The Vampire & Her Witch Chapter 1645: Dealing with Rats

When Baron Stackpole and his knights arrived at the Great Hall, a grand feast was already in full swing. The air was thick with the savory aromas of grilled and poached fish, complemented by spiced rice stuffed into hundreds of mussel shells, and the sweet, intoxicating fragrance of honeyed pear wine.

However, to Breton's surprise, no servants were seen attending the tables. Wine casks were conveniently placed at each table, and a separate table overflowed with delectable sweets, from Ship's Bell Pudding to preserved pear tarts, all ready for the guests to enjoy at their leisure.

"'Bout time you showed up, Breton," Baron Mervyn boomed, his voice rich and hearty, spotting his bearded friend entering the Great Hall. "We were beginning to think you'd run yourself aground!"

"You were hoping I'd run myself aground, actually," Breton retorted, making his way towards the high table. "So you'd have someone else to commiserate with. It'll take more than a winter squall to land me in such dire straits," he added with a hearty laugh, his expression then softening with apology.

"But winter winds were enough to seal the port for me at Breaker Isle," he explained, kneeling before Count Rhys. "I had to take the long route, my Lord," Breton apologized. "I am truly sorry for the delay."

"It's quite alright, Breton," Rhys replied with a sincere smile. "It's far better than being lost at sea. Take a seat and help yourself to the food," he gestured towards the last vacant seat at the High Table. "We'll commence shortly. The news tonight is significant," he stated gravely. "But not so urgent that it can't wait for a man to satisfy his hunger."

"I suspect you're relishing this moment, my Lord," Baron Cir Recarde commented, idly twisting the ends of his oiled mustache. "You've adopted an air of mystery tonight, and we're all eager to know what's brought us here, yet you've offered not a single hint."

"No hints or clues?" Baron Domenec Hender scoffed, his snort ruffling the white strands of his long beard. "He's extinguished all the fleet's sails and summoned the descendants of the First Crew. We've answered his call, leaving our wives and heirs behind, on a night we should be celebrating in our own halls," he pointed out.

"Lord Rhys is not a man of petty intentions," Domenec concluded. "He wouldn't have us gather for a bachelor's feast simply because he misses his wife and daughters. If that's not enough of a hint, then I don't know what is."

"A hint for what, precisely?" Baron Amren Dalais inquired. While he harbored his own suspicions, voicing them aloud felt like a different matter entirely. "Do your years grant you the wisdom to discern our lord's intentions, or did you glean some insight during your journey to Keating?"

"Enough of this speculation," Rhys commanded, raising a hand to halt the escalating discussion. "Breton has just arrived from the cold. Let him warm himself and partake in the meal before we delve into the news. There is still ample time before we discuss matters of grave importance."

"Sir Prudici," Rhys addressed one of his most stalwart knights, seated at a table nearest the High Table. "Take your men and conduct a thorough sweep of these halls. Ensure that four guards are posted at every entrance and passageway leading here. If even a rat attempts to eavesdrop at the door, I want it apprehended and ready to be questioned once dinner concludes."

"Understood, my Lord," the seasoned knight responded, rising from his seat. He offered a salute with a fist pressed to his chest before exiting the Great Hall.

"I'm afraid all of you will become true 'men of mystery' after tonight," Rhys stated, shaking his head as he met Baron Cir Recarde's questioning gaze. "The directives you issue to your men will seem peculiar until the opportune moment for explanation arrives. Should any of you harbor 'rats' within your ranks whom you've tolerated due to their seemingly harmless whispers," he continued, his gaze sweeping across the gathered lords.

"This is the moment to unleash your cats upon them," Rhys declared. "Their allegiances or the perceived harmlessness of their espionage are irrelevant. From this night forward, every man rows in the same direction, or he faces the consequences of being cast overboard."

"Are you absolutely certain of this, my Lord?" Breton inquired, pausing with a serving spoon still in hand and his plate only half-filled. "A rat can be useful if its meals are monitored and its sustenance carefully chosen."

"Not this time, my friend," Rhys replied, his head shaking slowly. "This time, the sheer number of rats and their widespread scurrying make them too difficult to track. It would be one thing if our sole concern was to keep the Duke or the King's men in the dark. But on this occasion, we face too many adversaries to misinform them all, and too many of them will inevitably converse once the situation becomes apparent."

"The isles prove quite difficult to infiltrate, my Lord," Baron Mervyn stated, casting a pointed glance toward the lords of the mainland. "However, certain locations are decidedly more susceptible than others."

"My domain is kept meticulously clean," Baron Amren Dalais countered defensively. "The most I encounter are merchantmen delving into the ledgers of their rivals and petty squabbles ignited by unprovable gossip."

"You contend with the Church, Amren," Rhys interjected. "You and Cir both, far more than those on the isles do. Shutting down a port will hardly prevent a messenger from escaping their temples. Therefore, be wary of those who offer counsel and those who serve masters beyond your borders. This is not a moment for negligence," he cautioned.

The potential for spies within his territory was an accepted reality, and many individuals who might be considered spies wouldn't even identify as such. Should a High Priest or an Inquisitor solicit information from a village acolyte, the acolyte would readily share observations or overheard conversations without a second thought, unaware of their potential significance to those in power making the inquiries.

The same principle applied to numerous tradespeople, mariners, and even ordinary housewives. Whispers could quickly gain traction, and individuals might divulge information they did not realize was considered private. Most disturbingly, rumors could originate from the lips of his own vassals, presented as quiet reassurances or well-meaning advice intended to help their subordinates 'prepare themselves.'

The individuals gathered in the Great Hall were the inheritors of a profound legacy of trust. Regardless of whether they held formal titles or if their ancestors were mere humble oarsmen on the Black Tide, the clandestine history of the First Crew had been passed down through their families across generations, explaining their presence at this summons.

The cultivation of such a legacy was far from simple. At times, the most direct descendant would pass away without heirs to continue the tradition, compelling other members of the 'crew' to locate the next in line for induction into the legacy. Nevertheless, Phylip Blackwell had pledged to the Mother of Tides that the Eldritch people would one day reclaim Blackwell Bay and the surrounding isles, a solemn oath passed down to the descendants of his crew.

Years prior, upon Ashlynn's birth, and in the absence of any response to his call, Rhys had begun to believe the Eldritch had reneged on their pact, forsaking him and his people to their plight. Only recently had he uncovered evidence that an outside force had tampered with the beacon, preventing him from summoning aid from the Mother of Tides' coven.

Yet, this discovery only amplified the gravity of his warning today. Maintaining a domain as expansive as Blackwell County entirely free of infiltrators was an insurmountable task. But if a traitor resided among this assembled crew, Rhys understood he would have limited time to identify and neutralize them before they could sabotage his entire endeavor.