Headquarters had begun the morning by pretending to be an inn again.
It did that sometimes, mostly when Alric was not looking too closely. Especially when an expected carriage arrived.
Alric was in the rear yard watching as the carriage rolled in carefully, its wheels crunching over the hard ground. It was not royal, nor was it poor. It also had not followed the typical noble color scheme of belonging in a sweet shop. This had the careful dark blue paint and polished fittings to show a family that owned good things and everyone should notice they were being modest about them.
Margaret stood beside Alric. She wore one of her darker dresses, hair pinned back neatly, and her expression held the particular calm of someone who had placed anxiety in a box and was sitting on the lid.
“They are here,” Margaret said smiling and smoothing one hand down her sleeve as she waited.
“So I gathered,” Alric said, glancing across at her. “That is usually what carriages mean when they stop in front of us.”
Margaret gave him a look that was too controlled to be called a glare and too sharp to be called anything else. Alric grinned but chose wisdom and said nothing more.
The carriage door opened. A footman jumped down first, then turned to help the passengers. A girl stepped out.
Alric tilted his head waiting for a reasonable explanation.
She was perhaps fourteen, though she stood as if she had made a private arrangement to be sixteen through sheer posture. Her travelling cloak was well made, her gloves were buttoned at the wrist, and her chin rose slightly when she looked around the yard. Her eyes moved to the guards, to the building, to the passage to the courtyard, and finally to Alric.
Then another girl appeared.
This one was smaller, maybe ten, with rounder cheeks, bright eyes, and the serious expression of a child who had been instructed in the carriage not to ask questions but had already stored several.
Alric looked at Margaret.
Margaret saw the look and gave him one of confusion.
Two maids followed the girls down, each carrying a small travelling case and each moving with the quiet efficiency of people trained to become useful without being noticed. One was brown-haired and narrow-shouldered, perhaps not much older than twenty. The other had a plain face, careful eyes, and seemed content to study the floor. Alric looked back at the two girls.
Oh.
That was the thought in its entirety. Not a clever thought but certainly an honest one.
Margaret had described her cousins as attractive, so in his mind he was expecting two young women who would be students and assist with magic circles, copy notes, learn safe mana handling and help Margaret in the atelier. He had not asked their ages, because apparently he had decided that details were things other people checked before they became his problem.
The younger girl leaned closer to the older one and whispered something.
The older girl’s eyes remained on Alric.
Margaret turned toward him, her posture formal now. “Mister Alric, may I present my cousins, Nicolette and Victoria of House Crenwell.”
The older girl curtsied first, precise and deep enough to show training. The younger girl followed half a beat late, and because she looked so violently determined to do it correctly, the whole thing became far more dangerous to Alric’s composure than it had any right to be. It was just far too cute.
He then gave the pair a proper bow, because they had earned it by taking the matter so seriously and because laughing would have made him a monster.
“I am Alric, also called the brewer, welcome to the headquarters,” Alric said, straightening with both hands folded behind his back. “I hope the journey was kind enough.”
“It was cold,” Nicolette the elder said, gripping the front of her cloak with both hands.
Victoria’s eyes flicked toward her. “We saw so many cows,” Victoria added, lifting her chin quickly after adding such an important detail.
Alric was forced to bite his lip to keep his cuteness aggression in check. “That doesn't sound so bad.” he nodded solemnly.
The maids curtsied as well. Both kept their eyes lowered.
Alric noticed that. These were not just two girls arriving to stay with family. This was a small household piece moving under his roof, complete with habits, expectations, fears, and rules he did not know but would probably break over by lunchtime.
Victoria looked up at him again, failed to hold the question for even three breaths, and surrendered.
“Are you a baron?” Victoria asked, twisting one gloved finger around the edge of her sleeve.
Alric scoffed before he could stop himself. “No, absolutely not,” he said, raising one hand as if to push the title away before it came near him. “Nothing like that. I’m just a normal man who makes things.”
Nicolette narrowed her eyes, even Margaret gave him a suspicious look. Victoria gaze drifted across in confusion.
Alric followed the youngest gaze by instinct. Four guards stood near the gate. Two more were visible in the courtyard. Brannick was crossing the far side of the yard with practice weapons under one arm. The building itself was too large for modesty and too busy for innocence.
“Hmm…” Alric said, rubbing at his jaw as he looked back at Nicolette. “That sounds less convincing when said here.”
Margaret drew in a quiet breath beside him.
“I am not a noble,” Alric said, turning his attention back to both girls and keeping his voice even. “But important work happens here.”
Victoria looked disappointed and fascinated in equal measure.
Alric turned to the maids, “You are also important and safe here. Seren will explain any details you need.”
The plain-faced maid swallowed. The brown-haired one gave the smallest nod.
Seren appeared in the doorway at exactly the moment Alric began hoping she would. She had a shawl over her shoulders and the expression of a woman who had already known the carriage was late and was looking who to blame.
“Ladies,” Seren said, dipping into a neat curtsy before looking to the maids. “Rooms are prepared. Warm water will follow shortly, and food can be sent up or taken in the apartments.”
“Thank you, Seren,” Margaret said, moving to the two girls, she touched Nicolette lightly on the shoulder.
Nicolette curtsied to Alric again. “Thank you for having us, Mister Alric,” she said, folding her hands carefully in front of her.
“You are welcome here,” Alric said, bowing his head to her.
Victoria managed another curtsy, then looked at the upper windows as Seren led them inside. The maids followed, quiet as shadows with luggage.
Margaret did not go at once. She stood beside Alric and watched them enter the courtyard. Only when they were out of earshot behind the last maid did she let out the breath she had been carrying.
“You said they were attractive?” Alric said, fixing Margaret with a glare.
Margaret’s eyes widened. “Aren't they? Mister Alric, what were you expecting?”
“Margaret, they are children.” Alric said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. “I don't know what you think of me but they are not going anywhere near mana strain or experimental circle work.”
Margaret stiffened and blinked rapidly at him.
Alric noticed it and stayed silent studying her. He waited for an explanation.
Margaret looked back at him, studying his face. “I'm not sure what…”
Alric shook his head to interrupt, he folded his arms looking after where they had left. “They can help with safe things eventually. Copying, reading, safe magic, whatever you think is suitable. But they are children, and should be allowed to act like it.”
Margaret’s shoulders lowered by a fraction. “I am sorry, for the misunderstanding,” she said, brushing a thumb along the side of one finger. “I just wanted to keep them away from… other nobles.”
“Does this qualify?” Alric asked, closing his eyes to prevent glaring.
—
Alric's office was on the second floor, just outside his private apartment above the common room. It had a decent window, enough shelves to encourage hoarding, and a desk.
He had barely sat down when there was a knock.
“Come in,” Alric said, glancing at a list from Seren that had appeared on the desk.
Lessa opened the door and stepped in far enough to curtsy. Her new uniform sat neatly on her, though she still wore it awkwardly.
“There is a woman here for you, Mister Alric,” Lessa said, keeping one hand near the door.
Alric looked up at once and diverted his gaze. “A woman with plain sacks and protested being checked for knives?”
Lessa blinked and tilted her head. “Yes, Mister Alric,” she said, her fingers tightening slightly against the door edge.
“That will be Rosa,” Alric said, pushing himself to his feet. “Please send her in.”
Lessa nodded and withdrew.
Rosa entered a moment later wearing the same dark travel cloak, hood raised despite being indoors. She had a plain brown pack and two brown sacks hanging from one hand, both tied with rough cord and both boring.
“Your headquarters needed winter onions,” Rosa said, setting the sacks down with a small bend of her knees.
“It did.” Alric said with a grin, coming around the desk.
“It did if anyone asks,” Rosa said, removing the pack and straightening, she rolled one shoulder under the cloak. “Roots, onions, dried greens, lamp wicks, and several dull things that make people stop looking before the useful part.”
“That is a beautiful kind of dull,” Alric said, crouching beside the sacks.
Rosa watched his hands. “Open that one carefully,” she said, pointing to the nearer sack with one boot. “Wickleaf is wrapped separately inside. I gathered that myself.”
Rosa crouched beside the bags and drew back the top flap and showed him the wrapped bundles inside. Each was tied and marked in different colored strings.
“Sunspur was late,” Rosa said, touching the first bundle. “Usable, but you will not get cheerful notes from me about strength. All of it needs to dried.”
Alric nodded slowly.
“All of it was bought in pieces,” Rosa said, folding the flap down again. “Four different villages, a mix of old women and fake orders for apothecaries. I am confident no one knows but us.”
“You work quickly,” Alric said, watching her expression closely.
“Still, that's all of it, I want to ask though, the girl,” Rosa said, adjusting the edge of her glove with two fingers. “The one who brought me up.”
“Lessa?” Alric asked, he had reached for one of the sacks and paused. “Was she rude?”
Rosa furrowed her brows and shook her head.
“Yes, alright, unlikely,” Alric said withdrawing his hand to his knee, “What about her?”
“She looks part elven,” Rosa said, frowning.
It was a thought he had when he first met Rosa. There was something ‘Lessa-like’ about Rosa.
He looked toward the closed door, then back at Rosa.
“Does it matter?” Alric asked, tilting his head studying her.
Rosa studied him in turn.
The silence lasted long enough that Alric felt his own stubborn streak rise.
“To some,” Rosa said, her fingers resting still against the pack strap.
Alric shrugged. “It's not something that matters here.”
“Hm,” Rosa said, and somehow the sound carried more acceptance than the word deserved. “Would you mind if I spoke to her?”
“If Lessa does not mind, then no,” Alric said, beginning to use his item box. “You are welcome to speak to her.”
Rosa’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Ask her?”
“Yes,” Alric said, glancing toward the door again. “She gets to say no to conversations about herself.”
Rosa looked at him for a moment longer, then huffed softly through her nose. “Pavise did say you were strange.”
Alric just shrugged again as one of the bags disappeared into his item box. Rosa got a fright and moved away but didn’t react any further.
The pack followed into the item box a moment later. Alric kept his hand in the space for a breath.
“I will have the pack back shortly,” Alric said, standing up. “I need to put these in the cellar.”
“Keep the Wickleaf dry and away from anyone hungry,” Rosa said, lifting one finger.
Alric nodded and headed out the office door.
Rosa followed him to the passage but did not step onto the stairs. She leaned against the wall watching him go.
Alric left her there and made his way to the cellar with the item box heavy in the back of his awareness. He turned the corner near the small dining room and nearly collided with Margaret.
She stopped stepping back a little; she caught herself before hitting the wall. “Mister Alric,” Margaret said, looking at his empty hands and then his face. “Is something wrong?”
“Several things always, but I only need one solved now,” Alric said, lowering his voice. “Can the cellar door be magically locked?”
Margaret’s expression sharpened at once. “Against what exactly? Entry or damage, trapped?”
Alric stared at her.
Margaret sighed and touched two fingers to her temple. “Do you want the door harder to open, harder to break, or only openable by chosen people?”
“The last one,” Alric said, nodding. “Just me for now. I plan to store a lot of brandy down there.”
“That can be done,” Margaret said, folding her hands again. “It will need a proper lock beneath it, I had ordered one for the regent cupboard but you need it more. About a gold coin, though.”
“Do it,” Alric said wincing. Margaret nodded.
Alric nodded and started to move, then paused.
“Your cousins seem polite,” he said, turning back.
Margaret’s face changed before she could stop it, “They are trying very hard,” she said, smoothing the front of her dress.
Alric gave her a smile he hoped was reassuring before heading to the cellar.