Chương 59: The Long Quest For Brisket: Part 6

Ressa stormed down the hallway, posture overly rigid, her shoeless paws clicking their unsheathed claws sharply against the polished floor as servants hurriedly moved aside. Grumblegrumblegrumblegrumble. Just who was this person, threatening her guards and her authority in her own home?

"Mistress," a servant said, hurrying up beside her. One ear was flattened against their head, and they kept throwing nervous glances towards the entrance.

"I, um… this is who wished to speak with you." Ressa had been stewing in her own ire so deeply she didn't even realize how close she had gotten to the entrance. The cool springtime air brushed through her fur from the open doors. Beyond them, midday light spilled across the floor, turning the waiting figure into a silhouette. Then Ressa actually looked at them. She cocked her head, a hint of incredulousness in the gesture.

The stranger stood a little bit taller than most Kharani women, and considerably broader; they had the sinew of a day-labourer and yet the corpulence of a fattened-up aristocrat. There was little fur on them, save for what had taken refuge around their head and muzzle, where it grew into a thick black-and-grey mane. An elf? No. Elves were thinner. WAY thinner. Faint scars marked their weathered face. Their hands were rough and calloused, the digits thick, the nails blunt and clawless.

Just what social class were they? Ressa couldn't tell, and that was fueling her ire even more. The only thing pissing her off more was the way they stood: so calm, so unafraid, as if standing before Ressa Velrin meant nothing! Then they noticed her. The stranger touched two fingers to the brim of their hat.

"Good afternoon, miss." Ressa stared at them, her paws clenched tightly enough that her claws pressed into her palms.

"Before ya ask," the stranger said, "name's Morton. I'm a man, and I ain't an elf. I am a traveller from a far-off place—and I am a human." Ressa blinked. Her ears twitched. Human. Now just what in the gods' names was that? And he was a man? Absolute bullshit, if you asked her. She glanced briefly toward the servant beside her, as if expecting the young girl to have some more in-depth explanation. The servant deliberately avoided her gaze.

"I…" Ressa went blank for a moment, then growled, "What do you want?"

"Well, miss, I was in the neighbourhood, and I was overhearin' about some of your business dealings." Ressa's tail gave a sharp flick.

"And what is it to you?"

"You see"—Morton grabbed onto his belt—"I could be mishearin' things, but I heard you might have put a poor family in a lotta debt. Is that true, miss?" Ressa scoffed.

"So, this is what this is about?""'Deed it is, miss."

"And again, what is it to you? Were you hired by some of my peasants to negotiate with me? Because I will tell you right now—""Nope," Morton said with a little pop of his lips.

"Just a concerned citizen is all."

"Riiiiiiigggghhhhhhhhhtttttt," Ressa said with an eye roll.

"Well, there is nothing for you to be concerned about. Everyone who has taken out a loan from me has knowingly, willingly signed that contract; they agreed to it with all the terms laid out in plain language. If they chose to take out a loan they can't pay back, well, tough luck to them."

"Miss, I reckon it may do you good to soften up them terms of yours," Morton replied.

"Good Lord, they got children and babies. They are already strugglin' as it is, which is why they came to you. The least you can do is give 'em a little more time, or even forgive part of it if you reckon yourself real generous." Ressa gave an irritated little flick of one ear.

"I am not generous," Ressa said matter-of-factly. She pointed one claw at Morton.

"And I will tell you this: if they could not repay, they shouldn't have taken out the loan." Morton's soft smile disappeared.

"Miss, they are real poor."

"And do you think I care in the slightest?" Ressa growled.

"No, I do not. Poverty has no concern to me."

"Maybe it should," Morton remarked. His eyes, for the briefest of moments, wandered toward the open doors behind him. Ressa's muzzle wrinkled. Could he not even give her the basic courtesy of his full attention? Fucker. If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

"And why?" she said.

"Ugh, I hate people like you so much, you… ugh, you mercy lovers. Mercy is bad business. If you give one person mercy, then everyone is going to expect the same."

"Mercy is a virtue, miss," Morton said evenly with a tip of his hat.

"Maybe you should try it for once." The fur along her shoulders began to rise.

"Do you know who I am? I am Ressa Velrin. I am a fourth-generation aristocrat of the Velrin household. Who are you to come walking into my estate and lecture ME about my business practices?"

"I know exactly who I'm speakin' to, miss. That's why I came here." Her tail struck the floor behind her with a sharp thwap. Ressa's teeth were fully bared now.

"You ignorant, foreign, uncivilized peasant! You—""Now, miss, I ain't a learned man, but you don't need schoolin' to know when someone's bein' cruel. That family who lives in that farmhouse—""That family deserved what happened to them!" Ressa bellowed.

"They are beneath me; they are gross, disgusting peasanty! Poverty… it is merely incompetence made visible for the world to see." Morton's eyes wandered behind him again. Then he gave a deep sigh.

"That's a mighty ugly way to look at people." Ressa's breathing became growly. This… growl… growl… growl… this piece of shit. How dare he respond to her with such condescension? Her claws slid fully from their sheaths.

"Now, miss," Morton continued, "I—" Ressa's paw flashed across his face. Smack! His head jerked slightly to one side in surprise. Her claws caught his cheek, dragging four hot, painful lines across the weathered skin. Morton turned his head to the side and felt his searing face. Little beads of blood welled along the scratches. Morton touched the scratches with two fingers. Warm blood clung to his index and middle fingers. Ressa was huffing and puffing, with crimson blood dripping from her claws. That was it?

She had struck him with everything she had. The corner of Morton's mouth curled into a sly smile. Ressa's stomach tightened into a knot. Why was he smiling? Morton looked past her, cupping his mouth with one hand.

"She did it!" Clang. Clang. Clang. Sabatons struck the polished floor behind her. Ressa's ears snapped toward the sound. Her ire had ceased, replaced with dread. Guards came thronging in through the front entrance. Ressa's blood went cold. The red and whatever-House-Seran's-second-colour-was of House Seran, emblazoned with two crossed spears, flashed in the corner of her vision. She looked around her. None of her guards were anywhere to be seen. She felt an armoured paw tug on her sleeve.

"What the—get your paws off me!" Ressa twisted around, making a pathetic half-turn. Someone caught both of her arms, folded them behind her back, and drove her onto her knees hard. Ressa soon found a guard pulling her head back by the fur. A sword was brandished right near her neck. Ressa's breathing staggered. What… was happening? Another guard, one with an air of authority that Ressa recognized all too well from looking in the mirror every day, stepped in front of her.

"Do not lie to me. If you do, I shall have your neck sliced. Did you inflict damage upon Sir Christian?" Ressa was not stupid enough to lie to the guardswoman of Lady Korra.

"Yes," she admitted. The guardswoman pulled out a piece of parchment that hung from her side.

"By decree of Lady Korra Seran, head of House Seran, harm knowingly inflicted upon Sir Morton Christian, honoured and most esteemed guest of her household, shall constitute an offence against House Seran itself."

"What!" Ressa growled.

"There is no way Her Highness had this—" She had the breath knocked out of her as the guard behind her whacked her in the side of the head.

"Quiet!" the guard demanded. Ressa shut her muzzle.

"The guilty party shall be afforded two remedies under Lady Seran's mercy. The first: death by public hanging." Ressa swallowed. Morton's grin vanished.

"Whoa, whoa, hold your damn horses there. Did you say hangin'?" The guardswoman looked at him, giving him a slight, reverent nod.

"It is Lady Korra's decree."

"Oh, sweet baby Jesus, that woman… she just scratched me. I wanted to rough her up a bit, not kill her!"

"That is simply what Lady Korra decreed," the guardswoman said. She turned back to Ressa.

"The second: forfeiture of her liberty from Hour 12 of Spring Day 30 until Hour 18 of Spring Day 30, during which she shall enter into the service of Sir Christian and obey all lawful commands issued by him." Ressa stared at the guardswoman incredulously. A whole afternoon of obeying him. Her gaze drifted toward Morton. The human gave her a tiny wave. She growled. Death suddenly looked like the far more attractive option. The blade touched the fur beneath her jaw.

"…Two."

"Pardon?" the guardswoman said.

"I SAID TWO!"

"Very well. Make her stand." The guards did so. Ressa stared at Morton with enough heated rage toward the human that you could char any food within thirty seconds of bringing it around her. Morton merely tipped his hat.

"You got a busy day ahead of yourself, miss."