Chương 58: The Long Quest For Brisket: Part 5

When Ressa walked through the doors of her mansion, crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling. Midday light spilled through the rows of stained-glass windows, scattering patches of red and gold across the floor that had been scrubbed and polished so extensively it was brilliant enough to catch her reflection. A servant came running up to her, her paws extended.

"May I have the privilege of taking your jacket, mistress?" Ressa looked at the servant. She chuckled at how the servant plastered a fake grin of confidence (quite impressive, she had to say), and yet the girl was so obviously terrified. Her ears were strained straight, quivering at the tips; her tail betrayed her completely, curling tightly around one ankle and caressing the leg in an instinctual, frightened stimming.

"You may," she said. The servant gulped before speaking, eyes fixed carefully somewhere beneath Ressa's chin.

"Oh, thank you, mistress!" Ressa shrugged off the heavy jacket and tossed it without looking. The garment slapped across the servant's muzzle, nearly knocking her backward.

"Oh, and have someone prepare my catmint in my resting chambers."

"Mistress, we don't do that till nightfall!"

"Well, you are doing it midday today, unless you all want your pay docked." For half a heartbeat, the entire foyer seemed to hold its breath. The servant bowed deeply, so deep that her torso and bottom half formed a perfect ninety-degree angle.

"Yes, mistress!" Ressa continued walking down the corridor. A pair of maids gossiping beside a window saw her. They immediately separated, trying their best to look as busy as possible, even if that meant dusting the same two already spotless tables. One of them looked at her, and with his ears flattened, he said:"Evening, mistress." Ressa didn't reply. A young servant carrying folded linens nearly collided with her.

At first, she snarled, her face contorting in a way that expressed she was about to yell, "Watch where you are going!" but her facial features softened when she caught sight of Ressa. She flattened herself against the wall with such posthaste that several towels slipped from the pile. Just as Ressa was about to reach her chambers, the door flew open, and two servants hurried out. They nearly crashed into each other when they saw her. Both yipped like vulpines. Both bowed. Then both fled down the corridor.

Ressa watched them go with a pleased little grin. She chuckled. It felt nice to be feared. She opened the door to her sleeping chamber. Her bedroom occupied nearly the entire eastern wing of the mansion. Cushioned lounges filled the room at different heights: some beside shuttered windows, others tucked behind shelves or beside the roaring fireplace, giving Ressa half a dozen places to stretch out as she pleased.

A silver dish with a pipe rested on the bedside table, piled with freshly crushed catmint; its sharp, grassy sweetness filled the room. Her ears perked involuntarily as her nose scrunched. Perfect. A bottle rested in a silver bucket beside the bed, beads of condensation sliding slowly down its neck. Ressa went over to a wooden box in the corner of the room, filled with gold, copper, and silver coinage, and threw the coins she had collected from Ravira into it irreverently.

They scattered across the heap, a few rolling into the corners of the box. There was enough in that makeshift piggy bank to feed a labourer's family for years. With a deep, satisfied sigh, she unbuttoned her tunic and flung it over her shoulder. It landed half on a chair, half on the floor. Eh, good enough. Then she unbuckled her belt and stepped out of her trousers, kicking them aside with one foot. Ressa paused. She noticed her side profile in the tall mirror beside her wardrobe.

Ressa had always been a rather gangly thing—all limbs, narrow in the shoulders, and ribs visible beneath her fur—but the last few years had finally softened her up somewhat, her ribcage no longer showing. Good. Looking half-starved was horribly unbecoming of an up-and-coming aristocrat such as herself. Although she did not need muscle either. Muscle was for people who carried things themselves. With a cattish curiosity, she stood straight and flexed one thin arm. She snorted.

Duties that required muscle were for filthy day labourers. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Except… Her expression soured somewhat. Lady Korra. Ressa had great respect for her. Not as a person, though. Simply as her rightful ruler, being a proud resident of the Seran realm. And yet, she never quite understood that woman. Born into wealth, surrounded by servants, and yet she chose to fight in battles. She chose to do things herself. She trained with soldiers.

Spoke comfortably with commoners as if they and she were on the same plane of existence in any way, shape, or form. She probably even knew how to sew her own clothes. She pictured Korra's broad shoulders, the ease with which she carried a blade, and those ridiculous calloused hands. Calluses… on royalty! Ugh. Ghastly, just ghastly. Still, Ressa needed to win her approval. Not that Ressa cared what Korra thought of her. She simply needed Korra to think highly of her, which was COMPLETELY different.

There was a good chance she would win the Coniton, and when she did, she was going to be right there in her cabinet; she just knew it. She deserved it. Ressa dropped onto the cushioned seat beside her bed and packed the bowl of her pipe until the catmint was nearly spilling over the rim. She struck flint and steel together as she held the pipe with her teeth. The leaves crackled softly as they caught, and she took a deep puff. That first mouthful of smoke was hot and bitter, but the second was just delightful.

Warmth spread behind her eyes. Her ears relaxed. Her tail went pleasantly limp against the cushion. She reached lazily toward her wineglass and sank deeper into the cushion. What a splendid day this had been so far. Absolutely nothing could ruin— Knock-knock! Ressa's ears snapped upright. Knock-knock! Ressa growled, "What is it?"

"Um… mistress, can I come in? It's urgent."

"Do not enter until I say enter."

"Yes, mistress." The pleasant haze behind her eyes vanished remarkably quickly. Ressa jolted off the bed and swiftly put her clothes back on. She nearly put one leg through the wrong trouser hole, cursed a series of blasphemies, corrected herself, then fastened her tunic before yelling:"Alright, come in." The door opened barely wide enough for a scrawny servant girl to squeeze through.

When she had laggardly made her way fully into the room, she shut it quickly, then stood upright, tail rigid, with her paws behind her back. Her ears were flattened. Ressa noticed she was breathing heavily, as if she had just sprinted across the entire city.

"Mistress, there is, um… someone who wishes to see you."

"Tell them to go shove it."

"I do not think that is possible."

"Why not?"

"He has a pistol, mistress." Ressa stared at her, her eyes scrunched incredulously.

"And?" The servant blinked.

"Just have the front guards cut his head off while he is reloading." The servant gulped.

"It's… mistress, I do not know how to say this."

"Using words is a good start, usually."

"It's a repeater." Ressa stared at the servant girl for a moment.

"That's not a real thing."

"I think it is."

"No, you moron, they are theoretical nonsense dreamed up by the overpaid idiots at Veyrath University and published in their little pamphlets!"

"Uh… mistress, I saw it with my own eyes. He fired four times into the air." Ressa blinked.

"Without reloading once?"

"Yes, mistress." She scoffed.

"That proves nothing. Just some con artist trickery."

"Also, mistress, I should inform you the guards fled their posts."

"What?"

"Three of them are hiding in the kitchens."

"Tell them to go outside!" The servant stared at her.

"Uh… mistress?"

"What? They are guards. Generally speaking, when you guard, it usually requires you to be on the OTHER side of the front door."

"They do not want to."

"Tell them if they don't, I am going to clobber them!"

"That is the thing, mistress…" The servant cringed, as if bracing to be struck.

"They said they are more scared of our intruder than you." Ressa went perfectly still. Her face morphed into an expression of shock. Then ire.

"They said what!?" Someone had entered her estate and not only frightened her guards, but somehow managed to be more terrifying than her. Absolutely unacceptable.

"He did say he would put his repeater away if you met him—""Fine!" Ressa bellowed.

"Tell this person to meet me in the entryway."

"Yes, mistress." The servant hurried out. Ressa waited until the door fully shut. She straightened her tunic, smoothed the fur around her face, drew herself up to her full height, and growled before walking out.

"Bastard."