By the time Baron Stackpole and his knights reached the Great Hall, a feast was already underway. The scents of grilled and poached fish filled the air, along with savory, spiced rice stuffed into the shells of hundreds of mussels, and the sweet, heady aroma of honeyed pear wine.
Strangely, however, at least to Bretonâs eyes, not a single servant moved between the tables. Casks of wine had been placed at every table, and an entire extra table had been filled with sweets from Shipâs Bell Pudding to preserved pear tarts, ready and waiting for the guests in the hall to come and take as they wished.
"âBout time you showed up, Breton," Baron Mervyn called in a rich, booming voice when he saw his bearded friend enter the Great Hall at last. "We were starting to worry that youâd run yourself aground!"
"You mean you were hoping Iâd run myself aground," Breton countered as he made his way to the high table. "So youâd have someone else to share your misery with. Itâll take more than a winter squall to put me in such dire straits," he said with a warm laugh before his expression turned apologetic.
"But winter winds were enough to close the port to me at Breaker Isle," he said as he knelt before Count Rhys. "I had to come the long way âround, my Lord," Breton apologized. "Iâm sorry to keep you waiting."
"Itâs fine, Breton," Rhys said with a genuine smile. "Better late than lost at sea. Take your seat and fill your plate," he said, gesturing at the last remaining seat at the High Table. "Weâll get started soon. Tonightâs news is important," he said solemnly. "But not so urgent that it canât wait for a man to fill his belly."
"I think youâre enjoying this, my Lord," Baron Cir Recarde said, tugging on the twisted end of his oiled mustache. "Youâre the man of mystery tonight, and weâre all wondering what youâve summoned us for, but you havenât given us a single hint or clue."
"No hints or clues?" Baron Domenec Hender said with a snort that fluttered through the white strands of his long beard. "Heâs blacked the sails of the fleet and summoned the descendants of the First Crew. Weâve come at his call with neither wives nor heirs on a night we should be feasting in our own halls," he pointed out.
"Lord Rhys isnât a petty man," Domenec concluded. "He didnât force us to join him for a bachelorâs feast because he missed his own wife and girls. If thatâs not hint enough, then I donât know what is."
"Hint for what?" Baron Amren Dalais said. It wasnât that he didnât have his own suspicions, but having suspicions and speaking them aloud were two different things. "Can you divine our lordâs will simply by virtue of your long years, or did you learn something from him on your trip to Keating?"
"Enough," Rhys said, raising his hand before the conversation could go any further. "Bretonâs just come in from the cold. Let him warm his hands and his belly before we start with the news. Thereâs time yet before we speak of serious things."
"Sir Prudici," Rhys said, turning to one of his most formidable knights sitting at the table closest to the High Table. "Take your men, sweep the halls, and see that four men are stationed at every door and passageway leading here. If a rat wants to listen at the door, I want it in irons and ready to answer questions when dinnerâs done."
"Yes, my Lord," the veteran knight said, raising from his seat and saluting with a fist to his chest before stepping out of the Great Hall.
"Youâre all going to become âmen of mysteryâ after tonight, Iâm afraid," Rhys said, shaking his head as he met Baron Cir Recardeâs inquisitive gaze. "The orders youâll give your men will seem strange until the time comes to explain yourselves. If any of you have rats on your ships that youâve been tolerating because their whispers do no harm," he added, sweeping his gaze across the assembled lords.
"Itâs time to set your cats loose on them," Rhys said. "I donât care who their masters are or how harmless their spying has been. After tonight, every man rows together, or he goes overboard."
"Are you certain of that, my Lord?" Breton asked, pausing with a serving spoon still in hand and a plate that was only half filled. "A rat can be useful if you can monitor its meals and choose its food."
"Not this time, my friend," Rhys said, shaking his head. "This time, there are too many rats to keep track of, and they scurry to too many places. It would be one thing if we only needed to keep the Duke in the dark, or the Kingâs men, but this time, weâre up against too many foes to keep them all misinformed, and too many of them will talk to each other once things become obvious."
"The isles are hard to infest, my Lord," Baron Mervyn said, giving a pointed look at the land-locked lords. "But some places are more vulnerable than others."
"I keep a clean house," Baron Amren Dalais protested. "The most I deal with are merchantmen prying into the ledgers of their competitors and petty feuds fueled by rumors no one can prove."
"You deal with the Church, Amren," Rhys countered. "You and Cir both, far more than they do on the isles, and closing a port wonât stop a messenger from fleeing their temples. So be mindful of the men who offer counsel and the ones with masters outside your borders. This isnât a time for carelessness," he warned.
The presence of spies in his domain was inevitable, and half the men heâd consider spies wouldnât even consider themselves as such. If a High Priest or an Inquisitor asked a village acolyte for news, the acolyte would answer freely without ever thinking that the things heâd observed casually or overheard might be of great importance to the people in power asking the questions.
It was the same for countless tradesmen, sailors, and even housewives. Rumors would grow wings, and men and women would share things they didnât know were meant to be private. Worst of all would be the rumors that sprang from his vassalsâ own lips in the form of quiet reassurances or well-intentioned warnings so that their subordinates could âprepare themselves.â
The people in the Great Hall now were the inheritors of a legacy of trust. Even if they held no title and their ancestors had been nothing more than humble oarsmen on the Black Tide, the hidden history of the First Crew had been preserved in their families for generation after generation, else they wouldnât have answered the call.
It hadnât been easy to build a legacy like this one. Sometimes, the most direct descendant died without heirs to pass on the tradition and other members of the âcrewâ were forced to track down the next in line to be read into the legacy, but Phylip Blackwell had made a promise to the Mother of Tides that one day, the Eldritch people could return to Blackwell Bay and the isles beyond it, and the descendants of his crew inherited that oath.
Years ago, when Ashlynn was born, and no one answered his call, Rhys had believed that the Eldritch had broken their end of the bargain, abandoning him and his people to their fate. Only recently had he come to learn that someone else had interfered with the beacon that allowed him to call for aid from the coven of the Mother of Tides.
But that revelation only made todayâs warning more important. It was impossible to keep a domain as large as Blackwell County free of rats. But if there was a rat among this crew... Rhys wouldnât have much time to discover them and deal with them before they gnawed a hole in the bottom of his ship.