Only Villains Do That

I reminded myself firmly of two things: that I was surrounded by powerful nobility, and that it wasn’t yet time to murder them all. Only then did I turn around to greet whatever the fuck new pest this was, my pleasant social smile reliably in place.

The speaker was another highborn, and I nearly stopped paying attention at that, they were such a homogeneous waste of oxygen, but I made myself take in some additional detail for strategic purposes. Actually, now that I looked, he was sort of distinctive. In both the face and body, he had that combination of an unusually square skeleton and rounded musculature that condemns a person to eternally look slightly chubby even when they clearly are not. That was unusual in the context of his oddly crystalline complexion, black, eyes, and pale blond hair; I’d noticed most people of elven descent tended to be very fine-boned, and he had everything but the pointed ears. With him was a highborn woman of far more generic appearance, her hair a few shades darker, eyes a bit lighter, but still highly placed in their absurd genetic hierarchy.

“Highlord!” Ruell finally rose from his lounging position in the cushy chair in an unnecessarily exuberant bound. “Smashing! How positively delightful of you to pop by, and what splendid timing! Lord Seiji, may I present the liege of these lands and the organizer of this magnificent shindig, Highlord Lhadron of Clan Ardyllen, and his exquisite wife, the Highlady Eminnit.”

So…the guy responsible for this entire carnival of stupidity? He seemed young for it, now that I looked; barely older than me, certainly less than thirty. More importantly, if my job here was going to require…ugh…politics, I had better take this at least somewhat seriously. That meant dusting off the good manners.

“Ah, our host! My sincere apologies for failing to present myself sooner, Highlord. I was brought here unexpectedly by Rhyidion and just as swiftly abandoned, all without a word of explanation. I’m still catching my balance.”

“Say no more, my lord,” Lhadron replied with a smirk. My god, what a punchable face he had. “Rhydion’s…charmingly uncooperative manner is legendary. Any offense I might feel that he has declined to participate in my social events is very much mitigated by relief.”

“And here I had so wondered what brought the mysterious Lord Seiji to our doorstep,” his wife added, giving me a long look that could have been interpreted as flirtatious or calculating, and I really hoped it was the second one. “A companion of Rhydion himself! One of very few, it seems. Truly, my lord, you are Khelmastra’s contraption in the flesh. You must tell us, what is it that prompts the paladin to break his legendary reticence toward you, in particular?”

“I suspect it’s less interesting than you imagine, Highlady. I happen to know a few healing spells and he’s been after me to join his little zombie project. Which I was told had suddenly become more urgent, though I have to say the ‘crisis’ out there is a little underwhelming.”

“I say, is that a fact?” Ruell asked, studying me with renewed interest. “A rare specialization indeed, Lord Seiji!”

“Yes, I rather thought he was overstating the danger,” Lhadron agreed, inclining his head toward me. “Still, when a paladin comes crusading, one accommodates him. Nor am I one to complain, given how his presence has renewed interest in our little standing festival.”

I blinked. “Renewed? So all this wasn’t set up because of that?”

Both of them laughed. I thought it over carefully, decided to take offense, and kept it well clear of my face.

“Good heavens, no,” the Highlord finally chuckled. “Even my neighbors aren’t quite so bored as to come gawk at a few burning corpses—it simply makes a diverting additional draw. If you haven’t heard, my lord, Clan Ardyllen was blessed this summer with the unexpected honor of hosting Soulfire’s latest appearance. Ah, but please do have a go at her yourself, Lord Seiji, positively everyone has by now! It’s starting to look as if she’ll get bored and disappear without making a selection—I’m given to understand she’s done so the last few times she popped up. Do have a care, though, the old girl is rather saucy. Her commentary has caused absolutely no end of public offense during her sojourn on my lands.”

“Well, I might have to hold off, then,” I said, deciding it would be wiser not to reveal I had no idea what the fuck he was talking about. “Mustn’t take any risks with my delicate, girlish feelings.”

All of them tittered obligingly at my feeble joke, as well-bred people do, and I reflected on how much more pleasant it would be if I were dead.

“Not to worry, my lord, there is plenty to see and do, if I say so myself,” Lhadron assured me. “I’d be particularly delighted if you wished to pop by and watch the races. That’s the real action these days.”

“Races?”

“The pride and joy of Clan Ardyllen!” he said with notably greater enthusiasm. “Wandering Spirits and undead curiosities are well and good for drawing crowds, but Ardyllen horses are our true contribution to the world.”

“Having an audience on hand has been a real blessing for the Highlord,” his wife added fondly. “There’s nothing he loves quite like showing off his horses.”

“And why not? They are well worth showing off! If you’ve a mind to join us, gentlemen, you can’t miss it; just skirt the village, heading toward the barn, and you’ll come right to the track. Please feel more than welcome just to watch and cheer, but who knows? If you find the bug bites you, there’s opportunity to place a friendly little wager, or even sponsor a steed of your own. Quite a few of our guests have been swept up in the spirit of it!”

“I say, what a capital idea!” Ruell enthused. “What about it, Lord Seiji?”

“I, ah…” Were these fucking people serious? Was he serious? We had been right on the edge of discussing something actually meaningful and now he wanted to watch a horse race.

“Why, don’t you think so?” the elf asked innocently. “Seems like just the thing, for a pair of out-of-towners such as ourselves! Great opportunity to dip our toes in the local culture, what?”

Oh…okay, I could see what he was hinting at; now I simply disagreed. Horse racing? That couldn’t possibly be the most effective way to investigate Clan politics vis a vis relief aid distribution. True, it would be full of highborn with their guard down, but how likely were they to be the ones I needed?

This whole thing was turning into an eternally unfolding pain in my ass. Why couldn’t I just blackmail Rhydion into cracking some heads? Everything was so much simpler when I could just hit people until they stopped acting stupid.

But that was not this situation, and unfortunately I didn’t have a better idea.

“Sounds like a good time,” I waffled. “I do need to find that damned paladin and demand some answers, but that may be a hopeless cause anyway…”

“Of course, please make yourself at home however you wish,” Lhadron said diplomatically. “Do enjoy Clan Ardyllen’s hospitality; there are plenty of comfortable spots like this to find reprieve from the chill in the air—and don’t worry, Lord Seiji, my lowborn know better than to get underfoot where they aren’t wanted, you’ll have no such annoyances. There’s a whole festival’s worth of little amenities in which to waste a few minutes and a few coins, if you prefer. If you do decide to join us down at the track, best to toddle along fairly expeditiously, though! They aren’t running all afternoon today—the horses do need rest, after all—and the last race will be held quite soon. In fact, gentlemen, if you will excuse me for rushing off…”

“Oh, quite, quite, can’t miss that!” Ruell chirped, already sliding forward and deftly steering Lhadron toward the open end of the pavilion. “Especially not given the opportunity to be shown around by no less than the event’s host in person!”

And there he went. Here I was, bumbling around at a loss; Rhydion had suggested I get to know this guy, and now he was off to the ponies. Why was this my life?

Highlady Eminnit had lingered for a moment, watching her husband saunter off with an indulgent smile, but her expression hardened as she glanced past me and fixed her attention momentarily on Arrkeen and Aster.

“See that you don’t linger in your masters’ absence; this is no place for unattended undesirables. You, girl, tidy up Lord Ruell’s seat and swap out those canapes for a fresh tray while you’re here, then take yourself outside.”

“Do I look like a serving wench?”

Eminnit had started to turn away in clear dismissal even as she finished speaking, but at Aster’s retort, the Highlady froze. Very slowly she turned back, raising her eyebrows in an expression that promised a very genteel, indoor-voiced murder.

I cleared my throat before this could commence. “Aster is a bodyguard, Highlady, if the sword and armor weren’t a giveaway. Mine, specifically. I’m afraid I’ll have to insist on keeping her with me. Her job is rather impractical if she’s carrying serving trays.”

“Ah.” Her expression didn’t exactly soften, but the affronted privilege was at least suppressed when she turned a gracious nod on me. “I do apologize, Lord Seiji, I hadn’t realized she was yours. That Rhydion has been dragging the oddest people into the oddest places; I keep finding various King’s Guild riffraff brazenly getting under their betters’ feet. If you are going to employ Dountol lowborn, however, I do advise reminding them of their place at need. This one’s mouth is going to be the end of her, at this rate.”

I felt myself about to do something un-strategic, so I silently got hold of myself, took stock of the practical realities of the situation, and made sure to make this blunder consciously and deliberately. It’s all about self-control.

“Ah, yes, as an outsider I have been gradually acclimating myself to your charming customs,” I said sweetly. “It requires some partial efforts until I’ve attained true familiarity. For example, one useful rule of thumb I’ve developed is that if someone’s attire is more expensive than mine, I don’t try to order them around like a servant.”

Eminnit’s eyes widened fractionally.

“Oh, but do forgive me,” I added solicitously. “Sometimes I forget what a…quaint little place Dount is. Might this be your first time seeing artifacts in person?”

Her face went completely rigid, and an amusingly paler shade. We held a locked staring contest for four seconds, me smiling and she apparently at a loss.

“Your pardon, my lord,” the Highlady finally said. “I must attend my husband.” She turned a cold shoulder to me and stalked out, following the receding shapes of Lhadron and Ruell, who were almost out of sight already.

“Vicious,” Aster commented, not disapprovingly. “You must’ve absolutely terrorized all the other girls at finishing school.”

What the fuck was a finishing school? No, never mind, this was no time for more Fflyr nonsense.

“Are you okay?” I asked quietly, turning to her with a slight frown. “First Dhinell and now this. It’s not like you to indiscriminately claw at highborn, Aster.”

Her expression closed down—and then, to my astonishment, she lowered her eyes, looking outright abashed. I had never seen such a thing on her before.

“I…sincerely apologize, Lord Seiji. It was—those were lapses. It won’t happen again.”

I stepped closer to her, lowering my voice. “Well, that’s great and all, but what I asked was if you’re okay.”

Aster inhaled deeply and let the air out slowly, clearly reasserting self-control. “I’m…I’ve developed bad habits, that’s all. Surprisingly fast. It’s not as if I don’t know how to duck my head and mind my manners around highborn, I have a lifetime of practice. It’s just…working for somebody who treats me like a person, surrounded by other people who… Well, I guess it went right to my head. Basic dignity is surprisingly intoxicating.”

“None of that’s wrong,” I murmured, glancing around. We were mostly alone; Arrkeen was the only person nearby, not looking at us—but if she wasn’t listening in there was no reason for her to still be here. “Just, let’s try to be a little strategic.”

“At least while we’re working,” Aster agreed, nodding. “Again, I’m sorry, Lord Seiji. Won’t happen again. I can keep it in my pants so long as politics need doing.”

“That’s good, at least one of us should stay on top of that. Since we both know I won’t manage it for long.”

She smirked, but there was the old Aster evident in her amusement, which made me relax.

“What’s the plan, then?”

“Well… Fuck it, the races, I guess. I can’t see this as anything but a giant waste of time, but I’m out of my element and I don’t have a better idea.”

I led the way out of the pavilion and away from that snooping fox, my bodyguard again trailing behind me and to the left in her normal public position. Ruell and the Ardyllens were out of sight, but I could see the roof of what must’ve been the barn the Highlord had mentioned, and it was an enormous one. There was also a lot of cheering and general noise in that direction, so that was the direction we went.

“You planning to try for Soulfire while we’re here?”

“Oh, right, that reminds me. What the hell is that?”

“Oh! You don’t… Um, I’ll explain later,” she said quietly—so quietly it was just audible to me from her position, what with all the festive noise around us. “That’ll take a few minutes. Probably best we don’t converse too deeply in public, Lord Seiji. That Ardyllen woman probably already thinks we’re sleeping together.”

“Like I give a damn what—”

“Politics, remember? It actually does somewhat matter what these…people think.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” I grumbled. “I hate this place.”

“You hate everything,” she said indulgently.

“You act like that’s my problem, when clearly at issue is that everything sucks.”

Yep, those sure were some horses. Running in a circle. I barely paid them any attention.

The first thing that demanded my focus was the existence of the racetrack in this weather. Wasn’t ice or mud on the tracks dangerous to the animals? Fortunately Highlord Lhadron had welcomed me onto his personal booth in the elevated platform from which his noble guests were observing the races, and was glad to explain the system. A truly ridiculous number of asauthec braziers had been arranged around the edges of the track, with others waiting to be hauled onto its center at need, their heat keeping the track itself free of ice and any other moisture. The expense of burning that much fuel for such a frivolous purpose nearly made me choke.

Lowborn scurried around with brooms and rakes to maintain the track, as well as large hand fans they used to waft heat from the braziers directly across its surface. There was a veritable army of them swarming about, between the track crew, the various grooms and handlers, and the servants catering to the highborn guests. I couldn’t help but notice that many of them were not dressed for this weather. They didn’t look particularly well-fed, either. Relatively few had season-appropriate coats and I saw few hats, though most at least managed scarves and gloves. Fingerless gloves, in most cases.

I watched them at their various tasks while cheers and groans exploded around me as the front-runners crossed the finish line for what was evidently the last race of the day. Lhadron had cheerfully explained that sometimes they went all day, but there were only so many horses and you couldn’t overwork them.

Unlike the human laborers.

“What do you think, eh?” the Highlord said over the hubbub, clapping me on the shoulder. He had evidently not had a moment to confer with his wife, or maybe she’d just kept her opinions to herself; at any rate, he showed no sign of having noticed her suddenly frosty demeanor toward me. Nor of Ruell brazenly flirting with her. I suspected he didn’t pay the woman much attention unless he wanted something from her. “All this was quite impromptu, originally, but I’ve added to and refined the setup continuously since this summer. If the interest keeps up, I’m thinking of calling in some proper shilwrights and making it a permanent emplacement! Who knew there was so much interest in proper races here on Dount? Had I an inkling I’d have been more kindly disposed toward my neighbors all these years!”

Several highborn within earshot laughed obligingly. I just turned my head slowly, surveying the track as the horses were led away toward the barn. The setup was…interesting. We were perched on an elevated island in the center of the track, with a commanding view of it from all sides, reached by bridges which arched over the track itself. It was obvious at a glance why racetracks are not generally built this way; the poor bastards in the surrounding stands could only see half the track at a time. But the Fflyr never did anything in a way that made sense if they could reinforce their racial hierarchy instead, and that was the principle at play here: Lhadron’s island was not just reserved for highborn, but apparently by invitation only. I saw mostly middleborn but also a few blondes lurking on the outer stands, nearly all positioned where they could see the finish line, while Clan Ardyllen’s richest and most important friends were either perched on the risers in the center of their island, or on foot in the open space directly overlooking the track. The spectacle of frantic aristocrats trying to follow the horses around on foot had been far more entertaining than the race itself.

“They look cold,” I commented. “And hungry.”

Highlord Lhadron’s head whipped around as if someone had slapped him, frowning at me. “What? Now see here, Lord Seiji, I take pride in the great care I take of my animals. I assure you, every horse on this estate is well-fed, comfortably housed and given ample shelter from the elements. It’s no hardship for them to get out and run, they’re bred for it.”

“Yes, they seem quite happy,” I said patiently. “I meant the people. All the ones maintaining all this. Look,” I pointed at a groom leading one of the horses back toward the barn. “I swear I can see that guy’s teeth through his cheeks. Why hasn’t he even got a coat?”

“Oh!” Lhadron’s expression cleared and he actually laughed, clapping my back again. “Good heavens, man, you gave me a turn—I very nearly took offense! Ah, well, the peasants don’t seem to have any problem getting their work done. They’re hardy stock. I don’t see the sense in going about in shirtsleeves in this weather, but who can say why lowborn do anything?”

“The most likely reason is they don’t have coats,” I murmured. “Seems odd, though. If you’ve had a more-or-less permanent fairground here for months, I’d think money would be flowing in.”

“Oh, that it has,” he said with a sly little smile. “But one shouldn’t boast about such things. I don’t know the custom in your homeland, Lord Seiji, but among we Fflyr it verges on gauche.”

“Ah, my mistake.” In any halfway sensible economic system, everyone here should be absolutely rolling in the proceeds of having rich people coming by for weeks on end throwing coin about. However things worked here, it was clear that nothing trickled down. Nor does that just happen; people on the bottom of the totem pole are usually adept at coaxing value out of surprising opportunities…unless someone above them put for significant effort to prevent it. “I believe I heard something about relief supplies from Fflyrdylle and even Lancor being distributed here after the Inferno. I gather that didn’t include garments, or fabric?”

“Oh, yes, we’ve cause to be grateful for Lancor’s generosity,” Lhadron said brightly. “The grain shipments were truly a blessing! After the harvest was damaged, I was rather concerned for our stocks over the winter. But no need to worry, the horses will eat very well until grazing season comes again, even with this early frost.”

“I say, perhaps you ought to send his Excellency a thank-you note, Highlord,” Lord Ruell suggested with a toothy grin. “No doubt the Fivefold Court of Lannitar would be immensely relieved to know the ponies will live in comfort this winter.”

Lhadron laughed brightly; his wife, though, gave Ruell a sidelong look. At least one of them was perceptive enough to detect nuance.

“Good to know you have adequate grain stocks,” I said, projecting calm with increasing effort. “Then I guess you can ensure the villagers don’t go hungry over the winter, too. Perhaps even trade for some materiel so they’re adequately covered from the elements.”

“Oh, I can’t imagine they’re short on fabric,” he mused idly. “I seem to recall my steward mentioning a lot of the village folk were trading garments to lowborn on other Clan holdings; they must have plenty squirreled away.”

Or they were desperately bartering for food because you’re not giving them any, you fucking imbecile.

“But that’s the good thing about lowborn—one of the few,” Lhadron chattered on breezily. “They’re quite good at looking after themselves. I’m pleased to say there’s not been an uprising or spate of open defiance on this estate since my grandfather’s time—I assure you, Clan Ardyllen ensures the peasants know their place and go about their work. Indeed, they’ve given me cause for some pride these last few months. All the harvesting and normal duties were attended to without fail, and they’ve served my guests…well, mostly adequately. My dear wife’s standards are admirably exacting,” he added fondly, reaching over to pat Emminit’s hip. “I can always count on her to get the best out of the rabble.”

I looked around again at the servants, grooms, and groundskeepers. Taking in the hollow cheeks, threadbare garments clearly suited for a different season. The sheer exhaustion. Jesus H. donkey fucking Christ, no wonder.

“True, true,” I said evenly. “And if they all drop dead from hunger, well, you can still tend to the horses yourself, Highlord.”

Lhadron chuckled, giving me a condescending look. “My dear fellow, wherefore this sudden interest in the peasantry? They’ll be fine, they always are. We breed hearty stock here on Dount, speaking of sheep, lowborn, or any other livestock. It’s the horses that are of higher quality, and in need of greater care. After all, they’re certainly more valuable than lowborn, eh?”

All his gathered friends and sycophants giggled and tittered all around us, but I was no longer listening.

It was like one of those… What are those things called? Magic eye images, that’s it. This situation hadn’t even been a puzzle so much as a chaotic blob of nonsense I had no idea how to do anything with. Rhydion and his agenda, Ruell and his agenda, these asshole highborn and their politics, and my need to get some actual relief for the actual people out of all this bullshit. It was a frustrating, inscrutable jumble and I was just about out of patience with its refusal to make any sense.

But then, quite by chance, I happened to look through it all from just the right angle, at just the right distance, to see the way the pieces overlaid each other, and it snapped into focus. The image emerged from the noise, the pattern that told me how to salvage this and what I needed to do.

That, or my moment of epiphany was pure self-delusion and I was still oblivious, ignorant, wrong, and about to create a big pointless mess.

Ah, well, yolo.

“Interesting.”

I did not raise my voice, because professionals don’t need to do that to command attention. Projection and intonation were sufficient to have every surrounding aristocrat fix their focus on me.

“Horses…are more valuable…than lowborn,” I repeated slowly, enunciating. “What a fascinating piece of economic wisdom. Let’s explore that, shall we?”

I turned my back on Highlord Lhadron’s astonished expression, strode past the murmuring highborn, grabbed the railing before me and vaulted down onto the racetrack.