by Treadwell » Thu Apr 28, 2016 2:13 pm
Swinstead: home of swine.
It certainly lives up to its name as the carriage rolls slowly closer as dusk falls and night slowly wraps the land. Pigs abound; other livestock live around the area, too, of course, but especially pigs, as the Lord Steward predicted. The town is certainly rural and rustic: small wooden houses, small wooden lots for the animals, small wooden shops, wide open fields, carefully built animal pens and muddy wallows.
Treadwell is certainly used to all of this. Tubbians live quite close to things of the earth--fields and farms, especially. In fact, he snores right through the reaching of the town, maintaining his noisome nap until Gregory calls back, "Swinstead, m'lord! We near Mayor Cole's house, and he is outside!"
Outside? Very much so. This young mayor is more farmer than politician; brilliant red hair, heavy jowls and stomach, worn and stained brown tunic and trousers and apron over it all. He leans heavily atop a shovel near the door to his home; the lady who is certainly his beloved Jeanette, equally red of hair, wears a similar brown dress, simply made--no fancy lady's fashions on this young lady of perhaps sixteen or seventeen. She sits near her husband on a bench, tired and drained and about a month from delivering their first child.
"Lord Tubbius!" comes the merry roll of a greeting from the young mayor as the coach comes to stop and Treadwell snorts and snuffs and blinks awake, still sitting opposite N'vek, his pipe's having fizzled out in his mouth. With a yawn and a stretch of those pudgy arms, Tready sits a little straighter as Gregory comes around to open the side door.
"M'lord Treadwell? Young master?" comes the greeting from the butler as he moves to help his employer out of the carriage. Barely out of the carriage and on the ground, Aloisius is taken up in a squooshing embrace from Mayor Cole, prompting a squeak of breath from the old man.
"We expected you this morning, Holy One!"
"Mmph! A detour, hm hm! We were delayed in Fyeden for a bit."
"Well, you are here now, all three of you. Now, you all go in with Jeanette--supper's a-waiting!--and I will take your Arnold and your carriage to the barn for the night."
Supper. The word is barely said before Aloisius's stomach rumbles in reply. Cane in hand, the elder gent starts after the gravid hostess.
"Archibald said this mornin', sir, 'Though he tarry, Tubbius will come!' And here you are with your. . . son? I thought I knew all your children, Mr. Treadwell."
"Not son, mmph. Riding companion, hm, at Alice's request. This is, mmph, well, N'vek to some, Kevan to others."
Fluffy eyebrows go up to the human lad; a warm smile wraps across the fleshy lips.
"Supper sounds splendid, dear Jeanette. What have you tonight?"
"Something of everythin', sir. You know how Archibald likes t'eat."
Treadwellian laughter rolls; the interior of the house is humble by his standards but certainly lavish by those of the local community. It's larger than most in the town, and the chairs at the table are a bit more cushioned than the others in homes around, and there's even a rocking chair by the nearby fireplace--a good match for the two in Treadwell's toy shop, and with good reason: the old toymaker's craftsmanship is the reason said seat exists. Into that rocker Aloisius sinks as Jeanette and Gregory take to setting up supper.
"Greg'ry, mmph! You are a guest!"
"Now, m'lord, I am your butler, first, and a guest second. Besides, were your Alice so great with child, sir, as Mrs. Cole, would you have her doing all the work in the kitchen?"
"Of course not." And back to getting his pipe relit Treadwell goes, leaving the others to bringing out a cooked ham, rolls, some carefully laid aside cheese, and tea and ale to drink. As food is set down and extra chairs are pulled over to the table, in comes the young mayor, wheezing huffily. "There's more in the kitchen!" he bellows despite his shortness of breath. "I reckon we will need it shortly."
Thus does Archibald Cole cast off his apron, hanging it on its hook by the warmly glowing fire, and sink into a seat at the table. The food set, wife and butler join him, and, worming his way from the rocking chair, Aloisius lumbers across the floor on his cane with a simple announcement.
"Tubbius blesses, mmph, this meal and His hosts, hm hm! May we all know contentment, hm hm, from this fine repast, and sleep well tonight with bellies full and beds warm!"
There prove to be three courses; the young host was correct about their being more, but even he seems a little amazed at his first trip back to fetch more. Puzzled brows study his superior in the Church; shoulders shrug, and the meal goes on until host and hostess are away to bed (with directions left to the spare bedroom off to the left side of the kitchen), Gregory sleeps slumped in his chair at the table, and Aloisius turns to N'vek, whether the boy dozes or not--or, for that matter, hears or not. He speaks softly and toddles gently for the door, taking up a lit lamp on the way.
"I have things to do outside, m'boy, mmph--animals to look upon and to bless. You are free to come along, mmph, although I shall be back in here, oh, in a couple of hours or so, I suppose, hrm hrm."
And with that said, and with no further delay, Aloisius Horatio Treadwell toddles out into the midnight.
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium