A bottle of wine smashed against the floor.

It was appalling. 

A prized vintage of Château de Riaré Hensoise, now lost to whatever mice enjoyed their endless intoxication beneath the floorboards. A warm and fruity wine grown south of the Wovencoille, favoured for its robust flavours, its high quality and most of all, its reasonable cost. 

My family once offered such a bottle to the ambassador of Granholtz. 

The insult was palpable, the redness of his ire deeper than the wine. 

An absolute waste that it should be spilled like the rest of the alcohol in this tavern instead of hurled towards the White Citadel with the price labels still attached.

Because within these walls, lawlessness reigned supreme.

A fist met a cheek. A cheek met a table. A table met a comatose man under it. And then he woke up, springing to his feet to send his fist into a different cheek. A cycle continuing without end. A dance as wild and barbarous as two garden squirrels engaged in deadly melee. 

Everywhere I peered, violence and disorder filled the tavern to the sounds of raucous bloodlust. All traces of society were as lost as chins beneath the taps of kegs. Gurgling filled the air, then regret as frothy liquid spilled from cups and orifices alike.

In short … it was the most ordinary of scenes!

I allowed myself a sigh of relief.

My kingdom was safe. 

For now. 

The peasants were quelled, and with them, the flames of insurrection. 

There were smaller issues to contend with, of course. The absent gawking of a baroness being one of them. But there was also the state of Apple’s shaggy mane. The drunken peasants believed it a rite of passage to pat him as they passed, viewing the presence of a horse amidst their revelry as a thing of curiosity. 

They shouldn’t. This was officially his stables. And they were his guests.

Some of them, at least.

Others were here to work.

“Uuuhh … my fingers … it hurts … it hurts so much …”

“Help … I … I can’t see … I think I’ve been going around in circles …” 

“Excuse me … coming through … excuse me … I’m trying to … excuse me–”

I nodded in satisfaction.

Amidst the traditional emptying of the bar, there was the far less common sight of the furniture being removed by a band of louts, their task to ferry away anything I deemed surplus to requirements. 

All the while, a rowdy common room marred their path, revellers throwing themselves upon tables even as they were lifted away. An unnecessary and entirely preventable hindrance. 

And one which my angelic nature declined to change. 

For what was the path of redemption, if not filled with needless hardship?  

“... Oh? And what are you gentlemen doing?” 

Thus, I smiled kindly towards a trio of teary-eyed hoodlums as they prepared to seat themselves upon a corner of chairs marked for disposal. They stopped, their tired legs quivering as they froze in mid-motion. 

A gulp went my way. And then a sniffle.

“Uh, well … we’ve been hauling away things for a while now …”

“Is that so? And how do you intend to continue hauling away things while seated?”

“It’s, just, uh … it’s just that we haven’t had a single break yet, so …”

I considered the complexions of the hoodlums. 

Pale, haggard, and poor. A dire prognosis. It was clear they hadn’t the strength to lift their arms, much less the heavy furniture which still needed ferrying. 

As a result, I opted for a gentle nod, drawing expressions flushed with gratitude in return.

“I understand. Leave the chairs for others to remove. You may seat yourselves on the floor and rest.”

“R-Really?”

“Yes. Once you’ve also removed said floor. And everything else as well. You may begin in any order.” 

Fresh tears of joy matched the heavy sweat upon their brows.

Satisfied that my healing aura had touched its quota of yearning souls today, I turned in time to see a far more dependable sight. 

My loyal handmaiden as she skipped towards me.

Delicately navigating through the crowd by shoving aside anyone who happened to be in front of her, she raised a small fist in triumph as she hopped to a standstill.

“Alrighty! I have bad news, slightly more bad news and good news. Which order do you want it?”

“The order which involves you telling me you discovered a baroness cowering in a corner. Preferably the one we seek.”

“Nope! That’s the bad news. No baronesses here.”

I didn’t bother fixing my face into a look of disappointment. 

After all, bad news was when I was told that the theatre had run out of rotten apples. Comparing that to a baroness who’d fled before our righteousness was far too generous.

Still, it was a minor inconvenience.

“I’m hardly surprised. When it comes to my nobility, I expect few favours and plenty of cowardice. Deers fleeing to the snap of a twig could learn a thing or two from them. What’s the slightly more bad news?”

Coppelia gave the most courteous of giggles before proceeding. 

“The slightly more bad news is that her goons are even more worthless than we thought.”

I gasped, covering my mouth.

“That’s impossible.”

“I know, right? But it’s true! Not only do these henchmen not know where their boss is, but none of them are carrying any secret orders in their pockets which tell us. They’re so bad that their superiors actually take care not to pointlessly endanger their entire plan by sharing highly confidential information with them. They’re totally useless.” 

A fresh bout of weeping sounded from the nearby goons, my holy aura again eliciting spontaneous tears of joy. If only it worked on myself as well.

“I see. Then … what is the good news?”

“The good news is that we don’t necessarily need to know the way. Miss Maid thinks we can follow a tunnel that’ll lead us to where we need to go.”

I was aghast.

“Coppelia, there’s nothing about a tunnel which qualifies as good news! Not unless it’s being used to more efficiently ferry the books I don’t illicitly smuggle.” 

“All the more reason to look it over! If it’s good, you can expand it.”

“Expand it? For what purpose?”

“Think about it. A complex nationwide network of interwoven smuggling tunnels just to service the book buying habits nobody except everybody who’s ever spoken to you knows about. It’ll be amazing.”

I considered it for a moment, then dismissed the idea.

As entirely practical as it was to order a purpose-built underground labyrinth just to confuse my couriers, the simple fact was that it wasn’t necessary. 

At least … not while I could simply requisition one after the nobility had paid for it!

Indeed, even now, I could hear them busy burrowing holes under my kingdom. Every moment I tended to my orchard, I fully expected to punt a scheming duke rising from my petunia beds.

“Coppelia, that’s a ridiculous idea. And one we can discuss at a later time.”

“I’ll start drawing blueprints.”

“You can draw blueprints later. First things first–this current tunnel you speak of. Is it well lit, spacious and populated with crêpe stalls?”

Coppelia dabbed her cheek with a fingertip, conjuring forth a smile.

“Hmmmmmm … I think I’ll let the maid tell you.”

She turned and skipped away. 

A small groan followed her. And then the rest of myself.

Commoners, louts and those who were likely both offered a respectful berth as she led me into a hallway where a flight of creaky stairs awaited.

A tavern owned by nobility. I expected little, but this was even less. 

As I climbed, I noted the ample amount of furnishings which all needed to go. Especially as it only worsened with elevation. Stained floorboards were at least predictably grim. But orange carpets? A blot striking at the senses with the force of a stray arrow.

I wrinkled my nose as I was led to the topmost floor. An open room at the end of the corridor awaited me, where inside, a former noblewoman was seen rifling through drawers with little in the way of expectation upon her face. 

She turned as I approached, before offering the look of regret a baroness should have provided instead.

“Baroness Arisa is not here. I apologise. I believe she must have scarpered upon my arrival.”

“The natural flight instincts of her kind. You’ve little need to apologise for attempting to stamp the kingdom’s authority. Why, you simply need larger soles.”

“Perhaps. But larger soles feel dangerous to use against one who invites them so willingly. Yet again, she draws the attention of the kingdom by feigning the closure of her tavern on the Royal Treasury’s orders. A small slight, yet one which those who admire her would remember. I fear what she shall do next.”

“Pfffffft.”

I expertly feigned a sneeze into my arm to stop my derision from sounding.

Perhaps it was only natural for Renise to believe in the unworkable schemes of her former peers. But a baroness cutting off her nose to spite her face was no slight.

Why, it was a bonus. 

Should any of my nobility wish to indict themselves with tax evasion, then that was no besmirchment. Merely a speeding up of an official process which didn’t require any assistance.

“Rest assured, you’ve little to fear from one who scurries into the dark … especially with my sword and Coppelia’s eyesight.”

“True, she cannot hide indefinitely. But I don’t believe she intends to. And that is my concern. I did not sense desperation from her in any of her actions. Only expectation.”

“Excellent. Then let’s strive to match them. I believe you know a method for following this errant baroness, yes? Something about a tunnel? One which is well-ventilated and devoid of mud?”

Renise idly pushed a drawer to a close, innocently glancing away as she did so.

I pursed my lips in advance.

“She has a hideaway elsewhere. This tavern was never her home. But there’s an entry which leads into the tunnels she operates. I believe we can use it to our advantage.”

“You suggest we follow the odour.”

“It’s a tactic which works with astonishing efficacy, at least as far as Reitzlake is concerned.”

She gave a smile tinged with regret.

A moment later, she swept to a wall where a hidden entrance had clearly been revealed. And a poor one, judging by the lack of self-restoring acid traps being triggered as she went through. 

I expected nothing else.

In fact, as I joined her in stepping through this veritable hole in the wall, the only thing which surprised me was the curious remains of painting equipment.

Brushes, paints and an empty easel. An odd collection of items to find hidden away.

And also–

“A fine evenin’ to you all, my ladies.”

A drunken man sitting in the corner amidst a sea of plundered Château de Riaré Hensoise.

He held up a bottle in greetings, his eyes hazy beneath his roughspun tweed hat. 

Offering no explanation to his presence, he took a swig in the same stumbling way the layabouts in the kingdom’s guild halls were particularly accomplished in. A trail of wine fell down his stubbled chin, before further dirtying his wrinkled waistcoat.

A moment later, a freshly emptied bottle joined the others littering his corner … before he promptly scooped it back up again, turning it upside down with a look of remorse.

I raised my arms in exasperation.

“And just why is one of the drunks from downstairs here?”

“Oh, that’s the strange man by the well,” said Renise, as though already accustomed to this sight. “He’s nice. He was also here at the tavern earlier as well.”

“Has he never left, then?”

“I’m not certain. I did query if he knew anything regarding the baroness, but, well–”

The man picked up a fresh bottle. He didn’t open it, but merely admired its label instead. He was reading the blank section at the back.

“–as you can see, he’s somewhat too inebriated to answer. Perhaps you may have better luck?”

Ugh.

Conversing with drunks. Hardly a fitting notion for a princess.

And yet as much as I wished to believe this was an uncommon occurrence, so long as wine existed, then so too did drunken dignitaries. 

This man in a dirtied waistcoat and a tweed cap?

Why, compared to what I’d seen in the Royal Villa, he was practically a knight in shining armour.

“Very well. You … strange man by the well. What do know of the former proprietor of this tavern?”

The man blinked at me, assessing if I wasn’t simply part of whatever drunken haze he was in. 

He gave a scratch of his chin.

“Taxman,” he said with a shrug, his movement a slow pantomime to match his slow drawl. “Always the taxman. You know what they say about death and taxes. But that’s a lie. You can get away from death. You can’t get away from the taxman.”

I rolled my eyes.

“If you’re referring to my kingdom’s tax inspectors, then yes, you’re completely correct. Note, however, that the one downstairs was merely a fraud.”

“Sure is. A fraud. The whole lot of them are. Stooges, crones and cowards. They never did take kindly to this town. Always in and out, causing trouble. Shutting down good businesses. It’s just like the rumours say. The mouths of the king, never satisfied. And now they’ve come to shut down a good tavern, too.”

I gasped in outrage.

How … How dare such rumours abound!

“That is absurd! Rest assured that if we … if the royal family was truly forced to close down a tavern, we would ensure it belonged to a duchess’s estate! A baroness fails every minimum standard as the target of our … the royal family’s ire! Such a wanton level of disregard is reserved for upper nobility only! Who is spreading such slander?!”

The drunken man shrugged.

“Word gets around,” he said, before twisting his bottle. He blinked at the part of the label with words. Then frowned as he began to focus very hard.

I duly ignored him. As I should have from the start.

“The tunnels?” I queried Renise.

She wore a sheepish look of apology as she pointed at a wooden hatch.

“There’s a ladder which leads into them from here. I’ve reason to believe they’re extensive, carved out from the existing sewer network. Although navigating it will be a challenge, I believe that with my knowledge and Coppelia’s perception, we should be able to–”

“No.”

Renise blinked at my expression. I hardly saw why. It was exceptionally clear.

Absolute refusal.

Why, when Coppelia mentioned tunnels, I didn’t expect that to mean bespoke sewers! 

Ordinary tunnels were bad enough, but sewers was a line I’d never cross! Even considering it made my princess points drop faster than a dry profiterole through my window!

Even if the Grand Duchess herself was at the end of it, I would only gloat at her from a distance.

No. I was a princess. And this meant if given half an alternative, I would always take the high road. Literally, if not always figuratively.

“Um … is there a reason this path is unsuitable?”

“More than can be counted. They are damp, disgusting and grim … and are therefore indicative of both poor maintenance and dilapidated designs. Why, to risk either yourself or Coppelia to a sudden ceiling collapse is unconscionable. Moreover, it’s doubtless more than diseased mice and acid slimes which plague the filthy corridors. A sewer owned by nobility is also fashioned by nobility. The most degrading of traps will await us, purchased directly from a brochure and with no thought behind any overarching theme or design aesthetic.”

Renise turned towards the hatch with a frown.

“… It’s true that the sewers will be closely watched. But if Baroness Arisa has gone to ground, I fear we lack the luxury of time to not take such an obvious risk. She has something planned. I’m certain of it.”

“Oh, please. It’s nobility. They always have something planned. Whether it’s a method to usurp the throne or to sow badgers into protected grasslands, planning is all they do. It’s certainly not working.”

Renise offered a pained smile in response.

“I see. But then, how should we search her out? She could be anywhere.”

In response, I raised a hand to my lips, barely covering my amusement.

“Ohhohohohhoo … not at all.”

She blinked in puzzlement, saying nothing.

My, how fortunate for this former noblewoman that she now serves as my brother’s side. And now also mine (temporarily).

Between Roland and I, she may yet learn much.

“Miss Renise, you may know the minds of smugglers and thieves. But I know that of nobility. And while it’s true that they could be anywhere, the truth is that there’s only one place where a baroness would consider hiding.”

Thus, I turned away from this hatch to the sewers. 

I’d allow some moronic adventurer to die to the ignominy of a simple spiked tile. But not me. 

And so with my feet as sure as my heart, I–

“Hold up.”

I blinked.

Then, I turned around once more.

How strange. It was neither Renise nor Coppelia who’d asked me to pause.

Rather … it was the drunken man, who’d failed in his task of utterly fading into the background.

He lifted up a bottle and took a sip.

“You all look pretty young,” he said, his eyes never once looking at any of us. “Now, I don’t know what you’re getting yourselves up to, but if you don’t mind me saying, you shouldn’t be sticking your hands in the flames. Trouble once called doesn’t stop calling.”

I gave a short sigh, before offering a pleasant smile to the drunken peasant.

The one I always gave.

And as long as someone who reported to Roland was watching, that would always be the case.

“Thank you for your concern, random impoverished citizen. Rest assured, I’ve little intention of singeing my hand over the course of my duties. Mine is far too delicate for such notions.”

I smiled as I turned away.

“After all, that is what my boot is for.”