The door was old and worn enough to swing back closed with ease, concealing the mass of armaments as it had before. And the staircase going back down had held together better than Sebastian had expected. It looked to be a dangerous trek to the bottom floor from where he had been standing. The wood was cracked and ancient, most of the nails were missing from their places, and the guardrail appeared to have been cleaned with a bludgeoning tool at some point or another. The only thing that amazed him more than the condition of the staircase was his lack of noticing such a thing upon his walking up earlier.
Preparing a pot of tea over small chimney fire was Markanthony Di'Voire, the retired tax collector in need of protection for some sudden reason that still had yet to be addressed. Sebastian walked into the kitchen area across the room from where his boss was standing, looking to get a feel for the retired lifestyle. He saw a reasonable stock of food upon the counters and in stacked crates below the kitchen window, which there was only one of. Apples mostly filled those boxes, whilst bread of different kinds made up the majority of the counter's contents. A light bit of dried-out fish sat in a woven sack, which Sebastian only realized because of the unmistakable aroma it gave off, although there was also an added scent coming from the spices which had been applied before it fully dried. This was the moderate keepings of a retired old man Sebastian thought to himself. Moderate keepings meant to hold him over when he wished to stay at home or otherwise could not go out to dine, and it was all still better than what he had in his mansion of a house.
"I see you fancy the stranger sword." Markanthony said, somewhat startling Sebastian and breaking his deep-rooted concentration which had been fixated upon the thought of this confusing situation. "Indeed" replied Sebastian, "It seemed the best fit for my hand and I wouldn't wish to rob you of the best protection that I could give."
Markanthony chuckled a bit; not to the surprise of Sebastian, who had come to expect it after their first meeting outside the tea shop in the Silverbeth district. "Can I ask a question of you Mister Di'Voire?" Sebastian said to him with a curious tone to his voice. "Surely I can find an answer or two for your ever-growing list of ponderings."
With that the formulation of Sebastian's true goal began. His thoughts connected and became supplementary to one-another as he reached for the words with which the question could be posed. A few more seconds passed by with only the sound of the wind passing through the open kitchen window to break the silence. "How did a man with wealth such as yours end up living in an alleyway stuck between two brick stores, searching for a young protector to guide about your days? I hadn't even ever heard of you when you'd sent the letter to my address and I certainly didn't have the means to make it to your meeting place if you hadn't told the pathway guards to let me through, which I can say with utmost certainty you did."
This question seemed quite out of place to Markanthony, or at least that's what his face expressed. Upon hearing the words leave Sebastian's mouth he had no laughter or widening grin, but rather a serious stance and look about him. He even stood straight up and down, perpendicular to the ground, as he likely never was. There'd been a slight hunch that kept him from standing at his true height, though the use of his cane gave no more than an inch at best when he implemented good posture.
"I chose to live the way I do because it keeps me in the lowest likelihood of being noticed; by the soldiers, by the bandits, by the personal advisors of the King. There are men who follow the orders of the Crown to the letter. And those men sit in lavished rooms with beautiful paintings and extravagant wines from the finest places in all the civilized world. They sit and they discuss every order given, and every plan that the King wants to proceed, and they think of how to make it happen at the expense of anyone but themselves. I retired from the royal service, the Crown no longer needs me. It needs my money. And no King as blasphemous as a false-martyr, and as crazy as devils of Hell, is going to be above the moral dilemma of sending some hired criminals to rob me of my fortune. That is why I live the way I do."
YOU ARE READING
A Rise of Descent: 1760
Historical FictionAn epic story that follows the twisted past of the British Empire, which has been tainted down to its very core by a tyrant of a King. Sebastian Juliarmus was born to inherit all that his father had worked for, but the path to redeeming what was sto...
