Tales of the Main-Tailed - 8 - [SFW Version] - Heated Meetings (Patreon)

Count Runecroft reached the door first.

“Keep in mind you owe me some library access,” Edith grumbled.

“As one of the summoned, you are welcome to browse the library as much as you wish. Perhaps that will staunch your desire for information,” Runecroft replied. Though his hand rested on the latch, he made no move to open it. “I’ll have a maid freshen up a room near the others.”

“I’d prefer people not putting me together with them.” Edith twitched towards the scene in the mirror.

“Why is that?”

“For my sanity, I’d prefer to avoid their expectations of heroism. Will there be an issue getting clothing?” Edith reached for the handle, but his grip on it tightened possessively.

“What happened to the clothing you arrived in?”

Edith simply smiled.

“You really don’t share details, do you?”

Getting nothing further from her, Runecroft frowned

“Very well. Would you at least tell me what you wish to wear?”

“Whatever is on hand that doesn’t need adjusting is fine.”

It’s not like I’ll keep it long. One shapeshift, and some shadow hops, and it will be far behind me

“It would save involving a seamstress. Fifty arrivals have the castle staff stretched even with all the donated clothing being adjusted,” Runecroft replied, and finally opened the door. “Just go along with the cover story I provide, then answer no further questions besides clothing and food. Someone might seek to test you or be nosey; know that responding will give you away.”

They stepped into an unoccupied antechamber panelled in dark cedar; its hue overwhelmed the white oak writing desk at its exact centre, with a journal and a cluttered tray on it. The armchair behind the desk faced the room’s only other door, flanked by a pair of chestnut-coloured hardwood chairs. The room was fairly sterile, with only more dark woollen carpet and wood grain for those waiting to stare at in the tiny chamber. Only the calm orange light from a trio of citrines in the ceiling eased the room’s oppressive confinement.

“Your poor assistant. You could at least put up some paintings,” Edith murmured. “Not to mention the furnishings don’t even match. Did you let them out for good behaviour? Or is this room actually their personal hell?”

“They’re rarely here,” Runecroft replied. He shut the door behind them with a firm click, and it blended into the wall. “It gives me a spot for people to leave messages I wish to ignore or park annoying individuals to cool their heels.”

With that, he stepped briskly around the desk and ushered her into a hallway. The marble passage held brightly coloured tapestries of lords and ladies hunting deer and boar.

“Is hunting a popular pastime in Easthaven?”

Runecroft’s brows twitched. “It puts food on the table and keeps one’s skills sharp. Though in some areas one can quickly become the hunted instead.”

Where did the King say he was promoting Earl Baneridge’s siblings? Oh yeah!

“Near the western outposts?” Edith probed.

He paused, and his gaze weighed on her. “This quickly became a conversation for another place. Anyone who overheard the earlier question would know you as a foreigner at the very least. I’ll get you some geography books to avoid such conversations.”

The image of a bear trap crushing through flesh and bone gnawed at Edith’s paranoia, and she fought back a shiver.

Since I sank my plan to remain unnoticed, how long do I stay? How many dangers come from people rather than monsters? Amber roamed in cat form and told me to be subtle and patient. Hopefully, I can slip back out of this castle and avoid its teeth. I’ll show them the face of someone they’ll discount until I’m ready to leave. I shall appear carefree, horny and easily distracted on the surface until I disappear.

A few hundred metres and three turns later, he strode through an open archway into a grey chamber, lit by glowstones and sunlight. Clusters of people at writing desks quietly transcribed slips extracted from tiny canisters into journals. They wore a uniform dark green, with a black-and-red two-headed griffon on the right breast, and black mid-calf boots. The southern windows offered a view of the tops of the castle’s outer walls and a trio of towers further along the curve of the structure. The opposite wall of the long hall held a half-dozen doors.

A click of his fingers caused a black-haired lady with a red dot above each temple to snap her pale hazel gaze up. She stepped away from her desk in the first row, touched her first two fingers to her mouth, then to her chest. Her sharp features hardened as she came to attention.

“Bridgette, Amber is another impacted by flow-on issues from the Nephros exposure. Provide her with new attire and the local briefing material,” Runecroft said. “She’s come far, so a few days before scheduling any training is a good idea.”

“What placement should I prepare her for?”

“Something low-key to ensure she remains unnoticed by the elven ambassadors, perhaps a waitress or barmaid at the charter house or the dining hall at the merchant’s consortium,” Runecroft replied.

“As you will, Your Excellency.” She smoothly repeated the same gesture.

Edith’s stomach chose that moment to protest loudly.

“And feed her.” With that, Runecroft left the room, not giving Edith time to decide whether to copy Bridgette’s gesture.

“Come along.” Bridgette left the office through the first side door without further introductions, with Edith on her heels.

At the end of a short corridor, they descended stairs and passed three landings before Bridgette opened a chamber with racks of clothing in an array of styles. Once they were inside, Bridgette closed and latched the door.

“The seamstresses are busy at present, so let’s see what we can find that fits right.”

“If you have needles and thread, I can make some adjustments myself,” Edith said.

“It’s good that you’re willing; some get above themselves. Undress and hang everything over there,” Bridgette ordered briskly, stabbing a finger towards a line of clothes hooks protruding from the wall. “Do you have a class I need to allow for?”

Do they have no issue with nudity, or is that just something Runecroft’s people get trained out of?

“No.”

“That makes things easier. Those cloaks are concealing. Remove yours so I’m not guessing at the fit.”

“Of course.” Edith tucked the favour stone into the pocket of the oilskin cloak, then unbuttoned it and shrugged it off. Once she’d hung it up, she pulled the tie at the back of her gown, letting it puddle at her feet.

“How close were you to Nephros?” Bridgette asked.

Edith looked her straight in the eye. “Do you have anything that will suit me in here? I’ve had little food over the last couple of days.”

Sizing Edith up, Bridgette moved down the rows, shifting through garments as Edith neatly hung the cloak and dress.

“Try this one,” Bridgette instructed shortly, holding out a teal, unadorned dress; its lace-up bodice promised some support. She had a blue halter-neck dress over her other arm, shorter than the courtesan one Edith had discarded.

As Edith pulled on the teal dress, Bridgette watched critically and, with a few quick motions, adjusted the lacing for a snug fit. Footwear took longer, and she settled on a pair of brown hide sandals with a scaled pattern across the tops of her feet. A few new holes added with a tool were all Bridgette needed to set them properly in under a minute.

“Here are the necessities.” Bridgette plucked a small cloth knapsack from another hook and thrust it, along with the blue dress, into Edith’s hands. “Since that fit, this one will. We’ll secure you a room, and I’ll point you to the refectory. Once we evaluate your progress in training for the posts, we will organise your assignment clothing.

The flurry of words floated back to Edith as Bridgette surged ahead, leading the way down two more flights, then along a corridor. She stopped at a plain door, took a nameplate from it, and turned it over. Part of the rim pried up to form a key, and Bridgette slid the plate back into its spot.

“Once you get assigned elsewhere, strip the blankets from the bed, leave them in the corner and reset the key. At the end of this hall is the refectory for the guards in this area. A meal service will start soon for some, so you can eat with them. You will need the key to enter and return from the refectory. I’ll have someone deliver the local briefing material to this room later today. Don’t wander off until it arrives. The facilities are on the other side of the refectory. Questions?”

“None,” Edith replied, holding herself still in case their gestures differed.

Bridgette pressed the key into Edith’s spare hand and strode away.

Lit by a murky white light from a quartz chip in the ceiling, the grey stone room felt like a novice cell in a religious order: a simple pallet bed, a tray with legs that might serve as a writing table at the foot of the bed, and a stand in the corner with a washbasin and pitcher. Daylight came through a narrow window slit near the ceiling, and standing on the bed gave her a view of leafy foliage and the castle wall. A row of short dowel pegs jutted out from the wall, and Edith hung her spare dress from one.

We’re sub-ground level, or that foliage is trees.

Hands-free, she dug into the bag and found a small towel, a small bar of soap, other feminine items, and simple linen underwear that resembled a string bikini. Once she was slightly more attired, Edith ensured the door locked properly and headed to the food hall.

Rows of trestle tables and benches held nearly a hundred people spread thinly throughout the hall. Servers dished a thick stew onto dark bread trenchers from covered trays at one end of the chamber, and filled leather mugs from a barrel. Men and women, their hair still wet, wore grey breeches and tunics and sat scattered about the tables in small groups. A line of people in gambesons and breeches bearing the wear marks of chainmail trudged through a door across the chamber, while others emerged with wet hair, dressed in the same grey.

A few of those nearby looked up as the door closed behind Edith, and a young man with bags under his eyes smiled flirtatiously. A sharp throb in her pussy reminded Edith of how hypersexual she’d been in her youth.

I’m either going to need to change forms or get my libido under control. With how I’m feeling right now if I go back to the library I won’t take anything in. I really did have my teenage self in mind when I settled this shape. I’d forgotten how horny I used to be.

With people already in line and more booted feet echoing through the connecting corridors, Edith locked the door behind her and quickly joined the queue.

The broad-shouldered woman ahead glanced back as Edith’s sandals rasped against the stone. “You just get in?”

Though the watcher had looked back at her eye level, she adjusted her gaze down when she saw no one. As she took in Edith, the woman’s nostrils twitched.

“It was a bit of a trip,” Edith allowed, craning her neck back to meet the woman’s gaze. “Long duty? You’ve got bags under your eyes.”

“I hate trying to sleep during the day. It’s our fifth week of midnight to short of noon, nine hours of fun for all.” The woman yawned, covering her mouth with a fist. “I’ll be glad when we rotate back to dawn.”

She shuffled forward a few steps, claimed two leather mugs from a side table, and passed one to Edith.

“Interrupted or shortened sleep can be hard.” Edith ran her fingertips across the mug’s rim, feeling the lacquered interior.

The woman’s gaze trailed from Edith’s circling fingers down her body, hot with hunger. “Some people are worth it. You’re pretty bold, lining up scented finer than a springtime lure. Do you mind if I ask what side of the bridge you cross on?”

Is that the local euphemism?

“Either or both,” Edith purred happily. “As long as my partner can properly tend me.”

“First time I’ve heard it put that way. Oh, wandering maiden’s joy, stick with me and we’ll bait ourselves some proper fun.” The woman stuck out an angled hand. “Candice.”

“Amber.” Edith lifted her hand, copying Candice’s gesture.

“I’m going to enjoy rolling more than your name on my tongue, Amber,” Candice said as she bumped her forearm against Edith’s. “Share a playmate or just us two?”

Edith grinned. “I need someone to fill me up but someone of a reasonable girth.”

“This week just got so much better,” Candice declared. “You’re a tiny morsel. I’ll happily be your local guide; I’ve experienced some different barracks customs. Like here, they make you ask for the fallow maiden tonic; I prefer barracks where they sit bottles of it in the centre of the tables.”

Candice waved to a server, pointed two fingers at a row of bottles on a table behind the serving line. The female servant stepped away from cutting loaves, snatched up two clay bottles the size of long-necked beers, and brought them over.

Fallow maiden?

“That’s because of idiots breaking things,” said a giant man approaching from behind Edith, looming head and shoulders above Candice; his shadow blotted out Edith. “I saw you leave that side corridor. You’re transferring between diplomatic postings, right?”

“Just a shortcut,” Edith quipped.

Candice’s thumb split a wax seal on one bottle, and the aroma of licorice and lemon tickled Edith’s nose. As Edith took the second bottle, Candice tilted her head back and sculled the lot. A tiny shudder rippled through her.

“It’s so cold,” Candice rasped appreciatively.

“You inhaled that.” Edith set her mug down and cracked the wax seal on the second bottle.

“I’m not a fan of the licorice root the king’s alchemists use,” Candice replied. “You do you.”

A sip filled her mouth with a slightly sour herbal burst; a cool wave slid down her stomach and settled lower in her abdomen, pressing around her uterus. Despite the initial burst, the taste evaporated from her tongue, leaving a freshness in its wake.

That’s close to an ouzo lemonade.

“This is actually nicer than some things I’ve brought.”

As the servant reclaimed Candice’s bottle, Edith sculled hers and handed it to her. Blushing, the girl swept away. The cold this time gripped Edith with sharper intensity and actually kicked her libido up a notch. 

The line kept shuffling until they were up next, and a server sliced the top third off a loaf and ladled stew onto the larger section. A rustic yeast-and-rye scent rose from the bottom slab of a sourdough round loaf that served as a trencher. A teenager, her black hair pulled back from her face, thrust the large, stew-mounded loaf toward Candice as another server fixed a second one.

She pointed to the top cut from the last round. “Give me a smaller one. What about you, Amber?”

Louis reached over Edith’s shoulder, took both portions the servers had already prepared. That watcher’s massive reach let him avoid crowding Edith before he moved off with an eerie quiet.

I don’t want to be bloated.

“Same.” The rich aroma of the stew filled Edith’s nostrils as she took her portion: chunks of chicken soaked in beef bone broth, mixed with tubers, mushrooms, and vegetables. The next server filled her leather mug with watered red wine and ushered her on.

Candice led her to a dark-haired man sitting alone and took a spot across from him. Head bowed, he scooped up stew using pieces torn from the trencher.

“You look to be prowling, Candice. I thought you’d had a rotten week at the side gate?”

“Not up for some fun, Vindalfr?”

His slow smile warmed Edith, and the trio flirted over dinner.

The watered wine was odd by her standards but not unpleasant; it had enough of a semi-decent red taste but didn’t give her a buzz. The food more than made up for any shortcoming, as its savoury aroma had promised. Her stomach stopped gnawing on her spine and began to gurgle contentedly. By the time the last scrap vanished, she felt sated and glad Candice had blocked the server from giving her a standard serving.

Her companions dumped their leather mugs on a side table, so Edith followed suit and checked out the wash facilities: an open-floor unisex communal shower, a strange blend of movie prison and a gym locker room. The men showering next to their female counterparts didn’t ogle; some chatted casually as they washed off the sweat from armour and padding.

A blond female servant in grey racked some more towels at the end of the showers and caught Edith’s eye. “Hello, visitor. I’ll hang your dress up for you.”

“Thank you.”

As Edith readily stripped off her dress, the girl coughed sheepishly. “I’ve not seen you here before. Do you need extra things?”

“Yes, please.”

Having hung up her dress, Edith moved to an empty spot. Imitating the others arriving, she brushed the red shard at the centre of a disc and found warm water cascading over her.

How do they have magical versions of modern facilities? Parallel development? Just substitute tech with magic.

After she’d cleaned up, she found her dress and a fresh pair of undergarments waiting for her. She had dried off with a provided towel when the girl returned.

“Our senior says they never issue enough to those passing through to new posts,” the girl murmured, pressing a cloth bag into Edith’s hand.

Through the thin bag, Edith’s fingertips found multiple folds of cloth and cords within. “Thank you.”

In the refectory, Candice sat beside Vindalfr, whose hand rested high on her side, thumb caressing her. They whispered to each other, heat flaring in Candice’s gaze.

“My roommate is on watch, so we have the place to ourselves,” Vindalfr said as Edith stepped closer.

“Lead the way.” Edith grinned.

Vindalfr’s room was in the barracks area a short passage away, the background hum similar to her old shared house with Edith. People moved in and out of rooms along a grid of corridors. As they walked, Candice slowly rubbed gentle circles on Edith’s lower back, setting her nerves on fire with anticipation. The room was clean: two single beds against the side walls, lacquered chests at the foot of each, and a stone in the ceiling that washed the place in a clean white glow.

Over the next couple of hours, they melted Edith's stress away. Taking advantage of the roommate’s absence, the pair left her weak-kneed and deliciously tired before their fun was done.

“I need another shower,” Edith murmured as she slipped out of Vindalfr’s shared room 

With the dormitory close to the refectory, she easily retraced her path. The sweet beading on her skin prompted Edith to fetch her spare dress first. A detour that brought her face-to-face with a grey-eyed man in the dark green uniform Bridgette had worn. The man paused at her door, mid-knock, impatience lining his face. He spun towards her; the motion casting a dark braid over his shoulder.

“I thought you’d be later in the day,” Edith said apologetically.

He yanked two string-bound volumes from beneath his other arm and, wrinkling his nose, held them out to her.

“It’s already after lunch. I have a delivery for you.” The man offered the first volume. “Guides to the city of Runecroft. It summarises the various guilds and details the districts. The second has information on the current prominent families. Everything a well-educated visitor to the city would quickly learn.”

“Would I be able to visit the library? There are some texts there I’ve heard about.” Edith tucked her spare things under her arm and took the books in both hands.

“As long as you have these memorised before your briefing starts in two days,” he replied. “The shortest way to it is through the operations room. You came that way earlier. Just ask someone to point you to the library from there.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, and bundled everything into her room, claiming her clean dress. With quick steps, she retraced her route through the refectory.

The washroom attendant was the same as before, and Edith’s fragrant presence brought forth a fierce blush. “Perhaps I should send your current dress to be laundered.”

“That sounds wise.”

“What room are you staying in?”

The back of Edith’s key bore a number, which the girl recorded on a sheet. She pinned a cloth strip with the row number to the dress and included the underwear in a cloth bag with it. “They’ll leave it by your door in the morning.”

Back in her room, Edith lay out on the bed, and the toll of the day’s adventures seized hold. Her eyelids barely felt like they’d drooped before she woke; the light through the narrow window told her hours had passed.

That fact didn’t dissipate her afterglow, and Edith stretched happily, enjoying her youthful recovery.

After tidying her hair and locking her room, Edith practically skipped up the stairs to the hall packed with uniformed scribes. Among them, Bridgette was back at her desk transcribing from thin slips of paper into a journal. One of her fellows passed her desk and set two more canisters into her tray. As Bridgette took the first one to break its wax seal, Edith caught her eye.

“All settled in?” Bridgette asked. “It seems you’ve already made friends. Should we put you with the Petal Guild?”

The gossip spreads its wings. Consider me a lowly whore; underestimate me all you like.

“Count Runecroft already provided instructions. While I have the briefing material, I wanted to check something in the library. How do I get there from here?”

“Straight down the corridor and descend the first set of stairs you come to,” Bridgette replied, and delicately retrieved a paper slip from the canister. “It sounded like you’re getting a demotion. Are you sure you want to be near Count Runecroft?”

“My rank isn’t important. What matters most is that someone carries out what is necessary.” Unable to ask questions without giving herself away, Edith exited the hall.

What transports those tiny tubes?

With the scribes’ voices echoing behind her, Edith strode forward, following Bridgette’s directions. At each tapestry, she lingered to take in the hunting scenes, memorising the different heraldry. Despite her unhurried steps, her sandals squeaked and slipped on the polished cream marble.

The stairs were more slick marble, with an odd groove in the outer wall for a handhold, while only a hip-high banister blocked the central drop.

Earlier slips prompted Edith to remove her sandals, and she descended with them in her right hand. She took her time on each section, keeping a white-knuckled grip on the groove's lip. Three flights down, she found herself in a corridor that contained the same entryway Jasmine had used to access the library. With sandals back on her feet, she pushed awkwardly and slipped a few times to open the door. Finally inside, Edith eyed the place critically. Though gaps existed among the shelves that hadn’t been there earlier, no one was around to give her directions.

Nosing around where Jasmine had stood revealed a second copy of the glossary of terms Runecroft had given to Jasmine. Yet it contained only an assortment of references she recognised from computer games. One significant thing it didn’t include was any mention of levels. She flipped back through, dwelling on areas the text didn’t clarify fully.

Runes are powers but those gem cores that can invest potential into someone are also called runes. Clear as mud. A rune's mastery determines how much energy it requires from the related vessel. A mana stone always has a gem core, but some contain only mana or are suitable for enchanting but can’t provide runes. Each rune relates to one of three vessels—life, mana, and spirit—and overstressing any of them can kill you. Using the wrong gem cores can kill you.

Returning it, Edith walked along the bookshelf, pulling out volumes to check their title pages. As she randomly sampled the shelves looking for something introductory, she grumbled at the blank spines until she noticed one with a subtly embossed symbol at its base.

玉藻前.

That’s Japanese.

Excited, she snatched it from the shelf with trembling hands and carefully opened it to the first page. The title sounded like an academic thesis, so she stopped and reread it.

“A philosophical discourse on gem cores and the gifts they manifest within mortal vessels. Volume 1. Fifth Edition. Author: Tamamo no Mae.”

Someone listed the author as the most famous Kitsune in mythology, yet used a modern academic naming style.

The first four pages were dry and pretentious, and Edith struggled to push on until a line caught her eye.

“The clutter of common parlance causes people to forget that runes don’t physically exist. They are symbolic representations from the divine, seen by the wielder when someone gains or draws on a gift.”

The snippet raised her hopes, only for the text to devolve into a drivelling self-argument, veering into debates about whether and how the divine directly touches the individual or imprints symbols into all souls. As she hesitated to continue, a long, rambling sentence caught her attention. It only partially explained the source of runes, but offered no concrete way to gain ones she could use.

Magical beasts provide mana stones; raw, they embody random runes or yield usable mana crystals but proper processing can alter them. Randomly trying mana stones can kill me. What else do you have for me? Who can determine what’s in a gem core?

She read faster, absorbing half a page at a time with practised speed-reading then rereading the sections that caught her eye.

Nine key points in a hefty volume that’s supposedly penned by an infamous nine-tailed fox sorceress and courtesan.

Edith brushed a hand along the book’s spine as she considered what she’d learn.

I need more information and I need to get to that class stone. No point getting any gem cores for runes without knowing my classes.

Her mood evaporated; Edith closed the book and returned it to the shelf. Stalking on, Edith’s gaze danced along the spines, looking for volumes with a similar embossed stamp.