Turn 78

    "Shall we try talking to them again?"
    "May as well" Emmett says. He glances around the room - if they're all human, Nyala and Yestin would stand out to much. Hiro isn't exactly a diplomat, Inez isn't good in a fight if things go bad, Pham needs to move the ship if things go bad. "I think I better talk to them. Not that I don't stand out, but Hiro's already put a fright in them and - no offence Nyala, Yestin - you might not be what they expect."
    Emmett waits for a reply; she nods tersely. "I'll go above and keep an eye out from there." She heads toward the weapons deck, bow in hand.
    Emmett then pulls on his chain shirt and as heavy a tunic and boot as he has. He is quickly reminded of why they had to wear the heavy hooded woolen tunics in flight, and how much a chill can dull your reflexes. "Hopefully I won't be out here long."
    With his armor well covered and his cutlass strapped for a reverse draw from his back, he hopes he looks non-threatening enough while still being ready if things went wrong. He heads out a distance from the ship in the direction Nyala indicated in hopes of making polite contact with the natives. His real hand is open and raised in friendship, his hook is lowered but still visible.
    It's not long before he hears the sounds of harness and hoofbeats, and soon he can see them winding through the trees, followed by the villagers Nyala reported. The single column pulls up - in fairly good order, he notes - upon spotting him, after which there is a quick exchange and four of the men ride continue toward him at a slower pace, fanning out to form a half-circle that hems him in and allows them to keep an eye on the _Distraction_'s distant bulk.
    "Identify yourself," one of them orders.
    "Name's Emmett. I'm a sailor on the _Two Trees Ship Distraction_," he indicates with a jerk of his head to the ship. "We put to ground yesterday, and I'm afraid the ship scared some of your folk last night."
    "Anything I can do for you?" he says with an endearing grin.
    Pham, meanwhile, has positioned himself next to the helm; not yet seated in case some of his magic is needed. He tries to listen in Emmett's conversion.
    There is some muttering among the peasants in the back.
    "What manner of creature are you?" the apparent leader wants to know. "Man, dwarf or... other?" There is the barest hint of superstitious dread to the question. "Are there more of you?"
    Emmett smiles, "Man, though my friends call me Half-Man. I got caught in a fire once and this," he gestures with his hook to his peg-leg, "was the best they could do with what was left. Lucky to be alive."
    He looks thoughtful for a minute. "Are there any more of me? I'm one of a kind." Another big smile. "But there are other sailors on the _Distraction_." He gestures back to the ship again. "I know, I know, she looks like a giant bug. I didn't design her, but she does handle real well. We don't mean you any harm, and we are sorry about scaring your folk earlier. Didn't mean to cause any trouble."
    By the looks they're exchanging, he is not exactly what they expected. They had come out from the city expecting to find, probably, a monster; now the general air is one of perplexity. Emmett can almost see their leader thinking, _I don't get paid enough to deal with this kind of weirdness._
    "You will return with us to the city," he decides. "All of you. And... that," he nods at the ship, "will be searched."
    Emmett shakes his head sadly. "No, I'm afraid that's not how it's going to go. Our captain is in your city right now. He may well be talking to your lord right now, " Emmett is pretty sure that this is not what's going on, but their cover has been blown by the _Distraction_ being found and he needs to buy some time. "It'd probably throw a right spanner into your lord's negotiations for opening up lucrative trade routes to find out that you've imprisoned the traders and impounded their ship."
    Emmett holds up his hands in a placating manner, "Now, I know that you aren't looking to start a diplomatic incident, and you're just trying to do the best in an unexpected situation, but if you take our crew away from our ship, that's how this is gonna be seen by my Captain's superiors."
    "I can give you a counter offer -- you and a couple of your men can come on board and do your search right now with us. You can even leave a contingent with us while someone rids back to the city and delivers a report to find out what your lord wants you to do next. But I'm under orders from my captain that our crew stays with our ship."
    "I've got specific orders, you've got general ones. I think giving you a tour and some hospitality while higher ranking people than us work out what to do next is the best way to see that both of our orders get carried out. Deal?"
    "Describe this captain of yours," he parries--suggesting to Emmett that the away team might already have been found out. Hell, maybe they really *are* talking to the local lord.
    After a thoughtful moment, he nods shortly. "Very well." He dismounts.
    Someone hisses, "Sir, it's a trap!"
    He is ignored. "Albin, head back and report to the captain." With a few economical words he disposes the remaining men, overall giving the visitors the impression that they have stumbled into a rather martial culture here. One of them remains with the leader, while the remaining three and the peasants draw off some small distance, prepared for whatever might issue from the strange "ship." The words "infernal dwarfish device" are muttered.
    "Well, 'Emmett,'" the leader says when all is ready, "I am Sergeant Brunon in the guard of His Excellency Lord Tesfaye, whose lands you are in. Let us then examine this... vessel."

* * *

    Once Valarin has explained that Three Trees is not the same as Victor & Sons, he nods to ibn Fadil, who cheerfully provides capsule descriptions of those two and another half-dozen or so of the major trading companies (including some that aren't really involved on Bral, but are big elsewhere). "As to the absence of contact before now, my lord, this place - we know it as 'Rigol,' incidentally - is a bit out of the way, and Victor & Sons has kept very quiet about whatever it is they have found valuable enough to trade for here." That last is a leading remark if anyone there has ever heard one.
    "He has not been forthcoming about his dealings," the lord shrugs, studying the three of them before adding, "he has been buying iron, that much is known to all, but what he sells in return.... I am sure these things can be discovered. Furs, ivory... there are possibilities. There are timbers that grow in our mountains which make strong ships."
    "Of course we will be interested to know about that, my lord," the half-elf says smoothly, making a mental note about the iron. V&S doesn't normally deal in anything so prosaic; he wonders who they're buying it from.
    "But there could be any number of other things of interest here. At the moment we simply do not know enough; only what we have seen so far. If we had known, for example, that you had some reason to be, er, alert about security, we certainly would not have tried to make a quiet visit before making a formal arrival, ship and all, if you see what I mean, my lord. And," he adds, with a trace of unhappiness, "is it always so cold here? You must understand, my lord, that the place I was born, on Zakhara, almost never sees snow, while my most recent home, the Rock of Bral, has no weather at all." Standing in one place in this frigid hall is indeed making his feet numb again, but what he really wants to know is whether these folk have heard of Bral.
    The name elicits no sign of recognition, and indeed a deeply puzzled look crosses both faces at the idea of "no weather."
    "Always? No. It is winter. But we are indeed, as you say, 'alert.' Always. Better it would have been to announce yourselves directly. Subterfuge is a tool of the weak. Still it will do the men good to have the drill." The sky is beginning to lighten, and the occasional dimly heard sound from beyond the room suggests that the household is waking up. Tesfaye appears to make a decision, and stands abruptly. "Come. Let us break fast, and continue our conversation privately."
    At the back of the hall is a door leading to a smaller room. It is dark -- this side of the building is in the shadow of the castle wall -- but there is a massive fireplace, which when poked up by a boy cheers the place up immensely. The walls are layered with tapestries that keep drafts to a minimum. The main furniture is a long table, with room for about a dozen people. The lord of course sits at the head, with the guard captain and Valarin on his right and the others on the left, and in a short time a couple of women servants come in with platters of dark bread, butter, sausage, bacon, and kidneys. From this the visitors conclude that their story has been accepted, although perhaps with reservations, and the captain still seems a bit dubious.
    "Is it common in your lands for folk to carry such array of armaments?" he inquires at one point.
    

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