In which Fred Maximillian assists around the castle, but things don't go quite as expected.

The contents of this chapter are inspired by posts and comments all throughout March and April of 2005.

It's really one big love letter to the people I used to have fun writing with. Dedicated to Kacey, Andrea, Kat, Julie, Jon, Akkiko, and many more.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Each strike of the hammer felt like a death knell. Fred stood transfixed, watching an unfamiliar man finish nailing a new notice to the courtyard's bulletin board. Once it was complete, he tapped his pad of paper against the crook of his elbow and nodded approvingly.

"I'm sorry… who did you say you are again?" Fred took a step forward. "What's all this about doling out orders?"

The man rolled his eyes. "Have you read any of my notices yet?"

Fred clicked his tongue in disapproval. What gave this stranger the right to plaster over Thomas's last bulletin with his own? There was nothing very official looking about the fellow, save for his hideous pleated ochre pants and coordinated tie. His mousy brown hair was cut just past the ears, straight and flat as if he spent the majority of his adult life not bothering with any sort of styling and instead opted to maintain the same look from childhood. He sported a crisp, grey vest, and the cuffs and collar of his white shirt appeared overly starched to the point that Fred felt uncomfortable just looking at him.

"You'll have to forgive me, sir," Fred said, a note of irritation creeping into his voice, "ever since Master Thomas left, it's been rather hectic around here. And with all the new arrivals—"

"Yes," the man snipped, "I'm aware. That's what these notices are for. And it's Jess, by the way."

"Very well, Sir Jess. What is the meaning of all this?"

"It's a request board. I know you Maximillians follow the beat of your own drum, but this should be right up your alley."

"Requests?" His interest was piqued, but not as much as his irritation at the slight dig at the Maximillian family line. "We're self-governing in Master Thomas's absence. What gives you the right to dictate and assign requests?"

"Goddess, grant me patience," Jess grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You attend one damn victory banquet and look where that gets you. Sneezed off to who-knows-when-and-where. What in the runes possessed me to think I could lead a quiet life after the war?"

"Um… Sir Jess?"

"Look," Jess rapped his pad of paper against the bulletin board, "I have several notes the former castle master left behind. I know he would want everyone to follow his wishes. So even if you don't want to listen to me, listen to what he had to say."

That was news. Fred craned his head to get a better look at the list of requests Jess nailed to the board. "Why would Master Thomas appoint a complete stranger to carry out his will in his absence?"

"Why indeed…" Jess sighed. "I haven't been here that long. The boy clearly has his own issues to work out. I have experience in clerical work, and he asked me as he was departing if I could pass these notes along."

"So he just… asked you?"

Surely he can't be all that bad if Master Thomas left his paperwork behind with this man...

"Rather politely, as a matter of fact. And since he was kind enough to allow me to stay without paying for any sort of lodging… and since all of you seem to be a mess underneath his messy governance, I may as well."

"Messy governance?! What sort of mess are you referring to?"

Jess gestured out behind him to the manor, as if all the answers to his disdain were in plain sight. "Look at this place. You call this a castle? What kind of a master allows for this sort of rampant disorganization? I even hear Luca Blight of all people is somehow here. Didn't he die? Goddess, the man's like a cockroach. I hate bugs."

I take it back. The nerve of this man, insulting Master Thomas like that!

"Well then. Let's see what this board has to offer," Fred pushed past Jess, using a little more force than necessary. His eyes scanned the bulletin. Listed at the top was a warning notice for an outbreak of rabies amongst the Blade Bunnies on Yaza Plains. Beneath that in bright orange was a tightly packed patrol schedule for the castle grounds, and listed underneath Cecile's patrol ran a series of requests. Fred raised an eyebrow. "Is Lady Cecile aware of this arrangement?"

A haggard sigh was the only response from Jess.

I see. So that's a 'yes.'

Knowing Cecile, she probably wasn't pleased with Jess's involvement either. Fred suspected the young guard overloaded her own patrol schedule as a rebellious way to prevent anyone else from assisting her during Thomas's absence.

Jess stood silently, his arms folded as he watched Fred scan the list. Something about his standoffish attitude made Fred annoyed. How could Master Thomas choose someone so callous to pass along his notices?

Fred felt a tickle of defiance. Perhaps Cecile had the right idea. They didn't need Jess or anyone else to fill Thomas's shoes while he was gone. They were self-governing. The people of Budehuc could handle themselves until Thomas returned. And when he returned—because of course he would return—he would undoubtedly be proud of them all for upholding the peace in his absence.

"Very well then! As a Maximillian, it's my duty to help those in need and eradicate evil in this world! I'll do them all."

"Eradicate evil? Heh. It's uncanny how like that old maniac Maximillian you are," Jess muttered, "I don't think there's really any evil on that list, but…" he paused. "Wait. All of them?"

"All of them."

"What's with you people? You know what? Fine," Jess shook his head. "Whatever you want. I'm just responsible for making sure people get the notices. Don't complain to me when you burn out."

Fred saluted. "Yes… sir. It will be done."

—

Theft

The pages were dog-eared, and the cover bound in a soft, pliable leather. Fred turned the diary over in his hands, admiring how worn and well-loved it was. "Surely its owner will come back to claim it before long," he said. "Why bother trying to track them down?"

Mamie stood opposite him, arms folded and spatula in-hand. "Did'ja even read my request?"

"Of course I did! What do you take me for?"

"Considerin' you dined and dashed on me back in Duck Village, I dunno. You tell me what I'm supposed to take you for."

Fred shuffled uncomfortably. "Rico said she forwarded you proper compensation! We were in hot pursuit of evil, I didn't have the time to count out my potch."

Mamie raised a dark eyebrow, flicking her wrist so the edge of her spatula caught the light. Fred was grateful she was a noncombatant and imagined that if she ever chose to wield a weapon, he'd need to be more careful in the future. "Whatever. Let's put the past behind us," she said. "I need you to help me find whomever left this notebook behind so I can get my hands on the thief who stole the shortcake off my countertop!"

"A theft?"

"You got it. I reckon the shortcake itself is a lost cause, but I still want justice," she said, clearly enunciating the last word with pointed relish.

Fred's sense of pride tingled. This was exactly the sort of good deed Master Thomas would be proud of. "Yes, yes, I can understand. A Maximillian Knight would be best-suited for such a task!"

"Actually, Kidd would be better, considerin' it's more of a mystery. He's a detective, so that would be more his thing," she said. "That's if he were around. Haven't seen the little scamp since the war. Kind of a shame, considering he let me pay him in croutons and table scraps."

Fred felt a passing pang of sympathy for the adolescent detective. He wasn't sure if Mamie was stingy, or if Kidd was truly so desperate for a good meal that he'd accept food as compensation. "Regardless, you can rest assured. As a member of the Maximillian Knights, I wouldn't dream of requesting payment from someone in need!"

"Oh? Because I wasn't planning on paying you anyhow. You owe me," she tapped her spatula against her shoulder. "Or are you still in hot pursuit of evil?"

"N-no… you can count on me. I swear on my honor as a Maximillian."

"Good. Someone's getting a walloping, and if it isn't my shortcake thief… you still have that debt to pay."

—

Delivery

She sat in a dark corner of Budehuc's tavern, hunched over the countertop with a tall bottle at her elbow. There was no wine glass in sight. She was probably drinking directly from the bottle itself. Her hair was a striking shade of deep red, streaked with wisps of grey throughout and pulled back with a black velvet tie. Something about her posture screamed 'don't approach me,' but she was the only person seated at the bar, and Fred was on a mission.

"E-excuse me, miss?"

"Miss?" she rasped and looked over her shoulder. "Heh, I haven't been a 'miss' in ages, boy. Try again."

Indeed, once Fred got a closer look at her, it was obvious the woman was no longer a maiden. Haggard wrinkles lined her forehead and around her eyes. Hers wasn't the face of someone who spent years smiling. Something about her sunken cheeks suggested it was more than just the comfort of the bottle that aged her.

Fred fumbled with the package in his hands before offering a bow. "M-my apologies. I saw there was a notice requesting a delivery. I didn't recognize the name…"

"You liar," she snorted. "Show me one person alive who doesn't recognize the Silverberg name. I dare you."

Fred swallowed. Of course he recognized the surname. How could he not? The Silverberg family was renowned for their strategic prowess, and he had the honor of working alongside their youngest strategist during the war. It wasn't exactly a detail one might simply forget. But her givenname was entirely unfamiliar. Perhaps she was the family matriarch. "I presume you must be Lady Elenor then?"

"Heh, so I'm a lady now? Quite the upgrade," she chuckled. "Yes, I am. You have a package for me, you said?"

"I do," Fred handed her the parcel. "Truth be told, I was surprised to hear there was another Silverberg in our midst. Your family's talents are a marvel to behold."

Elenor grabbed the package, ripping it open without paying mind to Fred's smalltalk. A deep blue bottle peeked through the paper, the glass dull with age. Her eyes lit up. "I'll be damned. They really were able to track it down."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Kanakan wine. Most of my collection of whites peaked long ago, but this," she rapped her knuckles against the glass, "this was still kicking around in my stash. I never imagined they would uncover it after all this time. Can you imagine? I have to hand it to Viki, at least there's a saving grace to her sneezing. Over a hundred years later, and it's still intact. Now, the real test will be the taste—"

A bedraggled man popped up from the other side of the bar. He leaned over the counter and made a giddy grabbing gesture. "Is that the stuff? It really came?! Damn, I can't believe your hideout held up!"

"You're cut off, Hervey," Elenor said. "You've already drunk yourself under the table, and it's scarcely noon."

"Aw, Elenor, don't do this to me! You're the first Island Nations buddy I've seen since I got here! Well, except Jeane… why's she always around? You think she got teleported too? Heh… Jeane..." He giggled, a lecherous look slipping across his face. "I'd like to be buddies with her…"

"Are you always this pathetic?"

"W-what!? No! You're always my favorite Island Nations lady, Elenor. So let's drink to it, right?"

"Fat chance. If you think you can butter me up, forget it. This bottle is mine."

Hervey pressed the side of his face into his palm until his cheek squished against his lips. "Don't be like that," he slurred. "A lovely woman such as yourself drinking all alone? Isn't a fine, hundred-plus year-old bottle best enjoyed in the company of an equally fine, young and handsome pirate?"

"It wouldn't be the first bottle I've enjoyed alone," she answered darkly. After a moment's pause Elenor reached out and tugged at the plaid scarf wrapped around Hervey's neck, chiding him. "Still hitting on everything that moves, I see. Didn't you learn your lesson with Rene?"

"I did not hit on Rene. I just talked to her! Talked! She said she wanted to go Treasure Hunting with me! She started it!"

"Uh-huh... and you were just playing Ritapon too... nothing more, right?"

"Hey! Now you're just flat out lying! I never even spoke to her! Not outside of gambling, that is."

"You're right... You're too slow to ever get past that whirlwind of Ritapon tiles. I must have been thinking of Noah, or maybe Nataly," Elenor ticked off her fingers with a smirk. "Gambling, huh? Sure, sure. Is that the same story you told Lazlo?"

Hervey groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Stop it. I never touched them!" He peered through the gaps in his fingers. "What do you take me for?!"

"In spite of claiming complete innocence over the matter, you're still getting quite flustered. I can't help but wonder…"

"I'm really innocent! I'm just scared of what else you're going to throw at me."

"Well, since we're already playing this game... you did spend an awful lot of time around the Accessory Atelier... but whatever floats your boat."

"Do mermaids even have…!?"

"What does it matter to you?"

"Well, I think it's 'sort of' important that they actually have those parts."

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

"But I do consider it important!"

"And here I was kidding about your attraction to them."

Fred felt his face grow uncomfortably hot at the implications behind their conversation and loudly cleared his throat. "My delivery is complete, Lady Elenor. I'll be taking my leave now."

Hervey swiveled an eye over in Fred's direction. "Oh, hey! Didn't see you there. The name's Hervey. Are you Elenor's boy-toy?" he offered a sloppy handshake and continued on without waiting for an answer, "Damn, Elenor, look at you judging me when you've got a knight in shining armor waiting on you!"

Elenor rolled her eyes and wrapped her bottle back up in paper. "Mermaids," she sighed. "Really?"

Hervey groaned again. He released Fred's hand and slumped back over the countertop. "I told you! How can you even do it with a fish in the first place?!"

"L-Lady Elenor," Fred swallowed. He wanted nothing more than to bolt out the door and resume working, but it didn't feel very knightly to leave in the midst of Hervey's drunken whining. "Is this man giving you trouble?"

"Him? It takes more than the tomfoolery of a drunken pirate to cause me problems. But he won't be getting any of this," she said, tying the twine back around her bottle. "This bottle… this one I'll be drinking alone," Her expression softened. "It's the least I can do after making it wait over 100 years for me."

—

Gardening

Fred felt his heart give a silly little skip the moment he spotted her crouched by Barts's garden. Yun's head was bowed, her hands pressed against the ground as she leaned close enough to almost kiss the dirt. Behind her stood Barts with his farming hoe cocked against his shoulder in mild curiosity. Even in the cool April afternoon breeze, sweat still glistened at his brow, barely covered by his black bandana.

"See?" the farmer said. "I told you. They're all saying the same thing."

"Sir Barts," Fred announced his presence with a short nod, "and… Lady Yun," another nod. "I'm here about the notice on the bulletin. Are you seeking gardening assistance?"

"Assistance? Not exactly," Barts said. "My tomatoes are trying to tell me something, but they're still so young, I can't completely understand them."

"I… er… come again?"

"I just planted my tomatoes for the season, and they're still seedlings. But they're pretty unhappy," Barts sighed.

Fred glanced back at the soil. Was this some new breed of vegetable? A sentient harvest? A chill ran down his spine at the thought. If fruits and vegetables were to adopt wills of their own, it might unleash a whole new swath of evil on the world, especially if they decided to exact their revenge on their reapers.

Yun giggled as if she could sense Fred's foolish fears. "I was just speaking with them, Sir Fred."

Speaking? Perhaps this is simply another talent of the Alma Kinan.

He was bursting with curiosity. Although Fred's time in the village during the war was brief, he left with more questions than answers. But before he had a chance to inquire more, she clasped her hands together with a smile. "Ah! I see now."

"What's that?" Barts asked.

"Someone's been napping all over their patch. That's why you can't understand them."

Fred glanced back and forth between the two. Barts nodded as if the answer were completely sensible, and Yun looked quite pleased with herself. "The poor things," she added, "that would explain everything."

"It… it does?" Fred said.

"Are you kidding me?!" Barts pushed past Fred, brandishing his hoe as if ready to lash out at a moment's notice, "That little… Yun, they didn't happen to say where Juan's at right now, did they?"

"No, but I'm sure he can't be too far off."

Barts huffed through his nose. "Right then," he said. "I'll be back soon! Thank you so much, Yun. Don't worry, everyone!" he shouted over to the patch as he began sprinting off, "I'll make sure this doesn't happen again!"

Yun rose from the ground and stood at Fred's side. They watched Barts as he ran across the castle grounds. Once he was out of earshot, Fred looked over and quietly asked her, "How on earth did you know all that?"

Yun smiled. "They told me, of course."

—

Shortcake

The unclaimed diary sat heavy in his pocket as he approached the café. Fred sighed. His heart was feeling equally heavy. How could he face Mamie knowing he was unable to find the culprit who stole her shortcake? His anxious sigh turned to a shiver upon remembering her earlier threats and her gleaming spatula.

His nose twitched. The rich scent of roasted Le Buque red peppers and ground spices washed over him. His stomach growled. When was the last time he had a proper meal? Suddenly the thought of Mamie's punishment didn't seem so bad compared to a warm meal. He picked up his pace.

She never said I had to complete this task immediately. Perhaps she'll be gracious. Evil isn't something to be vanquished in a single day, after all!

Fred crossed the terrace and peered into the café. The sounds of laughter and the clatter of cutlery greeted him. An unfamiliar man sat on the nearest stool, hunched over a plate with another stack of empty dishes at his side. A red bandanna was wrapped around his head, and Fred quickly made note of his bulky biceps. A skilled warrior for certain, but not one he'd ever seen before.

"Oh! Here he is now!" Mamie's voice rang out from the back of the kitchen. She came forward with a steaming pot of curry rice, and Fred's stomach growled again. "Where've you been at, Fred?"

"W-what? What do you mean?"

The man spun around on his stool. A broad smile broke across his face, transforming his sharp features with an accompanying laugh. "Perfect!" he shoved out a meaty hand, then realized he was still brandishing a steak knife and sheepishly swapped hands before grabbing Fred in a handshake. "Mamie was just saying you were keeping my diary safe!"

"Diary?"

"Don't tell me you lost it," Mamie groaned, setting the curry rice in front of the man.

Fred whipped the book out of his pocket, then dropped it on the countertop. "Absolutely not! I gave you my word as a Maximillian Knight to help find your shortcake thief! And if this man is the owner of the diary, that also means he is the thief as well!"

Mamie tossed the book over at the man. He caught it in a smooth, single-handed motion, not even pausing between bites. "His name is Pahn," she corrected, "and he's no thief."

"Well, I kind of am," Pahn said. He shoveled another spoonful of curry into his mouth before offering an apologetic shrug. "Sorry, Mamie."

"Nah, it's fine."

Fred gaped between the two of them. Where was all that earlier rage? The thirst for justice? "W-wait… I don't… I don't understand."

"Mamie here's got some of the best cooking I've had since… well, it's almost as good as Gremio's stew," Pahn said. Mamie folded her arms, smiling smugly and basking in his praise. "And when Viki teleported me in the middle of the woods… after going days without eating, I just couldn't help myself!"

"Ah." Suddenly everything made sense. "I take it you only just arrived then?"

A wordless nod was the only response, followed by the clattering of the empty bowl stacked atop the plates.

"If that's the case… I see you've been cleared of all wrongdoing," Fred said. "And I assure you, the diary was safe in my care. Your private innermost thoughts are protected."

Neither were listening. Pahn flipped through the pages in his diary before reaching a blank one. He pulled a pencil out from underneath his shoulder pad and began to write. "Shortcake, scrambled eggs, curry rice…"

"Creamed gratin," Mamie said, pointing to one of the cleared plates.

"Right. Creamed gratin."

"A… a food diary?"

Mamie rolled her eyes. Fred turned as red as one of Barts's tomatoes, feeling embarrassed by the entire affair. "At least we know you respect the privacy of others, since you didn't take a look at it yourself," she said. "Now if only you were that good about paying your bill…"

Pahn peered over his diary and gave Fred a steely look. It didn't seem to occur to him or Mamie that Pahn was guilty of essentially the same crime only hours earlier. "You stiffed Mamie?"

"N-no, I mean…"

"I know, so much for the good old 'Maximillian values,' eh, Pahn?"

Fred hastily scrambled to pull out his coin purse, slamming a pile of potch on the countertop. "Of course not! Here. Paid in full, with interest!" Without so much as a backwards glance he hastened across the terrace. He hadn't the faintest idea how much he paid, but it was enough. A proper meal would have to wait.

—

Dinnertime

Fred sat slumped over the dining room table at Budehuc's inn. A meager plate of cheese and pickles stared back up at him. It was pitiful, but it was what he could afford after leaving most of his potch with Mamie in a panic. The courtyard bulletin said nothing about actual payment for duties accomplished, but even if it had, money should never be a driving factor when performing good deeds. Still…

Who am I kidding? I accomplished nothing today.

Suddenly something whizzed by his head. Fred dodged out of reflex, catching the projectile in his hand.

"Impressive," a familiar voice said. The man sitting across from him lowered his hood with a smirk. "You looked as though you were in another world. I thought I could catch you off guard… guess that's what I get for underestimating a Maximillian."

"Sir Clive! How refreshing it is to see you."

Clive nodded. "Go ahead."

Fred glanced down at his hand. The dangerous projectile was nothing more than a dinner roll. He paused, preparing to decline the offer, but his stomach growled again. "Ah," Fred laughed, "perceptive as ever, I see."

Clive shrugged, turning his attention back to his mug.

"So what brings you here?"

"Dinnertime."

Fred began to tear into the roll. Soft yet crunchy, the perfect item to pair with the rest of his paltry meal. It didn't matter if Clive wasn't the best conversationalist. Just being in the presence of a friend was good enough. "Did you happen to see that new fellow? Jess, I believe his name was. Nailing a bulletin to the board as if he were the castle master…"

There was no answer to greet him, but Fred didn't mind. "If Master Thomas were here, he would've delegated each task out to the most suitable person," he continued, then paused. "And I… I was not the most suitable person for any of those tasks. Not even remotely suitable, I hate to admit."

Clive grunted at the mention of Thomas's name. "Maybe he should've thought about that before running away."

Suddenly Clive's standoffish silence—well, especially standoffish silence—made sense. "You still believe he did the wrong thing then."

"You don't betray the people who count on you."

"I wouldn't necessarily say he betrayed us—"

"He ran away. That's as good as a betrayal."

Fred finished polishing off the remnants of his dinner and cast Clive a startled look. "Betrayal!? Sir Clive, that's a little extreme."

"What would you call it then?" Clive snapped.

"I… I don't know," Fred admitted. "A sabbatical? A journey of self-discovery?"

"You know damn well Cecile wouldn't call it any of those things."

"I suppose not. I daresay she blames herself for it."

"And she shouldn't. None of this bullshit is her fault."

"Not in the least. But… I don't think she sees it that way."

Clive grunted again, taking a long drink. His knuckles looked white against the mug's dark glaze as he gripped the handle. No further words were said between the two men for what felt like ages. Fred reflected on the marksman's words before suddenly reaching a realization.

"Sir Clive," he began tentatively, "Lady Cecile doesn't see it that way."

Clive glared over his mug. The answer was wordless, but Fred got the unshakeable feeling that it was as close to a, You just said that, you dumbass as he was going to get.

"And… well, you know that's not true, and I know it's not true. We might not be able to go fetch Master Thomas and bring him back, but at the very least I believe she needs to hear from a good friend that she's not to blame."

The color slowly came back to Clive's hands as his grip on the mug loosened. With a low voice he answered, "I tried. She didn't listen to me."

"With all due respect, Sir Clive, I don't think the shouting match in the courtyard was the sort of encouragement that might get through to Lady Cecile."

"What do you expect me to do then? Just sit back while she runs head-first into disaster?"

Fred chuckled. "An unstoppable force opposing an immovable object? Even a Maximillian Knight knows there are fights we can't win. You probably won't get her to change her mind, but... a bit of reassurance couldn't hurt."

Clive sat in silence for a moment. His fingers traced along the ridges of the mug before he said, "You asked me what brought me here."

"Yes. I, er… I seem to recall your answer was 'dinnertime'."

"I lied."

Given the empty plate in front of Clive's place at the table, Fred suspected that probably wasn't wholly a lie, but he didn't push the issue. "What did, then?"

"I still have a mission to complete. I was preparing to leave."

"Leave… Budehuc?"

"Yes."

Fresh disappointment weighed on Fred's shoulders. It wasn't the first of the day, but certainly the heaviest. "Not for good, I hope?"

"I need to accomplish this. But…" Clive quietly drained the remainder of his mug, "You don't betray the people who count on you, right? I can't leave just yet."

Fred grinned. "Splendid! I'm delighted to hear about your change of heart."

For the first time in their friendship, something akin to a smile ghosted the corners of Clive's lips, but only for the briefest moment. "Not a change of heart," he said. "Consider it… a persuasive argument made by a suitable person."