Karl raised his eyebrows.
“You’ve met the Hounds, then.”
Klaus’ expression darkened.
“Delberz’s shame. If the Baron had any guts, he'd put a stop to them."
They spoke for a while on the Hounds and Halbermann - Klaus had an impressive memory for the names of the various low-born innocents who had been beaten and imprisoned by the militia, and their supposed crimes. After a short while, a gaggle of young men entered the inn, hailing Karl and Klaus – a bewildering round of introductions followed, Illiiya seeming to shrink in on herself as their table became much more crowded. More arrived in drips and drabs, until at least a dozen of them had gathered – all young, all male, all dressed in the same way. They weren’t nobles - unless they were slumming it rather convincingly – but they were certainly not poor, and well-educated. As their numbers grew, their conversation turned increasingly to the kind of high-minded ideas Raffy had heard them discussing the other night, leaving him fairly at sea. He latched onto one thread, trying to follow what was being said.
“That’s what this whole mess is about,” said one confident-sounding man. “Divine right. The Emperor rules with the mandate of Sigmar, and treason against the Empire is blasphemy against their Church. A viper with two heads – grapple with only one, and the other will have its fangs in you pretty quick!”
“You should talk to Mr Rafale, Bernhardt,” said Karl, grinning. “He was in an... altercation with a fellow earlier about our glorious Emperor.”
“Is that so?” said Bernhardt. Raffy opened his mouth to reply, but the man pressed on – he got the impression that Bernhardt was rather enamoured with the sound of his own voice.
“It is a pity we don’t have another Emperor Boris, sir, that the people would see the iniquity of the system. I won't have any kings; if it were only from an economical point of view, I don't want any; a king is a parasite. Listen to this: the dearness of kings. At the abdication of Dieter IV, our national debt amounted to an income of thirty thousand marks; at the death of Wilhelm Holswig-Schliestein, the first of the Altdorf Princes, it was two milliards, six hundred millions, which would to-day be equivalent to twelve milliards.
Twelve milliards, sir.”
Raffy had never exactly been super-numerate. He blinked, and nodded.
“I have done the calculations,” said Bernhardt, flourishing one finger. “One cannot argue with the facts. Hard facts, sir, the first recourse of the reasonable man, and the greatest fear of the charlatan and deceiver!”
There was a rattle of carriage wheels outside, causing the conversations at their table to break off briefly – a few heads turned to the door as the coach drew to a halt. There was a muffled exchange of words outside, followed by approaching footsteps.
Sure enough, the door creaked open – heads other than those of Klaus’ friends turned as an exceptionally beautiful woman stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind her. In contrast to Klaus’ society, her clothes were clearly the clothes of a noblewoman, albeit perhaps not the ludicrous whalebone-reinforced extravagances of the Altdorf court – she wore a fur shawl against the cold, her long black hair running loose over its surface. Green eyes fixed on the party at Klaus’ table, a warm smile splitting her face as she approached.
“So sorry I’m late,” she said to Klaus. “I’m afraid some tedious business delayed me.”
She paused as she caught sight of Raffy and Illiiya, looking at the elf with particular interest.
“I don’t believe I’ve met these friends of yours before, Klaus,” she said.
“We’ve only just met them ourselves,” said Klaus, a little reluctantly.
“Mr Rafale, and his adopted sister Illiiya,” said Karl. “Rafale was wondering if he could join our meeting.”
“You talk as if it was for me to decide,” laughed the lady, taking a seat. “Charmed to meet you, Rafale, Illiiya. My name’s Maria.” She looked at Illiiya again. “I had heard there were elves in town.”
“Different elves,” said Klaus.
“Really?”
“You should have seen the other one,” grinned Karl. “He and Rafale here got on like a house on fire.”
“Another? I wish I’d been here.” She seemed genuinely fascinated by Illiiya, her eyes continuing to dart back to the elf.
“We have the old room,” said Klaus, seemingly eager to move the conversation on. “Shall I get the key off Dieter?”
“Of course,” said Maria, turning her attention back to the group at large. “I’m so sorry for holding you up.”
The young man mumbled something along the lines of “not at all,” and excused himself from the table. Chatting enthusiastically among themselves, the assembled company began to rise from their seats...
Illiiya Only
Spoiler
Show
Just before Maria enters – round about the time the noise of the coach wheels stops – there is a slight twitch in the Aethyr. It doesn’t seem to be associated to any particular wind, and makes you feel a little uneasy – but it’s very slight.