"The women's wing?" Able guessed as he had followed Capstone into a lower end of the manor house and through the kitchens into what appeared to be servant's quarters where he'd witnessed female enforcers herding indentured women in from outside. "You keep the women inside and the men outside?"
"You're clever enough to figure out what would happen if we didn't," Capstone replied in that disinterested way of hers.
"I'm not questioning that, only why I am being housed here."
"The guest rooms are reserved for visitors more important than your sort, but you'll get privacy here at least, so don't complain. Also, trouble with women doesn't seem the kind you like to get caught up in." She said this like Green had told her something.
Or perhaps Able had gotten paranoid. He made no reply as she gestured to the tiny room with a bed, an end table, and the tiniest slit of window above the ground.
"Here you are," she handed him the lantern she had been carrying. "You'll know when breakfast is ready, too." She gave him a clipped nod and went back down the hall.
"Thank you," Able called after her, then closed the door behind him.
The walls were filled timber on two sides while the one at the back with the window was the bare foundation and cold to the touch. Judging from the discoloration on the side walls, it probably leaked when it rained and made a mess of the muddy floor as well.
He took the empty tin pitcher and washbasin from the end table and pulled it to the side of the bed, where he sat and pulled the thin blanket up to ward off the chill. With his donated writing materials he poured out the memorized stories as fast as his hand could manage. It was cramping from too long a rest once he was done, and he folded the pages together and hid them beneath the mattress.
The lantern still had some oil left, but he put it out for later use. He moved the end table back to the wall, then looked out the window. By his estimations, it was midnight, but he could not verify this for even if he could see more of the sky his astrolabe plate was for the wrong latitude. Still, he spun the rete in his hands a few times after he lay down, and it calmed him.
As Capstone had suggested, the noisy hallway woke him at dawn. He considered trying to get some more sleep after the servants had all cleared out until he realized they probably had fires going. He hadn't even taken his boots off because of the cold. He opened the door to see Raven Longfield standing against the wall looking at him.
"I see our pigeon has landed," not-Raven said—she was younger and even prettier than her sister, actually, with rounder lips and eyes and wider hips, though her cream-colored hair was shorter.
"I'm not a bird like the rest of you," he cracked a smile to hide that he was worried why she was here.
"Me neither-my name is Honor."
"Have you been asked to keep an eye on me?"
"No, just confirm that you got here without any complications," she had lowered her voice and glanced down the empty hall.
"Everything went fine."
"Oh good!" she nodded and straighted. "Now I can get out of this dump."
"You don't-er, that is to say you're not housed here?"
"Hah, I'd hope selling out my people would get me some perks."
"Ah," he started after her down the hall. "Is that really how you think of your position, or do you mean the others bear you ill-will?"
"Hm," Honor stopped and scratched her chin. "Who knows? I'm a simple woman with a simple goal of not getting worked to insanity or death. My sister is clever and the Sheriff has neem oil. It's working out all right."
"...how many of the women here are used for...uh, comfort?"
"Well, he doesn't have a lot of it," she scratched her neck, now. "And nominally, the women here are off-limits, but he hardly has perfect discipline. Capstone does though, and I'm sure this lot is grateful for it."
"She-" he cocked his head. "Is there evidence for that?"
"Evidence for what?" she cocked hers.
"Er, maybe I misunderstood what you meant by her 'discipline,'" Able shifted. His mind had been going to lot of strange places lately. "You meant over the ranks, didn't...you...oh." Honor's pale face had turned quite pink. She whirled, as if to march away, then whirled again and pushed him back down the hall. He did not resist, then waited quietly while she appeared to collect her thoughts.
"I meant that-that," her stammered whisper was as harsh as the redness in her cheeks, "yes, Capstone is good at protecting the branded women. I don't know how you picked up on-on anything else, but I can't have you nosing around about it, so fine-I had a couple dalliances with her and you will not tell anyone, especially Reeve."
"Of course not, I wasn't-"
"I know things about you that can get you in trouble," she hissed. "Always remember that."
"I wasn't about to-"
"And you stay away from me," she backed away a few steps. "I own that I am keeping as many options open as I can, but that doesn't mean you get to be one of them!"
"If you would listen for one damn minute!" he finally completed a sentence and was not impressed with himself for it.
"Ugh, creepy pervert," she shuddered and stalked away.
Able sighed and leaned against the wall a minute, as the only way out was the way she had just gone. It was probably for the best. He might have rushed into confiding in her had she remained friendly, and her apparent anxiety about having it both ways was hardly encouraging.
He listened a while to the echoes of the clatter of pots and chatter of their wielders before making to emerge from the hallway.
Easily two dozen women were crammed into a kitchen that was giving off delightful waves of heat. Honor was lounging against a counter near the stove.
"Is it ready now? I tell you, he's in a mood."
"And what put him there, I wonder?" snapped the closest pot scrubber.
"What kind of mood?" asked a dough kneader.
"Ohhh, you know, the one where he's all like 'I can't believe the Shadow got the best of me again."
The kitchen erupted with cheer and a dozen questions. A female enforcer rounded the corner with a scowl, and Able accosted her with questions of his own about breakfast to give the indentured women a moment longer to enjoy themselves.
He then took a walk in the fresh sunshine while he waited the half hour to join the enforcers in the mess hall. After that, he approached the Count's secretary to request an audience. He was almost pleasantly surprised that it would only be a four-day wait.
That done, he made his way to the records room. This took up a good section of the main floor beside the tower. One of the two guards posted at the door nodded to Able and opened it for him.
Able thanked him, then inhaled the scent of paper and ink as he stepped into a hall lined with shelves laden with paperwork. He was bemused by the impressive height of the ceiling as he stepped up to the decidedly unimpressive table that was trying to be the front desk. Four scribes seated at low tables further in glanced from him to each other before one finally got up to meet him.
"Access forms?" Able helped the indecisive clerk out.
"Oh, okay. Uhm, let me get the manager—oh, ma'am," the clerk turned to see Red enter from a side office.
"What did you need?" she asked her subordinate, who relayed Able's request to her.
She was not Red in the same fashion that Honor was not Raven, which only made Able's heart pound faster. She had the same nose and brow, but her hair was gray above the ears and her cheeks were gaunter and her forehead laced with scowl lines. She turned her dark eyes on Able as she replaced her underling across the front desk from him.
He was trapped.
"The sheriff has granted me records access, but I assume I still need to sign a form?" he hoped he was as steel-faced as Reeve had accused him of being last night.
"Yes," she nodded once. "Your name?"
"Able Houser," he watched her eyes.
"Ah, yes, I had a note," this came as a bored drawl. She pulled one book out from beneath another, turned several pages, then began to fill it out. The perfect picture of a records manager faced with nothing but menial work all day...while it was all Able could do to keep himself from grabbing the table to steady himself. In one efficient motion reminiscent of her sister, she turned the book to face him, "Sign here."
"Thank you," he managed without a stammer, though he nearly flinched when he met her eyes again over the proffered pen. He held it a moment while he glanced over the page, needing to convince himself it was an access record no different from the hundreds he'd already signed. And sign it he did, next to the name of the elusive mole: Constance Driver.
"Very well, then," she collected the book. "Your clearance extends to level one deployments, as well as matters of arrests and finances. You all heard me?"
"Yes, ma'am," replied her four subordinates.
"Good. Carry on." Driver returned to her office without shutting the door.
Able took a deep breath and saw the scribes were all looking at him curiously.
"Arrests?" he gestured to the shelves.
"This section, here," the only woman left in the room gestured to the wall beside her. "They should be organized chronologically."
"Thank you," he came over to see for himself. His hands were shaking, so he simply selected the first sheaf and took it to an unoccupied table to read the first line countless times without comprehending it.
It would be unwise for Constance Driver to harm him here. Even if every clerk in this room were in on her Rebellion, there were guards at the exit to this room and every other passage away from it. Yet this knowledge was not bringing his faculties back under control.
He was alone.
He was also threat. He considered that as the name and specifics of the first Borealunder to be arrested—for attacking an enforcer—finally settled into his mind. He could follow through on being a threat. He could go find Reeve and tell him what he knew straight away. He could be extensively questioned and probably locked up and forced to tell everything he really knew about the Resistance too.
He was alone. It was a position he'd worked with care and dedication to put himself in.
No. Able was not alone. Lark had helped him get here. And Lark knew about Driver. Surely he would have said something if he thought Able might not be safe here left to his own devices for a week. Able trusted Lark, didn't he?
Well...now he had to. He slid out a sheet of paper and began drafting a letter, cautiously considering what he might communicate without raising suspicion, as certainly it would be read.
After several misadventures, I have safely arrived in Adeptsby, where I find myself with some renown but without <s>friends</s> spare clothing, supplies, or money. The first of these things is most important as I find it is very cold here. Should you find the chance to send my belongings to me, I am afraid all I can give you is my thanks for now, but I will not forget your kindness.
"Excuse me," Able called again to the female scribe, seated at the table in front of him. "How is post sent around here?"
"Take it to the quartermaster," she replied. "He's usually in the storage building."
Drawing curious looks but no comments from the clerks, Able excused himself to find the quartermaster. As he had expected, said quartermaster looked the letter over before agreeing to add it to the dispatches. Knowing his missive was bound for Pride and Splendor attn: manager, Able was calm enough to return to the records room. He had work to do.