The #Broken_Dagger Forum

The heat from the kitchen had dissipated nearing dawn. It was barely first light when the sweat and flour covered mess of a girl, her red hair clinging to her face and neck, slipped ever so carefully in for a bath. It was a quick ordeal, soon dressed in traveling clothes as she finalized the last of the preparations. Patrons of the Dagger may have woken to the sweet scents of cooling berry pies, half a dozen of almost every sort. And those who were smart enough, or knew well enough might manage to put two and two together as to the recipient of so many treats.

But soon the pies were gone, only the pleasant scent would linger. There were several tasks to be done yet before morning was out. The first of which was to pay the messenger, handsomely at that, to take a pie to the Rememdium. By now the Doctor and his assistant might know well enough who it was from and especially considering all their help with Giuseppe. Flowers for the bodyguard might have gone unappreciated, but if it was the thought that counted then it counted, she’d sent them anyway. The last of the items, and perhaps most important was a sealed letter for the Governor.

Once the boy was paid and off a barrowed cart would be hitched to her own horse, one she was still uncomfortable riding. Loaded up the pies were taken directly to Treadwell’s to arrive by midmorning with a gentle rap at the door.

---- Contents of the Letter For Glenn Burnie ----

It had been carefully penned, rehearsed even, but still with haste. And the seal was neither Burnies nor Myrken’s, but a simple ‘G’, familiar to a very few.

Dear Mister Burnie,

My deepest apologies. You will find I am not in Myrken today or for several weeks to come, I would have notified you earlier, but I’ve only just received word from my brother in Thessilane. The Lady Lamai has had her child and has not yet woken.

I hope you will understand. I will send word when I arrive,

Be well and Gods be good,
Genevieve

A second page was almost entirely empty except a small, few sentences in the center of the page. It gave no salutation, no indication of who it was even from, other than it had been penned in the same hand.

I have left hidden the treasure my brother sought in a place he shouldn’t find. In a room that only sees lantern light, in the building we argued about, the very first night I returned to Myrken.

Her words were careful, Tennant –shouldn’t- find it but the two were twins and he knew her well. With any measure of freedom he might easily follow her thoughts to track down the book. But also, it was a riddle that with any luck only Burnie himself would know the answer to, if he could remember. After all, there were many hands the letter might fall into before the Governor would read it.

A rap at the door is enough to send Councilor Treadwell wobbling along from a study off to one side to see to it himself. In a few moments, the huffy-breathed, round-bodied fellow is opening his front door, peeping out with a sniffing-snuffing of his great shnozz. Eyes squint down as his nose picks up the scent of the pies, and then he peeks back up. Beneath the big sheet of a black robe he wears, his belly quivers and rummmmbles.

"Genny, mmph mmph!" comes the merry greeting. He toddles back a couple of steps, waving her in the house. "Whatever brings you by today, hmm hmm, and with so generous a load, hee hee?"

"No, I…" The councilor had bid her enter and so she would despite her taciturn argument.

Even if her load bespoke a peddler, her clothes said otherwise. While new and reasonably fashionable, they were purpose suited; boots made for long treks and riding, and even though summer neared she wore a splendid but entirely utilitarian shawl. Her lips pursed as she took great care to enter, to keep from tripping. It was almost graceful, her red hair pinned tight in two small buns to keep away from her face, the slow and calculated motion of her awkwardly large feet over any bits of the doorjamb in her path.

Before she could get too far in or he would take it upon himself to lead her in for tea, she took her stand.

"I apologize Mister Treadwell, I cannot stay," the speed and confidence with which she was able to deliver the statement gave her hope that the encounter would be brief.

"Mister Treadwell, I… I've sent a note to Mister Burnie explaining the urgency with which I must depart. But I am not sure he will be quite as understanding … as you."

And surely those pies were innocent enough, full of love, goodwill, and hopefully leaving a good taste in the councilor's mouth considering the reasons for her departure. Bribery pies would have been a bit harsh, but who better to have as an ally and what better way to get him?

"Mmmm? A rather sudden exit, hmm hmm?" Tubby arms reach out to take the pies and set them aside on a table near the door for such offerings or other important goodies. "I can't say that I blame you for needing to go, hmm hmm, do whatever it is you need to do. . . but I must say you'll be sorely, dearly missed, mmph mmph!"

Treadwell then frowns, his fat hands wringing together nervously at his belly.

"You, umm, you'll be back eventually--soon enough?--won't you?"

And then, a brief heartening and brightening of that florid face!

"For where are you bound? I might know a few folks there, hmm hmm, a few friends--someone to stay with, someone who might appreciate, mmph mmph, any dear friend of mine, eh?"

Ever sweet Genny could only smile. A beautiful thing for its simplicity - she was not one of the many infamous monsters who preyed on the town. Nor was she one of its heroes. No songs would ever be sung of her bravery, her story would never be in one of the books collapsing the shelves in her beloved library. She had tried to be important, to make herself into someone who was known, someone who might be missed. And for what? To leave?

The realization of her own unimportance, actual or fabricated was in her smile, the same smile she'd always offered a friendly new face, an old friend, or just because there was not enough kindness in the world. "I will miss you too," the sentiment was earnest.

Pies were surrendered immediately, "I suppose Zilliah will be upset…" But it was just a passing thought spoken aloud at the mention of 'missing'. At that she took a few bold steps to the safety of a counter, upon which she could lean.

"Oh yes, I don't foresee my absence lasting more than a month," with travel an all.

But it was the next request that caused her gentle smile to fall, to reveal one of the many reasons she'd come to Treadwell.

"Its quite all right… I will be staying with my… elder brother, in Thessilane," careful of course not to confuse the victim of her other brother. Tennant was still serving his sentence to Myrken, assuming Glenn hadn't cut him a deal she was unaware of.

"Oh," comes a soft-voiced squeak from the again downcrest old tub. "Thessilane. I, err, well, I don't have any influence, mmph mmph, there yet, at least openly, hmm hmm--that is, hmm hmm, officially."

Influence? How well travelled is Mr. Treadwell? Then, another wince of a smile.

"Well, dearie, wherever you end up and for however long, mmph mmph, pray don't forget your friend here, that fat, silly, old Aloisius!" Up come those short, heavily flabbed arms in their big, billowy, black sleeves, extending as he toddles forth for a warm and squooshy hug.

"And don't keep me waiting too long! I'm an old man, mmph mmph!"