Leaving Ashurst

For several days, Renard remains in Ashurst to organise the pumping and removal of the water.

While it might be safe to leave it there and cordon the area off, the extreme response of Kingslayer and the sheerness of its cold suggests to Renard a depth of corruption that demands diligent countermeasures. If this water is especially cursed, it is probably best not to leave it around. And even if it isn’t, its unassuming appearance could quickly mislead hikers to its danger. It is shallow enough to ford, but the cold would freeze a man still and potentially dead if none intervened.

This work lets Renard distract himself from thinking much about his and Fidel’s encounter in the woods. He will, of course, have to confront it eventually, as he will have to give a more serious report about the matter than the reassuring ‘problem’s solved!’ he gives the Mayor, to Lord Byrus and eventually the Queen, but for as long as he can avoid it, he will.

Further in Ashurst is the issue of Fidel. Spending these extra days in the town, Renard sees that Fidel spends most of his time contriving reasons not to go home. Between his work, Fidel has been inserting himself into the water removal efforts and drifting around Renard for things to do. Renard indulges this drive as casually as he can; if not for fear that the boy will wander back into the forest at night without other distractions, then for understanding that living around his father makes him miserable.

Under normal circumstances, Renard would pile a thousand shining accolades on the boy for his genuinely impressive work, tell every good school and employer of his worth, and leave having buffed his reputation enough that a thousand new doors would open for him.

But with Fidel’s father sucking all the family’s funds down the bottle, and with his acerbic temperament battering at the boy’s heart, that may not be enough to give Fidel’s life even a single opportunity.

That impression is strengthened after meeting Fidel’s mother, a woman withered from working five jobs who still struggles to put bread on the table – and yet loves her husband too much to leave him alone in that grave of a house. Beyond just physically, she is exhausted emotionally, and it is with an eerie kind of passive disregard that she hears Renard’s proposal in a restaurant over dinner.

“Great. What am I meant to do, then," she sighs at the conclusion.

“What do you sigh for? For what have you toiled? He is not a pet," Renard spits.

She twirls her wine in its glass. “Of course. Yes." And massages her eye.

“These connections value more than any so pence by drudgery farmed," Renard assures. “That opens a shimmer of possibility, for yourself and your husband, as well."

“Optimistic, now? But yes… you speak sense, of course." A distant smile rises on her lips. “Back into court… it is strange, how I can feel so bitter, but so happy. I would scream at you, in a heartbeat."

“Your propriety slips, my dear lady. Careful, what daggers flash on your tongue."

“Oh, Sir Renard. I’m not a lady in these rags," she laughs at herself. Her gaze falls to the full plate before her, and out the window, to a brilliant view of the distant suburbs and forest cloaked in silver moonlight. “But thank you, just tonight, for letting me feel like one."

Closing that encounter, the moon falls to tomorrow, and the pumping of the cold water is done. Renard loads up a cart with the gargoyle-corpse, the anomaly’s chalk tiles, and the cursed water barrels. As faces from the town gather to bid him farewell, Renard calls for Fidel and offers that he leave Ashurst with him.

Though surprised by the sudden reality of the offer, it takes little deliberation for Fidel to say yes. It is venerating to Renard’s judgement that he does not even bother to tell his parents farewell — they will have to learn his ventures later, by letter.

Fidel seats himself on the rear of the cart, eyes wide in equal fear and wonder as the town he has lived so unfortunately in fades, into only a speck on the road.

The dirt road cycles on through the flat plains of Daversham.

Renard truthfully has no plans on what to do with Fidel.

Of course, the most important thing he could do for the boy was get him away from that dead-end town and out of that dead-end house. Now that Renard has achieved that, he would love to jump off the cart and pronounce, ‘now you are free, young Fidel! Go out into the world, and seek your fortune!’. But even if ditching him would allow such a delusion of hope, that is really all it would do. In practical terms, between abandoning him in the middle of nowhere, and leaving him in Ashurst, he would probably be better languishing in Ashurst, where the dangers are known and predictable.

If Renard is going to leave the boy, it is important to first find him a patron. Someone whose way and presence would steady him upon the uneven ground of a new environment, and give him a direction to pursue, which he may one day master and use for his own purposes.

Such turn the wheels in the back of Renard’s mind as their cart arrives at the estate of Lord Byrus. Having cleaned Fidel up and bought him a fresh outfit, after soberly reporting to Lord Byrus of Ashurst, Renard brightly presents the boy over dinner. He asks if Lord Byrus would wish to hire him, or if he knows anyone within his charge who might. Though Renard fastidiously mentions Fidel’s skill as a ranger and navigator, alongside his good spirit and good aid in the encounter at Ashurst, Lord Byrus does not seem to see the same shine in the boy that Renard does.

More out of politeness than genuine need, Lord Byrus concedes that he could take Fidel as a house servant.

It’s not the most awful suggestion. In fact, it’s by starting as just such a servant that most pages become knights. What leaves discontent niggling in Renard’s chest, though, is that it feels unlikely for Lord Byrus to train Fidel as more than, at absolute best, his maitre d. This path would certainly be liveable, but also quite restrictive and unfitting to Fidel’s demonstrated ambition and skillset.

Fidel swiftly pipes up that he would rather, in that case, proceed to Meurille with Renard. Renard nods without complaint and drops the matter with Lord Byrus there.

After a friendly dinner and night staying at Lord Byrus’ estate, Renard and Fidel proceed the morning after to Meurille.

Renard and Fidel arrive some days later in Meurille.

Returning home to his estate, which stands on the plain with the same homely face and composition as ever, feels so normal as to be eerie after meeting the Devil in Ashurst. It is like a promise that not even the end of the world could rip away the mundane comforts of having a wife, owning a house, and needing to tend to his horses. Indeed, as he pulls into the drive, the reality of the problem festering instantly melts, replaced with the thoughts he’s had thousands of times before, of wondering how the village has been, what work he needs to catch up on, and a strong desire to spend time with Colette, who has rushed to the front door to receive him.

Her eyes widen in curiosity upon seeing Fidel. Upon explaining that he is a guest, and the son of an old friend who got himself in a rut, Colette quickly welcomes him in with great warmth. Though she’s far from a cold woman, she can often give a critical first impression, and seeing how quickly she flips into cooing and caring to ensure the boy feels welcome tickles Renard pleasantly. She would probably make a great mother.

Once Fidel has occupied himself with exploring the manor, mystified and plainly transfixed as he trails the floral reliefs in the stone, Renard joins Colette in their parlour for some privacy.

Renard collapses with exhaustion upon the couch. Colette curls aside him, soon tucked under his arm for a long kiss. Her dark hair spills like silken sheets over his skin, and as she pillows her head on his shoulder, he wonders how he could have ever forgotten this scent so synonymous with comfort, with life, and with home.

“How was the work?" she asks.

“Harrowing." Renard wipes his brow, resting the back of his head upon the couch’s wooden arc. “Now, Fidel…"

“Yes — he has an air. Is he noble?"

Renard chuckles bitterly. “I made a damn fool of myself before I figured that out." And continues, explaining Fidel’s circumstances — that he is not really a noble, but a stray, from a family that fell far into poverty and a household that did not deal well with the change. Though curious to the family’s identity, Colette refrains from prying too far into the political side of the issue, as Renard expresses with surprising force and earnestness that all that really matters here is the welfare of the boy.

Not even Renard himself can explain why he has become so attached to Fidel. Perhaps it is the simple sense that Fidel, a born noble, and indeed his whole family, deserves much more than the hand that they got, and could do much more if their circumstances were shifted minutely.

Under Colette’s subtly imploring gaze, Renard admits that Fidel’s house is Asphodelis.

“Asphodelis…" she muses. “Weren’t they the landlords here, before us?"

Renard purses his lips, weakness coming over him as he shrugs the question away. He would love for this fact to have no implications. Hence he has preferred to ignore it. Sensing this shift, Colette shakes her head to dismiss the issue and reaffirms that the politics aren’t really relevant. Her silent curiosity shifts footing to what, exactly, Renard thinks to do.

Gratefully untensing a slight, Renard further explains that he only means to keep Fidel in the estate for a couple nights, until he can find him more appropriate lodgings and work. Renard isn’t seeking to… adopt, the boy. He just wants to know that he’s stable and doing well.

Though she notes Fidel would expect Renard to be more involved, Colette accepts this plan as a good approach. The conversation flows towards mundane topics of planning for dinner and dates and what Meurille has been doing, and how peaceful and quiet it’s been, which was really quite frustrating for how few distractions it offered, from how worried Colette has been with Renard absent these past weeks.

Renard grins and reassures her with a light slap and a squeeze, ho, he is well and handled everything fine. Though she smiles, his bravado wilts quickly as the unavoidable affairs of Ashurst return to the forefront of his mind.

Though he avoids details, Renard’s atmosphere flips into sombre seriousness as he confesses that the anomaly that manifested in Ashurst, likely, has some direct relation to the Queen’s affairs in Nix.

“What do you mean?" Colette asks urgently.

But Renard cannot find the words for an answer.

After a moment of consideration, Colette asks if Renard plans to make audience with the Queen, and if she might draft him to Nix.

“No," Renard chuckles. No, she can draft how he wants, but that won’t get him there. He should not need an audience either, just correspondence. It does mean he may get tied in this business for a while longer as a consultant — but hopefully, that should be all.

Accepting this, Colette falls silent and nods. Renard, bravado restored, reassures her with a grin and a shake, and departs the parlour with her to summon Fidel to dinner.