Fort De Bellegarde - Thievery
by an NPC (concept) and aightaight2 (writer)
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(Occurs two days before Make Ready.)
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Along Tristain's border stood a string of forts in various stages of disrepair. At one time they had been vital lynchpins of the Defense Against Germanian Belligerence. Now, with eastern flank quiescent for over a decade, the funding to support the forts had been pared back, cut in half, and then reduced once more. That was the result when the Treasury deemed a military program to be "currently surplus to the Nation's needs."
Many of the forts had been abandoned. A wall here and there still remained intact, but most had been reduced to ruins by enterprising locals who treated them like convenient quarries from which to draw a ready supply of stone to repair their homes and fence their fields.
The rest of the forts, totaling a mere dozen, had managed to stave off the decay - their savvy commanders using both wit and will to overcome the decline in resources and support. They lacked the stores to see out a siege, they lacked the mounts to keep superiority in the air, and they would be lucky indeed to field even a third of the strength set down by The Book. They might never again match the glory of their heyday, but at least they still stood, defiant sentinels recalling Tristain's steadfast resolve to never give in to defeat.
One of these forts, situated in Tristain's north, was Fort de Bellegarde. Its walls might be weathered and undermanned, but the Ensign of Tristan continued to flutter above the Keep. Beneath this standard the troops continued to train and drill, pledging themselves to defend their nation, just as their predecessors had done in years gone by. The guards of Fort de Bellegarde were fully prepared to Do Their Duty - their Captain would make sure of that.
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Upon Fort de Bellegarde's inner courtyard stood two files of troops. Each man was standing exactly two paces from the next, braced to attention as the Officers reviewed them. A month ago there would have been a few slouched shoulders, a few unpolished buttons and scuffed boots, even a few shuffling feet drawing the Lieutenant's eye (and ire).
Not today though.
Today the Cait Syth and Puca had been invited by the Captain to watch the monthly Review of Troops, and slackness would not be tolerated.
Dammit! thought Lieutenant Gagnon, looking at the uneven lines. They may be strung out as regular as beads on a string, but no one bothered to sort them by height!
He glared at the back row where the uniformity was most sorely lacking. Side by side stood the two worst offenders, both members of the levie raised from the nearby town of Clé de Voûte. No doubt they had each been gifted with proper monikers by their parents, but neither their comrades nor their commanders were privy to those particular names. Instead they were known universally as "Slim" and "Stout" - former members of the Clé de Voûte Town Watch, now soldiers under the command of Captain Lecarde.
Stout stood roughly a third of the way along the row, jowly and rotund, his lack of height compensated by his excessive girth. Standing in the sun he was sweating profusely under his shako, his great blue overcoat straining to contain the bulge around his middle. To his right stood Slim - tall, saturnine, with a neatly trimmed mustache that seemed to bristle whenever he was subjected to a jape. He at least continued to look straight ahead as Lieutenant Gagnon's grim eye sought to pierce him.
"Fall out!" came Gagnon's bellowed command, ending the Review. "Slim, Stout, I'll see you in my office," he ordered sharply, before turning and marching towards the keep.
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If ever a room could be said to match a man's disposition then that room would be Lieutenant Gagnon's office. Dour, militant, solid – a rack of weapons was set upon the wall, while sets of armor were set neatly upon a several mannequins in one of the corners. A formidable desk was planted across the end of the room, the glowering executive officer sitting behind it on a matching wooden chair free of cushion or carving. He stared fixedly at his guests, as if trying to match blinkless gaze from the paintings of the former King and the current Regent that hung on the wall behind him.
In front of the desk, Slim and Stout waited for him to speak.
"Men," he finally said, "are you wondering why I called you here?"
He paused, as if waiting for a response.
"Ye–"
"There is villainy at play," he continued, rolling over the response as if to prove that his previous statement had been rhetorical.
"Somewhere within this Fort one of your colleagues has disgraced themselves. They have stolen from the Store while we stand in the very presence of the enemy! The quartermaster has notified me of missing items cropping up on every one of the last three days!
Either one of our troops, or one of the Fae, has done this thing. There is a thief sheltering within these very walls!
If we knew who it was, then every man's hand would be turned against him. He has betrayed Tristain, he has forgotten his duty to Queen and Country!
Since I don't know who it is, I am ordering you two to find out. Your mission is to dig this rat out from his hole. Draw whatever tools you need – I give you a free hand to retrieve any of your belongings that were put into storage when you left the Town Watch.
I expect that most of the men here are honest, and not stupid enough to be led astray by a few trinkets from the Store. The Fae, on the other hand… who knows what they think. They're certainly clever enough to pull off a heist like this.
Whoever the villain is, he must pay the price of his villainy, and we must see they he has no chance to escape. Find out who it is, and make sure you have enough trusted men on hand that you can subdue him if he is mad enough to offer fight. If he surrenders without bloodshed, then bring him directly to me. "
"What did they take?" asked Stout.
"That's none of your business!" bellowed the Lieutenant in return. "It doesn't matter what they took in the past, it's your job to stop them from taking anything else in the future! Now get to work, or I'll show you what happens to slackers!"
With his dominance proven, the Lieutenant exchanged salutes with his lowly subordinates. As they scurried out of the room to do his bidding he made sure to get in the last word too, "And don't forget to give me regular updates on your investigation!"
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At the end of a dingy corridor beneath Fort de Bellegarde stood a rough hewn door, banded with iron and warded with magic. This was the Store, the hallowed basement that contained the Fort's supply of supplementary military equipment. Whether it be a score of nails, a can of boot polish, or a carpenter's plane, the paraphernalia that allowed the Fort's day-to-day work to continue unimpeded could all be found in this central location.
Stout and Slim stood before the door, their shakos replaced with the custodian helmets of their former profession.
"So, this is the scene of the crime."
Slim pulled a large magnifying glass out of his pocket, peering through it at the door.
"No evidence of force on the lock… the wards appear to be undisturbed."
Neither man had enough magic to be counted even as a petty mage, but you couldn't succeed as a member of the Watch in Clé de Voûte without picking up a trick or two.
Using the key that they had retrieved from their Sergeant, they entered the room.
"I say, old boy," came Stout's deep pitched rumble "do you really think it was one of the Fae? None of them are allowed in here. I remember the Orders of the Day when they arrived," Stout proceeded to mimic their esteemed Captain, waving his hands with abandon while repeating the order verbatim "any man who gives a Store Key to one of the Fae will be guilty of TREASON!"
Slim grunted, his mustache bristling. "You'd better not do that where the Officers can see. As to the Fae, we'll know soon enough. No clue is clever enough to evade Watchman Slim's Magnificent Magnifying Glass!"
Slinking into the room, Slim started peering around in the gloom. First a broad look at the floor, the roof, the walls. Then a closer examination of everything in between.
The minutes ticked by as the taller Watchman did his duty, while the shorter one poked into the various containers and sacks, trying to work out what had been stolen.
"Any luck?" asked Slim.
"Not a shred," replied Stout. "You know as well as I had tricky it is to find something that isn't there. Easy enough to see what's before your eyes, much harder to see what's missing. How about you?"
An easy smile came over Slim's features.
"I, my good man, have achieved success."
"What! A clue already?"
"Not just a clue, a proof in point that the Lieutenant was right. Look over here."
Pointing at the base of one of the wooden posts, it didn't take Stout very long to spot the evidence.
Several parallel lines were scored into the surface of the wood at foot height. Clé de Voûte had never seen their like, but around Fort de Bellegarde such signs had become common in the last few week. Indeed, they were currently considered the bane of the troops, who were forced to sand them away whenever the Officers found them.
"Founder's ass. One of those Cait Syth has been down here – he must have used it as a scratching post while idling the time away! What do we do now?"
"We have the race, but the individual still eludes us. We'll need to set a trap to catch the villain."
"A trap?"
"Indeed. We'll have a few men hide behind the barrels in the shadows, then we'll set up some bait to capture his attention until we can spring on him."
"What should we use as bait? A piece of string?"
"No. If he sees a piece of string jerking about on its own, he'll know something's up. What we need, is bait that any cat will take…"
A frown creased Slim's forehead as he considered the problem, mumbling aloud to himself.
"A mouse-trap needs cheese… and a cat-trap needs… a mouse!"
"But where are we going to get a mouse?" rumbled Stout.
"We'll make one, of course. Are you or are you not a member of the vaunted Clé de Voûte Kops?"
"Of course I am!" said Stout, offended. "Give me that copper plug over there, and I'll make it right now!"
While Slim knew a couple of cantrips using wind, Stout's area of minor expertise was earth. With a great deal of effort and a vein popping out on his forehead, he concentrated on the small piece of metal as it gradually morphed into the form of a mouse attached to the end of a thin, dark metal string.
"It's not lifelike enough! Bend the legs more!" said Slim. "And the tail too – bend that tail too! If it's not bendy enough, it'll never do!"
"Ok, ok. Stop it with the complaints, or I'll start calling you 'Mousebender'." Ignoring Slim's glare at that rejoinder, Stout continued to mould the bait into shape.
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Back in the Lieutenant's office, the two Clé de Voûte Kops explained their findings and plan to their superior.
Squatting behind one of the mannequins, Slim proceeded to demonstrate. "If I bend the string attached to the mouse around a corner, I'll be able to stay out of sight while moving it about. And when the Cait pounces on the mouse, we'll have him dead to rights!"
"Harumph!" said Gagnon. "It looks lifelike enough, and in the dark the brushed copper looks close enough to fur to fool anyone. I particularly like the tail – what made you choose to make it flexible like that?"
"Stout's not bad at moul–"
"It was Slim's idea, sir. He knows just how much bend to put into a mouse to make it look just right!" exclaimed Stout, breaking over Slim's quieter response.
"A real mousebender, hey? Well, I suppose you to've done a fair job so far. You have my permission to call in a few of you company to thicken the ambush. Just don't let that villain escape!"
"Yes sir!" declaimed Stout, coming to attention before pulling a simmering Slim out the door behind him.
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As the afternoon progressed, four soldiers lay uncomfortably in wait within the Store. All were former members of the Clé de Voûte Kops, and all knew the techniques to quietly shift their weight in order to keep their muscles limber while on a stakeout. Slim crouched in the darkest corner, holding the dark string connected to the artificial mouse that currently lay on a low-lying box near the middle of the room.
The Lieutenant had quietly passed around the word to the sergeants – no man was to be issued the key to the Store for the rest of the day. The next person to enter would be their target.
From within the room, the men all heard a soft scrrrrrapecoming from the door. Quieting further, they peered through the cracks between the various barrels and crates in order to see the entrance.
With a soft creak, the door edged open. A tan head with two pricked up ears poked through the gap, taking a furtive look about the room.
The men stilled their actions, not even twitching an eyelash.
Carefully, the Cait Syth edged into the room, a set of lock picks in his hands. Chuckling to himself, he put the items away.
You really have to love that knowledge transfer, thought the Cait Syth. It's one thing to have a stealthy thief build, but getting those skills in real life… it sure is good to be me!
Stretching out his left foot, he unsheathed the claws and took a careless swipe at the post.
"Mmm…. what to take today?" he whispered. "Things have been pretty boring lately… "
That was sufficient for Slim. With a gentle tug he twitched the mouse from its perch. With a small thud it hit the ground, catching the Cait's attention before he began to carefully reel it towards the back of the room.
True to his type the Cait Syth tracked the mouse across the floor, taking careful, silent steps towards the bait.
He was nearing the centre of the room when one of the Kops, edging towards the door to cut off any escape, accidentally scraped against a basket. With a distinctive rattle, the empty glass jars stacked up within it to toppled over, giving the game away.
The rest of the Kops immediately came tumbling out to confront the guilty Cait Syth, who realized at a glance that the jig was up and bolted for the exit. The Kops were closer, but a fraction of a second was all it took for them to learn that there are few beasts in the world that can pounce faster than a startled Cait.
"Stop that Cait!" yelled Stout as they followed the villain out the door.
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Run! Run! Don't let them catch you! thought the Cait Syth as he scooted out the door at the side of the keep. Exiting to daylight, he was confronted with the sight of the Puca band under Lady Erika running through a tune.
"Hey, what's the rush?"the Lady asked as she spotted him.
"I'm being chased! Give me a buff so I can escape!" he claimed while jogging on the spot.
"Sure!" she replied. It's good practice to switch to a new buff on the fly – who knows when we might have to swap out our tunes at short notice in a real battle?
"Switch to Yakety Sax on the count of four!"
With a quick count of "One . two . three . four !" Erika's band switched to the jaunty new tune.
As the Kops came stumbling out of the keep, blinking in the sudden sunlight, the Cait leapt away once more. With a rollicking running style that seemed impossible for a man his size, Stout led the chasers. That was the ability of a seasoned Kop!
Music Buff: Yakety Sax
+15 evasion
+30 speed while escaping
65% chance of laughing out loud
Stout drew his sidearm, yelling "Stop in the name of the Law!"
Too late.
The first strains of music had already reached him. Exposed to the buff he tripped and fell, fumbling with the pistol and jolting the trigger as he landed. Fortunately the barrel was pointed up at the wall as the flint struck the frizzen. Unfortunately, the bullet sheared off the handle of a bucket hanging on a scaffold above the chasers' heads before ricocheting towards the open sky. The nearest two Kops plowed into Stout's sprawled form.
Slim, bringing up the rear, dodged towards the wall to avoid collision, just in time for the bucket to come down on his head. Blinded, he stumbled into the scaffolding which crashed down upon him.
As the other three Kops untangled themselves, Slim tipped up the edge of the bucket so his mouth could be seen.
"Don't worry about me! After him! Don't let him get away!"
The three remaining Kops picked themselves up and raced off once more, now a full twenty mails behind the Cait Syth who had been forced to stop and laugh at the pile up behind him.
As they raced around the edge of courtyard, Yakety Sax blasting out at full volume, the chase picked up pace.
As he skedaddled past the Officer's Mess, the Cait Syth looked over his shoulder just in time to seek the cook's apprentice exiting backwards through the swinging kitchen doors with tray of cream pies in each hand.
Craash!
Unable to stop, the three chasers collided with their Yakety destiny once more, two of them ending up face first in pie while the third bowled directly into the apprentice himself.
Despite having to stop to laugh once more, the Cait Syth was now fifty mails ahead, making good time towards his eventual escape. Ahead of him, the stairs to the parapet loomed. If he could reach them, he could race around to the Cait Syth's billet and lose his chasers within the crowd of his fellow Fae.
As he approached the steps, he looked back once more. Hearing the Kop's cries, the Fort's bulldog Fred had pulled his leash from his handler's hands, and was racing along the pathway. He didn't have the the Cait's scent, but that didn't stop him from barreling through the Kops, knocking them over once more.
Too slow! thought the Cait. It's third time lucky for me!
This time he made his saving throw, chuckling internally at the misfortune of the chasers rather than having to stop and laugh out loud.
He raced up the stairs, leaping towards freedom…
At the top of the stairs, Slim stood on the parapet with his trusty length of rubber hose by his side. It's fortunate that Lieutenant Gagnon turned up just as I was getting that bucket off my head – if I hadn't had to flee from his wrath I might have gotten caught up in that buff again!
Whap!
As the Cait Syth leapt, Slim struck towards his middle.
Unfortunately, he forgot that he had switched back from chasee to chaser, and was thus no longer protected from the Puca music. The strike hit at a glancing angle, snapping back to hit him in his own face. Spinning around, he caught a glimpse of Lieutenant Gagnon charging up behind him.
Help!
The buff slipped past him once more. Slim made a last ditch lunge to grab the Cait Syth, hoping against hope that the catch would correct his momentum and enable him to escape Gagnon's anger. The rapid switches, however, had finally become too much for the Yakety music. Catching hold of the Cait Syth's tail, Kop and Criminal tumbled back down the stairs.
"STOP THAT INCESSANT RACKET!" bellowed the Lieutenant, puffing as he reached the mixture of limbs at the bottom of the stairs. The music cut off, but that simply allowed the Puca to add their tinkling mirth to the full bellied guffaws and roaring laughter coming from the watching troops and the few Cait Syth who had been drawn to all the shouting and crashes.
Bent like a pretzel, the Cait Syth lay beneath the gangly Watchman.
Slim struggled and failed to get up - the dull metal thread attached to the mouse had somehow escaped from his pocket, bending itself around the two of them and binding them together as they had rolled down the stone steps.
"What's all this then?"yelled Gagnon "Get up man, and make your Report!"
"It's the mouse…" Slim gasped for breath, "it's bent all around us!"
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Captain Lecarde ignored the man standing before him in his office, gazing once more at the dispatches he had received from the Capital that same afternoon.
From: The Lords of the Admiralty
Tristania
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Sir,
I am commanded by the Lords of the Admiralty to inform you that their Lordships desire the services of an Armsman under your command on a matter that their Lordships consider to be most urgent and vital. You are hereby directed and required to inform their Lordships through me as speedily as possible as to which of your men should be selected for this enterprise.
You are further directed and required to instruct the chosen man to present himself to the Champ de Mars training field without delay in order to receive verbally his further orders. He will be expected to work with any other elements of our Nation's forces that their Lordships deem necessary.
An officer of your seniority and standing would no doubt be well aware of the secrecy and discretion required in relation to these orders. To that end, the chosen man is not to divulge his orders to anyone other than yourself and your Lieutenant. The arrival of your Armsman is anticipated within the next two days.
Your obedient servant,
S. Marchant de St Michel,
Secretary to the Lords of the Admiralty
Finally, he looked up.
I have few enough trained men… I can't afford to send one of my experienced Armsmen! Fortunately, there are skilled men, and then there are men with skills. The Secretary does not say which type he is after, so I shall consider myself free to make my own decision.
"So. Gagnon and Stout have both informed me that the capture of the thief was due to you ability at bending mice. Is that so?"
"Yes Sir," stated Slim, aware that he would win no favors from gain-saying his Commander.
"I believe, Mr Mousebender, that you deserve a reward for you Service to the Fort."
"Yes Sir."
"The traditional reward for a job well done is another job. I'm promoting you to Armsman, Mousebender. Your next appointment awaits you in Tristain - get packed immediately. Lieutenant Gagnon will give you your written orders within the hour."
"Yes, Sir!"
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Within the Royal Palace, the Secretary to the Admiralty picked through the messages that had made their way through the triage provided by his deputies.
To: Secr. Marchant de St Michel,
Tristania
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Sir, I have the honor to inform you that I have selected Armsman Mousebender to take on the task that you mentioned in your last dispatch. He is a fine soldier, newly promoted, with a keen wit and obvious dedication to his work that has brought him to the attention of both Lieutenant Gagnon and myself. I have instructed him to relay my dispatches to the Royal Palace personally before proceeding immediately thereafter to Champ de Mars.
In other matters, I must inform their Lordships that the Cait Syth attached to our station have been playing up once more. We ran out of thread a week ago, after which balls of woolen yarn from our Store began to go missing. Upon further investigate led by Armsman Mousebender we tracked down the thief, a Cait Syth named Morgan. We have yet to discover what he has done with his stolen gains. I therefore request that replacements for our missing yarn be requisitioned and sent to us as a matter of urgency, so that we may effect the usual repairs to our winter kit prior to the quickening of the cooler fall weather.
In accordance with our Standing Orders we remanded the guilty thief to the Commander of the Fae detachment for punishment. I have been reliably informed that the Commander refused to flog the man, and that the only punishment meted out was the forfeiture of a fortnight's rations of milk and cream.
Given that such 'punishment' is unlikely to deter others from attempting such callous acts of villainy, I officially submit a request for additional support in the form of a detachment of military police to be permanently stationed at Fort de Bellegarde.
Finally, in unrelated news, I should inform their Lordships that the Cait Syth appear to have a started up a new fad. In the last two days I have noticed that many of them have begun to wear striped wool-knit beanies atop their heads.
I have the honor to be, Sir,
Your obedient servant,
Cristophe Lecarde
Captain
Fort de Bellegarde
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After dropping off the dispatches from Fort de Bellegarde, Armsman Mousebender lingered within the halls of the palace, paying attention to the whispered conversations going on around him about the rumored invasion from Albion.
So, sounds like war is imminent. I could do with a new sword - you never know what you'll meet when you've been placed on a Special Assignment.
Striding out the Palace doors, he decided to make a quick stop at the National Weapons Emporium.
Another quick detour won't hurt – I've a few hours to spare before I need to show up at Champ de Mars!