Edward an Imperial's Story, Coward, bounder, thief, murderer...and hero? Options

[Rachel the Breton]

Thanks, mALX...I've got a little while before the trial yet, but this is the class that gets her ready for it... As for "the list"...good grief, I think just about everyone Edward meets would wind up on it, lol



An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Unless you're talking the emperor's death, in which case no prevention is worth a nice shiny amulet...

-- Musings of Edward

Chapter Thirty-Two

After his misadventure upon discovering the hideout, Edward was able to navigate his way from memory, without mishap. Even the door didn't give him a problem, as he remembered the password.
Remembering that Antionetta Marie might be around, he drew himself up tall, puffed out his chest, and sauntered coolly inside, as nonchalant as can be. Nonchalant, that is, with the exception of his eyes, which roamed quickly around the room, back and forth, attempting to locate the girl. Exhaling, and slipping into his comfortable if not impressive stance, he sighed. Not only was Antionetta not around, no one was around!

Then, all at once, a side door grated open. Edward spun around, and, seeing Vicente and Antionetta emerge, planned to return to his previous stance. But he abandoned this idea as their eyes had already located him. Instead, he smiled as coolly as possible, which was not very coolly. Somehow, he wasn't sure how, this girl always managed to surprise him, and leave him feeling goofy and awkward rather than charming and impressive.

"Edmund!" Vicente greeted.

"Edward," Edward corrected.

"Right," Vicente agreed. "But you're back!"

"Ummm, yeah," Edward agreed weakly. He wanted to say something funny, something witty to impress Antionetta, who was approaching with Vicente, but couldn't think of anything.

"And no cobwebs this time!" Antionetta observed.

Edward flushed.

"So," Vicente declared, ignoring his companion's remark, "I heard about your venture." He frowned. "Was it really necessary to burn him to death?"

Edward blinked. "What?" Then he remembered the ship going up in flames, no doubt from the candle that he had knocked over during his hasty retreat. "Oh, no, he was already dead," he hastened to explain.

"Really?" Vicente asked, clearly relieved. "You killed him before setting the ship alight?"

This was a puzzler, because, though the man was in truth dead before the fire, it wasn't at Edward's hand. But he decided to reply in the affirmative, as the pirate had died laughing at him, so he had in some way contributed to his death. "Yes, quite," he answered.

"Oh, good," Vicente said. "You understand, despite the fact that the people we deal with are often cruel and terrible killers, we are not in the business of cruelty; we're in the business of justice and retribution."

Edward shifted. He always felt thoroughly nervous and ill at ease when people started talking about justice. "Yes, quite," he repeated. "I, umm, just thought that that would, umm, add a deeper, err, psychological impact on his fellow pirates by, uhh, burning the ship down after killing him."

"Interesting theory," Vicente smiled. "But, I guess you're ready for your reward."

Now Edward smiled too, as the other man handed him a bag of gold. Something like a hiss of disgust passed from Antionetta's lips. He glanced up at her, but her expression was unchanged.

"And, what's more," Vicente said, passing him a ring, "as a reward for such a good job, you might find this useful. It's an enchanted ring that provides armor and security enhancements, and resistance to magic."

Edward smiled broadly, putting the ring on.

"So, are you ready for a new assignment?" Vicente asked.

"Of course!"

"Good. Our next one's a tricky one. We're going to 'arrange an accident' for an old man who previously 'arranged an accident' for his brother, thereby leaving the dispossessed son of the murdered brother to come into his rightful inheritance."

Edward frowned. "You mean...somebody killed his brother to rob him, and now we're going to kill the murderous brother so that the son of the murdered brother can inherit what the murdering brother stole from the murdered brother?"

Vicente blinked, as if absorbing the convoluted statement, and then nodded.

"Oh...well, it's simple when you put it my way."

"Anyway," Vicente continued, "the target is a wood elf named Baenlin. Now -- and this is very important -- he has an innocent manservant working for him, a man called Gromm. Gromm is absolutely devoted to his employer, so he will kill you if he sees you trying to harm him; he is innocent, though, and has no idea of Baelin's true nature. So be very careful that no harm comes to him."

Edward sighed. "Very well." These rules really were crazy, he thought, but as long as he got paid...

"Now, Baelin lives in Bruma," Vicente continued.

"Ugh!" Edward exclaimed. "Bruma?"

Vicente blinked in the face of his outrage. "Yes, Bruma."

"You mean...I have to sully my hands killing someone in that fortress of barbarity, that realm of savages?" Edward asked, recoiling in disgust.

[Rachel the Breton]

Cold as the frozen tundra
Treacherous and icy indeed
Beware he who'd make a false step
Of this vengeful heart of mine.
-- Praise of Edward, written by Edward





Chapter Thirty-Three

A very huffy Edward had made the arduous journey, accompanied by his faithful retainer, to Bruma. While Edward was positively disgusted that he had to venture to a city of primitives, as he thought of Bruma, his valet was exuberant. Apparently, he had had some very good fortune thieving while Edward was meeting up with fellow assassins; so good, in fact, that the Cheydinhal castle was under redoubled security from that day forward.

Though he had mostly gotten over the stark difference between his valet's success and his failure as a thief, the other man's eagerness, and the clear reason for it, still served to aggravate him.

Furthermore, being a midlander, Edward was unaccustomed to the frigid temperatures of the Jerall mountains; and, being a snob, he had never ventured to the "barbarous northern regions", so was completely unprepared for the frigidity that awaited him. His valet, thankfully, had prepared ahead, and brought several cloaks and blankets, all of which he surrendered to Edward. Regardless, Edward's teeth still chattered nonstop throughout the journey, and he shook at times so hard that he almost fell off his horse. Finally, when the gates of Bruma came into sight, he was so relieved at the prospect of a warm bed and a lit fireplace that he almost forgot his revulsion at the thought of sojourning amongst such barbarians.

Surrendering their horses outside the gates of the city, Edward and his valet headed inside. Edward was nearly frozen stiff by time they reached the Jerall View Inn. "This is a very nice place, sir," his valet told him. "It's a little bit more expensive than Olav's Tap and Tack, but the beds are much nicer and it's much warmer."

Edward nodded his head, which just caused his teeth to chatter more. He stood aside as his valet took care of the business -- in actuality, he abandoned the other man and ran as fast as his shaking legs would take him to the lit fireplace -- and then, very reluctantly, headed toward his room as the valet returned.

"Well sir," the valet said, "the good news is that we've got a very nice room with a beautiful fire."

Edward nodded, barely aware of the man's words as he was led to the room.

The valet opened the door, stood aside to let Edward in, and then followed. "The bad news," he continued, "is that there were no other rooms available in the inn."

Edward managed to rouse himself from his stupor of cold, and glance up at his servant. "So?" he asked, teeth chattering. "You said there was another inn in town. You can go there."

"Well sir," the valet said, "actually, there are no rooms available at Olav's Tap and Tack, either."

Edward frowned at him. "How do you know?"

"Because, sir...the guy in front of me was grumbling about paying more for his room here, and saying that there were no rooms available anywhere because of the mage's conference here in town. And then the proprietor said that this was his last room, too."

Edward's frown deepened. "Well, surely..." he protested, looking about. Even if he would endure the indignity of sharing a room with his servant, he certainly would not endure the humiliation of sharing the same bed -- even if it was a large double bed, like this one. "I suppose you could always sleep outside somewhere..." he mused aloud. "There's got to be some shelter somewhere, where it's mostly out of the wind or something...I mean, I suppose they have homeless people and beggars here, and that must be what they do..."

His valet cleared his throat significantly. "Well, sir, not to put too fine a point on it, but...the room is rented in my name, and I paid for it myself."

Edward stared at him blankly, still shivering as he stood by the fireplace. "Yes?" he asked.

"Well, sir, I think I will be sleeping inside tonight. I would be glad to share my room with you, if you like -- after all, I would hate to see you out there looking for shelter, particularly when it doesn't sound like there's any to be had in Bruma this evening."

Edward stared at him with a mixture of exhaustion-induced apathy and pride-induced anger. "Of all the insolence!" he managed to say at length.

The valet nodded. "Thank you, sir."

[Rachel the Breton]

Fire at the Harbor!

In yet another astonishing revelation, coming close on the heels of so many other shocking occurrences in our city, we report a disastrous night for the Marie Elena, the frequent visitor of our illustrious harbor. As our reader may recall, the Marie Elena was long purported -- but never proved -- to be a pirate vessel. In yet unexplained circumstances, the ship spontaneously erupted into flame and burnt into wreckage that promptly sank to the bottom of the bay. The cause of this incident is as yet unknown, although some witnesses did report seeing a darkly clad figure skulk away from the wreckage. The veracity of these stories, however, is called into question by the inebriation of the tellers. As a result, the conflagration and ensuing disaster is officially listed as "Fire and sinking, under suspicious circumstances." A reward is being offered for any further information relating to this incident.

--Black Horse Courier, Special news Bulletin



Chapter Thirty-Four

Edward tossed again. He was wrapped in about ten blankets, which he'd had a very difficult time securing from the none-too-accommodating proprietor, and he still felt thoroughly chilled. Furthermore, he couldn't get over his aggravation at having to sleep beside a servant -- much less a servant who had no difficulty getting to sleep wrapped in a single blanket, while he struggled to sleep even under a mountain of them. And, to make it even worse, every once in a while his valet would snore.

Now, his occasional snore was not terribly offensive or terribly loud; it wasn't that that annoyed Edward. No, it was the mere fact that he, Edward, should have to sleep beside a snoring servant that boiled his blood. "Disgusting," he thought again and again, poking his valet hard with every soft snore while declaring loudly, "Stop snoring! You're keeping me awake!"

After the third time, the valet muttered something inaudible, gathered his pillow and blanket, and lay down to sleep on the bench at the far end of the room. Edward congratulated himself heartily at this, thinking that, finally, his efforts had paid off -- though he was still sharing a room with his servant, at least he didn't have to suffer the humiliation of sharing a bed with his hired help.

Then he started shivering, and was all at once cursing his wayward servant anew. Instead of generating heat at his side, when the other man had gone, he'd left Edward exposed to the cold night air -- as exposed as one can be fully dressed in heavy clothes and under ten blankets, at least.

His teeth began chattering again, and he hunkered down under his coverings, certain that he would freeze to death before morning. "Then, at least, this will all be over," he consoled himself. "Damn this barbarian outpost and its frigid nights and full inns and stupid mages' conferences and insolent servants and...”

Lulling himself to sleep with a barrage of people and things that he'd like to damn, Edward dozed at last. He slept relatively peacefully, having only the occasional dream of dying a slow death on a frozen tundra with a barbarian outpost just ahead, just beyond where the last reaches of his strength could push him.

He woke the next morning feeling quite stiff, as though he had, in fact, partially frozen, and quite cold, as if evidence of the first supposition. His first instinct upon waking in such discomfort was to berate his servant, though for what he wasn't quite sure.

"Hogging the bed?" he wondered. No, that was a dangerous one to bring up, particularly in light of the fact that Edward had pushed him practically off the edge of the bed, and then had later forced him out by hitting or poking him whenever he snored. "Ahh!" he thought, "that's it! The snoring!" Yes, that would be perfect.

Already imagining the tale of lost sleep and discomfort with which he'd assault his valet, he stopped short as he glanced at the bench on the opposite side of the room. There was the man's pillow, and a blanket folded up very neatly, but where was he?

Edward frowned deeply. His servant's blanket had been an extremely thin one, and it aggravated him intensely that the other man was able to survive the cold with so little protection while it bothered him so substantially. "honoured user," he thought. "And where in Oblivion is he?" Edward was feeling very peevish that morning, and it annoyed him more than he could coherently express that his paid subordinate...alright, his pay-deferred subordinate would just up and leave without asking permission. Not that, of course, Edward would have wanted to be woken to be asked something like that; but he conveniently ignored such facts when it suited him to do so, and it suited him now. "Well," he thought, "I've half a mind to fire that man! Just who does he think he is?"

At that moment, the door opened, and the valet and one of the inn's servants entered, carrying breakfast food. "I'm not sure if he's awake yet," the valet was saying, "so bring in some strong coffee please. He's got a long day ahead of him."

"Yes sir," the third man agreed.

Edward frowned as a host of delicious aromas assailed his nostrils. Somebody, at least, in this town of savages could cook.

"Ahh!" the valet greeted. "You're awake, sir!"

Edward nodded warily. He was suspicious of his valet's motives in acting as though nothing was amiss when he felt a nagging sense (was it the pangs of conscience?) that things were not well.

The valet, however, deftly set down his tray on the stand near Edward's bed, and then directed that the other tray be set on his bench. He watched as the third man left the room and shut the door, and then turned to Edward.

"I'm glad you were awake, sir," he said, "because I came across some intelligence that might prove very helpful to you on your mission."

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Sep 22 2010, 04:21 AM

[mALX]

I remembered this chapter, the second I heard he was going to Bruma I couldn't wait to read the next one! I love this part:

His valet cleared his throat significantly. "Well, sir, not to put too fine a point on it, but...the room is rented in my name, and I paid for it myself."

LOVE that part !!!!!!

[Remko]

Hilarious as aslways

"I'm glad you were awake, sir," he said, "because I came across some intelligence that might prove very helpful to you on your mission."

That's good cause Edward is lacking any form of said intelligence

[haute ecole rider]

I cracked up at the comparison of heat/cold tolerance between Edward and his valet.

How many married couples and college dorm roommates can appreciate this??

[treydog]

Best wishes for all endeavors, especially with the pups. No worries about light posting- we are all addicts and will wait doggedly (if not patiently) for our Edward fix.

As usual, Edward’s concept of “revenge” had me snortling- “I know. I’ll run away from home! That’ll show him!”

Only to have his tasty vengeance (and plan to avoid paying wages) turned sour by the valet’s unfathomable loyalty.

The man was mad, he concluded, but at least he was loyal. Plus, though he hated to admit it, he seemed to be a pretty good thief, which just might come in handy some day.

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Unless you're talking the emperor's death, in which case no prevention is worth a nice shiny amulet...

-- Musings of Edward

We have the Buffy Doctrine and the Julian Credo- this might be the first draft of the “Edwardian Philosophy.”

Somehow, he wasn't sure how, this girl always managed to surprise him, and leave him feeling goofy and awkward rather than charming and impressive.

In this, at least, Edward shows himself to be rather representative of human males.

Edward frowned. "You mean...somebody killed his brother to rob him, and now we're going to kill the murderous brother so that the son of the murdered brother can inherit what the murdering brother stole from the murdered brother?"

That is such an absolute gem- it caused me spasms of laughter the first time and still does.

"You mean...I have to sully my hands killing someone in that fortress of barbarity, that realm of savages?" Edward asked, recoiling in disgust.

"Of all the insolence!" he managed to say at length.

The valet nodded. "Thank you, sir."

The image of Jeeves instantly popped into my head when I read that one.

Lulling himself to sleep with a barrage of people and things that he'd like to damn, Edward dozed at last.

Other people count sheep- Edward counts enemies- which list (as you noted) includes practically everyone he meets.

@haute- Just the other day I told mrs. treydog that the reason Princess Juneipurr sleeps all the time is as a means of conserving body heat, due to the chilly AC setting.

This post has been edited by treydog: Sep 22 2010, 04:36 PM

[Rachel the Breton]

@all, thanks for the comments, and thanks much for your patience! The weekend ended up turning out to be less hectic than it might have been...so I actually have a little time to post some more!!



He bemoans the ignorance and stupidity of his courier

Yet t'was he who chose the fool, was it not?

We cannot say whether it's the messenger or the worrier

Who is the greater of fools, for we know not.

-- The Eight Divines, speaking of the Ninth


Chapter Thirty-Five

Edward sat down, munching on a piece of toast as the inn's servant poured two cups of coffee. After he was gone, Edward took one, and offered the other to his valet. A little bit of civility, he thought, wouldn't hurt, particularly when his valet apparently had information that might make his job easier. "The easier the job, the sooner I'll be able to leave; and the sooner I leave, the sooner I'll be home, in a civilized climate amongst civilized people," he thought.

"Well, sir," the valet said, pausing to sip his coffee, "I was paying an early morning visit to my fence, and I happened to run into Gromm -- you know, the fellow who works for Baenlin."

Edward nodded, munching loudly on his toast.

"Well, he was out early too, and he was also visiting my fence."

Edward blinked. "He'sh a thief?" he asked, his mouth full of food.

"No," the valet returned. "Not a thief...it's just that my fence conducts business at all hours, unlike most shopkeepers."

Edward frowned. "Well, what short of bushinesh did he have to do?" He still wasn't convinced that Gromm wasn't a thief, as the business of a fence was dealing with thieves and buying and selling stolen goods.

"Well sir, he was looking for a new length of sturdy rope."

Edward's frown intensified, and he was sure now that Gromm was some sort of criminal. "Rope? What for?"

"Well," the valet answered, "this is where things get really interesting...you see, he was saying that his master has a giant trophy head over his chair, and that he -- Gromm -- had recently noticed that the rope fastening it to the wall had started to fray. His master hadn't been terribly concerned, but it bothered Gromm so much that he decided to go get some rope before Baenlin got up, and his daily duties began."

"Yesh?" Edward asked as he took another bite, having abandoned both his idea that Gromm was a criminal ("just a sap," he thought), as well as his interest in pursuing the matter any further.

"My fence didn't have any rope!" the valet answered excitedly.

This didn't interest him at all, as he could see no point to his servant's eagerness, so Edward sighed wearily. Unfortunately, with a mouth full of toast, his sigh turned into a coughing and wheezing fit as the rush of exhaled air pushed toast crumbs up into and out of his nostrils.

After several minutes of coughing and his eyes tearing up while his concerned valet did everything he could to assist -- which, admittedly, wasn't much, once he ascertained what the difficulty was -- Edward regained himself. "Well," he snapped, his eyes still glistening with tears, "what in Oblivion does any of this have to do with me?!"

"Don't you see, sir?" the valet asked. "Since none of the other shops were open, and he had to get back before his master woke, the problem hasn't been fixed!"

Edward closed his eyes, his nasal passages still flaming, and his temper not far behind. "Yes, I'm not stupid, I get that!" he exclaimed, his efforts at a calm response failing miserably. "But so what? How does that help me?!"

The valet blinked, as if the answer seemed crystal clear, but then, in a very civil tone, explained, "Well sir, your job is to arrange an accident, correct? What more perfect than this? Gromm has already identified the problem, his master has dismissed it, and he hasn't had time to address it. If you were to manage to drop the head on Baenlin while he was sitting underneath, I'm sure you'd kill him -- as Gromm fears. Then, it would indeed look like an accident!"

Edward's impatience waned only slightly. "I still don't see how that's of much use to me," he complained. "I mean, how am I supposed to drop the head on him without Gromm seeing me?"

The valet blinked. "Well, sir, I have no idea...but, seeing as how this is your province, I figured you'd be able to figure something out."

Edward blinked at him in return, somewhat rebuffed by the statement. He wanted to snap back a smart comment, but held his peace; his valet had a point, didn't he? He was supposed to be the expert at this sort of thing, after all. "But," he said slowly, not quite sure what else to say, "that's not really my style, you see?"

"Oh," the valet returned, clearly disappointed.

"But," Edward ventured, "I'll be sure to keep it in my mind while I, umm, draw up my strategy...tactics...plans...all that."

[Rachel the Breton]

The rivers turn to ice,
And the mountains shiver and frown
But the people are nice,
In this faraway and foreign little town.
-- Ode to Bruma

Chapter Thirty-Six

As stupid as his valet's suggestion had seemed to him at first, the more Edward thought about it, the more it sounded like the only logical way to go about the matter. After all, Vicente had practically forbade him to kill Gromm; and, by all accounts, Gromm was hardly someone Edward would want to -- indeed, could -- fight. Furthermore, Baenlin was a murderer, and a cruel and callous one at that. He had killed his own brother, hadn't he, to steal his property -- and rob his own nephew in the process? He might be old, but that didn't necessarily mean he couldn't fight. "After all," Edward thought, "this is a land of barbarians...these primitives are killing each other before they crawl...they probably don't age like normal, civilized people, either...they probably don't grow into nice, mildly annoying, partially deaf people who cut in front of you in line after you've been waiting for forty-five minutes just to buy one stinking roll, then take the last roll in the whole damn bakery, and then can't even hear you when you cuss them out!" Edward broke off from that train of thoughts, realizing that his teeth were clenched and his hands were instinctively clutching out and throttling the thin air in front of him. He blinked, straightened his ruffled outfit -- his clothes had been mussed in his murder of the phantom elderly man he'd imagined -- and resumed his original line of thought. "Anyway, in this primitive place, the old men are probably a bunch of hardened warriors who would as soon slice you in two as look at you." He sighed. "The only possible thing for me to do is kill 'im without him suspecting...and that minotaur head sounds as good as anything else." He frowned. "But how oh how am I going to loose it without him knowing??"

Edward's frown intensified. "Well," he mused, "I suppose I should do a little reconnaissance. If I could just get into the house under some innocent pretext..."

Then Edward's face lit up as an idea struck him. He would go to Baenlin's house, pretend to be a repairman, gain access to the trophy, and drop it then. Smiling at his own brilliance, Edward donned his coat and headed out of the inn. No sooner had he done this than he regretted the action; a cold, wintery blast of air greeted him in the traditional Bruma way. "What kind of savages could live here?" he wondered, shaking immediately. "And what is it with naming inns for things that they're not near and can't be seen from? Jerall View Inn my foot! You can't see the mountains from here!" Shaking his head in distaste at the stupidity of these foreign primitives, he set out for Baenlin's house.

"If I built an inn," he thought as he trudged along, "I would call it something interesting, something important...like the Prince Edward Inn ...or the Royal Family Suites...something that makes sense, not something like 'Jerall View Inn' when you can't see the darned mountains from the stupid inn!"

He had trudged about for several minutes, shivering all the while, when he stopped, realizing that he had no idea where he was going. "Where is this Baenlin, anyway?" he wondered, frowning. There were houses all around him, and nothing to denote who lived where.

He reached a shaking hand into his pocket to retrieve a map, which he unrolled. He had marked the spot of Baenlin's house with an x, but it didn't help him much as he didn't know where he was in relation to anything else on the map.

"Excuse me sir," a voice interrupted his thoughts. Edward started, glancing up at the passing guard who was addressing him. "But can I help you?"

"Well, umm, yes, actually," Edward said, swallowing his fear of discovery. "You see, I was hired by, umm..." He froze, his mind blanking for an instant. "Gromm! Yes, Gromm -- you know, Master Baenlin's hired man -- to repair something ..."

"Oh!" the guard exclaimed. "You must be talking about the minotaur head trophy!"

Edward blinked. "Yes, that's right."

"Yes," the guard nodded. "Old Gromm's been quite upset about it...so he finally got someone to take a look at the thing, eh?"

Edward nodded weakly. If this was such a well known problem that a random guard knew about it, maybe dropping the head on Baenlin wasn't the wisest choice.

"Good, good," the guard continued, even as Edward continued to shiver violently. "He was telling old Ognar about it this morning, and Ognar happened to run into Arnora, and she happened to run into my missus, and, well..." Here he paused to laugh. "The rest is history."

"Yes, well, erm, that's very interesting," Edward managed.

"But, seeing as how you're looking at that map, you must be trying to find Baenlin's place?"

Edward nodded meekly. He had been hoping to find an excuse to slip away quietly, but that was impossible now.

The guard laughed uproariously at this. "You must be a foreigner, right?" He looked Edward up and down, "Yup, 'course you are...you've got that persnickety air and prissy fine skin, unused to the rigorous mountain winds and cold. No offense intended, of course."

Edward only chattered his teeth in response.

"Well, anyhow, you're standing in front of old Baenlin's place."

[Rachel the Breton]

Wicked deceiver, constant liar,
Of your silly tricks you never tire
Little do you in your foolishness know
You tread the path the gods have you go.
-- Unattributed Song to Edward

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Luckily for Edward, the guard had introduced him to Gromm only as someone who had "come to take care of your minotaur problem." Edward had then been able, once the guard had left, to say that his valet had mentioned the issue to him, and that he had come to see if there was anything that he could do.

"Oh...well, that's very nice of you," Gromm answered. "But...are you qualified?"

Edward frowned at him. "My dear man," he said, "I'll have you know you are talking to the -- the! -- official decorator of the Imperial palace!"

"Oh!" Gromm declared, clearly impressed. "Well, what are you doing in Bruma?"

"I, umm, wanted a little vacation," Edward lied. "After the Emperor's tragic death and all that."

"Oh, I see," Gromm replied, adding a bit disbelievingly, "So you came to Bruma? For vacation?"

Too late, Edward realized the absurdity of his claim; but, now that it was made, he had to do the best he could. "Well, yes," he said, "you see, it was so depressing being in the warm, comfortable, flowery, beautiful midlands..."

Gromm stared at him quizzically. "Why?"

"Well," Edward hesitated, "because...well, because the Emperor died!"

Gromm's face softened. "Oh, I understand!" he said. "You were his servant!"

"Yes," Edward agreed. He wasn't quite sure where Gromm was going with this, but it had clearly and favorably altered the man's disposition, so he was willing to run with it.

"I quite understand," Gromm said, nodding his head solemnly. "A servant's job is a sacred one...and, when he loses his master, it's as if he loses his calling in life...his very reason for living!"

Edward nodded hastily, wondering at the same time what the man had been drinking. "Hell," he thought, "I'd probably be laughing that the fat honoured user met his maker before I did, even after all his years of living in ease and comfort while I slaved away to make him easy and comfortable!"

"Well then," Gromm declared, "I appreciate your kindly assistance. And you know where I'm coming from!"

"Oh, yes," Edward felt it necessary to say. "Indeed!"

"You see that head?" Gromm asked, pointing up at a giant minotaur head mounted on the wall. "And you see the seat under it, near the fireplace?"

"Yes."

"Well, my master likes to sit there and drink his wine after supper. And I've noticed that the rope that holds the head up is fraying. I'm just afraid that..." He broke off, his face ashen, as if afraid to say the words.

"I quite understand," Edward said, thinking that this servant must be extraordinarily superstitious, or else just plain old mad. "Well, leave it to me. I'll survey the situation, and then...umm, decide what needs to be done."

"Excellent," Gromm declared. "Although..." Here he hesitated. Lowering his voice confidentially, he whispered, "Please take care not to alert my master...you see, although he doesn't speak much of it to me, I gather that there are some evil men who would like to do him harm, and he is very suspicious as a result...he wouldn’t be happy with me if he knew that I let someone in to work on that."

Edward nodded knowingly. "I understand completely...you can never be too careful!"

"Yes," Gromm nodded. "And, of course, I'd forgotten that you'd know exactly what I mean, what with working for the Emperor and all."

"Exactly so," Edward smiled. "Just leave it to me."

[Rachel the Breton]

The empire lays on the brink of chaos,
Mehrunes Dagon goes about his merry way
Meanwhile is the amulet bearer at a loss
To understand what he risks with such delay?
-- Musings of Friar Jauffre





Chapter Thirty-Eight

Edward sighed. He was crouched in a stuffy crawlspace, staring at old, fraying rope. What, exactly, he wondered, did that idiot Gromm expect him to do? This would be a two or three man job at least, to lower this head to the ground, replace the rope, and rehang it.

"Oh well," he thought, "it should be easy enough to drop it, at least...it looks like the darn thing might fall at any moment." With this, an idea came to him. "Hmm...suppose I just toy with the ropes a little bit, so that, by this evening -- when Baenlin sits down to drink his wine -- this'll all come crashing down." He smiled devilishly. "And I can just tell that pathetic, groveling servant of his that I'm going to get some fresh rope, and I'll be back later in the evening, once Baenlin is gone to bed." His smile widened, and he moved closer to the ropes.

"Hmm," he mused, seizing it and wiggling it back and forth -- at least, attempting to wiggle it, but not being able to budge the taut rope. At the same time, he heard a suspicious creaking sound, and felt the floor beneath him shift in a decidedly unpleasant fashion. Edward's eyes bulged. "Great gods!" he exclaimed. "Forget the rope...this crawlspace is about to collapse!"

Pulling backwards in order to expeditiously exit the wobbly structure, Edward gasped. His fingers were stuck in the rope. "No!" he thought, pulling violently to be free. The rope would not budge, but the wall to which it was attached shivered. Edward, feeling panic rising in him, began to flail and struggle like a wild animal in a trap. He was kicking and pulling and screaming to be loosed when, all at once, a tremendous groan issued from the wall; the next thing Edward knew, he was being hauled forward and downward, dragged by his fingers, which were caught in the rope – the rope that was attached to the wall, which was pulled downward by the minotaur head.

Certain beyond any hope that he was a dead man, Edward just closed his eyes, and waited for the worst. The worst did not come, however; instead, Edward landed with a crash on top of the wall remnants, which splintered fully on the minotaur head. Aside from decidedly unlucky contact between his head and a board, he was unscathed. That said, it was half an hour before Edward regained consciousness.

When he woke, he found himself in a cold stone cell, with a rough sleeping roll underneath him; he was only vaguely aware of these things as he groaned in agony and attempted to roll onto his side.

"Well," a voice greeted his agonized groaning, "you really did yourself in for some trouble."

Edward attempted a question, just as he attempted to look at the speaker, but he was in too much pain to do either.

"You needn't bother with the sympathy routine," the other speaker informed him matter-of-factly. "Trust me, I've tried it...they don't care here. We're the prisoners -- as far as they're concerned, if we're not suffering, they're not doing their job."

Edward tried to ask, "Whose 'they'?" Instead, he managed to gurgle something that sounded like a cat throwing up.

"'They'," the voice answered, "are the guards. And 'we' are the prisoners."

Edward's contorted face contorted further. Somehow, he knew he would end up in prison, even though he didn't know how or why. It was his luck, or lack thereof.

"I'm in here for theft...but you..." The other prisoner clucked his tongue. "Impersonating the royal decorator? Pulling down half of old Baenlin's house?" He clucked again.

"He's not dead then?" Edward managed to gasp.

"Dead? Well, what else, when a foot longer splinter pierces your head? A piece of your debris went flying into the poor man, and killed him instantly. Gromm would have killed you on the spot, if the guards hadn't heard the noise and come running." The other prisoner laughed. "To think, you're actually safer in here than you would be free." He laughed again.

Edward frowned, but did not dare to move enough to look at the other man; his pain was at a manageable level now, and he did not want to risk exacerbating his problems. "I don't understand; I was only trying to help."

This declaration was met with laughter. "Bah! You were up to thieving!"

Edward groaned again, not from pain this time, but at the realization that he'd missed a golden opportunity to loot Baenlin's home.

"And, sadly for you -- and old Baenlin," the prisoner continued, laughing at his own wit, "you accidentally knocked the old attic down." He repeated his mocking clucking. "Old Baenlin should have taken better care of that place, than to let it rot like that. And you should have been smarter than to try such a lame scheme to infiltrate the house."

At that moment, the outer door to the dungeon scraped open, and light flooded the dark cells and hallway. A gruff voice called out, "Alright, get up...you're free to go."

"Me?!" the excited voice of Edward's cellmate asked.

"No, not you!" came the response. "You've still got six months to go!"

"But...but...this man is in here for murder!" the other prisoner gasped. "How come he goes free, and I stay here?"

"None of your nevermind, that's why!" the guard answered. "And you!" -- this to an unknown newcomer, standing silhouetted in the doorway -- "You collect this lunatic, and get him out of Bruma! Gromm's been pretty forgiving, but you never know, especially if he starts drinking...better to keep the loon out of here for a few months, until things cool down."

"Cool down?" Edward wondered aloud. He had been following the conversation as well as he was able, but the sudden flood of light had sent his senses swimming, and he hadn't been able to make much of anything that had been said since. "You mean, it actually gets colder here than it already is?"

The guard cleared his throat, shook his head, and unlocked Edward's cell. The other, unidentified man, came in, knelt beside Edward, and said in a very low tone, "Come with me, sir -- and please, don't say anything! I got them to let you out, but I had to give a cover story. Don't speak, please!"

Edward blinked in surprise. It was his valet, although, at least to his eyes, the man seemed surrounded by swirls of color...no, that was the entire room. "It's you!" he said. "You should have seen me! I was flying on a giant moose!" He blinked again. Everything was moving so oddly, like when you just wake up in the morning and open your eyes. He smiled. "No, this is a dream, isn't it? I'm not really in prison?"

"Come with me, sir," his valet said, lifting him to his feet. This last bit of movement sent a shock wave of pain through Edward's head, and he lost consciousness.

[Rachel the Breton]

Our latest news bulletin comes all the way from Bruma, that remote and exotic Nordish town. Word came to us only today that a maniac, posing as the Royal Decorator, infiltrated a resident of the town, one Baelin's, home and, in a wildly improbable -- yet independently verified -- series of deceptions and bunglings, unwittingly managed to knock half of the poor man's home down. Unfortunately, Baenlin was killed in the accident. His killer survived and was taken to jail, but subsequently released -- before his name could be ascertained by our correspondent -- due to his madness. The infiltration, it would seem, was but a bout of insanity with which the poor lunatic has been plagued his entire life. He was released into the custody of his trusty manservant, and the pair shortly thereafter vacated their room at the Jerall View Inn. No more is known of the lunatic, but our sympathies in this tragedy go out to both he and Master Baenlin.

-- Black Horse Courier, Special News Bulletin

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Edward had not been dreaming; he had, in fact, been sent to prison for attempted theft resulting in accidental murder -- an oxymoronic term that Edward was able to make neither heads nor tails of. It was only when his valet had approached the guards, and told a peculiar, but, after Edward's antics, plausible, cover story that he had been released.

It had taken Edward several days to rest up to the point where he was well enough to consider embarking on their trip home, and he had not learnt the details of his surprising rescue until then. His valet, it turned out, had spun the none-too-flattering tale that he, Edward, was a mad nobleman, in the charge of his trusty caretaker. Edward, the valet had said, would imagine himself as all sorts of things. When the guards had been suspicious, and recounted Edward's story to Gromm, the valet had just shook his head. "Dear me," he'd said, "so now it's the royal decorator, is it?" He'd sighed, and added, "Before we came up here, he was the high priest of the temple of Julianos ." He'd shaken his head when he said this. "And before that, he was the ghost of the recently deceased arch mage...you've no idea what a job it is to convince an old lady that the madman running around in the cemetery, carrying the hearts of dead animals for his 'spells', and dressed in a long white gown declaring that he'll get revenge isn't actually a threat." One more sigh, and the valet had sealed the deal, even with Gromm, who was able to forgive a madman what he would not forgive a sane man. The guards were sympathetic, but happy to have the lunatic out of their prison. Edward, as a result of his injuries, was not in his right senses for a while, and so fit their idea of a madman perfectly. So it was that Edward and his valet were able to make an escape from Bruma.

Despite the fact that his life had been saved, Edward was not entirely pleased with his valet's explanation; but he decided it was best not to quarrel with the man who had rescued him in his hour of dire need. So, they made their way back to the midlands, and back to Cheydinhal.

There was little conversation as they traveled, as both men were lost in thought. Edward's mind had returned to the almost forgotten amulet that hung about his neck. "I've made a little bit hunting killers and causing accidents," he thought, "but I've also got the ever-loving-poo kicked out of myself in the process. Maybe I should just throw in the towel, pawn that sucker off, and live in comfort for the rest of my life." The idea appealed to him, and yet something made him hesitate. Through all his adventures and misadventures, it had always comforted him to know that he had something to fall back on, even if he met with failure in his other ventures. Was he ready to dispose of that security?

At that moment, his valet spoke. "Sir?" he said.

"Yes?" Edward asked.

"Sir, I've been thinking..." Here he trailed off, his brow furrowing in thought.

"Well, umm, good for you," Edward ventured sarcastically after a moment.

This comment drew the other man's attention, and he frowned at Edward. "What I mean, sir," he said, "is that I've been thinking about the Emperor's death."

It was Edward's turn to frown now. "Well, umm, what about it?" he asked, feigning nonchalance.

"Well, I've heard rumors, sir...rumors that the Amulet of Kings has disappeared."

"The what?" Edward asked, frowning.

"The Amulet of Kings," his valet answered. "It's rumored to be a powerful magical item, that every emperor has to wear, or else the empire will plunge into darkness and despair! The emperor must have been wearing it when he died -- no emperor goes anywhere without it!"

Edward's frown intensified. "Damn it!" he thought. "No wonder that swine emperor was wearing the amulet I found out in the open like that...to conceal the Amulet of Kings! Oh, if only I had found that one...forget puny gold and rubies; I'd take an Amulet of Kings any day -- that even sounds cool! And I'll bet I could sell that baby for a fortune...heck, I could start bidding wars over it, between all the rich people who wanted to be king...they'd have no choice: pay what I asked, or lose the empire and watch it plunge into ruin and despair..." He paused from his reverie, a better idea coming to him. "Or," he thought excitedly, "I could keep it myself, and I could become emperor! I could rule the empire! And it's only a short step from ruling an empire to the world! I, Edward, could rule the world!!"

"Sir?!" a very astonished and concerned voice interrupted his thoughts.

Edward started, turned to his horrified valet, and then realized that he was instinctively, greedily licking his lips. He cleared his throat. "Oh, umm, my lips are, umm, chapped...you know, what with the bright sunlight and all that."

His valet nodded, but a hint of suspicion still lingered in his eye.

[treydog]

The only surprise in Chapter 35 was that the valet did not have to draw Edward a diagram. Which Edmund would, of course, have left lying about.

“…they probably don't age like normal, civilized people, either...they probably don't grow into nice, mildly annoying, partially deaf people who cut in front of you in line after you've been waiting for forty-five minutes just to buy one stinking roll, then take the last roll in the whole damn bakery, and then can't even hear you when you cuss them out!"

I absolutely plan on being one of those people when I get just a little older.

Your scene with the brilliantly verbose guard, describing how gossip travels and then finally saying- “Oh, you’re standing in front of Baenlin’s house.”

"

Cool down?" Edward wondered aloud. He had been following the conversation as well as he was able, but the sudden flood of light had sent his senses swimming, and he hadn't been able to make much of anything that had been said since. "You mean, it actually gets colder here than it already is?"

And then Edward’s epic musing on what he could do if he only had the Amulet of Kings, instead of the “cheap trinket” the Emperor gave him.

It is these chapters that show your wonderful talent to great advantage- by showing Edward's idiocy in all its glory.

[mALX]

GAAAAH !!! I couldn't read them all tonight, my eyes are burning - but "I'll be back" (said in terrible Arnold voice)

[Remko]

Edward is the bestest anti-hero EVER You can't really hate him but it's hard to like him too.
Love to hate him
Hate to love him.

[mALX]

ROFL !!! "You're in here for impersonating a Royal Decorator !!!!! " ROFL !!!! - I love Edward's time in the DB, but my fave of all the chapters - it would be a spoiler to put it here, but I will hoot like a maniac when you post them !!!!! I will say this, I didn't know about it till you wrote about it - then looked it up and went nuts !!!!!

[Linara]

It's all so good!!!! Edward is definitely going on my list of fan fics I check on every week, along with Buffy, Teresa, Interregnum, and the other awesome stories on here.

[Rachel the Breton]

@Linara: Glad to see you here, sharing Edward's misadventures with us!

@mALX: Hmm...I'm guessing it has something to do with a decorator of a different sort?

@Remko: "Love to hate him, hate to love him" -- lol, that's exactly how it is writing about him. I feel sorry everytime I have something awful happen to him, but ... he deserves it, LOL

@treydog: Thanks, those are some of my favorite tidbits too!

@All: Thanks for the comments!! For those who followed this on Bethesda, you may recognize that the next chapters for a bit are brand new. It's a quest I had meant to have Edward embark upon, and never got around to doing...and I thought "why not". Hope you enjoy.

A moonless night,
A dark beach and blood-stained tide
Too late for right
When the devil begins his ride.
-- Excerpt from The Bandit on Horseback

Chapter Forty

Edward sighed, shifting uncomfortably on his bedroll. Getting a job had never been his top priority in life; nor, for that matter, one of his top ten...or top hundred...indeed, it had never actually featured in his plans at all. Since, however, Fate had capriciously dictated that he must indeed get one, a job with a lot of traveling had seemed a fair prospect. It had quickly proved, however, not to be the bed of roses he'd assumed. For one thing, traveling for his job meant leaving the Imperial city to go to remote, uncivilized reaches of the world. And traveling in general unfortunately meant camping whenever more dignified means of resting were unavailable. Most nights, it seemed, this was the case, for there were few inns, even along the major highways on which he traversed. "There's more damned bandits out here," Edward grumbled to himself, "than inns!"

The fact that his valet and he had only once or twice come across the tracks -- or remains -- of bandits in all their travels seemed of little import, even when contrasted with the many inns they'd come across. The fact of the matter was that Edward was annoyed at having to sleep on the ground. “Like an animal,” he thought, equally untruly, for animals did not recline upon bedrolls any more than they rested under a mountain of blankets. But, being annoyed, the Imperial was even more unreasonable than he was generally wont to be. So, to his mind at that moment, he had been lowered to the level of the most primitive of animals, and the empire had descended into a veritable lawless wasteland bereft of decent shelter.

It was, therefore, with a yelp of fright that Edward heard a rustling sound behind him. Leaping from his bedroll, he spun around, only to see the startled face of his valet. “Sir?” the other man asked.

Edward glared at him, feeling very foolish indeed. “You...you should have told me you were getting up,” he answered feebly.

“Sorry, sir,” the other man apologized. “I didn't mean to startle you. I was just going to look for some more wood for the campfire...our stack is getting a little low.”

Edward flushed. This was, though he was loath to admit it, his fault, for he had insisted on feeding the fire until it was a great, roaring, flaming titan, in order to cure himself of the “lingering frigidity” that his stay in Bruma had wrought; and, predictably, the sizable stash of wood his valet had gathered had decreased just as the fire had increased. Saying nothing, as he had no desire to draw the man's attention to his culpability in their sudden shortage of firewood, lest he be expected to play some part in remedying the situation, Edward began to pick his blankets off the ground.

When this task was finished, Edward settled back onto his bedroll with a huff. With a shiver, he realized that his valet was nowhere to be seen, having disappeared into the blackness of the forest. It was damned annoying and even more unflattering, but he had come to depend on the other man's presence; and, when he was gone, he didn't feel...safe.

The Imperial frowned deeply into the night. It wasn't right. His valet was merely a servant, a lackey, a subordinate...whereas he was the master, the adventurer, the deadly assassin...but, alas, he was also afraid of the dark. “Oh Oblivion...” he cursed. It was altogether too undignified.

Deciding to close his eyes against the night, Edward sighed again. “Edward the Imperial,” he decided, “does not depend on anyone. Nor is he afraid of the dark. In fact, he isn't afraid of anyone or anything.”

Having just arrived at this self-satisfied milestone in his thoughts, the Imperial was abruptly torn from his reverie by the sound of an altogether unknown voice.

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Oct 6 2010, 02:23 AM

[Rachel the Breton]

A life lived in shadow and darkness
The crash of the tide against the shore
Drifted away in an unforeseen instant
His final words masked forevermore
-- Excerpt from The Bandit on Horseback

Chapter Forty-One

Trying to ignore the stench of urine that assailed his nostrils after his fright, Edward glared at the newcomer. Who he was, the Imperial was not sure. How he had come to his campsite, he was likewise ignorant. All he did know, however, was that – though his air did not seem threatening – the man had not had the decency to give him fair warning of his approach, and had instead startled him so badly that he'd wet himself. And that was enough to warrant Edward's just wrath. “Who are you?!” he demanded. “And what are you doing here? Don't you know it's dangerous to trespass in someone's camp in the middle of the night? I might have taken you for a bandit and killed you, you fool!”

The other man moved nearer the fire now, and his appearance became clearer. He was an older Nord, bald on top with a little bit of graying hair on the sides of his head. “Excuse me, sir,” he spoke. “I did not mean to offend you.”

The Imperial didn't like to admit it, but he seemed to have a very dignified and yet, at the same time, humble air about him, with impeccable manners and speech. “He has to be a servant,”, Edward thought. Surely, there could be no other explanation for one of the newcomer's kind – a Nord – to be so refined. Glaring, Edward said nothing so that the other man could continue.

“I have come to speak with the gentleman who recently sold...well, before I get ahead of myself...I believe you have just now left Bruma?”

Edward gulped. Of course...a polite, mannerly barbarian wondering if he had just come from Bruma...could there be any other possibility? Surely, Gromm – the Nord servant – had regretted letting him go, and had sent an assassin. And who better than another barbarian servant? After all, the man had been an obsessive sycophant about his master; probably, that was common among these Nord servants. “It must be their fanatical, primitive natures...just like how they become such drunks, and such ruthless killers...probably when they bend their wills to another, they become obsessed with serving.”

Edward gulped in fright. He was too terrified to deny being there, and too terrified to try to escape or fight. Instead, he managed, “Why?”

The Nord smiled, reading the confirmation in his eyes. “Ahh, sir, my pleasure to meet you. My name is Jollring. I work for Lord Umbacano. My master is – as you may have heard – a collector of Aleyid artifacts.”

Edward was still lying on his bedroll, frozen with fear; the terror in his eyes however was slowly ebbing away, and sense was returning.

“During your stay in Bruma, I believe you sold such an artifact to a merchant there, an Ognar the World-Weary?”

Edward merely blinked at the other man, who proceeded talking as if this response was an invitation to do so.

“My master heard of this, of course, because he has his eye out for just the sort of artifacts you sold; and he sent me to find you.” Jollring smiled charmingly. “I can assure you beyond a shadow of a doubt that my master would pay far more than the Bruma merchant...and he, like Ognar, would not be concerned with any...shall we say, complications regarding the origins of the items.”

“What...are you talking about?” Edward managed at last.

Jollring smiled. “Quite right, sir, of course...there's no need to worry on that score with any items you'd procure. Nonetheless, it's a point worth noting.” His smile returned. “As I was saying, though, sir, my master is very much interested in meeting with you.”

“Why?”

“He, as I say, admires your...abilities. And he has a business proposition for you, sir.”

Edward raised an eyebrow. The hesitance with which Jollring had used the word 'abilities', coupled with the smirk when he'd mentioned a 'business proposition', suddenly filled the Imperial with fear of a very different fate than murder. “I'm...err...I don't think that...”

“I'm sure you'll be satisfied with what he'll offer you, sir,” the Nord smiled.

Edward shivered at that smile. “What is it with these old, creepy men and their over used lines?!” Aloud, however, he answered with a snort of disgust, “I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be. My standards are considerably higher than your master can meet...” The Nord looked confused, and Edward wondered at his stupidity. “Do I really have to spell it out for the old sicko that I'm not interested? Do I really have to tell him to tell his master...” Edward shivered. “Ye gods...I don't even want to know what the significance of his use of that word is...”

“Believe me, sir, my master pays well,” the Nord objected.

Edward cringed again. How dare this filthy barbarian insinuate that he was a prostitute?! “No amount of money would interest me!” he snapped. He flinched as he said the words “no amount of money” because, even though it was true, it was probably the first time in his life he'd ever said them. “My...services...are not for sale to your...'master'...”

The Nord bowed stiffly, apparently affronted by the Imperial's condescending tone. “Very well, sir. If you change your mind, you know where my master lives.” Edward glared at him. “I will say goodnight, then, sir. And farewell.”

The Imperial breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the other man return to his horse, and realized that he did not mean to stay the night. The last thing he wanted was this pervert, this creature who tried to buy him for his master, hanging about while he slept.

This post has been edited by Rachel the Breton: Oct 6 2010, 02:37 AM

[D.Foxy]

Before MaLX gets in...


ROFL ROFL ROFL ROFL!!!!

but I really think, Rachel, that there was a HUGE amount on comic potential left "unmilked" in that hilarious comedy of errors...

Now if I were writing that scene -

Dang. On second thought, I'd be hurled out of this forum faster than Edward can run from a buggerer and to a bawd.