Chapter 6 - Hedgehogs, Beer, and Banners
The weeks after the incident at Portsmouth went past in a blur for the Richfort family. On the ride back to Chernsburg, Silas caught himself repeatedly forgetting that the man next to him was not his brother. At the sight of every roadside inn, or the jounce of every bump in the road – the ghost of Clyde's voice would speak to Silas, poking fun at his driving or making choice commentary on the figures of the womenfolk they drove by. No tears, though. Silas didn't think he had any left.
After arriving back home, the days were spent with the County, and the Trade Alliance; the nights were spent with Marna and their soon-to-be-born child. A flurry of hearings, meetings and appointments with local courts and leadership went past; Silas testified about the whole sordid story more times than he could count. In the evenings, Silas and Marna were busy sorting out Clyde's estate and getting their own home ready for their upcoming arrival. And planning the funeral, of course.
Clyde's service was not exactly...formal. But it was definitely what he would have wanted. The fellow leading the service was a priest of the Children of Mann, a local church. Of course, being a true friend of Clyde's, he was also damn near falling-down drunk for the whole thing. The crowd was a mix of barroom brawlers, bards, traders, merchants, and, ah... ladies of negotiable affection. Count Inkcharm was also there to pay his respects, and Silas' melancholy mood actually lifted a bit to see the Count leading the congregation in a spirited round of “The Hedgehog Song”, one of Clyde's favorites.
At the graveside, the mourners each poured out a capful of brandy – Clyde's favorite rotgut. The majority of the funeral party staggered off toward the local pubs to finish getting completely knackered in honor of their fallen comrade, while Silas and Marna stayed behind.
“It's been weeks,” Marna said quietly, as she refilled a cup from a flask. “But I still wake up every morning and expect to find him downstairs in our house, eating our food and raiding the booze cabinet.”
Silas nodded glumly. “He definitely left a mighty big hole in our lives. Here's to Clyde,” he called, raising his cup. “He was a pain in the ass, a drunkard, a helluva man to have beside you in a fight, the best friend a man could ever ask for... and my brother. You'll be missed, you big bastard.”
“To Clyde,” echoed Marna as she raised a cup of water.
And from just down the street, a boisterous refrain wound its way out into the cold winter air. “... the hedgehog can never be buggered at aaaaaaall!”
Two weeks later, Silas and Marna were summoned to the Count's manor. Silas was less than thrilled – Marna was due to give birth any time now, and he certainly didn't want her to have to go out on one of the coldest days of the year. Marna wouldn't hear of staying home, though.
“Honestly, dear, it's not as though I'm a damned porcelain doll,” she huffed, bundling up in heavy furs as the coach pulled up outside their door. “I'm pregnant, not dying. Besides, the child needs some fresh air.”
Silas knew when he was beaten, and walked Marna out to the coach, muttering under his breath about mad women and inconsiderate Counts the whole way. He peered at Marna as they settled into the coach, suddenly suspicious.
“Hold on... out with it, Marna.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Marna asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Out with what?”
“You know damned well what I mean,” scowled Silas. “You've got that little 'I have a secret' smirk on your lips.”
“I think the cold must be affecting your brain, dear husband. I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.”
Silas turned and glared out the window as the city passed by. When Counts and wives conspire against a man, there is little he can do to defend himself.
“Silas and Marna Richfort,” intoned Count Inkcharm from his place at the front of the hall. “Please come forward to be recognized.”
The hall was packed to the gills with the cream of Chernsburg society. Heads of the most influential families sat cheek and jowl beside successful merchants, lawyers, and guild masters. The leaders of the Richfort Trade Alliance were seated in the front row, beaming and applauding with all the rest as a dumbfounded Silas helped Marna to her feet. The roar of the crowd washed over the pair as they made their way up to the raised dais, where a plush chair awaited. Marna sank into it with a groan, but flashed a quick smile at her husband as he hovered over her.
“Don't worry, darling,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I'm not going to burst in front of half of Chernsburg.”
Silas squeezed back with a smile on his face, and turned to face the Count.
“Everyone here is well aware of the horrible trials our city has been through in the past year,” Inkcharm boomed, waving one arm at the bank of windows which looked out over Chernsburg. “Untold numbers of our citizens have been hurt, driven from their homes, killed, or simply gone missing. And as far as we can tell, the root cause of all that pain was the greed of just one man.” He paused for a moment, gazing out at the audience. “One man. And yet, without the sacrifices and bravery of this couple here, along with their family and friends, that man would still be bleeding this town dry today. And for that, Silas and Marna Richfort, you have my thanks.”
Count Inkcharm turned and bowed deeply to Silas, who stood – stunned – before a sharp jab from Marna brought him back to reality. Silas returned the bow, and the crowd burst into applause once more.
The Count straightened up, his face grim. Oh, hell, thought Silas, what was that saying that Dad used all the time? No good deed goes unpunished?
“But I would be a poor ruler indeed,” continued the Count in a somber tone. “If I did not admit my own culpability in the horrors that engulfed this town. For too many years, I've been foolish and prideful. I'd thought that I could manage the affairs of my County and this city without neglecting either. I could not have been more wrong.”
The Count paused, and held out a hand as a page slipped in from a curtained alcove. The young lad handed Inkcharm a single sheet of linen parchment, and Silas could see the loops and whorls of professional calligraphy over an impressive looking set of wax seals.
“Silas of House Richfort. My neglect cost the city the souls of dozens of citizens, not the least of whom was your brother, Clyde. I can never bring them back.” The Count turned to face the crowd, and his voice rose as he held the document up. “But I can see to it that someone with the vision, intelligence and wherewithal to prevent something like this from ever happening again is given a place of authority over this fair city!” Inkcharm proffered the parchment to Silas, who numbly raised a hand to take it. “Mayor Richfort, Chernsburg is yours. And I know you will serve her citizens well.”
“I...” Silas stammered into the ocean of silence which seemed to have engulfed the room. “I am honored, my lord. But I'm no hero. I just did what needed to be done, sir.”
“Spoken like a true hero, I'd say.” Count Inkcharm grinned and turned to Marna. “Mayoress Richfort, I believe you had a final presentation to make?”
“Yes, my lord, thank you.” Marna beckoned toward the wings, and a pair of pages walked out, unfurling a length of scarlet and white checked cloth between them. “Silas, the Count and I agreed that a mayor ought to have a coat of arms which speaks to his accomplishments.”
“How very curious.” Silas frowned in mock indignation. “So you WERE up to something.”
“Dear, if I took the time to tell you half of what I do on a daily basis while you're off saving the city,” Marna said dryly, amidst a few chuckles from the audience, “you'd never get anything done. Now hush.”
The banner was now fully unfolded, and revealed a shield divided into quarters; two red, two white. In each red quarter, a white dragon reared up with wings unfurled.
“Red for the blood that was spilled. White for the purity and nobility that drove you to confront the villain responsible.” Marna's voice caught slightly, and she took a sip of water. “And the dragons... Well, I know how much your father's stories meant to you and Clyde. And I know that he loved this city just as much as you do. So now the two of you will go on to defend and protect this city,” Marna said, as a tear slid down her cheek. “Just like the twin dragons in your father's story protected each other.”
Silas bent down to draw Marna in close, and kissed the tears off of her cheek. “My love... thank you.”
“To the new Mayor and Mayoress of Chernsburg!” Inkcharm shouted. “Long may they live!”
“Long may they live!” roared the crowd in response.
“To House Richfort!” yelled Inkcharm, and Silas imagined the resounding cheers from the gathered gentry reaching up to Haven, where Clyde's soul was likely vastly amused (and probably drunk, if Haven had liquor) to see how far his little brother had come.
