Rattus Rex

Chapter 49 - Bait (2)

Despite the impressive gate, entering Tremon was as easy as it had always been. Heston was waved through by a bored guard, who only straightened momentarily to salute when he belatedly recognized Heston’s uniform as one belonging to an officer of the realm.

Heston returned the half-assed effort with a nod, and proceeded down the main street of Tremon, toward the inn at the town center. On his way, he passed the gambling house of the Bason family, which he eyed suspiciously.

The old gambling house had been a respectable building, albeit a bit worn out, but now it was positively shining with newly laid bricks and woodwork. Resplendent, it outshone every building in the vicinity. Heston took particular note of the two brawny men standing at the entrance, with arms like wooden logs.

Arriving before the inn, Heston dismounted, as a spindly stable boy came running toward him, attempting to both bow and accept Spot’s reins at the same time. “Don’t overfeed him,” he said, as the boy kept his head down, “I’m leaving early in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said, tugging at the horse. Spot shook its head an resisted being dragged away from its master, when Heston put his hands on the beast and said, “Easy, there… Go take a break.”

Spot rolled its eyes and waved its snout in the direction of the stable boy, as if there was something Heston was missing. When he waved it off, Spot shook its head again, and unwillingly followed the stable boy into the back yard of the inn.

Heston followed Spot with his eyes for a while, not sure what to make of its behavior, when a soft voice spoke at his side. “Such a clever beast.”

Turning, he stood next to the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with her long, dark hair flowing down upon her shoulders in waves of velvet, framing a face of near-perfect symmetry. Distracted by the woman, he missed the stable boy looking back over his shoulder with eyes of sickly yellow.

“I’m sorry, My Lady?” He said, taken aback as he had failed to notice her approach.

“Your horse, My Lord,” she said, unfolding a fan and hiding most of her sculpted face behind it, “It seems to me a very clever creature.”

“I—Well… I’m afraid it has failed to convince me of that,” Heston admitted, studying the woman closely. Was she an agent of the Undergrowth, who’d had the audacity to approach him in clear daylight? Surely not.

“Then, perhaps you should look closer,” she said, just barely hiding a sweet smile. She turned her head, and their eyes met. He thought he might drown in those large, dark eyes, as she took one step closer.

Below their feet, her shadow crossed his. A cold shiver ran down Heston’s spine, making him tremble. She tilted her head, studying him, then slapped the fan onto her hands and curtsied. “If you’d like, My Lord,” she said, as she straightened her back once more, “I’d be more than happy to teach you the nature of such beasts…”

Her suggestive tone made Heston swallow nervously, finding his mouth completely dried out. “I-m sorry, My Lady, I don’t think I understand—”

“Oh well,” she said, shrugging, “If you change you mind; come to my Purple Palace, and I will see that you get the best service we provide.”

At the mention of the local brothel, Heston’s face lit up in red, as he stuttered to find an appropriate response. The mysterious lady giggled and then elegantly floated down the street, leaving the young soldier to look as foolish as he felt.

“Damn whores,” Heston muttered, feeling humiliated. He had a mission to do, however, and so ignored the onlookers, who were gossiping around him. With his back stiff as a board, he marched into the inn, entering the common room with subdued intensity.

He found the innkeeper and arranged for a room as well as a midday meal, making sure to slip the proper code into the conversation. The innkeeper noted nothing awry, but a shadow in the corner made a hasty retreat up the stairs, to Heston’s relief. Their contact was still alive, then.

He needed to establish communications between the contact and the army, and help coordinate the trap that would take down the Undergrowth for good. His mission was critical, and he could not fail.

Seating himself at an empty table, Heston was soon furnished with a foamy mug of ale from a server. Just as he was about to take his first sip, though, a shadow crossed his table. Looking up, he saw the biggest man he had ever seen looming over him.

“This seat taken, lad?” A deep bassoon voice made everything in the vicinity vibrate. Heston shook his head and said, “No, Sir.”

With a snort, the huge man sat down opposite him and said, “Ain’t no Sir, lad. Just a poor traveler.” He then turned and waved to a figure standing close to the door and said, “Over here, Ran, let’s take a rest.”

Heston studied the unlikely couple of travelers, uncertain what to make of them. The man was a giant, with a broad face and a sharp nose that looked like it had been broken several times and never properly recovered. His eyes were deep-set brown, with a pair of bushy eyebrows, while a thick beard covered most of his lower face.

The other one was small and slim, dressed completely in white, which was somehow not stained by a single speck of dust, with a hood keeping the face in shadow. Once this one approached, Heston saw a sharp and angular face, with two sparkling green eyes which pierced through everything before them. While the clothes were male, the face seemed strangely effeminate to Heston.

“Name’s Jargo,” the huge man said, grinning so wide his stained teeth flashed yellow in the meager light, “This is Ran.” The last, he said and tilted his head toward the approaching figure in white.

“Ahh… yes,” Heston said, putting on a smile, “I am Second Lieutenant Heston of the king’s army.”

“Ohh, an army man,” the giant laughed, “Did you hear that, Ran, we’re in the presence of a warrior.”

The white-clad figure sat down beside the giant and looked straight forward, without acknowledging either Heston or Jargo. “Ahh don’t be so shy,” Jargo laughed, then called for ale from the nearest server. “Ran don’t like the crowds, see,” Jargo said, as he leaned forward conspiratorially.

“I… I see,” Heston said, trying to keep a straight face. He had hoped mentioning his military position would have scared off the man—and was beginning to wonder if he should use some of his noble rights to have the man booted away from his table, but he felt that it would surely cause too big a disturbance. Besides… the man had approached him; perhaps he was an Undergrowth agent.

“What brings you to Tremon, Master Jargo?” Heston said, putting on his best smile.

“I’ve been called in to repay a favor,” Jargo said and shook his head, “It’s a bloody nuisance, but a man’s gotta be true to his word, don’t you agree, army-man?”

“Heston,” Heston said, impressing his name upon the stranger, “Lord Heston, actually. My father is the lord of the Regias estate.”

“Oh?” The man suddenly looked up, eyes sparkling, “So that’s why I recognized the name… I’ve heard a lot about the sons of the Regias house; all of you so bloody brilliant, eh? How many are there of you… was it four?”

“Three,” Heston said, teeth clenched, not liking the familiar tone the man was taking, even after he had told him of his noble status, “And I’d ask that you mind your words, Master Jargo. You’re in the presence of nobility.”

“Oh, I do apologize, My Lord,” Jargo gave a half-way sincere bow of his head, “Didn’t mean no offense, you see. As an uncouth traveler, I’m simply not used to dealing with people of such high status.”

“It… it’s fine,” Heston said looking away. In truth, he wanted to shoo them off and leave him alone, but he knew that would only result in attention. Better to suffer their presence with as much dignity as he could muster.

“I did hear there were four brothers, though…” Jargo looked into the distance, a strange gleam in his eyes, “What happened to the last one, My Lord?”

“He died,” Heston said, taking a swig of his ale, hiding his stormy expression.

“I see… I apologize,” Jargo sounded almost sincere, “It seems we have reminded you of something unnecessary.” Taking one last swig of his ale, the giant stood up and said, “Since I have made you uncomfortable, My Lord, I shall see myself out. Perhaps we will meet again, one day.”

With those words, the giant gave a slight bow of his head, and walked out. The white-clad Ran stood up as well, bowed, then followed the man outside.

Heston put down his own mug with a thud. He had not thought about their fourth brother in a long while—almost five years in fact. His sudden disappearance had both been a relief and a disaster to the Regias household; a relief, since he could no longer embarrass them with his foolishness, and a disaster, as his mother had been grief-stricken ever since.

No matter the accomplishments he, Wayne, and Mosel had brought to the house, nothing seemed able to wash away their mother’s grief, which physically marred her, making her waste slowly away.

Even in death, you cause nothing but trouble, Hamelin, Heston thought, bitterly. Their father had never said that Hamelin had died, or what had really happened, only that he was gone. It did not matter why, in Heston’s opinion, all that mattered was that their family was spared the embarrassment he would have brought them.

From his inner pocket, he drew out a piece of paper with the unremarkable face of the Rat King—with two yellow eyes being the only defining feature. Yellow eyes were not uncommon enough to be a clue, and yet Heston could not help but think on the yellow eyes of his stupid brother.

Ridiculous, he snorted and downed his ale.