Crownless Consort-Chapter 52 - : Advertisement

In the early morning, Redansia's Troupe reached Eastchapel, stopping the caravan along its outermost edges. Smoke poured into the air, comingling with the thin sheets of rained that poured down from the sky of grey clouds, threatening to cease at any moment.

Coriel hung about the caravan as the performers began to exit, conversing amongst each other. Her mother was asleep in the storage carriage, so she didn't mind leaving her alone for a time.

The first to exit was the puppeteer, one of the most beloved of the performers, Morrent. Of course, this claim was of his own accord...

Beside him, the Jester, Thomas, walked carefully and enigmatically. It was as if each step he took carried its own rhythym, style, and ideas. One would step calmly, the other exaggerated, and it made his entire person wobble like he were a blade of grass in a storm.

"Graham and Meline went ahead on a supply run." Morrent chuckled.

"Together? Again?" The Jester wearing a pale-white mask with a frown and a red-and-blue cap with bells attached to its many points chuckled. "If there is an accident, the Magician will certainly make a good father... he can... 'disappear'..."

"Your jokes are in poor taste, Jester." Another figure sitting atop a stack of boxes groaned. He carried a lute by a strap over his shoulder, but until he had spoken, had been entranced by his flute, a many of many musical talents.

"Indeed, you should let them be, Thomas. What quarrel do you have with love?"

The Jester, Thomas, shrugged. "Is it love, or is it the death of our troupe? What if something terrible happens between them? We can certainly do without the magician, but our beautiful dancer too? Who will want to come see us then?"

"They will come to see me, of course, the bard atop the boxes chided."

"Your music is terrible, Balasque. It is only Meline who makes it bearable, the audience is too busy looking at her to listen to it."

"Then, why don't we do a performance tonight?"

"We'll need to spread word to the townsfolk..." Morrent sighed.

"I vote that you both go. I'll stay and watch the caravan. Master Redansia is out, after all."

"Caramine is already here." Balasque chided.

"And what if someone attacks?"

"If someone attacks the caravan, you of all people will not be able to protect it adequately, Thomas."

The performers, who had heard of her much from Caramine, suddenly turned to Coriel.

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"Come with us, Ms. Coriel." Morrent smiled genially as he spoke, extending a hand towards the young woman.

Why was it that they were asking her, of all people? It wasn't that they valued her skill in advertisement, they had never met her. Of course, it was the case that she had no such skill, but they would have known that if they had known her. So why offer her such an invitation?

"Ah, I'm sorry, but I would rather not leave my mother alone..." She spoke in a sheepish tone of voice, trying to draw them away. She would rather not accompany them...

"I can watch over your mother..." A somber, solemn voice replied. Drawing their attention, Caramine stepped away from the performer's carriage. She had a downtrodden look on her face, and her eyelids were struck by patches of red. What little makeup she had worn had begun to run down her cheeks, and every so often, she sniffled.

Coriel looked away, trying not to notice. She would rather not interact with her, not for a lack of care, but because she was clearly not good with her own words. She might just make Caramine's situation worse, whatever it was...

She let out a sigh. "Then, that's fine. I'll go with them into town."

The only reason she would have accepted such a thing was Caramine's current appearance. Her mother would surely be able to comfort the kind fortune teller. She was the one who had pushed to take them into the troupe's caravan, helping them dress their wounds. It was because of her that her mother had a place to sleep, and they didn't have to worry too much about a second attack.

If it meant it would force their proximity, Coriel simply had to accept the puppeteer's proposition.

She turned again towards Caramine, smiling warmly. "My mother is sleeping in the storage carriage. If she wakes, why don't you talk to her? I think she very much enjoys your company."

"Do you... really think so?"

"I do think so." Coriel nodded her head. "My mother is a person made of glass, she is not hard to see through, and I can clearly see that she likes you."

"Ah, I see... thank you..."

For a moment, Coriel could see the glimmer return to her eyes, the brightness of the jovial young woman returning for a moment.

This made Coriel smile, for real this time.

[+++]

Stepping into a tavern within the heart of Eastchapel alongside the bard and the puppeteer, Coriel was hit with a sudden warmth, a joyful radiance that bathed the room. Various groups stood or sat around, laughing and throwing dice onto the tables lining its edge, or drinking until they fell into a blissful stupor.

She carried a stack of parchments in her hand, printed advertisements for the troupe's show. It did not matter when or where it was happening, they would always make it obvious where that was the case. They served as a convincing argument for the townspeople to attend, not a boon of information.

"Ah, sir!" Coriel called out to the man who had already settled his tab, throwing a handful of shoddy coins onto the counter. He turned to the sudden call, eyeing Coriel suspiciously. She in turn held a piece of parchment in her hands, extending it outwards towards the balding elder.

He grasped it with his thick, dirty hand. "What is this, young miss?"

"It's an invitation. Redansia's troupe has arrived in Eastchapel, intent on spreading enjoyment to all who live within the grand settlement!" She spoke in a boisterous, showy tone of voice, puffing out her chest and standing as tall as she could manage, which wasn't much at all. It was too typical, too cliché, but it was all she could think to do.

The man raised an eyebrow, tucking the parchment into his jacket. "Perhaps. I'll see what my night is like. Thank you, young miss."

The man bowed his head cordially before exiting the tavern.

Morrent and Balasque watched as this happened, grinning. When Coriel glanced over towards them, they both nodded their heads.

These fools... are they going to sit back as I do all the work? So this was the point of inviting me... it didn't matter if I had any skill at all, just working hands...

Of course, even just by helping them, she was using the limited amount of time she had to enact the Spirit Contract. Later on, she might not retain full use of her arm.

More than that, she had finally discovered the Spirit's name. While she had been caught up in the mystery of the attackers, she hadn't any time to ponder the topic.

It was Aramis... it was her. But she had imagined that she had reincarnated entirely into Coriel's body. So how did 'Aramis' end up in that place of Spirits? Did a fragment of her get left behind, or was she the fragment? Was she a copy, or even an illusion of her former self? Was she a fraud, was this a dream, or was it reality?

All things related to it made her feel uncomfortable, almost dreadful. She pushed it out of her mind. She had more important things to focus on.

Not that advertising for a troupe she wasn't even a part of was particularly important...

She caught sight of the towering, fanciful figure. Redansia, the troupe leader, sitting at the edge of the bar, watching his performers joke around. He had an annoyed look on his face, but was trying hard not to show it. He slowly stood up from his seat, walking over towards them.

They spoke for a time, and the two were obviously shaken by what he had to say, although Coriel could not catch a word of it from across the tavern.

Then, the two took a seat, sighing.

Balasque began to strum upon the lute, singing a deep, dreary, but soulful song. At the same time, Morrent stole away the flute from his pocket. While he wasn't too familiar with its playing, his fingers were nimble from maneuvering his puppets, he could very much so play the notes. He had a good ear, and could match Balasque's rhythm.

So, the tavern was imbibed with heartfelt melody, and the patrons within began a dance.

Using this atmosphere, it made Coriel's task much easier. The tavern's patrons were much more opencto promising to attend the performance when they were witnessing a sample of it right before them.

"Ah, my hands are already tired out." Morrent chuckled. "Perhaps I won't be able to perform."

"If you can't perform tonight, how will you perform for the Witch-King?" Balasque chided, laughing alongside the puppeteer.

Coriel's eyes widened. Something like that was mentioned in passing, wasn't it? So they really are performing for his Grace... if they can get that close to him, couldn't they share the information of the people behind the sedition? But I can't trust anyone with that... certainly not these people... how can I get close to the Witch-King myself?

Coriel's face paled.

I see...

She glanced over towards Redansia, who sat at the far edge of the tavern, sipping slowly on a steaming drink.

Slowly, she approached the man, standing beside him. Even when he was sitting, he was nearly as tall as her. It was freakish, but also enamoring...

"Mr. Redansia, I have something to ask of you." Coriel said suddenly, glancing up at the towering, fanciful figure.

"What is it, Ms. Coriel?"

She bit at her lip, her fingers furling up as she let out a sigh.

"Can I still become a clown?"