I finally realised the reason why this mansion and the whole square outside seemed somehow less impressive than the mansions in Gristol.

Everything was practical.

Although this was comfortable, in that the brick-like stone walls were well insulated and the wallpaper and simple rush carpets were clean, the place also felt less noble than either grandfather or the Elafoz's palaces that were more like museums made to display mosaic or shell encrusted walls and hanging tapestries among the incidentally corridor or room width halls.

At the same time, it wasn't quite like the country manor in Olwick either. Our manor was more like an oversize farm house, which is, I suppose, what it was. The rooms here, however, were definitely the house of a viscount. Meant for the quotidian use they were, the desks and drawers might not be lacquered or ornamented in the gaudy ways of the Edbrian wing in grandfather's palace, but they were still polished and carved richly. The view over the town square from the second floor of the wing also hinted at the position the residents of this manor maintained.

As we went down the stairs, I heard the throaty laughter of one of those residents, Pricel's mother, Lady Bera vis Phrans. She was speaking to mother and father, who were both dressed formally in the entry hall.

We went up to them and waited for them to acknowledge us.

"Look who's here. It's your cousins Tilvrade and Brendal." Lady Bera turned to us. She was announcing our arrival not only to be congenial, but for Pricel and Dilthimay's benefit.

"Lady Bera, cousins," I bowed. There was a certain gravity in the air, part exhaustion from the day, part decorum of mourning. Still, Pricel smiled to me, even though Dilthimay was still sulkily avoiding eye contact.

It was odd to think that my mother's sister-in-law was Keiranian. Even Pricel and Dilthimay, for that matter, by blood.

It was hard to notice, as Lady Bera had the same black hair and pale skin as anyone in Farand, but there was an accent to how she spoke. It seemed somehow more musical, a way she inflected the sentences and accented the middle of words, perhaps.

“How about we sit down,” she said, holding a hand politely towards the drawing room. I wondered how many drawing rooms they had. This was just the wing they had their guests staying in a few nights, wasn't it? “I thought we just wanted to check that you were all settled in, but...” she glanced sideways at her husband, “it might be longer than I thought.”

A moustached man who had just finished pouring a glass of a black liquid inside the drawing room looked up and bowed his head to me. It was Lyum Barker, the butler from Gristol. I nodded back as mother and the others filed by him. It seemed Lyum meant to come back out to the entry hall where father and the viscount were still speaking seriously.

I didn't usually pay attention to father's conversations. He was mostly interested in the totally meaningless affairs of people who I never met or the goings on and numbers of the harvest or the finances in Olwick. Such conversations with Gregrick or the tax collector that time before he revealed his colours were something I was forced to listen to on those odd, whimsical days that father thought I should be learning about the fief. Whimsical, since he realised each time I was still just seven and gave me some space afterwards for a time again.

Still, I was somewhat curious. The two men not only didn't move towards the drawing room, they didn't even seem to realise we were going there. And, surprisingly, I caught a couple words from them that had been on my mind for most of the past day.

“... that bandit we arrested on the edge of the forest. The Graisfor Company sent a man immediately to confirm he was one of theirs. - Oh, Mr. Barker, good man, you really should not though. You are our guest for the next two nights, I insist.”

I felt suspended on a cliff as the viscount's attention turned to the Duke's butler who had brought glasses filled with the black something. Alcohol judging by the prickly smell.

Was there such a thing as cursed liquors here too? It certainly looked the part...

I had a sudden flash of memory about a time I was recovering in bed as the viscount took a big draught of the alcohol. He definitely seemed the son of the late viscount who offered me brandy when I was still two.

“I shall not stand on ceremony then, my lord,” Mr. Barker said with a certain humour in his tone, taking one of the three glasses he had poured for himself.

I felt uncomfortable though. Mother had never taught me about etiquette with servants, let alone other nobles' servants. Was there etiquette for that? Surely a butler making himself at home with a viscount was improper, wasn't it?

“Saul could have gone to scout,” Father accepted a glass for himself, but brought the conversation back on topic. “The man wasn't a threat on his own, even if he were a bandit, at least not until he felt pushed into a corner.” Father seemed displeased.

I was distracted, however, as Mr. Barker noticed me and winked as he took a sip from his tumbler.

I blinked and hesitated but couldn't help from grinning. The shameless butler was getting a kick out of drinking with the viscount. Or maybe out of the look of wistful regret I could see in the Count's gaze, that looked not at father, but at the tumbler in Mr. Barker's hands. Had he thought Mr. Barker brought him a refill?

Which all just meant that I was even more delayed in realising exactly what father had just said...

The strongman with the ruined sumptuous fur-lined coat was not a bandit? Father suspected that the whole time? Did I hear that right?

That didn't make any sense. Were merchants supposed to have muscles like that?

Wait, even more importantly, I had been wincing and complaining about the kicks and shouts Karbrol had been subjecting the man to, even thinking he was a bandit. Father had just said it was all deserved and ignored me to talk about the passing people. He had been lying to me?

“No, you don't understand,” the viscount shook his head. “It's not that the man wasn't a bandit, it's the Graisfor Company-”

“Tilly? Come join us.”

I was really intrigued now. The viscount was revealing a big conspiracy. And yet, mother decided on exactly that moment to call me.

She was sitting in the drawing room. It didn't even look like I was needed for anything. She probably only noticed me because I was standing in her line of sight of father in the entry hall.

Or maybe it was because of Pricel. Unlike Dilthimay who seemed to have found something to talk about with Brendal over on the divan, the older boy was unexpectedly still standing just near me. He looked like he was waiting for me to turn, since he opened his mouth to say something.

But I spared him just a quick glance before looking again at the suspense behind me.

“... nothing natural about my father's murder. It's them, I'm sure of it. It's not as if it could be coincidence that there was an attack right after we passed through. How many bandit attacks are there?”

I try to think of an excuse, some way to continue listening to the conversation.

I could just ask father to let me in to their conversation. I am sure he would oblige. He might also change the subject away from conspiracy and death and resume his conversation with the viscount later.

“Tilvrade-” Pricel said, but the older boy thankfully noticed I was trying to get away and didn't continue.

Unfortunately father and the viscount didn't continue to speak either. There was a pause as nobody spoke, turning towards me as I hesitated what to say.

“Just a moment, gentlemen,” a voice interrupted the awkward silence from an unexpected place.

It was Lyum, the butler, who downed his liquor and walked up to me.

“Young master Tilvrade, Pricel. All this parlour talk must be boring you. How about you show this old man around the grounds and through the square?”

“Oh, that's a good idea. You there, go get the other guests. What were their names again Cianna? There were two children I remember... Pricel can show the boys around the manor. Sitting in a carriage all day then laying about here isn't good for their wellbeing."

Fortunately, nobody saw me grimace when I heard of the other guests. Who wanted Orjel around?

“You don't like them?” Pricel whispered to me.

Okay, somebody saw me grimace. I lowered my head to hide my embarrassment, and hoped that nobody else noticed.

“No, mother, that's fine,” Pricel fortunately made a nice suggestion, “I'll show Mr. Barker and Tilvrade through the square. We won't be long.”

I let out a breath of relief, but I also felt a bit of regret that I wouldn't hear more of the viscount and father's conversation.

“Actually, it was just a few years ago. Tilly was still a babe.”

Oh please no. Hearing no more of their conversation is still better than hearing father start to talk about embarrassing baby stories...

I felt my face flush in anticipated embarrassment as father started up his discussion again with the viscount, “We stayed on the old road between Ibbergreen and Kervel. It was a... a tradition of sorts, Cianna liked the outdoors. I would not do that anymore though. I am uneasy with the Elafoz mostly, but I did approve of his denouncement of the King's recent trade measures in the South. Whichever prince succeeds the throne in Keiran, we still need to trade or else common men will resort to other ways to feed themselves.”

The viscount sighed as he swished around his tumbler. I also sighed, but in relief that father hadn't said something shameful.

We were already in the entry hall, so we didn't really have to go anywhere. A maid came to take the butler's tumbler and then ran up the stairs to get my coat. I kept my ears open in the meantime.

“To be honest, ever since I left to university, I haven't had any dealings with the Phrans Company. Father never expected me to take it over, you see. Perhaps when he had quickly arranged my marriage to Lady Bera, when he found out we were acquainted during my university days. Although a minor noble, her family was Keiranian and wealthy. But one mishap after another, whether it was the King's new tariffs or the assassination of the first Keiranian prince, who was Lady Bera's family's patron stalled his plans. So I don't actually know about the Graisfor Company or bandits on the roads. All I do know is that there was something big enough going on that Count Niles was involved.”

“You are not inheriting the Company?” My father showed interest in the boring side of the conversation.

“No. Father knew Bridgewater was growing and wanted me to become a viscount in truth, not only in name. It was just after that whole matter of Cianna and you that he felt deep shame about.”

“Ahem... And the Company?” Father prompted, trying to move away from that sore point in his past.

“Well, my uncle and his son-in-law should actually be in Bridgewater now. They will stay here after the funeral to take over the company. I don't know about what they intend for their shop in Leagona though.”

Leagona was the largest city of the Leslie Sijony and the seat of Duke Leslie. It was named after Lake Leagh. Bridgewater was a hub of trade partly because of the river that was a tributary of Lake Leagh.

“I should probably ask-”

“Lord Tilvrade?” I blinked as the maid held out a pair of shoes to me. Oh right, we were going outside...

I knelt and put on my shoes, they were the leather ones I got with Simila not so long ago when we went to South Gate.

“... -thing to suggest some unusual dealing. In fact, we had accepted precisely because Count Niles had made the suggestion.”

“Ah, now that you mention it, I remember father spoke of how frustrating Count Niles and his right hand man were when it came to his financial support back in the war. His right hand man was Sir Barker himself, the brothers-at-arms from Egradeen.”

“I only know Sir Barker from after the war. The duke took a liking to him and thought he would make a good example for his disobedient son. Hah, little did he know that Sir Barker's dream was to live quietly as a carpenter...”

“I should like to hear your story, Mr. Barker.” the viscount then raised his glass towards the butler waiting beside me. “Your brother was a modest man. How different would Efeles have been if Sir Barker had been the viscount and my brother-in-law never ran away from his inheritance for a merchant girl.”

“My lord, you do my brother too much honour. But we shall have to save that story for another night. The three of us shall see you shortly.”