A visit to the loyal.

[channe]

Altias proclaimed that he was no criminal, no threat. There would be no trial. But the Brotherhood was still at his door, so Helstone had to rely on -- other ways -- to get out.

Honestly, he was relieved, even though he no longer cared. He had a few loose ends to tie up before he took that wagon North, and one of them involved striding into the Rememdium on such an early morning; here was a man in a cloak, honestly, a black cloak without a face. Rosa's little toy, borrowed after much cajoling. He strides quickly and purposefully through the lobby, down the hall, and to the room where Cinnabar has taken --

-- where he rests, one hand on the doorway, top-to-bottom in black, to see if the man is awake or not.

[Cinnabar]

He might seem to sleep at first, lying still in his bed, eyes closed and a frown still marking his brow even in rest. But a few breaths pass, and eyelids flick open to allow that pallid gaze to fall upon this interloper.

Still as colourless as when Ariane Carnath-Emory and the new Governor had visited, still a curled figure who might be sculpted from plaster as an exercise in anatomy and drapery, all pale skin and crumpled linen shirt and sheets. He regards the faceless and black-clad figure intently for a moment, before he speaks.

"Can I help you?"

[channe]

A long moment passes -- before the figure's hand comes up to push back the hood to reveal Coriolanus Helstone's dark hair, the collar of one of his regal suits, a slightly worried expression.

"May I come in?"

The man has a look about him Cinnabar has never seen: hunted, but still proud; broken, but still unbroken. He has a nasty bruise on his jaw, hunched shoulders, lifted chin, and there's concern there in his eyes.

"I -- apologize for coming so early in the morning. I should not be missed by the guards, you see, and the easiest way to do that is during the night shift."

[Cinnabar]

A blink, followed by a brief grin of genuine pleasure as the former Governor pushes back his hood, though one tempered by a flash of... what, regret? Apology?

"Certainly, sir! Please, take a seat. Forgive me if I don't get up." He waves a hand at the simple chair pushed into one corner of the room, inviting Helstone to draw it nearer. A frown of concern at his next words, however.

"You are under guard? On what grounds?" He hitches himself up onto one elbow in order to better see his visitor, though not without some discomfort to his wounded back. Which he disregards, because he already grows impatient with it.

[channe]

There's a palpable sense of relief as he enters -- strides over to pick up the chair, and drag it closer to Cinnabar's bed. Then, it's off with the cloak, folding it nicely and laying it across the back of that chair, and he seats himself there, clasping his hands. He is dressed all in black, from the ribbon that dresses his hair to the shirt underneath the jacket; it is good fabric, although not expensive, and even in his disgrace Helstone must be proud in the way he presses his clothing. That is who he is.

"I am deposed," he says, "and is that not enough for one such as Altias Bromn, who --" his eyes flash, and a disgusted look crosses his face, "-- has accomplished such a violent accession? No. He's named me not a criminal, but the guards do not leave my door. I am deposed, and that is enough for Karolinger."

He pauses, looking down at Cinnabar; there's a ghost of a remembrance of Karolinger's angry face, of his words -- and he pushes it aside.

"I have come to express my gratitude, Mr. Calomel. My utter and complete gratitude."

[Cinnabar]

It makes a peculiar sight, these two figures - one white, one black; one of sleep-tousled hair and creased sheets, the other of fastidious grooming and elegant garments. It might almost seem a deliberate composition, containing subtle clues and meanings.

Helstone speaks of gratitude, and Cinnabar blinks once, momentarily lost for words. When he speaks again it is quietly, and with a wry twist to his lips.

"I wish I could better deserve it, sir. Had we moved to disperse the crowd before they marched with the Brotherhood at their head, it may have turned out differently. The whole business might have been prevented." A slight shrug. "But to regret something does not change it, alas."

[channe]

To regret something --

Cinnabar's words draw a short, halting laugh from Helstone's throat. Absolutely the opposite of Altias' attempts at pawning off responsibility back on the barrister's shoulders.

"Yes. But for your first time out, it was really quite well-handled," says the deposed Governor; one would think, perhaps, as Roschen had, that he was going to his own funeral. "You could not have guessed that the Brotherhood was going to participate, was going to foment rebellion in the crowd -- it turned a corner neither of us could have imagined. Sickening."

A pause, and then his eyes rest on the man's bandages.

"And you? You will recover adequately, I hope?"

[Cinnabar]

"Thank you, sir. I am proud of my men, and will pass your appreciation on to them."

Bandaged hands, bandaged ribs, neat and clean enough. Not as lurid as Helstone's bruises, the severity of his wounds demurely veiled in strips of linen and gauze. A shrug of one shoulder, a quirk of a grin.

"I intend to. I shall rest for a short while longer, then make of myself such an insufferable nuisance that the good Doctor will be eager to see the back of me." The grin fades a touch. "It would seem that I still have responsibilities to attend to. I would not have them neglected."

Grey eyes watch for the former Governor's reaction to this - would he view it as betrayal? Abandonment? Perhaps a more detailed reasoning would help: "The town still needs a Constabulary, and I would not leave such duties in the hands of Janeiro butchers."

[channe]

He grows quiet, at this; he grows serious. He nods, and the fact that Calomel wishes to continue in his position draws a torrent of words.

"I would expect no less of you. Bromn -- before this, I would say he means well, but hasn't the -- and excuse me for the crudeness -- but he hasn't the balls to make the decisions necessary to truly advance the cause of the People of Myrken Wood. Or, hadn't, until yesterday. I would worry about him, Mr. Calomel; I would watch him like a hawk. I would watch Roschen, as well. The man's a vulture, and I'm quite sure he's out somewhere as we speak trying to find a way to turn this to his benefit and his benefit only. I am growing more and more certain that Lord Aldred is an opportunist of Roschen's sort, and -- oh, God, who knows."

A pause; a slight dip of the head, before he clears his throat and continues.

"I agree with you fully. The town needs a Constabulary; it needs something to stand tall for right in a time when no-one else will. I have never trusted Janeiro, that is true. I have been told that I am paranoid, Cinnabar; you've heard this from others' lips, and most likely you've thought it yourself. If there is something you learn from this, it is the knowledge that you may only trust in the Law, and never -- never in others."

[Cinnabar]

A nod, ever so slight, in guarded agreement with Helstone's assessment.

"He visited, yesterday." A flicker of annoyance at the memory, anger brought to mind once more like a picked scab. "Miserable and hand-wringing and apologetic, limp and clammy as a damp rag; I don't think he'd slept or washed or changed into fresh clothes since the riot. It was all 'it's not my fault', and 'how was I to know?' and 'o woe, what have I wrought?', and yet hardly a word for how he would make things right again, how he would seek to make his Governorship worth the price paid by my men." He shakes his head scornfully. "That is not what Myrken needs in a Governor, not now." The High Constable sighs, visibly calming himself with an effort of will.

"I think he has noble intentions, and doesn't mean harm, but he perhaps doesn't see how harm might come from his actions. And he seems... averse to taking responsibility. He equates responsibility with blame, and strives to avoid it. I hope that will change. I shall endeavour to make sure that it does. If he needs guidance, then guidance he shall have." Lips set into a firm line at that, resolve clear in his features. "Roschen, I shall be sure to watch. Karolinger also. Lord Aldred, it happens, has invited me to dinner, which is interesting."

"I was told that you are not a man who trusts easily. Given recent events, I come to appreciate such a policy more and more myself." Again that wry smile, cynical humour quirking his lips. "But to be so consistently proven right in such beliefs is perhaps the bitterest cup of all."

[channe]

"Dinner," he says, chuckling. "I would bring a concealed dagger, just in case," and, Cinnabar, mind -- it's obvious he's only joking to a point. You may also take that as advice. He leans forward, then, to consider and speak to the man's thoughts and concerns, something strange lighting his eyes. A bitter cup indeed, and one that Helstone has drank over and over and over.

"That is -- perhaps the most spot-on description of Altias Bromn I've heard in quite a while, Mr. Calomel. He does not understand that, speaking as a leader, words are -- more than words. He is a child, like the rest of them on the Council -- with their wordless acceptance of this farce, of the primacy of violence, of the power of coin and sword over law. It disgusts me. It simply disgusts me, and it does me good to hear that you are one of the only men still committed to Right."

Now it's his turn to calm himself -- he takes a moment; looks to the cieling, and then back down at Cinnabar.

"This place could kill your soul, Mr. Calomel. Don't let it happen to you."

[Cinnabar]

"I am sure there are others with similar concerns, but they have not yet been as vocal as Bromn's supporters. They will appear soon enough, I have no doubt. For my part, I shall do my best that the precedent set by Captain Karolinger is not continued." Steel in his tone at this promise, this resolution.

"Children need to be guided and kept safe from bad influences. I am sure that can be arranged." His expression softens, genuine amusement lighting his features. "Perhaps I shall have my title amended: High Constable and Wetnurse to the Judiciary Council." A helpless shake of his head at the ridiculousness of it all. "Do not worry for my soul, sir. It has its own shields." He thinks of a voice like a great bell struck softly, and grins.

"And what of you? Will you remain on the Council?"

[channe]

Ah. That question. He'd half-hoped to simply dissappear one morning; to leave the question of his cowardice to wagging tongues and the history books.

"No," he says, quietly. "Rosamaria and I will be leaving for Fisherman's Bay as soon as she is able, for an extended visit with her family; and then, most likely, I will return to Collingford or -- perhaps to Ricathair, where I'll open another law practice. Do what I did when I came here. Can you believe I once made my money preparing wills for fishwives?"

He falters, chuckles, shakes his head, and straightens in his chair.

"I am not a brutal man; there is no longer a place for me here."

[Cinnabar]

Cinnabar cannot mask the disappointment from his features, and his grin fades quickly. He lies subdued for a moment, propped on one elbow, before nodding quietly.

"You are a gentleman, sir. And there is always a place - no, a need for gentlemen in this town. But you know your own mind, and I do not doubt that you will find more peace and stability somewhere away from here." He offers the shadow of his customary amiable grin, grey gaze falling keen upon the ousted Governor.

"I have known you only a short time, yet I would presume to count you as a friend as much as a superior, if you would permit it. I must also thank you for the trust you have shown me, and the opportunities granted. Whatever rot Roschen or Bromn or a hundred ill-informed louts in the marketplace might speak, you are a good man, sir. I shall ensure that the Constabulary stands as a monument to your unflinching integrity and selfless goals for Myrkentown."

He shifts, leaning to offer an outstretched hand.

"Mr Helstone. It has been an honour."

[channe]

"I have tried to be selfless, but we all have our faults," he says, quietly. "I was almost -- not a gentleman, sir, and I suppose the only thing I have to thank that bastard Karolinger for is taking me back from the brink."

He then shrugs the rest of that off, and shakes the man's hand firmly. "You would presume correctly; I would very much like to count you my friend, Mr. Calomel. I appreciate what you are going to continue to do for Myrken Wood; you will stand between madness and more madness, and while that is not an enviable position, it is a necessary one. I admire you for taking it on."

He reaches into the pocket of his coat, and moves to drops a key into Cinnabar's hand. It shines in the candlelight.

"This is the key to my home on Baker Street. I am transferring ownership of the building to the Constabulary; you may use it or sell it as you wish." And then, he straightens again, setting his shoulders into a gentleman's stance, smiling, standing.

"... and it has indeed been an honor, Mr. Calomel. May you recover well; good health to you and to the Constabulary. I will keep in touch."