The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Tadpole

While most of Bridgebay's waterfront was broken into wharves, the northernmost island of the river delta maintained a pristine beach of pink-hued sand. After squeezing through the stuffed streets of the commerce districts, crossing the bridge into Rosesurf was like entering a different city entirely. Wide avenues lined with entertainment establishments separated the rows of massive townhomes sequestered behind walls and private gardens. The residents lounged in open carriages for their neighbors to observe their finery as rare, high-stepping horses pulled them to and from their events. Canvas tarps stretched above them seemed the only concession to the frequent rain. Even the servants were dressed as well as investment merchants while they ran their errands.

In short, it was a terrible place for a group of Borealunders to try to lay low. Was there a soul in the district who would forget a straggly group of northerners?

But Iris Smelter was too gracious to comment on their appearances when she welcomed them into her shore-side home with its undulating stone architecture supporting multiple stories and apartments. She did outfit them with fresh clothing then spared little expense transforming her keeping room into a buffet parlor and her dining room into a boardroom. So the widow of one of Pillar's fellow generals was erring on the side of actually hosting royalty at the very least.

Said royalty retired to the canopy bed Smelter had made up for him and stayed there for twenty hours. Surely he needed the sleep. The lawyer Darkshoal, however, came to life after a cup of coffee. Well into the night, he sifted through the references and resumes Smelter's servants brought for him. When Able came down for breakfast, he made himself useful helping Darkshoal draft inquiries. They needed to be perfectly vague about who the client was and what was involved in the job. Wouldn't take much to start rumors in this town.

When Lark did come down, Able kept to this task to avoid looking too familiar with him. Though from the corner of his eye, he did watch Lark eat roughly his own weight from the spread and thoroughly charm the staff while he was at it. But by the time General Pillar arrived with a representative of Queen Eminence, Lark had vanished.

For half an hour, Able hesitated at the end of the table managing to overhear one house staff member after another tell the majordomo where Lark wasn't. General Pillar had fallen into conversation with Smelter while the queen's representative was asking Flower Hawking and Chessie about Borealund. Finally, one staff member jogged in to whisper that the prince was in the ocean.

Able sighed loudly for show as he turned and approached the majordomo himself. "I'll go talk to him."

The man was visibly relieved. "Very good, sir." It was fair for everyone to be on edge.

Able let himself out into the garden and followed the path to the seaside gate. Pillar had sent trusted soldiers to secure Smelter's home the moment she'd sent word. The two that had been guarding the gate had apparently followed the prince as far as the surf, and now stood watching him from the beach. That had not dissuaded him from leaving all of his clothes behind. But he wasn't swimming that far from the shore.

Able nodded to the soldiers and fortunately they seemed to recognize him as they only nodded back. Storm clouds lined the horizon, probably only an hour or two from landfall. So at the very least, Lark couldn't stay out here longer than that. Or...maybe he could. It was hard to tell what risks he might take.

"Able! You're coming in, right?" Lark had spotted him before he had decided how best to approach this.

"Are you intentionally missing the conference?" Lark might not hear him over the surf or pretend this was the case, but Able carried on for the sake of the guards. "It's your claim we're drafting, you know!"