The Toils (Book One)

XIII. What Happens Then?

Ritty woke, Antonia still sleeping soundly next to him. He inhaled, staring at her with contempt.
Yawning, he stretched. The smell of food made his nose twitch.
Like a zombie, he dragged himself from the floor, allowing the blankets to fall onto Antonia's sleeping body.
His feet slapped wetly against the floor as he entered into the dining hall, spotting Agnes next to Rena. 
Ritty took a seat in front of an empty plate across from Agnes - Magnus's plate.
"No ones sitting here, right?", Ritty asked, flicking his eyes between Agnes and Rena. 
"T'was Magnus's but she's gone back to bed", Agnes answered him. 
"She allgood?", Ritty asked. 
"No - she's just found out Thatcher neglected to inform her of her mother leading protests against the leader of Gossfordshire", Rena answered.
At the head of the room, guitar man tuned his guitar, the sound of strings catching Ritty's attention. A plate of food was handed to him by the elderly tattooed woman, slices of apple, a piece of toast. 
"Thank you", Ritty looked up at her, visibly taken aback by the sheer volume of tattoos on her body. 
She said nothing, clearly not understanding a word Ritty said to her, walking back toward the kitchens at the head of the room. 
"I don't think I've met you before", Ritty bit a slice of apple, looking at Rena. 
"Rena", she introduced herself, "you?".
"Ritty", he held out his hand, but she neglected to take it - not knowing quite what he was doing. 
"The nobleman", she said with an inkling of disdain. 
"Not anymore", he looked to Agnes. 
"What?", Agnes asked in response to his glance. 
"We've not discussed it, have we?", Ritty asked her.
"Discussed...?", Agnes was a little lost. 
"If we retake Gossfordshire - what happens then?", Ritty asked, "I meet the criteria, right? I'm the only surviving son... I'm married".
"Are you?", Agnes leaned across the table, speaking over the sound of strings being tuned further, "Are you and her really on such good terms?".
Ritty was stumped, fortunately, he didn't have to stick around for long. 
As if talking about her was enough, Antonia appeared behind him.
Noticing her presence, Ritty excused himself from the table, standing and walking off without so much as a hello. 
Watching her husband disappear out the back door, Antonia sat where he had sat. 
"Wow", Rena exclaimed at the situation, "what did you do?", she asked Antonia, a slight smirk painting itself across her lips. 
"I'd rather not talk about it with a stranger", Antonia brushed her off, picking at the toast on Rittys plate. 
Rena looked to Agnes, then back to Antonia. 
"I'm going to find Magnus", Rena stood, "I'll see you both later".
She departed, following where Ritty had just walked. 
"He's not going to forgive me, overall, is he?", Antonia asked Agnes through a mouthful of toast.
"I don't know, Antonia", Agnes responded truthfully, "but probably not, no".
"I can't believe it, Agnes, I mean - does he think the guard never killed anyone?".
"He isn't that naive", Agnes shook her head.
"Then why take it out on me? Why not act this way toward Randall?", Antonia chewed faster, almost angrier. 
"Because he doesn't hold Randall to the same standard he holds you to", Agnes shrugged, "You're his wife. He just lost his brothers to murder - take your pick".
"It's not fair-".
"Fair?", Agnes interrupted Antonia, "If life were fair; I'd be lying in bed with a warm pumpkin soup, reading a book and watching the sunrise from the fifth floor of the first house, but life isn't fair".


Thatcher and Ruataupare rode through the dark, nearly eight hours out of Motueka. 
Snow fell over them, drenching them, chilling their bones. 
The path cleared of trees, leaving ramshackle structures dotting either side of the roadway. 
The majority of them were uninhabitable, leaving the pair scanning for one that was even remotely safe for them to sleep in. 
In the distance, a few hundred meters up the path, a plume of smoke wafted toward the sky. 
"Should we check it out?", Thatcher asked Ruataupare, her cloak draped over her shoulders, keeping her bare skin from the snow. 
"I'd rather not", Ruataupare shivered, "we're close enough to be safe, but too far for help if we need it".
"Right on", Thatcher nodded, "lets hit this place here".
Thatcher pointed to a house that tilted to the right - giving it the appearance that it could topple at any moment.
Cracks ran through the weatherboard cladding the house. 
Ruataupare nodded and they keeled off the road onto the frosted weed jungle covering the former lawn. 
They pushed through the overgrown lawn, stopping on the rotten platform outside the door.
Staff outstretched, Ruataupare pushed the door open, stepping carefully over the threshold. 
It quickly became apparent that no one was inside, Thatcher and the horses stepped inside.

Settling down half an hour later laying atop filthy, moldy, blankets, the warmth of a fire in a steel sink washed over them.
Laying either side of the fire, with the horses to their right and the front door to their left, both Thatcher and Ruataupare stared up at the exposed beams in the ceiling. Holes dotted the roof, rot from centuries of leaks.
"There's one thing bothering me", Thatcher broke the silence. 
"Mmm?".
"What comes after this?", Thatcher asked, not breaking her focus from a particularly worn wooden beam stretching through the roof, attached to the corrugated iron rusting away on the exterior.
"We go to Gossfordshire", Ruataupare replied obviously. 
"After that".
"We win".
"And after that?", Thatcher was growing slightly agitated, "When the battle is won, we still have the battle of winter... Starvation".
"I will give you the blankets, Thatcher - you don't have to worry about winter", Ruataupare wriggled closer to the fire, the horses snored loudly next to her.
"It won't be me in charge though, you get that, right?", Thatcher finally turned her head to face Ruataupare parallel to her.
"Not to me, if Gossfordshire wishes to continue to trade with us, you'll be the only person I ever have to deal with".
"It won't be like that", Thatcher sat up, looking across the flames between them, "Randall is unhinged, but Ritty knows nothing about being the leader of a country... He'll doom us faster than Randall did".
"Where are you going with this, Thatcher? You want me to kill Ritty?", Ruataupare asked rhetorically. 
"No... I just want you to help me find out a way to keep this whole... thing", Thatcher gestured vaguely. "...going... Moving forward together".
"I'm still not quite understanding what it is you're asking of me".
"I want you to swear to me, that no matter what happens, you and all of Motueka will support the people of Gossfordshire. You owe none of our leaders your loyalty, but the people never crossed you".
"Wrong, Thatcher, I owe you my loyalty. The people of Gossfordshire never did anything to assist me, either".
"I'm people. Magnus is people. Drew? People".
Ruataupare bit her lip, staring intently at the roof. 
"All right. I hear you", she conceded, turning her head to face Thatcher. 
"So when this battle is done, and we retake Gossfordshire from Randall, you'll help us take surplus goods down to Zedeylia to trade for food?".
"I will help you. If what helps you helps everyone, then that's all the better". 
Thatcher sighed, feeling like maybe the sentiment just wasn't going to get through to Ruataupare. 
Laying back down, she closed her eyes, content that at least there was a rocky plan in place to feed Gossfordshire once the battle was done.