02 – People of influence

The first to arrive at Alfred’s door (after Paul himself) was a handsome muscular man in a flamboyant cloak. He arrived with a squadron of guards and greeted Alfred not with the formal “Golemmaster Farfal, pleasure to meet you” that Paul expected, but with an enthusiastic “Alfred! Great to see you again!” He then grabbed Alfred firmly by the cheeks and looked carefully at his face before nodding at his guards, who immediately stood down and made ready to leave.

Alfred’s smile was slightly strained, but he gestured at Paul, to whom the man handed his cloak without a backward glance. Under his cloak, and now fully visible, were subtle armour and a sword at his hip. Which he made no attempt to remove. It was only when Alfred addressed the man as “Frederic” and started inquiring about the field performance of his golems that Paul realised he was looking at Frederic Montefel, the count of Corfin, a most respected mercenary captain, and something of a folk hero.

For the next half hour or so Alfred and Frederic tattled and gossiped whilst Paul rushed to and from the kitchen with snacks and drinks. Neither man wanted anything alcoholic, and nothing too substantial, but that didn’t stop them asking for all kinds of very specific luxuries. Whenever Paul got a break he listened to their every word. Everything Count Montefel talked about felt lifelike and exciting, but even more mesmerising to Paul was the version of Alfred that he could see in the conversation. An Alfred who was passionate and kind.

It should not be surprising that Count Montefel had such influence on people. After all, it takes an extraordinary man to become a folk hero -and a respected one at that- whilst working as a sword for hire.

Next arrived a group of three men who were greeted by Alfred, respectively, as “Mayor Orzo” (small nod), “Captain Dolmades, good to see you,” and “Most honourable Chief Slime Mancot, what a privilidge to receive such gilded scum as yourself into our peasant hovel. I trust that, since we’re here under terms of parley, nothing you see or hear will be used to construct a case against me or my family?”

The mayor was quick to intervene, pleading: “Please golemmaster Farfal, let us keep these little disputes from the guests? You know what happened to young mister Farfal was merely business as usual. The city must come first, whatever happens. Besides, no harm no foul, right?” The frail man chuckled nervously.

Now Alfred sneered at Orzo directly and spat venomously: “Mayor. I will not forgot that you chose not to stop the trail against my brother. And you’d better not forget yourself that your city is dependent on the goodwill of my guild. You may have been elected mayor for life, but if I and my golemsmiths move to settle in Florence, I doubt you would live another week. And the city might still have its trade and its gold, but it would be rubble and ash before you could be given a proper burial.” Then, as the wind suddenly falling silent after a stormy day, his face cleared and formed a calm smile. And he added in a sweet voice: “But of course we’ll pretend to be friends for the sake of the guests.”

Paul took their cloaks and served them drinks whilst they settled in to speak with Count Montefel and Golemmaster Farfal, who now kept a respectful distance and addressed each other by their proper titles. And if either of those men felt annoyed at the change in tone, they did not show it.

The fifth guest wasn’t recognised by Alfred, but was hastily rushed inside when he introduced himself as “Tessera”. Indeed, Alfred had been told to expect him.

He made an odd, slightly paranoid impression. The sleeves of his drab brown cloak were slightly too long and the hood fell slightly further over his face than would be fashionable. Yet he wore fine leather gloves and his footprints showed that his boots were in excellent condition.

Tessera politely refused to give up his cloak when Paul offered to take it. Water dripped onto the floor. In the uncomfortable dance of two men who do not know who is to take respect from whom, Tessera and Alfred slowly made their way to the coffee room. And even there Tessera made a scene by refusing his seat. He requested a seat facing the doors, at that point occupied by Captain Dolmades. When Dolmades had gotten up, with everyone looking at him, Tessera started patted the chair and then looked at everyone present one-by-one (and even at some spots where there wasn’t anyone). Only then he sat down. And lowered his hood.

Paul barely suppressed his gasp, and Count Montefel didn’t even try to hide his surprise and curiosity. The head beneath the hood was exquisite, beautiful and lifelike, but it was still -recognisably- a golem’s head. Tessera’s eyes, which were bright green as emeralds, glowed softly and with a moving piece of glass on his cheeks he expressed a slight smile. His choice of beverage caused even Alfred and the mayor to raise an eyebrow, though really the golemsmiths ought not to have been surprised. For he requested a goblet of fresh goat’s blood. Frankly, it would have been rude not to oblige.

Then they were waiting for just one more. They didn’t have to wait long. Tessera had only barely sipped from his goblet when the doorbell rang.

The last visitor was a spry old man in a royal blue cloak. There was an aura of light and warmth about him so that even the everburning smokeless porchlights seemed to dim in comparison. Or maybe they just dimmed.

He introduced himself as Ambassador Archdrew and began asking Paul about himself as soon as Golemmaster Farfal offered for him to take the ambasador’s cloak, even turning away from his host. He sounded pleased to hear that Paul was an apprentice golemsmith and the host’s nephew, and his eyes danced at the tune of Alfred’s chagrin. When they’d almost reached the coffee room Archdrew apologised to the golemmaster for ignoring him and thanked him for choosing such a suitable server. The impact of the apology was slightly muted by the amusement that still shone in his eyes, but Alfred accepted the apology in good grace. That is to say, with something slightly closer to an actual sentence than his usual growl.

And after all that, it was only as they stepped through the door that Paul thought about the fact that the ambassador had never given him his cloak. It was still sitting pristinely on his shoulders. At least he didn’t have the hood up.

As Ambassador Archdrew walked into sight of the others, three things happened at once: Mayor Orzo turned to him with a wide smile and arms open in welcome, Archdrew glanced at the room and chuckled, and Tessera stared at the ambassador in angry horror.