The late afternoon stained the horizon with bronze hues. Night was drawing near as the carriage swayed rhythmically, back on the main road.
After the shock of the talking chicken had interrupted dinner preparation, they had eaten the remaining supplies they had prepared beforehand for the trip, without exchanging any more words about the incident.
Reynard sat in his seat, the wicker cage resting beside him.
Eleanor sat across from him, her expression much better than before, but her eyes still fixed on the silent chicken. She seemed to still be adjusting to the reality of having a talking animal on board.
Reynard glanced at Midas.
The gray flame dancing above the chicken had diminished considerably. It was no longer a hysterical dread, but a persistent caution, proving that the initial threat of turning into broth had established a clear hierarchy. She seemed to fear him a little.
By the way... Midas was a female, right?
The flame only appeared on women. Therefore, this "magical beast" was female. It was a useless and strange piece of data that had slipped out in the heat of the moment.
"Midas." Thinking of something, Reynard called out.
The chicken squeaked softly, answering promptly to the new name. "Yes, boss?"
Boss...
Reynard gave her a strange look. Being called boss by a chicken didn't seem like a good thing. Not wanting to address the issue, he left it aside for now.
"When we reach our destination, you will remain absolutely quiet. You only speak when I order you to. Understood?"
"Where are we going now? To the neighboring kingdom? Will you take me somewhere with crystals?" Midas hurried to ask, curiosity overcoming fear.
"Where we're going is none of your business, Midas." Reynard cut in, his voice hard as steel. "Did you understand the order?"
"Understood. Beak sealed." Midas whispered, nodding her head. The gray flame flickered slightly with the order.
Eleanor watched the exchange in absolute silence. She didn't dare interrupt the conversation between the two. Her expression was still slightly lost, desperately trying to get used to the situation.
Reynard nodded, satisfied.
He was testing the chicken's adherence to his commands. They would reach the Baron's lands in a few more hours, and he couldn't enter carrying Midas with him, so he would leave that for old Henry to handle.
Since the only ones who knew Midas could talk were Eleanor and him, it was best to avoid further problems. Old Henry was still oblivious to what had happened, despite having heard Eleanor's screams earlier.
He didn't dare ask or investigate, however.
***
Time passed, and the sun had already set.
Reynard turned his face towards the carriage's small window, feeling the change in the ground beneath the wheels, which now scraped against fine gravel.
They had turned off the main road.
Outside, the darkness of the night made the sight of the Baron's mansion even more striking.
The Baron's mansion was a property enclosed by a high gray stone wall. Reynard didn't see a fortress; it was more like an excessive display of wealth. The mansion itself was built of light stone, immense, with dark slate roofs that disappeared in the twilight. There were even iron lamps scattered atop the wall, emitting an orange light that illuminated the surroundings.
Baron Alderan clearly was a man who enjoyed showing off.
The walls gave way to a wrought-iron gate in the center. If they wanted to cross the high walls, that was the only available entrance. The gate was large and ornamented with two golden lions.
There were two guards stationed at the entrance, wearing polished armor but with relaxed expressions.
Old Henry slowed down as they approached. The two guards looked at their carriage before exchanging glances.
They were forced to wait a few minutes.
Just as Reynard was growing impatient, one of the guards stepped forward with his chin raised. He did not address the coachman. His cold, disdainful gaze settled on Reynard's carriage, lingering on the wear and tear marks.
The silence that followed spoke for itself.
"Your identity and title." The guard demanded in a monotone, formal voice.
Old Henry answered promptly, as rehearsed. "Lord Reynard, untitled noble." He kept his voice low and serious.
The guard did not even move his head to check for a coat of arms or a seal.
An untitled noble was merely acceptable, but the vehicle's sorry state disqualified him from the true elite. There were other untitled nobles at the gathering, but this was the first to arrive in such poor condition.
Contempt was implied on the guard's face.
Reynard, observing this from inside the carriage, smiled slightly.
"You may proceed." The guard replied, tiredly waving his hand for the gate to be opened. "The coachman must park the vehicle in the service area, near the stables. The main courtyard is reserved."
Henry nodded and drove the carriage through.
Crossing the gate, the light of the main courtyard hit Reynard full force. The scene was a vulgar spectacle. Several glossy, black, impeccable luxury carriages were parked precisely.
Reynard's looked like an affront, but no one stopped them.
Old Henry followed the order and drove the vehicle to the side, away from the main ostentation, near the service area and the stables, where servants' and suppliers' carriages were kept.
The courtyard was packed with employees in dark, discreet uniforms, moving with silent haste. They were working like invisible people, rushing back and forth while receiving nobles from all locations.
The carriage stopped. Reynard felt the weight of the class difference and couldn't help but smile.
He was a noble of no importance.
And that was perfect.
Two subservient-looking employees, but with the arrogance inherent to those who serve someone of higher status, approached. One inspected the vehicle. The other, with his hand already extended, addressed Reynard's window.
"Lord Reynard, welcome. Please step down and leave your luggage with our staff. The Baron has invited everyone to dinner in the West Wing."
"Thank you." Reynard replied with a dry voice, opening the carriage door. He jumped down onto the fine gravel of the courtyard, stretching his legs after the long journey.
The smell of expensive food, damp grass, and fireplace smoke hit him.
Eleanor stepped down right behind him, her body trembling slightly.
Wearing her maid's dress, she looked noticeably uncomfortable with the silent ostentation around them. Her eyes were lowered, fixed on the ground as she moved to stand discreetly beside and slightly behind Reynard.
She was the perfect figure of a servant or lady's maid of a minor noble.
The employee who had spoken, a thin-nosed man with a dark silk waistcoat, gestured for Reynard to follow him.
"This way, if you please, Lord Reynard. The other nobles are already being served."
Reynard nodded, starting to walk behind him. His casual posture was a stark contrast to Eleanor's stiffness and the employee's controlled haste.
He seemed neither in a hurry to reach his destination nor in awe, only curious. His eyes scanned the surroundings, analyzing.
There weren't many potential escape routes; the layout of the gardens and the high walls prevented anyone from easily escaping. The mansion's lighting also made sneaking in impossible.
It was indeed a well-protected location.
This made Reynard think, how would the cult make their appearance? He already suspected they would attack from the inside out, but he was curious to know the exact moment.
As Reynard followed the employee, the other assistant addressed old Henry to supervise the unloading of the luggage.
His eyes, however, fell upon the wicker cage that was still on the carriage seat.
The thin-nosed employee stopped, noticing his colleague's attention. He realized his colleague was looking at a... chicken.
"That... what is that?" The employee asked, his voice slightly affected by the animal's presence. "Should I send it to the kitchen?"
Reynard stopped and looked at the employee, a smile that didn't reach his eyes appearing on his face.
"That is Midas." He said, his voice perfectly calibrated between seriousness and absurdity. "My pet chicken. An animal of great sentimental value. If you dare touch her with the intention of cooking her, I guarantee you will have to pay a price that goes beyond your gold coins."
The employee took a step back, stunned by the seriousness of the threat over a farm animal. He exchanged glances with old Henry, who merely shrugged, and then with his colleague, who looked equally confused.
"It's... it's your pet?" The employee repeated slowly.
"Yes. Take good care of her. She needs to be fed and kept away from any noise. And please, under no circumstances, let her escape." Reynard ordered, watching the employee pick up the cage.
Midas remained in absolute silence, following Reynard's order.
The employee shook his head, unable to grasp the eccentric pastime of this humble noble. "As you wish, Lord Reynard." He murmured, holding the cage awkwardly. "I will ensure she is taken to the secure pantry."
"Good." Reynard nodded, satisfied.
The Baron's employees were indeed efficient.
With Midas's logistics sorted, Reynard continued his way, guided by the thin-nosed employee, through the courtyard towards a side of the mansion. Eleanor followed Reynard like a shadow, her head still bowed.
The West Wing seemed to be the busiest part. As they approached, the ground beneath their feet changed from gravel to large, polished stone slabs.
The muffled noise turned into a clear cacophony: the loud sound of conversations, laughter, music from string instruments somewhere, along with the metallic sounds of cutlery against porcelain.
Reynard whistled internally.
Baron Alderan really knew how to live.
The employee led them to a discreet side door that led to a smaller entrance, designed for servants and less illustrious guests.
The thin-nosed employee announced, gesturing to the next double door, dark and polished wood. "The main dining hall is just ahead. Please feel free to help yourself. The Baron should arrive shortly."
Reynard didn't hesitate. He walked towards the open door, feeling the wave of heat and noise coming from inside the hall.
Stepping past the frame, the spectacle hit him full force.
The dining hall was vast, with a vaulted dark wood ceiling and polished wooden pillars. Crystal chandeliers multiplied the light of hundreds of candles. Silver candelabras shone on every side table. It was dazzlingly lit.
The hall was also crowded.
There was a long central table that looked more decorative than functional, but most of the nobles were standing, mingling in small, noisy groups while being incessantly served by an army of moving servants.
The atmosphere was truly something. If his predecessor were alive, he would love to befriend the Baron.
And now, officially, they were inside the gathering.
***
Author's Note: This story is now on indefinite pause. I'm currently shifting my writing priorities and reorganizing my project schedule, so I can't guarantee consistent updates at the moment. The story will remain online, and I may return to it in the future if the timing feels right.