P. Power - Knight of the Realm

Debbie invited him in a few times, but Tor always claimed he needed to do something else, sleep or work all night on one thing or another. It was true enough even, though part of it was that he didn’t want to take advantage of his business partner or ruin her reputation, having strange men in her place at night. Neighbors would talk, and while they might mean well, wagging tongues rarely improved things for anyone.

On the fourth day Debbie had a relative of hers in baking, a tall man that looked like one of his own brothers, but bigger. Debbie seemed happy enough about it, and told Tor that he wouldn’t need to stay. Not at all. Actually on that point her voice went a little cold.

It left him oddly adrift. He'd rebuilt the rivers for Afrak and the massive earth moving equipment they needed, but there was no way he could ditch the investigation long enough to go. It made him a little sad, because he really wanted to see the exotic foreign land.

Plus he was even the Ambassador, for now, at least.

It occurred to him that the King might have a plan, or be able to come up with something he just wouldn't think of, so Tor went to visit and as an aside, check to make certain his obligations to Smythe were being met. Well, as long as those duties didn’t involve him dying for no good reason.

That plan sounded simple, if nerve wracking, but he wasn't three feet into the complex before Varley met him and drug him inside to a little alcove where they'd kissed before a couple of times before. She grinned at him and motioned for him to drop his shield, which they had an agreement for, a kind of joke, where he let her kiss him when she wanted, if it was safe, as long as she wore her shield the rest of the time. When he did, she dropped to her knees, at first he thought she was going to apologize for getting pregnant, which really wasn't needed, since that had happened before the engagement. A bit bad to do it out of wedlock, but certainly he wasn’t owed anything over it.

That… wasn't her plan at all. Instead she started working on his trousers, loosening them, pushing him back towards the wall a little.

“Um, what are you doing? This is kind of public, you know?”

Varley didn't stop, but did giggle and keep working for a few seconds before speaking.

“We could go to my room if you want, but that's no more private. I can't go to your house, going twice this soon would look like a pattern, so it's here or in the middle of the hall. Take your pick.”

“What, no third choice, like, let's not?” He looked at her seriously and refastened his clothing. It wasn't that he didn't want to, god he was tempted. Her mouth looked so soft and inviting… But no. It would be too embarrassing by far and if someone accidentally caught them, a page or the King, what would they do then? Her hands became more insistent.

“Tor… I, I can't marry you. It's complicated… Let me do this, please?” She sounded sad for some reason, which made no sense, but Tor let her do it anyway, and then cuddled her as she cried softly after. Cradled against his chest. It had been fun, in a sexy, naughty way, but the tears just made him feel bad.

Wrong. Like he'd taken advantage of her.

He hadn't hurt her, Tor was experienced enough now to know that, thanks to the lessons Countess Thorgood, Ursala, had given him over the last several months. Sara Debri had taken her turns too, probably just so he'd like her enough to keep her around and let her spy on him. Honestly it was a good trade, but if he'd known at the time he would have bargained for more.

The rules were different, more gentle, for friends. He'd certainly been doing a lot more with Collette and Petra since he figured things out, not being mean or hurting them, but certainly trying some things that he hadn't believed were real when Ursala had told him about it.

He held and comforted her until she was ready to stop crying. Whatever she was mourning the loss of, it was important to her. Tor didn't fool himself into thinking it was him. In royal marriages there were rules, but those could be negotiable. Highly so, he was coming to learn. Still, it felt not just strange and evil, but dangerous to go from the girl directly to her father, but the palace wasn't a place for him to go poking around alone either. That was asking to get lost. Or suspected of being a spy.

Just to make things more awkward, Varley insisted on taking him, holding his hand the whole time as if afraid to let go. Like she might fall from the face of the planet if she did. So, feeling awkward he let her lead the way, wondering if the King would have a report on what his daughter had been doing already or not.

Smythe, conveniently enough, was talking to Richard when they came in. Well, as convenient as finding the person that possibly hates you the most of anyone in the world in a meeting with the one man that could, theoretically, order you to do anything. Really the idea didn't reassure Tor a lot once he thought about it.

“Take the boy back to Ward, then each of the event sights, as needed. Depositions, questioning all that. Can the lad take notes do you think or should we bring a scribe along?” Smythe had his back to the door and when checked didn't have a shield on. He didn't have any other fields on his person either, other than his own innate one at least.

Rich looked over the other mans shoulder, right at Tor, but with unfocused eyes, like he did in his memory trance. Tor had only seen it once on the man, but it was something a lot of the special school kids did, which might say something about the King’s early education. Eventually his eyes returned to the military Counselor.

“I'll assign a couple Royal Guards, a team of four, so that both of you will have a scribe that can handle a fight. I'd really rather you didn't try to use Tor as a servant William….”

“Think he'd kill me if I did?” The voice, that Tor had heard going smug and smarmy after his people had been thwarted in an assassination attempt was… just politely interested. For the world it sounded like the Counselor, for all he kept trying to kill based on fear, wasn't afraid for himself at all.

“God no. The thing is William, he'd do it. You say, please help me scrub the toilet to humiliate him, and he won't just grab a brush, he'll work for days until he has a magical device to do it for you then, make a hundred copies for you to pass to your friends at need. It can be delicate, preventing that. Ask the wrong thing and he might work himself to death.”

Tor snorted derisively, loud enough to catch both men’s attention.

“I could make that in a day, or if you want a toilet that appears from nowhere at the tap of a sigil, in two hours, if you insist I make a new one. Otherwise I can send for one right now without doing any extra work. They have a little building that pops-up and everything, for privacy. Those are automatically self cleaning, so it's kind of worth it, but a regular toilet will still last longer in raw years, if you take good care of it and start with a good one. But… my hand writing isn't great. Kind of slow. Good enough for notes, but I wouldn't want to try interviewing someone with that being the only record…Oh!”

He wanted to slam himself in the head and would have but the shield would stop it anyway.

“How about a device that people can talk into that will repeat their words later? I already have that, I can extend the time and make it so that it will pick up anything in a given room, I think. Again, a few hours tops. Could that help at all?”

The older man chuckled easily, an almost friendly thing.

“Yes, and if you have a device that lets me talk across the kingdom to the other side, let me know. The biggest impediment to cases like this is the time factor in communications. More than once we've had investigations go sour because everyone died. Of old age. Enough of them to destroy our case at least.”