The dining room of the Count's estate was the kind of room that made the port feel very far away.
Large windows ran the length of one wall, looking out onto a garden that was still visible in the early dark, its trimmed hedges and stone paths catching the last of the blue evening light. Candelabras sat along the length of the table. The silverware was real silver. The maids moved quietly along the edges of the room, appearing when needed and disappearing just as quickly.
The head chair was empty.
At one end of the long table sat Farma, black hair loose over her black dress, both hands resting on the tablecloth. At the other end sat Captain Varen in a three-piece navy suit, his dark hair tied back, his mustache very well maintained.
A maid finished placing the last dish and stepped back.
"I hope the journey wasn't too difficult," Farma said. "The estate is not exactly close to town."
Varen reached for his glass. "Not at all. The carriage your people sent was very comfortable." A small pause. "Better than anything I own, I'll admit."
"Good."
He set the glass down. "Then I'll get to the point. As you already know, I'm here to discuss the blockade."
"We eat first," Farma said. "Then we discuss."
Varen looked at her for a moment, then picked up his fork. "Of course."
The plates were cleared. A maid refilled the glasses and withdrew to the edge of the room.
Varen leaned back slightly. "The demands of the Countdom, then. For lifting the blockade."
Farma looked at him across the length of the table.
"We're lifting it."
Varen went still for just a moment. His hand moved to his mustache.
"Without conditions?"
"With an explanation." She folded her hands. "When I arrived at the estate yesterday I was briefed on why I had been called here. I began looking into it immediately."
She continued.
"The reason for the blockade was a report of an illegal Warped Space core in the port. The vassal who proposed it did so just before my father left for the war. With most of the military departing with him, my father trusted the vassal with the matter and moved on without examining it closely."
Varen said nothing. His finger moved slowly along the edge of his mustache.
"The blockade raised prices on non-local goods significantly," Farma said. "That caught my attention. I looked at what goods one of the vassal's associates was holding in large quantities." A brief pause. "Non-local goods. A great deal of them."
"And?"
"I used him as a test subject for one of my newer compounds." She said it the way someone mentions a small administrative task. "He was forthcoming after that. The vassal manufactured the justification for the blockade to drive prices up. His associate profited from the stockpile."
Varen picked up his glass and took a slow drink.
"Their punishment will be decided by my father when he returns," Farma said. "Until then they are confined to the estate."
"When does the Count return?"
"In a month. He will come by airship, temporarily leaving his army under his brother's command." She looked at Varen. "He doesn't know yet. The message will reach him in a day or two."
Varen set the glass down carefully. He looked at the empty chair at the head of the table for a moment, then back at Farma.
"Then I'll inform the merchants tomorrow."
"Please do."
One of the maids at the edge of the room refilled a glass nobody had asked for.
. . .
Jack sat at his table.
The room was dark except for what the two moons put through the window. It was enough. The paper in front of him caught the light and he could see what he was writing.
The candy stick in his mouth had gone soft on one end.
He looked at the blank page.
Second journal entry.
What even happened today.
He shifted the candy stick to the other side of his mouth and tapped the end of the quill against the paper without writing anything.
Met a merchant with a fake curse. Figured out it wasn't a curse. Bribed a guard. Set up a plan for tomorrow.
Also got treated by nuns after blacking out.
Usual day.
He almost wrote that last part. Decided against it.
From outside he could hear the faint sound of the sea. The cold evening air came through the gap at the bottom of the door.
The original Jack should have blocked that gap.
Anyway.
He pressed the quill to the paper and began to write.