“Yes, Greer,” I croaked. Was there no respect for a moment's nap in this tree?
I had to chuckle. Living as these people do in these great treehouses. Certainly there's some magic at work. No one is so great at woodworking to do what these Elves have done without it. Yet, there are wonders in this world greater than this I imagine. I've been exposed to so very little.
The Chapel he said? What could this be about? The Elves, by the by, primarily worship a being they call élois, their All Father, I suppose something like our Woten or something. A being who takes many guises, god of farming, god of mixing bowls, god of war and peace at the same time, that sort of nonsense.
You'll forgive me, dear reader, if in fact anyone reads this, but I don't truck with gods and demons and all that fanciful drivel. Maybe I should shut my mouth though as I find out daily here how little I do know.
I couldn't guess who wanted to see me. I was guessing it to be Count Pelisir.
I got dressed quickly, splashing some water on my face, and followed Greer to a part of the Palace to which I hadn't yet been. It was a much less trafficked branch off the main level, further up into the tree.
“Here we are, Sir. She'll be with you shortly.”
“Who wi …” Before I had asked the question, Greer had gone. I swear the Elf moved like a snail until he didn't. He could fly like lightning if it was his wont.
The Chapel was small. Surely not the only place of worship here. It was approximately fifteen feet square with some wooden pews in neat rows, cushions of a beautiful lavender paisley design for kneeling, and an altar featuring a wooden carving of the seven-pointed star associated with élois. There were beautiful stained glass windows behind the altar giving me some sense of location. That side of the room faced East it seemed. It's terribly easy to lose your sense of direction in a Palace built in graduating loops around a tree like this.
There were no cushions on the pews, but I had a seat at the front, facing the altar. I felt I should say a prayer or something but, before I could formulate anything suitable, the doors behind me opened again and a woman appeared, one I hadn't yet seen.
She was a Gray Elf, taller than most of her kind and very thin. I couldn't tell her age, but she gave off the sense that she was more than middle-aged. Like Greer, it was in her bearing. She wore a lavender robe with full sleeves and a high collar. Her hair was braided in an elaborate bun. She was completely unadorned except for a large silver ring on the middle finger of her left hand, covered in Elvish script and holding a huge amethyst.
I stood as she came in and bowed deeply although I wasn't sure yet of the etiquette involved here
“Thank you, Mister Bascombe, you may rise.” She spoke with a voice both louder and deeper than other Elves I had met, giving off an aura of great authority.
“I am Mother Felistia,” she said, extending her left hand. I went to take it in a left-handed handshake and she quickly interjected, “No, Sir, you kiss the Ring. Have you not been prepared for this meeting?”
I was suddenly very embarrassed. No I hadn't been prepared at all. I hadn't heard of this woman at all, much less what etiquette was required when meeting her.
“Many pardons, Your … uh, I'm very sorry Ma'am, I don't know how to address you. I was not prepared.”
I bowed again, red in the face and supremely annoyed that I was having this sprung on me unannounced.
“You shall address me as Your Grace, Mister Bascombe. And don't blame anyone but me. You weren't supposed to meet me just yet.”
“Very well, Your Grace, please forgive my lack of knowledge regarding all of the Elves who were certain to be on my itinerary.” I leaned forward and kissed the ring. It seemed far too large for her long, thin fingers, yet it fit perfectly somehow.
“It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace. I should have assumed that the Church of élois would have a say in all of these arrangements. The oversight is mine.”
“That is to be certain, Mister Bascombe. I knew you were raw, that this is your first attempt at a negotiation of this level.”
I reddened at the near insult.
She laughed out loud. “I also know of your temper, Sir. Be calm. I mean no slight. It's simply the nature of these proceedings. The Hard Coast Company trusts you. That's all that's important here. Come and let's sit. I simply wanted to get a read on you before things got any further along.”
“I assure you, Your Grace, that I've been thoroughly vetted. By Queen May, Count Pelisir, even the Witch Queen herself.”
“Ah, yes, Mag'stula! Isn't she an amazing beast?”
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“Indeed, Your Grace! She certainly let everyone know she was here. The power she exudes is likely to push the air out of a room.”
“And you've met Mal'friq as well, Sir?”
I wasn't sure how to answer this. Did she know he was here? Was she fishing for knowledge?
Noting my hesitation, she said “Oh stop, Mister Bascombe. You're in well over your head insofar as all of the backroom games and subterfuge go, I assure you. We Elves have hundreds of years individually and thousands of years collectively on you there.” She smiled broadly.
I was beginning to warm to this woman, as condescending as she could be. It certainly wasn't unwarranted.
“Apologies again, Your Grace, you're right. I am in well over my head here, and I'm made aware of it with each passing moment. I do pick up on things quickly though. I just ask that you be patient with me.”
“Oh, I will be, Mister Bascombe. This isn't my first time dealing with a Human. My first husband was a Human, some 500 years ago. That was a mistake. We were so in love, and his life was such a bright candle to just flicker out so quickly the way it did. I wasn't prepared for that.”
She could see the emotion on my face.
“Oh that was so very long ago, Mister Bascombe, but your sentiments are appreciated. I was almost disowned over that whole episode. I'm May's aunt you see? Queen May, I should say. Her father, King Hembrik, was my brother. That's how I'm found at my current position. It's all very nepotistic.”
“That doesn't dilute my power though. Of all the Elves who worship élois, Gray Elves, Wood Elves, High Elves, all of the various subspecies, I am the Supreme Voice of the God. And He does appear to me in dreams. I'm not here to proselytize to you though, Sir. In fact, élois has been silent with me on anything to do with the amber, and I don't understand it. It's certainly a matter of great import for our world, not just for Elves.”
“I'm shocked, Your Grace. But, for me, that's for the best. It means I can trust you implicitly. If you were a faker, you'd pretend to everyone that you knew everything about what élois wanted regarding the amber.”
“Your point is valid, Sir. I was hoping you'd pick up on that. You see, you're the only one here without motives that could lead to great troubles for everyone involved.”
She looked into my eyes intently for what seemed like several minutes. I sat quietly allowing it as she had already gained my trust.
“Mister Bascombe, I'm going to tell you some very important things right now, and you need to take them to heart.”
She seemed so incredibly sincere. Yet I must still be careful who I trust in all of this. It seems there are no innocent parties but me involved, and even I didn't know the full intentions of the Hard Coast Company.
“Yes, Your Grace, I sincerely appreciate your confidence in me. I hope it's well-placed.”
“Oh, it is, Sir. Okay, listen and remember. You may trust me. You sense that. You may also trust Queen May and Count Pelisir.”
I nodded as she spoke, taking it all in deeply. If I was wrong about her though …
“You can trust Mal'friq to a degree, though I'm concerned he might use the power of the amber to take out Mag'stula and himself become a despot. Power can corrupt like that, Mister Bascombe.”
“Yes, Your Grace. I have read much about situations where it happened to royalty and leaders of every stripe.”
“You've read many fictions, Mister Bascombe. Please don't rely on fictions to guide you here.” She laughed at herself and I got red again.
“Stop it Mister Bascombe, I'm sorry. It's just you Humans study much more that isn't real than that that is. And with so little time in this world. Not your fault, Sir. It's a fault of your species for which you can't be held to account.”
She patted my knee as she said this last bit, catching me off guard. The familiarity wasn't expected, and the almost motherly gesture made it seem that she knew me much better than she let on.
“I'm sure you know not to trust Mag'stula or the Swalesians? You're much smarter than that.”
“Yes, Your Grace. That goes without saying. Either of them having the amber concession is unconscionable.”
She patted my knee again and said “Good, good. Yes, quite. And there's one more party of whom you must be particularly aware, a Gray Elf with considerable power here. The gentleman's name is Margrin Ephisieryón. He is an amber merchant and broker who has been in the business going on 300 years and who has amassed considerable wealth in the process. He deals mainly with the amber coming through the Wood Elves at Ilníst for now. Having a greater hand in the trade here would make him far too powerful, and in all honesty, it would not be surprising if he weren't already doing business with the Gnolls or the Swalesians.”
Margrin Ephisieryón I had heard of. He came through Wikehold on occasion with the merchant caravans from the East. He didn't have a pleasant reputation. In fact, he was rumored to have a hand in organized crime syndicates up and down the Hard Coast.
“Yes, Your Grace, I know the name fairly well. If rumor is fact, I hope not to cross paths with him at all.”
She raised an eyebrow and said “Oh, but you shall Good Sir. Don't you doubt it. If not him directly, one of his agents. But, Mister Bascombe, don't fear, please. If he hints at any violence or force, you are being carefully watched, as is your family back home.”
That last part left me feeling more scared than even talk of Swalesian Assassins. Even though an attempt had already been made on my life, I was familiar with the syndicate and what they could do from entanglements they had with the Hard Coast Company. It made me feel better that my father wasn't part of all of that. But there were times when we had guards outside the doors of our quiet little mansion on Almsbury Court, much to the consternation of our neighbors. I know he and the Hard Coast Company had run afoul of the syndicate a time or two.
“Very well, Mister Bascombe,” she said, patting my knee again and standing, “let's keep this meeting to ourselves for now, shall we?”
“Yes, Your Grace of course, and thank you for allowing me the opportunity to meet you in advance.”
“Oh, you'll be tired of me before it's all said and done, Mister Bascombe! Greer!” she shouted and the valet appeared immediately.
“Take Mister Bascombe back to his rooms and make sure he's able to get at least an hour’s sleep. He looks like death. Good day Mister Bascombe. Oh, and you can trust Greer, Mister Bascombe. He's a good one.”
“Good day, Your Grace.” As I left, she stayed in the Chapel, turning to the altar and kneeling at a cushion there obviously reserved for a priest.
It was just now four bells or so, and I had a chance at getting a decent nap in before I was called to sup. If I could sleep that is. My brain was sorting through all of the new information I had received. My concerns regarding my safety were resting heavy on me.