The Count of Castle Rock

Chapter XLVII- Barnabas in the North

Lucky smiles as he chews on a sprig of gum root. He winks at the pretty townie staring at him from across the room. She is young with pale skin, a sprinkling of freckles across her forehead, but very little bosom to speak of. Not his type at all, but part of the job is keeping up appearances and Lucky Blades is great at his job. He's playing the role of administrative assistant to a prominent representative of The Merchant's Guild. A friendly young man with an eye for prospects and cute country girls. Lucky scans the room, memorizing the faces of those who scowl and listening for any murmurs of discontent.

Lykeshaw stands behind Barnabas. She doesn't have to play the role of bodyguard, it's the role she was born for. If anyone threatens the old man, she'll put a blade through their eye regardless of the soldiers swarming the streets of Solomon.

"So here we are, prisoners in our own town." The man whispering into Lucky's ear is a member of the town watch, or at least he was. "The Lord Marshal is levying the local militia and conscripting anyone with experience into his army. Look at me." The man gestures at the tabard of office draped over his leather armor. "I'm a sergeant in The Army of The Northern Reaches. Last month I was a local peacekeeper."

"I'm sorry, friend, but are you complaining or celebrating."

The man gives Lucky a queer look then screws up his face. "I'm not sure."

"That's obvious."

"Fighting in the north is normal. The Stafford and The Tathagars hate each other, and there's always some warlord or other building himself an army on the fringes of the kingdom. This is different though."

"Because of the levy."

"Yeah. The Lord Marshal showed up here with an army of his own, then he went up The Rock to speak with The Black Count. He comes back down and takes over Solomon and Grazing. That part ain't normal at all."

"I get that, my friend, but are you for or against your new position?"

"I've gone from breaking up domestic disputes and chasing away ghosts— don't laugh, they're out there. My new unit commander has put me in charge of twenty conscripts. So there's that..."

"Was there an answer buried somewhere in there?"

The man sputters, his face turning red. "I don't know. The answer is, I don't know."

"That seems fair." Lucky pats the man on the shoulder and offers a sprig of gum root fished from his vest pocket.

He likes the man, there isn't a hint of guile in him, just earnest words. Lucky likes that about country folk. It makes them easy marks. Lucky thinks of his people, hiding among the camp followers who traveled north with The Lord Marshal's hosts. Amongst the northerners he has no doubt they can fend for themselves, but there's always the chance that someone within the army's ranks will recognize them.

He hopes Powder will see trouble coming ahead of time.

Barnabas slams his hands down on the long table and in a flourish of his yellow cape. The room erupts in applause. Always the showman, the old man bows and thanks the gathered merchants of Solomon. He puts his hand out and Lykeshaw hands him his rainbow-plumed hat. In a blur of drama and colorful feathers, Barnabas Blinker leaves the building. His handsome assistant and surly bodyguard follow in his wake.

"Mr. Blinker! Mr. Blinker."

Lucky looks back, his hand subtly resting on the hilt of his knife.

"You have a fan, old man."

The cute country girl hurries over, her cheeks reddening when she glances at Lucky. Barnabas slaps on his signature smile and doffs his feathered hat. Lykeshaw sizes up the girl and scoffs. She steps aside and scans the streets for trouble.