The Butcher of Gadobhra-Chapter 481: The Emperor has questions

Smythe sat at the small wooden table, his eyes following the interesting whorls of the wood and how the woodcarver had delicately added their own touches to create a lovely duet. Each of the chairs and tables of the small teahouse was different but of the same quality. And all were carved of applewood from the same tree. That bit of information had been given to him by the proprietor, an aging woman named Bess. She had served them tea and left them to talk, needing to warm herself at the small hearth. "Winter is here, and too cold for my old bones."

The taxman had stared at the small teahouse before entering. It was a wonderful example of wood crafting. Any noble would pay highly to have such a place in his or her demesne. But they would have kept it for themselves. To find it as part of a small hamlet had intrigued him enough to spend an hour relaxing and going over the information they had gathered.

"What are our impressions of these villages? Sanguine?"

"Well protected. The thorn barrier is far more deadly than a patch of blackberries. It was grown intentionally and will keep out lower-level predators and deter bandit raids. Each of the three entrances has defenses and is well guarded. Those houses flanking the gates are made of stone blocks and large timbers suitable for a small keep. The Baron has given his valued workers leave to build houses and reside here. In times of trouble, the gates will be closed and the Baron's people will keep them closed."

"Huck?"

The little man was sniffing the air and looking around the room, smelling something he couldn't place. A common occurrence for a sniffer. Ebony snapped his fingers, and Huck focused. "It was hard at first, but I'm learning to filter out certain smells. The scent of unicorns is almost overwhelming, but I'm getting a handle on it. And the maple syrup! It's all over. They have these big kettles on bonfires, slowly boiling maple sap into syrup. It made it hard to smell anything else at first. I checked the silos and the barn and all through the villages. No scent of sickness in man or beast, very healthy. And for having just shipped tons of grain to the Legion, they have a lot left. Full silos of high-quality groats. They do a lot of work in the barns now, each one smells a little different. Cider is being pressed from the apples, and they are pickling all of the extra vegetables in barrels. It would have to be the longest winter on record for them to need all of this food."

"Ebony, you spent a long time examining the homes? What's your estimate of how many families are living in each?"

His other bodyguard shrugged, "One, as far as I can tell, although some are extended families with up to ten people, like older grandparents. I went from home to home, talking with whoever was around. As far as housing goes, they are happy with the Baron. These are the best peasant housing I've seen in our travels. Very snug of hardened, fireproof wood with stone foundations. Some even have glass windows. Very much alike in their construction, which makes some sense since the work was done in less than a week."

"A week? Surely not."

"All of the people agreed. They started at one hamlet with loads of wood, tons of stone, and a plan for each area. The Baron sped things along by using building points to provide the wells. As each house was finished, the Woodwrights came behind and improved on it. The Baron brought them all the way from the Smoke. That's what gives the wood such a dark tint. Every piece has been improved with smoke infusion. Less rot, can't burn, and twice as hard."

"Any hints about how the Baron is recouping his costs? Long-term debt? Increasing taxes? Both?"

"No sir. In fact, the Baron isn't charging them any taxes. He encouraged them to invest the money in their lands and themselves. He's very popular, from what I can see."

Smythe sighed and took out the scroll sent to him by the Emperor. "I'm not quite believing some of this, but we can certainly answer one of the Emperor's concerns about the refugee farmers from Northguard. They seem to be doing just fine and are not being exploited by the Baron of Gadobhra. Well, that we can see. Let's move on for now, but I sense a deepening mystery. We've done enough for one day. We'll ride to Sedgewick and refresh ourselves with dinner. I'll be talking with Inquisitor Diego. Huck, feel free to roam and bring back a report. But I'll remind you of last time: Be careful where you stick your nose."

"I'll be good, sir, I doubt a lot has changed, and I'll identify anything new and summarize things for a report." As they came around the last bend in the road and could see past a small bit of woods, Huck was distinctly aware of everyone looking at him and chuckling. There was no doubt, even for a moment, that the town was larger, and rising from a small park in the center was the unmistakable tower of a Gnomish Gold Bank. The edges sparkled in the sun, and the clock faces on each side ticked off the seconds together

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Procurator Smythe patted the small man on the shoulder. "Normally, I might agree with your expectations, Huck. Small towns change little, decade to decade, but the System saw some reason to move Sedgewick to the status of a Tier 3 town, and now we can see why. For their inscrutable reasons, the Gnomes of Cinderstein have upgraded this bank to Gold. I've seen one before, but you don't truly appreciate how large they are until placed in such a setting. Very nicely located too, and the clock tower is gorgeous."

Sanguine pointed to another tower, "Mage's Guild, sir. That's new as well. Interesting design, very non-standard."

What Smythe might have replied was lost when a building in the corner of town, several streets back, suddenly sent a belch of flame and smoke into the sky. At the same time, the clock tower struck five o'clock. Five times the chimes rung, and five times the smoke and flame shot into the sky. The smell of roasting meat and sausages washed over them, making everyone hungry and aware that it had been a long time since breakfast. Huck was white-faced and sweating, pointing at the tall, ramshackle building made of charred timbers."

"Huck! Report!"

"Demon! It's a Demon! Smoke, fire, and metal! And it's only partially bound into that structure. We need to notify the Legion and bring priests and the Inquisition."

Smythe looked around the town. People had certainly noticed the pyrotechnic display, but not with alarm. A young child had even clapped and cheered. "Ebony, please take Huck to the Inn and get him settled, and deal with the horses. Sanguine, on me. I'd like to take a closer look at that structure." His bodyguard nodded and prepared to grab the Procurator and run if needed. But Smythe often had information he didn't share. If his boss seemed unworried, there might be a reason. Taking a narrow alley, they passed a Butcher's shop and then a long, low building with only a few narrow windows. At the end was the large wooden structure they'd come to see.

It was liberally posted with warning signs to keep their distance unless making a scheduled delivery or pick-up. Outside one set of doors, they saw two cargo wagons, each loaded with twenty-four hogsheads. Each hogshead was stamped with the Aquila, marking them as Legion property. Letters burned into the wood said, "Smoke Meat - Product of Sedgewick, Barony of Gadobhra." As they started to circle the building, the double doors slammed open, and a third wagon was pushed out by two silver chains that took hold of the doors and slammed them shut again.

Intrigued, Smyth moved around to the other side. A wagon was just entering the building, and two more waited. An old man with a shovel threw several large chunks of wood into the fire pit, shut the doors, and leaned on his shovel.

"What can we do for you, fancy-dressed city folk?"

Smythe noticed Sanguine was on guard and ready to fight or run. Huck had mentioned the Butcher had a Smoke Golem the last time they had been in town. He wasn't familiar with that type of creature. "Visiting, and yes, from the big city on official business, but we wish to look around. The fireworks that your building launched made me curious."

"Oh, that. Yeah, ever since that bank started calling out the hour with bells, the chains have been a little twitchy. Turns out they weren't annoyed, and just wanted to join in. I'm sure he'll grow out of it in time."

"He?"

"The animated chains that smoke the meat. He's been hanging around that damned boy too much. Used to be a terror of a demon. Two of them, in fact. But the damned thing is getting civilized since the Butcher started taking a chunk of him on their adventures."

Smythe scowled a bit. Did the Emperor know this? "Your Butcher consorts with demons?"

"Oh, far worse. Demons and Angels, Emperors and Princesses, and dread creatures from the Smokey Seas." His gaze seemed to go right through Smythe. "But you know all that, Mr. Taxman and Special Envoy, don't you?"

Smythe sighed, "Yes, I suppose I do. But I also have a job to do. Has that demon killed anyone?"

"Sure. It's a demon."

"Lately, within the last two years."

"Like I keep a damned scorecard! But the chains have been bragging. They killed a bunch of Ice Wizards in the city and melted them right down. Pulled out a lot of heat from the pit. I was tossing in fuel constantly. Then there were all those Rime Knights and a Cyclone. Chainey's right proud of that kill. Grabbed it by the heart, slammed it to the ground, and held it in place while people kicked its face in. Good fight."

"I have...heard something of that. Has it killed anyone here in Sedgewick?"

"Nope. People take the signs seriously around here."

"Thank you, we'll trouble you know more."

The golem laughed, "You and I both know that's probably not true." His chuckles followed them as they walked to the inn. Smythe consoled himself with having answered another of the Emperor's questions.