The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

One Week - Day 5

On the fifth day, Able had his scheduled audience with the count. He had done his best to tidy up and freshen the scent of the solitary outfit he had been wearing for over two weeks, but his best was not impressive unless one considered his lack of resources. He did not expect Adeptson to. At least Northrise had been happy to gift him soap so he could clean himself.

He sat on the bench in the T-shaped intersection that led up to the imposing door to the audience hall. The hands of the clock, an impressive brass mechanism attached to the wall beside the door, clicked loudly as the star-shaped weight pulled the gears along on its quest for the floor. 10:02. Able wondered if this was the actual time, not that it mattered as the clock was fulfilling its role of reminding who exactly was waiting on whom.

The door opened at 10:03 and a squat man in a stiff longcoat poked his head out—Fleet Barker, the count's secretary— and invited Able inside. It wasn't quite like stepping into Larbantry the way the front hall had been, but it still tried with some moulding along the ceiling, a large, lavishly designed entry carpet, and a raised dais for the people of rank.

The wall behind the dais, however, was bare. Given that it would customarily be covered with art commemorating the accomplishments of the noble family tree, Able thought it did Adeptson few favors. On the other hand, maybe it was a defensive gesture.

The count himself stood at the end of the dais nearest the window, looking like a broody portrait as he stared into the gray light. His black hair was neatly oiled and coiffed to give the impression of waves gliding back from his face. His eyelashes were thick and strangely straight, and he wore his mustache in a sharp chevron that matched the angle of his eyebrows. Able could not find much resemblance between him and Lark, but he supposed they were only cousins and then supposed further that if Adeptson did not look much like the Firstprophet clan that his blood claim would be all the more precarious.

"My Lord," Secretary Barker began. "May I introduce Able Houser of the University of Fourwind Heights?"

Adeptson turned and strode to the center of the dais with inappreciable aid of his elaborately carved cane. Able could see the count was favoring his right leg, but could not see why. He came to a stately rest before the two men on the floor and leaned on his cane with both hands.

"I do not understand why you requested an audience."

"I wish to interview you, my Lord," Able gestured with his notebook and pencil to draw attention to them, "since I am writing a chronicle about a domain that is your purview."

"There is as of yet not a lot of story to be told," Adeptson sniffed.

"Yes, but," Able hoped he could avoid sounding condescending, "I rather intend to be here and ahead in the work when it gets to that point?"

"Seems a lot of effort when you can just write what the other scholars write. It's a frozen waste, but we need the lumber." His tone was dismissive, but he actually seemed embarrassed.

"To the contrary, I think as the latest addition to our empire, there is a lot of potential in this region," Able attempted to resurrect the ambitious persona he had first used with Reeve. "Surely, my Lord, you have designs for this territory beyond simple production?"

"Of course I do," Adeptson straightened. "Square mileage alone makes this territory larger than any of the provinces. Now, you may say, what does that matter, when it's mostly uninhabitable, and what little available farmland is unusable half the year? Well, I disagree. I think with a little ingenuity, we can turn those factors around. Furthermore, while the Royal Navy will always have the priority, I have three thousand miles of coastline I can fill with shipyards to cater to the trading industry."