ii. Port-a-Lucine
Benny wakes in a cold sweat and doesn’t immediately recognize his surroundings. It’s a colorful, cramped interior and his head is killing him. He lets his eyes shut again, groaning softly, and tries to calm his racing heart. A nightmare? What is he, twelve?
“You’re awake!” says the bright voice of the girl from the front of the wagon, too loud. She jerks away from a pile of his things in the corner, too quickly to be wholly innocent.
“Mm, apparently so,” he murmurs, slowly slitting his eyes open again. “Weren’t you driving?”
“Oh, yeah, but that was a couple hours ago,” she says. Her hair is so fluffy. “Are you okay? The doctor said you weren’t dying, but you look like shit.”
“Thanks,” Benny snorts.
She grins, and by every god she is a gorgeous girl. “You’re welcome! … But no, really, should I get Rhea?”
“I’m alright,” he sighs, though his attempt to sit up is really pushing it. His head is still throbbing. “Did I ever catch your name?”
“Huh?” she tilts her head and her cloud of hair floats along. “Ah! I’m Talia. Talia d’Avenir.”
“Talia,” he echoes. “Lovely to meet you, Talia. Where the hell are we?”
“Some place called Demon Loo,” she chirps, so confidently he almost thinks he’s misheard her. “We’re parked out by the woods. There’s some nice old ladies who said we can stay here if we need to. I was just… seeing if you were gonna wake up! You’re kinda in my bed.”
“Uh-huh,” Benny replies, eyeing her and her proximity to the pile of shit he pulled out of that bag. “That’s why you were digging through my things, hm?”
“Wh- I would never! And even if I was, it’s only because I needed to move it!”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
“Yeah. So there! What are you, racist or something?”
“Absolutely, yeah.”
“Yeah! Accusing a Vistana of stealing! Stereotypes!”
“Mmhm, that’s surely what I did,” Benny agrees, low and amused. “What’s a Vistana, by the way?”
“Me, dipshit! I’m a Vistana!” Talia puffs out her chest and points at herself with a thumb, grinning mischievously.
“How specific!” Benny chuckles despite the ache in his skull and the way every motion makes it just a little bit worse. “No pity for the poor amnesiac passed out in your wagon, I see.”
She slaps a hand over her mouth. “Oh shit you really don’t know. I forgot.”
“No, that’s me. I forgot,” Benny snarks, unable to help himself.
“You!!” Talia huffs, propping her hands on her hips. “Well! We’re a nomadic people who travel in caravans, usually part of bigger tasques. Don’t go asking giorgios about us, though, they’re probably actually racist and they’ll tell you wrong. And don’t ask me like I’m just going to tell you everything either! Just trust me!” She finishes with a mutter in a language Benny doesn’t recognize, though the tone is slightly bitter.
“Got it,” he replies, electing to pretend he didn’t notice. “Well, thank you for the quick lesson, then. I’ll be sure to trust you in all future dealings with shit I don’t understand.”
“Good!” Talia replies, and then squeaks as Benny makes a stumbling attempt to stand. His head pounds like something’s lodged inside it, but that’s not the real issue. The problem is that his balance is shot. He lists hard to the right and thumps back down in bed before he can fall.
“Shit,” he mutters.
“I can get the doc--”
“No, it’s fine, it’s not my head,” he says, waving a hand dismissively, though his headache is worse for the movement. “It’s my leg. I think it must be a recent addition.”
“Your… leg?”
Benny, despite himself, lifts his pant leg and gives the porcelain a knock. When he looks back up, Talia’s face is doing something complicated.
“Oh,” she says. “Just like mom.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is that right?”
“Yeah…” And then, with her eyes popping wide, “Ah!! You shouldn’t sleep with it on! It can cause sores and gross stuff. Do you know how to take it off?”
Benny considers lying, but something in him likes Talia. He doesn’t know if he trusts her yet, but he certainly likes her. Besides, he’s already an amnesiac. He doesn’t need to be denying himself crucial knowledge like how to take off his own leg. “Can’t say that I do.”
“Can I show you? It’s really important, especially if it’s new!”
He shrugs and rolls his pant leg up further, until porcelain gives way to dusky purple gray flesh, just above the knee. “By all means. You’re my guide for shit I know nothing about, after all.”
Talia smiles brightly and goes down on her knees to get her hands on his legs. She explains a bit about how to remove it while Benny focuses on her intently, but something about her position… A hot, pleased sensation melts along his spine and pools in his gut. His eyes go half-lidded and he implores himself to focus as Talia pops off his leg - the prosthetic, of course - with a, “Just like that!”
He swallows inaudibly and smiles in return. “Now put it back on?”
“Duh! Unless you think you’re going to pass back out?”
“No, those days are behind me,” Benny says, playfully prim, with no idea whether he actually will or not.
The desired effect is achieved, which is to say that Talia laughs and steadies the nub of his knee while she reattaches the prosthetic. Her hands are small and clever and very warm. While her focus is shifted, Benny discreetly untucks his shirt to cover his rapidly tightening pants. It seems like the thing to do, though he’s not entirely sure why. Talia finishes and looks back up at him with her vibrant eyes.
“You got all that?” she asks, chipper.
He’s almost tempted to say no so she’ll stay down there. His desire to feel competent wins out in the end, though. “Yeah, I think I’ve got it.”
“Alright!” Talia says, popping up. “But let me know if you need help. I don’t mind!”
“I most certainly will,” he says, and then, “But for now I’ll get out of your bed. You said we’re staying with some nice old ladies tonight?”
“Yeah!” Beat. “Well, maybe! Everyone’s swimming right now, but we might go into the city in a little bit. You don’t actually have to get up. I’m just teasing, giorgio.” She sticks out her tongue.
“No, no, I know when I’m being kicked out,” Benny replies, amused. “I should pick up my shit anyway.”
Talia hesitates only a moment, like she might insist he stay down, but the siren call of the bit gets to her. “Yeah, you should! Not nice to leave a mess in someone else’s place, you know!”
“Right, right,” he sighs, long-suffering. He rolls his pant leg back down and makes another attempt to stand. It goes a little better, in that he only lists a little to the right, and Talia ducks under his arm to offer her shoulder. He glances at her, but she only smiles, bright and earnest.
She really is such a pretty girl.
Outside the vardo the air is fresh and crisp coming in off the bay. The sun gleams overhead and the waves catch its light; the water is a bright, glittering blue. Distantly, across the bay, a city stretches out before them.
Everyone is not, in fact, swimming.
The as-yet unnamed elf stands much closer to him and Talia rather than the shore, and looks at them sharply as they emerge. His gaze is pointed and wary, the pale gray of his eyes catching the sun much like the water. His mouth ticks down. He doesn’t say anything.
“He’s too quiet,” Talia says, and, “You’re too quiet!”
“I am not.”
“Mm! I think he’s too quiet. What do you think?”
“Much too quiet,” Benny says, a smirk creeping onto his face. The other elf scoffs.
While Talia continues teasing him, Benny gets a better look around. The vardo sits next to three small homes, near which an old woman sits with her washing basin. The doctor stands near her, engaging in quiet conversation on their part; the woman, however, laughs boisterously for someone of her age, and though Benny doesn’t hear her reply, Rhea looks embarrassed.
Out in the water, Paul and Devin have stripped down to their small clothes. They splash water dramatically at each other, though Devin has an advantage given his lack of wings. One might assume the wings would be of great use in splash fights, but as it happens, Paul seems to be trying to keep them tight to his body. Whenever they flare up, the feathers ruffle out, not unlike a bird in a puddle.
Devin turns, catches sight of him, and one arm goes up in a wave. “Benny! You’re awake!”
Benny raises a hand back, to which Devin grins brightly… and finds himself smacked in the face by a sudden wave. Paul laughs, wings momentarily spread again. “Hey, sweetheart,” he tosses in Benny’s direction. “Seems like everyone’s up and about, huh? Might wanna get out of the water.”
His brother-in-arms sputters and swings an armful of water at Paul. Paul laughs again and puts his hands up to ward off any more attacks. “C’mon, c’mon.”
“Payback’s a bitch, Paulie.”
“Ain’t it?”
They draw back to the edge of the water and emerge glistening with naked chests and very barely hidden cocks. Benny’s pants issue attempts to make a come back, which his shirt thankfully covers. It seems that pretty girls on their knees aren’t the only thing he’s interested in. He’s learning so much about himself on this fine day.
Paul’s wings double in size as he shakes them free of water. A few quick snaps and hummed notes and he’s suddenly completely dry. A bit of bardic magic, Benny’s mind supplies, which Paul offers Devin with a crook of his finger. Devin smiles and gives him a twirl, prompting more magic. Soon enough he’s dry too.
All the while Talia shoots off at the mouth toward this unnamed young man who has taken to standing there with the most long-suffering look on his face imaginable.
“Boys!” calls the old woman. “Your laundry’s just about done. You want to use some of those tricks and come dry it for me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Paul says, and, as he’s taking his sopping wet laundry from her, “Thanks, Lucille, you’re a doll.”
Lucille titters, clearly flattered, and hands Devin his clothes too.
The two of them get dressed again. For the best, since Benny has time to sort his head out. He finds himself playing with the stud in his tongue. It slides neatly across the roof of his mouth and makes a fine momentary distraction. How often has he done that before?
“We should gather up,” he tells Talia, who cuts off from ragging on her target.
“Oh, yeah, definitely. Definitely, let’s go. C’mon.”
She helps Benny limp his way over to the rest of this group with the other elf following them like a shadow. With the whole group rounded up, they sure do look like a handful of freaks. Lucille stands, her old bones creaking, and takes Paul’s hand gratefully on her way up. “Now, let me get a look at you all…”
In turn, she looks each of the group over, her wrinkled face unceasingly jovial. When her gaze lands upon Benny, her whole face crinkles up in an elderly display of good cheer. “So lovely to see you on your feet, dear. I heard you’ve all been through quite a lot. A good knock to the head, hm?”
“Among other things, I’m sure,” Benny says. The smile he gives in return is a crooked thing with little more than a touch of dry humor behind it.
“Well!” She puts her hands together. “As I told your friends, Port-a-Lucine doesn’t often see strangers. Plenty to do in the city, of course. It’s a shame they have such opinions on the Vistani.”
Talia puffs up under Benny’s arm at the mention. “Of course they do! Of course. Racist ass…”
Devin leans toward Benny and mutters, “Some assholes turned us away from the inn because of her wagon.”
“But!” Lucille continues. “Vistani rest here often enough when they come through, and you’re welcome to the space. It’s been quite a while since we’ve had guests. Since you’re staying, perhaps you’d like to join us for dinner. After you’ve seen some sights, of course! But no one’s come by in so long. Felicity makes a very good pie.”
Another old woman Benny neglected to see, sitting there on the porch of one of the tiny houses, laughs like old paper. She looks like she could simply wisp away. It’s little wonder Benny missed her. She’s a dry and shriveled thing, small, with enormous glasses perched upon her nose. “Ohhh. Heheh. Yes. A pie. Yes.”
“And Chastity,” says Lucille, “Chastity!”
Another old woman pokes her head out through the window of another house. “Yes?”
“Would you like guests?”
Chastity makes a noise of intrigue. “Are they staying?”
Lucille turns to look at the lot of them. “Would you care to come for dinner?”
They look at each other. None of them know the others particularly well, and there is a moment where everyone waits to see what the rest of them will do.
Talia says, with only the barest trace of a pause, “Sure!” at the same time that their unnamed friend says, “How much?”
The Vistana turns her head to look at him. “How much? Money obsessed giorgio.”
“It’s a fair question,” he says. “If we’re given something, something must be given in return.”
“Oh, a formal young lad, aren’t you?” Lucille replies cheerfully. She appears unbothered by his demeanor, even amused. “There’s no need for all that.”
“I insist. How much?”
She laughs. “A copper, then, if you must.”
“An acceptable trade.”
“Ohhh. Heheh. Sweet young fellow,” Felicity hums from her perch.
He is clearly anything but, and his expression barely changes. Tension coils tight underneath his skin, as though he’s liable to snap at any moment. Benny recognizes something in him, in the dagger he keeps at his belt. Not anything so useful as to jog his memory—clearly they don’t actually know each other. Probably. But he holds himself like a killer, and someone who’s never taken a break a day in his life.
“So!” Paul says, interrupting the tension in a bright note not unlike a bird. “What sorta sight-seein’ is there to do in this city, ladies?”
For a moment, Lucille’s gaze rests on the unmoving gray face of this pulled-taut stranger. She turns, then, and smiles at Paul. “Oh, all kinds! There’s the opera, the library, the cathedral…”
“The Red Widow!” calls Chastity, to which Lucille looks scandalized.
“For a group of newcomers? Ever failing to live up to your name, my dear.”
“It’s one of the most interesting places in the city!”
Lucille laughs. “It’s true. I won’t argue.”
“Better to go at night for the shows, I think.”
“Ohhh. Heheh. Yes. Titties.”
Felicity’s words spark cackling laughter from her—sisters? Neighbors? It’s hard to say. In fact, she draws laughter from nearly everyone. The only ones who don’t seem particularly amused are Rhea and their stranger.
“So it’s that kind of party,” Devin says in good cheer.
“That’s the truth of it,” Lucille chortles. “Though you wouldn’t hear anyone say so in plain language in most of Port-a-Lucine. Not polite.”
“Not somethin’ you’re concerned about, apparently,” Benny points out, dry and with mild amusement.
“We’re too old for all that,” Chastity calls from her window.
“At least you are,” Lucille tuts. She turns to smile at the whole lot of them as though she hadn’t been interrupted at all. “Yes, plenty of interesting places in the city. A colorful market street. You should go along and see. Take in the sights. And then come back for dinner, mm?”
“Don’t mind if I do, ma’am,” Paul agrees, polite but still conversational.
Benny echoes, “Thank you kindly.”
“So, we’re walking,” Talia says as they turn away, and it’s not a question. It’s not as though they were going to argue with her, though. “Not gonna risk the vardo getting messed up, and besides. Gizzard and Cadaver need a break.”
“Gizzard and…?”
At Benny’s casual confusion, Talia perks up. “Right! Right right right. You didn’t meet.” She points to horses, presently hitched near the vardo. One is a beautiful black stallion, sleek and shining, his mane glorious. The other is getting on in years, but still a lovely chestnut color. He’s a hand and a half shorter than his companion.
“Oh,” Benny says. His lip quirks up. “Can I introduce myself before we leave?”
“Huh? Oh!” Excitement floods Talia’s expression. “Ehe. Sure! Come on..”
As Talia leads him away, he watches their stranger stiffen. Talia catches his gaze and leans in to whisper conspiratorially, “I think he’s scared of horses.”
It’s not quiet enough, and maybe wasn’t meant to be. “I am not,” says the elf.
“I don’t know,” Paul says, long and drawn out and with an air of teasing disbelief. “You’ve been awful tense since she parked.”
“I’m not afraid,” the stranger reiterates. “They’re large creatures, and it simply pays to be cautious.”
Devin continues ribbing him. “Sounds like something someone scared would say.”
It’s hilarious, but Talia draws away Benny attention to point at the black stallion. “This is Cadaver,” she says. “He’s sweet. Might even let a giorgio pet him. And that—” She points to the other. “That’s Gizzard. Careful with him. He’s bitey.”
Gizzard snorts in agreement, ears twisted in a way that suggests he could and definitely would bite if it came down to it. Benny opts not to touch him, but affectionally clicks his tongue at Cadaver. The horse’s large head turns to watch him, much more at ease. It’s enough of an invitation that he reaches to gently place a hand along the creature’s neck.
“Aren’t you handsome,” he murmurs softly. Cadaver’s fur is familiar under Benny’s palm, distantly, in a way he can’t place. Something in his head twinges, bringing with it a prickle of pain. He ignores that, instead opting to talk to Gizzard. “And as for you… Maybe Talia will let me feed you an apple later.”
Talia looks at him with bright orange eyes. “I bet you like horses. You seem like a horse guy. We can get apples! Need to restock anyway.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Behind them, Paul and Devin have returned to bouncing off one another like a pair of bards, while the good doctor looks like they’d rather be anywhere else. The stranger mostly looks like he’d like to kill somebody.
Talia says, “Alright, let’s go! C’mon!” and the piecemeal entourage makes their way back into the city.
The clear sky over head makes for a pleasant stroll. Benny tests his leg without Talia under his arm and finds it’s not so difficult once he gets the hang of it. For all his muscle memory, the fact that he needs to get steady on his missing leg indicates to him that it really is new. Though curiosity nips at his heel, thinking too deeply on it threatens another headache, so instead he enjoys the air while he can.
When the dirt road shifts to paved cobblestone, the stink of the city creeps in, but no one seems to notice. Or, that’s not exactly accurate. As they pass from smaller residential streets into the city proper, a momentary hush falls over the group. Though they’re no longer bedraggled, a shadow hangs over them that all the good cheer in the world can’t hide.
That shit blew up, Devin had said. Was Haven a city much like this one? Did it have such aristocratic buildings? Even out at the edge of Port-a-Lucine, things are pretty. Imperfect, but pretty. People take care to make the outside of their homes look nice. Business have extravagant shopfronts and signage. They grow lush gardens. Everything is intended to look beautiful, much like the people they pass, all in vibrant tailored suits and day dresses, fine wigs and powdered faces, little dogs and feathered masks.
There are smudges around the edges. Dresses are frayed at the hems, and the gardens occasionally disguise cracks in their accompanying buildings’ foundation. It’s not so obvious that someone would see it if they weren’t looking for it, but Benny finds himself with a discerning eye. Haven could have been like this, maybe.
“Where are we headed, then?” he asks, if only to brighten the mood again.
The whole group wakes back up.
“Information would be useful. We’re… stuck, yes? The old woman mentioned a library.”
The stranger is half talked over by Talia’s, “The market! We need stuff.”
“I bet the opera is cool,” Devin says at just about the same time.
“Incredible. How bout we go one at a time and try that again,” Benny says, dry as anything.
Everyone immediately talks at once.
They all then look at one another, try one more time, and Devin gives up. “It would be fun,” he says, to which Paul wholeheartedly agrees and the stranger scoffs derisively.
“It would be better to get our bearings.”
“It would be better to get some stuff for my vardo.”
A furrow appears in their stranger’s brow—annoyance, most likely. “More knowledge on the surrounding area will serve us more quickly, and no one will have to carry any perishables back immediately.”
Talia pauses. “…Stuff later! Library now.”
“The library it is,” Benny says definitively. “Books first.”
“Good.” The stranger sounds a little too self-satisfied.
Though he could almost certainly handle himself on his own and his temperament suggests he would rather die than be with the group, the stranger shadows them as they find their way through the streets. The man must be just as lost as the rest of them. More pragmatic than some, if he’s sticking around. Strength in numbers and all that.
It’s hard to say why none of them have broken off yet, actually. Talia, at least, seems to understand the Mists. Rhea is with her, apparently. Devin and Paul are clearly old friends. All of them seem to have experienced the same atrocity. But still. He and the stranger? They could take off on their own. Benny could deal with his memory by himself. The stranger could find his own way.
But neither of them leave, and they visit the library together.
The Grand Library, as it’s called, is a massive building that stands on its own, away from surrounding businesses. The street splits to flow around it and an entrance juts out on either side, each one a covered plaza led into by a circle of stone arches. The people of Port-a-Lucine speak quietly near the middle of these plazas, drawn to the sculpture in the center. It’s an avant garde piece, more undulating shapes than form. Benny follows the lines of it with his eyes, the way it loops in on itself and fills outward.
“Benny?” Talia pokes him. “We’re going in.”
“I’m aware,” he says, and pokes her back.
“Uh-huh. You got distracted.”
“I’m admiring the art. Different.”
“Not different! …It’s kinda weird, isn’t it?”
“It’s interesting. You see the way it twists there?” He shifts closer so he can see her perspective and traces the line with his finger in front of her. “Folds in on itself.”
The stranger exhales sharply through his nose as he lingers behind them. “It doesn’t look like anything.”
“Maybe you’re not trying hard enough,” Benny says, still caught in its lines. It’s taller than any of them, but not so tall that it looks out of place. It’s definitely something made as a centerpiece, if not specifically for this space then for one like it. “I bet it’s a matched set. Another on the other side of the building.”
“Artists,” the stranger mutters. “I’m going inside.”
Talia tilts her head, trying to see what Benny sees. “…I like it! Let’s check for the other one.”
They end up following the group inside, whereupon the sheer size of the library takes everyone’s breath away. The round central room soars three stories high; a glass dome lets filtered light shine in from above, diffused so as not to be obnoxious. A few clerks hustle between the circle of a receptionist’s desk in the middle, and another handful of visitors linger there chatting.
For all that he was annoyed outside this building, the stranger stops dead to take in this sight. He’s still tense—Benny gets the sense that that just doesn’t go away. Nonetheless, his frigidity thaws, at least a little bit. The air in here is lighter than outside. Some of that false grandiosity in all its sad, filthy glory has transformed into something more pure. It’s the first time anything’s felt truly serene since Benny woke up in Dementlieu.
Eventually, Talia goes, “Ehe. Maybe I’ll check on the way out. I wonder if we have to get library cards? We should get library cards. Let’s go.”
“Yes.”
So much restrained excitement is contained in the stranger’s yes that Benny laughs under his breath. He doesn’t even get a dirty look for it. Most of the group is immediately lost to the siren call of shelves and shelves of books.
Benny looks up, admiring the spiraling architecture. It really is so much easier to relax here. He’s too curious to see if there really is another half to the sculpture, though, so after a moment he crosses the room and heads out of the other entrance.
As it happens, another sculpture waits for him. It isn’t a perfect copy of the other—it has its own unique shape, each curve folding in on itself different from the first. It’s beautiful.
His hands itch for a stick of charcoal. He should have brought his journal.
“I never really got art like this.”
Benny doesn’t jump, because Paul didn’t make a secret of coming up next to him. His dress shoes click when they hit stone. Easy enough to hear. Instead, he smirks. “Should I call you uncultured?”
“Aw, sweetheart, really? I went to a bard college, I’ll have you know. Nothin uncultured about that.”
Benny doesn’t remember anything about how bard colleges work. He’s amazed he can draw up what the concept of a college is at all. How many of his memories are truly lost? It obviously isn’t just one event, but general knowledge hasn’t completely escaped him. Still, it wouldn’t do to sound like he doesn’t know what’s going on.
“I’m sure,” he says, still dry. “What is there to get? It’s about how it makes you feel.”
Paul shifts. His wings do, too, like they want to stretch out, but he keeps them tucked tightly behind his back. “That’s what they say about music, too. I always admired people who can do this sorta thing. Seems like magic. You a big time artist, sweetheart?”
“Who can say?” Benny glances at Paul and finds himself watched by seafoam eyes. His smirk broadens into something that might be considered smug. “I’m good, at least.”
Paul laughs. “Yeah? You can prove it later, huh?”
“Sure can.” He knows he can, too, though he’s not entirely sure how. It’s not something he can think on too deeply, lest the pain in his skull starts up again. “Why aren’t you inside?”
“Saw you wander off on your own, and I thought to myself, ‘What’s a handsome fella like that doin all on his lonesome?’” Paul has an insufferably charming smile, which he flashes in Benny’s direction like he doesn’t even think about it. “I thought ya could use some company.”
“Certainly nothing to do with my apparent brain damage.”
“Course not,” he says, all flippant, but there’s a certain softness around the eyes that suggests it is, in fact, exactly that. “Ya comin in?”
Benny looks out at the sculpture fondly for another moment. He exhales slowly. There is, for a moment, peace. “Yeah, yeah. I suppose.”
By the time Benny and Paul have returned inside, everyone has dispersed and no one but Devin remains on the first floor. He’s browsing through some raunchy romances as they come upon him. Paul asks, “Whatcha got there? Somethin steamy?”
“You know it. Only the steamiest for me.” Devin winks. The jagged scar on his face stretches as he smiles, and though it should give him some roguish charm, Benny sees him more sweet than anything. Maybe it’s the eagerness with which he sought to fold Rhea into the group, or the open concern he showed when Benny staggered into the vardo. That first impression won’t leave so easily.
Out of the corner of his eye Benny spots Rhea, quietly pawing through their own little chunk of the romance section. When they notice him looking, he smirks. They freeze stiff and stare back at him until he shifts his gaze again, at which point they vanish from sight out into the shelves. Skittish.
“Where’d the rest of them run off to?” Benny asks.
Devin gestures vaguely upward. “Talia and the grumpy guy took off upstairs to look for… something.”
“Oh, yes. The illustrious ‘something.’”
“We’re all lookin for it,” Paul says.
“Ain’t we just?” Benny’s looking for multiple somethings, as it turns out. “I’m going to grab a table, if we’ll be here for a while.”
That’s just what he does. He picks a decently sized one while his companions sniff around for things that they want. His head tilts back as he spends a few peaceful moments admiring the architecture.
Eventually it’s broken by Devin and Paul’s chattering as the former comes and sets down just one novel, and the latter appears to have picked up a slender tome somewhere along the way. They talk boisterously, as bards do, and find themselves immediately shushed by one of the clerks. Devin stage whispers a comical “Sorry,” that’s nearly as loud as their conversation and gets a sharp look for his troubles.
Rhea emerges shortly afterward with a few medical texts. They don’t say a damn thing, but look exceedingly uncomfortable.
“Good finds?” Benny asks, casual.
They shrink. “…Yes.” Everything about their posture says they would rather not be seen, and they pull a book up to their nose to ward off any further conversation. Amazing.
It’s much longer before Talia and their stranger come down the stairs with a full stack each in their arms. Surprisingly enough, both of them are bundled up with history books, and Talia is talking idly at the stranger. He doesn’t even seem to mind that much.
Benny hears, “I’ve not heard of those wars,” as the stranger gets a word in edgewise.
“Really? I thought you would, if you like them so much. These are big wars. Everyone knows these wars.”
“Clearly not.”
“I thought you’re a big history guy! You just said.”
“Well. Have you heard of the War of the Spider Queen?”
“Yes!” Beat. “No. Which one’s that?”
The stranger seems quite happy - as happy as he can be, at least - to explain, but as they hone in on Devin, Paul, and especially Benny, his expression sours. “Perhaps later. We should find out something about where we are.”
He sets his stack down on the table quietly. Talia drops hers with a resounding thud that turns heads all around the library. That same clerk shushes them again, louder, and Talia ducks her head. “Ehe… Yeah. Okay, we picked up a lot of books.”
“Mmhm,” Benny agrees, watching her.
“I’ve never really been through Demon Loo—”
“Dementlieu, as we’ve already established.”
“—Demon Loo, but there’s a couple history books this guy found, and an atlas. I’ve got some more about some other domains in case you chucklefucks wanted to read up.”
“Oh?” Paul reaches across the table to pick up a book for inspection. “What about domains, now?”
“I told you,” Talia says, dropping into her seat. She winces when her arm jostles, but does a reasonable job hiding it. “The Mists are a place that go to a bunch of other places. Domains! That’s what they call em. Most of the time people don’t know they’re in one, though, so don’t go running your mouth about it. You’re here for now, so… Here’s some stuff to learn up!”
“If residents don’t know they’re in a domain, how do they have information about other domains?” asks the stranger.
Talia waves the hand attached to the arm that doesn’t currently have some kind of wound. “Comes in with my people. We can come and go easier than others. Trade stuff. Things get spread around. And sometimes there’s stuff from… before? Some people say the domains used to be all one place.”
Devin says, “If that’s true, how come they aren’t anymore?”
“I don’t know!” Talia returns cheerfully.
“Oh, yeah, of course.”
“Yeah. Gods! Think I know all the secrets of the Mists. Pft. Pft!”
Devin laughs, and they get to reading.
There are a handful of exceedingly dull history books about noble lineages that no one but their mysterious stranger seems interested in, but Benny grabs the atlas to flip it open.
Most immediately featured is the city of Port-a-Lucine, of course, cut up into its various districts. Benny notes with some pleasure that there’s several public gardens in the city, and a few museums. Why he’s so happy to see this, he can hardly say. He doesn’t dwell on it, given the creeping itch in the back of his skull.
He flips to the next page, dutifully labeled Chateaufaux, and…
That’s weird.
“Hm. Shall I blame brain damage, or does this not resemble a map at all?”
Paul peeks over at his findings.
“…Huh. Nope. That’s not a map.”
It is, in fact, a muddled smudge of various inks that might once have been used to make a map. He flips to the next page and finds the same damn thing, this one without even the courtesy of a title. The one after that is much the same. Every single page of this atlas aside from the one centered on Port-a-Lucine is completely illegible.
“Maybe someone spilled water on it,” Devin suggests.
“They did not,” the stranger says, looking up from his reading. “Many of the names and places in this book are likewise smudged. It seems that all that remains of Dementlieu is Port-a-Lucine and this Chateaufaux.”
“Barely, at that,” Benny murmurs, flipping back to its page.
“Nobility has a strong presence here,” says their stranger. “The Lord Governor is a man named Marcel Guignol, but he takes council from five prominent lines of aristocracy, all dukes and duchesses. Beyond that, there are many minor families listed throughout these books.”
“Same old story,” Talia says, waving her hand. “It’s always shitty nobles.”
“Amen.” Devin raises his book as if to toast with it.
“Quite.” The stranger stares amongst the various tomes. “These would benefit from further study. We should take them with us.”
“Is there an ‘us’ now?”
Paul’s voice is teasing, but the stranger stares flatly. “No. But for the time being, we go the same way.”
“’We go the same way,’” Talia echoes in an approximation of his voice, pitched in such a way that indicates she thinks this is very funny. “You’re like an old man. So stuffy. You should loosen up, giorgio.”
“I’ve been told.”
“Hey, if you’re not gonna tell us your name, we should come up with one for you.”
“Do not.”
“What about… Jake?”
“Basic,” says Devin.
“Well, maybe he’s basic! Are you basic?”
Their stranger, perhaps a Jake, furrows his brow. “I don’t know what you mean. Don’t call me Jake.”
“I wouldn’t call you Jake if I knew your name!“
He pinches the bridge of his nose, inhales, and exhales sharply. “You may call me Turroc.”
“Turroc? Huh.” Talia squints. “You really look like more of a Jake.”
“I do not, and am not.”
“Turroc, then,” Benny says. The stud on his tongue clicks against his teeth, but the name feels right. Not quite familiar, but right in a way that something like Jake doesn’t. “Are we taking these books to go?”
“Ideally.”
“Fantastic. How are we carrying them?”