they had last seen each other, the elder sibling was keen on continuing her pattern.

"You really must give him more grace. I expect he has changed a great d-deal from when you s-s-saw him last." Whether he was speaking to his wife or Kristine--or both--it was not entirely clear. As the second son himself, and the one who had always been something of a disappointment beside his prodigy brother, Eadric found himself more often than not defending Hashwin.

The trio wound their way through the Freemont manor towards the entry hall. At one point a butler stopped Eadric to fix the buttons on his coat, and he had to rush to catch up to Livia and Kristine just as they arrived where the guests were being escorted in. On the way he passed servants carryring various heavy chests and other luggage. Eadric halted beside his wife, trying to keep his eyes from tearing up at the sight of his son. While Livia did not approve of his attire for aesthetic reasons, Eadric had to push back a fleeting sense of panic at how much Hashwin resembled Gordon. Perhaps not directly in his looks about the face, but rather in his proportions and how he carried himself. Memories of his brother, the successful commander and competent soldier, flooded in, and Eadric had to clear his throat and step forward towards Hashwin to keep himself from sinking too far into them.

"Hashwin," he said, striding towards the jack with a proud smile, paw outstretched to take his son's should it be offered. "Welcome home."

 

[Teague Raleigh]

Teague returned Hashwin's embrace with matching enthusiasm, and if the Hero of the Imperium's smile contained something of the search, his cousin's held warmth and reassurance. And, perhaps, a question. The tall, broad beast before him was familiar, no doubt, but different. He was, too, he supposed. They could hardly be otherwise, each having added half again as many years to their age. Eight years was more than enough time to change any beast. How much more so when those eight years encompassed the transition to adulthood?

"Indeed it does, cousin. Deserve more, that is. It's good to see you home. I look forward to hearing the tales of your exploits from your own mouth. If you're willing." The words were sincere, as was the look in his eyes: something almost like concern. "I heard there was trouble at the docks."

This last was spoken in an undertone, an offer of support should it be accepted. Something to be forgotten if it wasn't.

And then bustle, chaos; a flood into the manor. Teague kept close to his cousin's shoulder.

"The jacket has survived." A small quirk at the corner of his mouth. "You look dashing."

And then the rest of the family swept in. The true family, Teague caught himself thinking. Not with rancor. Never with rancor. Not when he had only ever been treated appropriately. Not when he saw the weight that landed on all the rest of them. The Freemont name was a heavy one to bear.

Stepping back, Teague inclined his head to patriarch, matriarch, and firstborn. Already the balance felt different with Hashwin's return.

 

[Livia Agrippina Freemont]

Livia followed close behind her husband, a step to the side in keeping with formal etiquette. In situations like these, it was important that she be seen backing him up, deferring to him. She did afford Teague a brief pat on the arm and a nod of gratitude in the moment. Legitimate or no, he played an important role in keeping this family balanced, and goodness knew with Hashwin back they would need his moderating influence. If they got through dinner tonight without some sort of spat, it would be a minor miracle, and likely entirely his working.

Livia took a moment to size up Hashwin and the vixen he'd brought with him. Livia narrowed her eyes, trying to deduce what this unannounced guest's role might be. She'd heard that among the younger generation, interspecies coupling was becoming more common. Such had, admittedly, always been occurring in Amarone among the elite; the wealthy seemingly had little better to do with their time than to do each other, and if the private records of past imperial consorts were to be believed, the line of Milarkus in particular had been inclined towards mustelid lovers. Still, that sort of behavior had been kept in its proper place, behind closed doors and out of view, away from polite society. To go about it so openly... Livia felt sickened at the thought of her son engaging in such debauchery in the public eye. She hoped this vixen was merely a retainer of sorts; if he introduced her as his partner, she didn't know how she would spare the family the scandal.

"Son," she acknowledged her second-born with a nod. He had certainly grown, she would give him that much. "You look very..." She struggled for a moment for a word that wasn't as barbed as her usual speech. "...fit," she settled on at last, bypassing her qualms about his gaudy attire. "It seems military life has suited you. I'm very proud you found your calling in the service."

There, that was something polite enough, and even halfway true. She doubted that he'd actually gained any sense of patriotism or civic duty from it; he'd always been too pompous and self-important for that, but even doing the right thing for the wrong reasons was a step in the right direction.

 

[Kristine Freemont]

Kristine was last to greet her brother, which meant she had a bit of time to give a proper nod of acknowledgement and and a quick gesture to Teague. It was friendly way of wordlessly showing her respect to him whilst letting her parents give their greetings. This time also allowed her to assess her brother now. He got stronger but also way more... grandeur. Kristine started pondering if he, perchance, have realised that what she was building and seeking, that being power, was indeed worthy endeavour.

Now that her time came to greet him, she decided to check if that was a case. He had entourage and emanated poshness which was very much like him, but it did was in this case something he did achieve himself, instead of being given it by their family. Kristine stepped closer and put her paw on Hashwin's shoulder. "Brother, whilst I would rather speak in less formal situation, I nonetheless am glad you came back." She stated quietly, without having to lie. She was indeed glad that he could now be once more managed and not having to worry about what his adventures would've done to her meticulous work.

Then she spoke more openly, taking away her paw and giving him a bow. "Welcome home my dear brother, I shall be interested in hearing of your... journeys and tasks you have overcame. I see you've brought an entourage, care to elaborate upon who are those beasts so I may properly welcome them?" She asked with accordance to her duty as one welcoming guests. Something she was doing today to add one more brick to being seen as favourable by nobles of all sorts. Deftclaws, Redwinds, big and small, it mattered not. Her task was important to family and to her goals alike.

 

[Hashwin 'Hazie' Freemont]

Pricklee Pointe
Three months ago

A pine marten ambled down the stone tile path between a wall, and a row of oven-tombs. Pricklee Pointe Cemeterie No. 3 did not bury its residents under the muddy soil. The wall was constructed with vaults for the deceased set into the stonework. The tombs were miniature stone houses, decorated with sloped roofs, columns, statues, and gargoyles. The poorer dead were interred into the walls. The wealthier families had whole mausoleums. Either way, the hot Southern sun heated the tombs to oven temperatures, and made ashes of them all.

The pine marten wore a rough cotton shirt, open to bare his chest in the humid air, loose pantaloons, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. He was bare-pawed, his fur trimmed short, a loop of twine and beads around his wrist his only decoration. His walk seemed casual yet purposeful, as though he were enjoying a stroll in the peaceful yard before paying his respects to a loved one departed. His eyes, however, were scanning names and dates with greedy attentiveness.

Charlie Duggan
1739-1740
Sleep tight my darling ‘til I rest by your side.

Nilo Serrano
1741
You were loved every precious second of your little life.

Shannon Forsyth
1741-1743
My wild spirit, my fighter, my diamond, you are free.

Jackie Shackle
1743
I held you every moment we had.​

The Pricklee Pointe Records Office was small, gloomy, and busy. The queue wrapped in on itself through a maze of posts and ropes, then stretched out the door, a coiled snake of shuffling beasts from sunup to sundown. Queue times were so long that a few enterprising beasts would fight over the best spots to set up their snack stalls and paper stands, hawking their wares to their captive customers, who would spend a few bob on the local yellow-paged rag or some candy, just to break up the monotony.

The overworked clerks of the Records Office, therefore, were too preoccupied to notice anything out of the ordinary, when a trickle of requests for copies of birth certificates came in over the space of a few days. It was a simple matter really - the clerks were authorised to retrieve the original certificate, prepare printing-blocks that matched the information, and stamp a copy, which was then passed to the office notary to be witnessed and signed as an authentic duplicate.

Birth certificates, incidentally, were not archived with death certificates.

Voil Village
Two months ago

Voil Village in the rains of an afternoon thunderstorm.

The air rang with the whistling and cawing riot of jungle birds, the dry rattle of cicadas, the drone of flying beetles. Blue smoke curled from under thatch-roofed stalls of street vendors. Rough beasts with dark looks etched on exhausted faces smoked under a pub verandah, and watched the street turn into mud.

The big pine marten jack squelched his way along a narrow lane, and tapped a distinct rhythm on the door of a rundown shack. His appearance was much the same as he had been in Pricklee, only now there was a corn-cob pipe between his teeth, and a broad cutlass with a chipped blade hanging from his hip by a shark-leather belt.

A skinny wildcat opened the door. He was bare-chested, his short tortoiseshell fur matted with sweat, a roll of tobacco dangling from his lip. Behind him in the dim confines of the room, the pine marten could make out the shape of a rat-pup, holding a broad-leaved fan. He could hear the rain pattering on the cracked roof tiles, and dripping into the buckets sitting under the leaks.

“Go ‘round back,” the wildcat grunted, glancing down at the marten’s muck-soaked footpaws.

The door shut, and the marten slunk into the narrow gap between the side of the shack and the fence. Overgrown weeds and shrubs taller than he was pulled at his clothes and fur, but he paid no mind. The backyard, cluttered with rusting farm tools, broken wagons and junk was simply open to the jungle. The dense green foliage created a natural screen of privacy.

The marten sat on a wicker chair under the verandah, each of the chair’s legs standing in mismatched pewter bowls of water to keep the ants from climbing it. He cleaned his fingers and palms with a cloth he’d stashed in his pantaloons. The wildcat came out the back door with the fan-bearer pup in tow, the feline scowling as he saw the marten had claimed his chair. He pawed over a battered weatherproof leather case, which the marten unclipped, and set onto his lap. He delicately retrieved one document after another, and scanned each with a careful, practiced eye. The rat-pup brushed flies from his master’s back.

Both the adult males smoked, the marten puffing evenly on his pipe, the wildcat fidgeting with his tobacco roll in between long drags, tapping the glowing end with one extended claw. Wordlessly, the marten re-filed the documents, and snapped the clips on the case shut. He pulled a package wrapped in a rag from his pocket, and held it out. The rat-pup took it, unwrapped it, and sniffed the contents. He looked up at the wildcat, and nodded, once.

The pine marten left, and the wildcat retreated back inside. The whole exchange had taken less than five minutes, and had constituted three words. It had been worth a year’s pay.

Amarone
Present

Hazie only had time to give Teague one last grateful look, before the rest of the family were upon him.

“It’s been too long, Father!” Hazie exclaimed in joy, grasping Eadric’s paw and pumping it firmly. He looked keenly into the other pine marten’s face, and again there was a searching look for approval behind his effusive joy. “I’ve missed you so much! I’ve missed all of you… so, so much!”

Hazie might have hugged Eadric then, if Livia had not rescued her husband, whether she knew it or not. Hazie bowed to her in the manner appropriate for a lady of rank, though he could not keep the happiness from his face, nor his tail from swishing side-to-side and threatening to sweep into Teague’s legs.

“Mother, it’s so wonderful to see you,” Hazie said warmly, managing to lower the volume of his voice as he sensed the austere, judging look in the old marteness’ eye. Sensibly, he decided against trying to win a hug from his mother. “I am not quite sure what they’ve put in the Smelt about me, but I hope at least some of it has done our family proud.”

Hazie was almost startled by Kristine’s closeness. He cocked his ear curiously as she quietly expressed her wish to speak at another time. He nodded, as subtly as her words had been, then masked the moment with an effusive gesture of spreading his arms. “Krissy! You look so much more… regal! Than when I last saw you. ”

The open-armed invitation to a hug inevitably went unrequited, and Hazie had to cover the awkwardness of his pose into a sweeping gesture towards his entourage. “Ahem! Mother, Father, Krissy, I would be honoured to introduce my retinue! During my service on the frontier, I was fortunate to meet many bright and talented young officers, and these four are the top shelf! Paw-picked you might say, with names from respectable gentlebeast families on the Continent. I offered to be their patron, and bring them to the very heart of Imperium civilisation and society. A noble family ought to have clients from the gentry, in the traditional manner, oughtn’t it, Mother? It would have been a waste of good breeding, intelligence and skill to leave them so far from the Empress’ grace!”

Hazie gestured for the vixen to step forward. The scarlet-and-sky-blue clad fox removed her hat and curtsied, as Hazie spoke. “Miss Elowen Serrano, of the Alton Bay Serranos. They are a plantation family, cotton and molasses. Miss Serrano is an heiress to a growing fortune, but that didn’t stop her pursuing civic service in the Army, no indeed!”

“It’s an honour to meet you, Lord and Lady Freemont.” Elowen recited perfectly.

Next stepped up the silvermitt ferret hob dressed in purple and pink. He bowed low, his tail poofed to attention. Hazie continued, “Mister Hickory Forsyth, Esquire. The Forsyths sponsor military expeditions for the betterment of the sciences - anything from botany to archaeological digs for the remains of ancient beasts. You ought to see the butterfly collection at the Forsyth manor if you’re ever passing by, I’ll vouch for it myself! Naturally, Hickory here wanted to get up close and personal with the very bleeding edge of discovery, eh? Wants some rare poisonous beetle named after him! That’s how we ended up such firm friends in fact, our shared interest in entomology… ah, but that can wait.”

Hickory’s whiskers twitched in amusement. “I am your humble servant, Lord and Lady Freemont.”

The stoat jill was next to curtsy. Still in her winter ermine fur, she wore a long black coat, cinched tight by a black sash around her waist, matching black breeches and shined-black boots. The stark black attire offered a counterpoint to her white fur, which brought out a shock of deep blood-red colour from the cravat around her neck. The outfit was sharp and minimal in style, offering the suggestion of expensive yet subtle compared to the gaudiness displayed by Hazie and Hickory.

“Miss Andea Duggan. There’s not so much as a woodchip passes out of Drustan Wood that hasn’t been cut at the Duggan Sawmill,” Hazie explained. “The settlement towns are growing into cities to rival Vulpinsula, and they’re hungry for timber! Andea felt the call of service though, given how precarious the security situation can be around such a vital resource. Her family's legacy will be in safe paws once she takes the helm, I can assure you.”

“I am deeply grateful for your son’s patronage, Lord and Lady Freemont,” Andea said, bowing her head.

The final member of the entourage bowed with a flourish. The young male rat wore a smart suit of dark blues laced and lined with gold. With his slender figure, his poofy headfur oiled and brushed to the last strand, his paws in velvet gloves, and his slightly protruding buckteeth evenly filed and white as bone, he perhaps looked the most aristocratic of the group apart from Hazie himself.

“Mister Leif Shackle, Esquire. The Shackles trace their lineage back centuries, a long line of valiant knights in glorious service to the Imperial Throne. Quite a few interesting relics in the Shackle vaults, I can tell you! These days they deal in arms and armour for our valiant troops, but it’s tradition the Scion of the house earns an officer’s commission too.”

“My father also conveys his deepest respects to Lord and Lady Freemont, and hopes I will bring honour to our name, and serve yours faithfully,” Leif said in low, smooth tones.

The four beasts Hazie introduced seemed as well-groomed and mannered as young gentry were expected to be. Hazie’s summaries of their worth marked them out as new-money colonials - acceptable in polite noble society, but not their equals. In the patron-client relationship, the clients were expected to reinforce the patron’s image and power, in return for favours and special consideration. In acquiring for himself a personal retinue, Hazie was sending a message to all of Amarone’s highborn. I, too, am a Freemont, and a force to be reckoned with.

Never mind the almost undetectable trace of the earthy-sweet scent of tobacco on their paperwork.