A Drink in Toulon - Part 3 - (A Kip the Quick Adventure)
A thrilling romp with theft, magic, and humor.
Kip the Quick is a thief and a rogue, but he wants to go legit. Really, he does. So, when he meets with a nobleman to talk trade, all is fine and dandy until someone comes knocking. Loudly. And violently. Where’s a good spot of the Essence, when you really need some?
Subscribe now to get notified as soon as the next part comes out.
Part 3
I STROLLED PAST THE WORKERS AT THE WALL like I owned the place. They ignored me as well, chatting about the Bureau of Reparations.
“The Bureau,” I whispered, shivering a little. The Bureau had its own special soldiers, much alike to the king’s own Devout, and while they were very impressive, I didn’t much like the idea of someone trained to kill from birth who also may or may not be carrying around a vial of Essence that could let them punch a hole through stone. Combination like that didn’t make for someone I considered stable.
At least a low-level pretender of a noble—such as I—had little to worry about from the likes of them. But I’d had first-hand experience with the Essence. And it was hard not to think back on the experience without awe, a little bit of fear…
“And the intoxication…” I whispered, my mouth watering a little.
“Ah, you must be Lord Kipley.” A pudgy little steward interrupted me licking my lips. He nodded at me politely as he stood before the door of the manse watching the wall construction.
Right. It was time for business.
“His lordship is expecting you. Right this way to the Refreshment Room.”
I smiled, acting as if strolling through the foyer and down a hall to a room where I was to be locked in for the next hour was something I had done many times.
The heavy door closed with a quiet thud behind, the locks sliding shut, and a house guard built for pulling wagons stood against the door. I slowly paced the small room filled with cozy chairs and a chaise lounge upholstered in soft cream with purple flowers; a shelf held books of fantasy and war to pass the time. None of this was surprising, all that I had expected. What I did not expect was an iron wain enforcer’s hammer and chisel hung on the wall. I pointed. “An odd choice of decor.”
The guard shrugged. “Some relative was an enforcer.”
“Must have been a fond member of the family.”
“No, not really.”
I turned around the room, trying not to feel as if I was locked in. Though, I very much was.
“Might as well catch up on my reading.”
After passing over two novels that were as interesting as curdling milk, the guard finally opened the door and gestured me through.
Lord Gagne himself, greeted me, “Lord Kipley, thank you for your patience, I trust you found something exciting to read?” He continued on, not waiting for an answer as he waved me to follow. “Please excuse the mess outside. We’ve been taking some further measures of…security.” At the last his voice squeaked and he giggled like a nervous child.
“Safety is a measure of forethought,” I replied as we walked past a dining room set with enough silver to fill a mine.
“We’ll take some tea in the library if it suits you, the view is hampered by the construction, but the light at this hour is quite pleasant.” We turned down a bright hall hung with dark oil portraits when a woman glided to a stop before us.
Gagne bowed his head. “My dear Bellerose, this is young Lord Kipley. Will you join us in our boring discussion?”
I had to do a double-take: where the father was all slender, his knees knobby through his hosiery, and his nose overlarge, this woman that must be his daughter was all curves and grace, her lips lush, eyes full, liquid, and daring me to not look. At some point, I remembered to breathe.
“A pleasure to meet you.”
The girl glanced my way, all cool and sophisticate, but her eyes lingered as I took her proffered hand and kissed it gently. “Must I, father?” her voice was sweet honey. She fluttered her lashes and I swallowed carefully.
“You would do me an honor, my dear.”
She measured me with a look. “I suppose I can find a way to abide the boredom.”
I turned away quickly, trying to recover as we walked through the library doors, Bellerose far too close to my side, her scent filling my nose.
The walls were lined with books, their titles inscrutable, but there was a display shelf of decor that caught the light. “Oh!” I spied an intricate platter carved with a scene of battle in bas-relief. “That’s a beautiful platter.” I reached out a hand to its place on the shelf.
Gagne stuttered, “Don’t touch that, please.”
“Sorry?”
Gagne’s eyes were strained. “It’s a relic of the family, nearly two centuries in age. From a battle that led to the Tristan Accords.”
“Really? That’s quite the family pedigree.” Didn’t ring a bell to me, but any family that could trace their lineage back that far was likely to have far more than just money. A hint of earth made my mouth water strangely, and I thought unbidden of sparkling twilight fluid. I shook my head. “I wish I could say the same about my own family.”
Bellerose parted those lush lips. “You don’t say? Do tell. I’m all awash with interest.”
And for a moment, every rationale, logical thought in my head fell out. But I was a performer, and this was a story that I had committed to heart. The lord looked between me rambling away, then over to Bellerose. Didn’t seem like he heard a word of my family tragedy: Left nearly penniless as a child, parents passed away of a sudden. The family home gone with them, burned by a wildfire that scorched the countryside. Personally, I thought the wildfire was a nice touch of the unexpected.
“Excellent, excellent,” he muttered. “One day I won’t be here, and every lady should know her own way.”
Clearly, the lord was busy with thoughts of his own. I chanced a glance at Bellerose, her hands innocent in her lap. “Er. Yes, any father would feel the same.”
“That’s what I tell my Bellerose, but she does distaste talk of business. Please, come sit.”
I measured the distance between the chair and Bellerose’s own. It was awful close.
“My dear, Lord Kipley is coming up in the world, working on a trade deal. We may make an investment in him.”
I grinned crookedly as I took a seat, and picked up a steaming teacup, trying to reassure myself that he only meant to invest in trade.
“Sounds dreadfully boring, Father.” And as her father laughed, his eyes scrunching up, she stared at me unblinking, licking her top lip slowly. Oh…dear. I glanced at the window, but it was shut, and we were on the second floor.
Gagne smiled, unaware. “If you had it your way we would do nothing but travel the land seeking the next ball.”
“I can not miss the Tulip Ball.”
“Lord Jander does know how to throw quite the party.”
“The most exquisite.” Bellerose gently clapped her hands together.
“What about you, Kipley? You must look forward to taking advantage of the business opportunities that abound whenever Lord Jander throws a party.”
I hesitated.
“Surely, you’re invited? Lord Jander would not knowingly exclude anyone.”
Anyone, but thieves, commoners, lowly merchants…
The lord lifted his hand and shook his finger, growing serious. “But, of course…House Vilay.”
My smile froze and I shifted my eyes toward the door. “Yes?”
“Indeed,” Gagne’s face broke into a wide smile. “Lord Jander must be made aware of Vilay’s return! This should cause something of a stir. I shall tell him he must invite you as soon as time permits.”
I breathed out. “You’re too kind.”
The conversation stretched on to talk of other things, some banal, not exciting, Bellerose toyed with her dress, at times raising the hem to reveal slender ankles.
“You must think I am some great pompous bore, and I appreciate your indulgence.” Lord Gagne said with some finality as he set his teacup down. “With age, I have come to realize one must have good relationships for good business. Why, with your youth, you would be surprised at how some…poor decisions of the past can utterly haunt you to this day.” He laughed nervously, then went silent, his daughter chuckled twice to fill the void as I pondered his meaning. “But I have prattled on long enough, please, tell me of this business venture. Perhaps we can find some accord.”
Finally. I smiled, pulling out a paper with some numbers from my leather portfolio. “As you know, it is for a regular run of goods to Dufair. We have a supply of fine boots,”—or at least fine-looking—“silken undergarments for”—I glanced to the side—“the ladies.” Gagne nodded without comment, his eyes staring off into space, while Bellerose slowly ran a finger up and down her neck.
“And there are…other goods,” I trailed off, wiping my brow. Raising the paper to my eyes, I stared hard at the columns. “At one macre per garment, ranging up to four, with promised purchase of at least thirty-three, and potential purchase of fifty, the revenue would be—”
“Thirty-three macre up to 132 at a minimum.”
“Uh…yes.” I pursed my lips. “Your lordship is very fast with numbers.”
“One of my talents.”
Bellerose moved her finger to the base of her neck, reaching her clavicle.
“Yes, well, and that puts us at an average minimum revenue of 82.5 macre, up to—”
“Fifty and 200 or a potential maximum average of 125.”
Bellerose pursed her lips at me, blinking her eyes slowly, while Lord Gagne closed his own, utterly focused.
I scrolled my finger over to the column with a jerk. “Yes.”
“Profit for quality garments should range at thirty percent.”
“Right again,” I said, my voice rising an octave as Bellerose’s finger dropped lower.
“That would put your profit on this run at about 24 macre and 75 bitre to upwards of 37 and 50 bits.” Gagne rubbed his thumbs together, finally opening his eyes to look at me. Bellerose’s finger withdrew. “The run would take approximately a week?”
“Uh, yes…” I said. “Your lordship is skillful with calculations. That must prove…useful.”
Gagne scratched at his trimmed beard. “Not as much as you might think.” He smiled quickly, then looked out the window toward the building of his new wall. “My apologies. I do let myself run away sometimes with numbers.”
“Absolutely mind-numbing,” Bellerose replied with a slow laugh.
“These are not large sums, Lord Kipley—”
“Oh, I have plans for much more. This is just the start. You must understand that for a time I was as poor as a street rat.”
Gagne laughed, even though it was only fact. “Humility is a good trait, even if it is feigned. Shows that someone is not beholden to pride.”
I forced a grin. “Thank you.”
Pressing my lips together, forcing quiet, I watched Gagne think, his eyes flicking between Bellerose and me, though she looked at neither of us, twisting a finger through a lock of her dangling hair.
“You have me convinced. Show me your contracts, I would like to invest in your venture, and I look forward to this being the start of a long-term relationship.”
Bellerose smiled at me, and I had to wonder at what kind of contract I would be signing.
“Let me fetch some paper as I ponder some details, Lord Kipley. Bellerose, would you be kind enough to—”
But he never finished what he was going to say, for a loud bell rang in the house cutting him off. Bellerose’s eyes went wide, footsteps thundered overhead and Gagne hissed with sudden fright.
Thanks for reading Part 3 of A Drink in Toulon. Part 4 is coming in 2 days. Click Subscribe to get an email as soon as it comes out. Share this post and leave a comment below.
Have you read the first book, Kip the Quick? The sequel is coming soon. Read the book that started it all here.
© 2024 Clifton Hill, all rights reserved.
*Image credit: A custom design from Gab.Ai