“I’m happy you have another cricket, Vish, but I was really hoping not to have to do that again,” Figo said, as he steadied himself against the wall.

“How do you think new Rodney feels? He’s barely had a chance to get to know you and already you’re all up in his little cricket head, stealing his teensy weensy cricket body,” this last part Vish said for the cricket’s benefit, in a voice one might use to talk to a toddler.

“New Rodney won’t make captain if he doesn’t step up,” Lydia said.

“Yeah, but did it have to be so soon? He’s still got so much to learn about the world,” the mind-mapper sulked.

“He does have big shoes to fill,” Figo agreed.

“Well, feet,” Gabriel corrected.

Figo was pensive, “I remember hearing that crickets have ears on their feet.”

“Big ears to fill then?” Gabriel suggested.

“Doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, does it?”

“Don’t talk about him as if he’s not here! You’ll hurt his feelings,” Vish chastised.

“Anyway, it’s done now, Vish, so you can ease up on your whining,” Gabriel said, hoping to finally put the matter to rest, “Okay, Figo, tell us what you found out.”

They were in the street across from the Albright manor. Figo had drawn the short straw once again, in a voting system he was starting to believe rigged, and had taken new Rodney on a hop around the premises. The others had waited as close as they dared, but the disheveled mercenaries were very much out of place in this limestone and brick part of town. Their loitering had drawn the eyes of several members of the nobility, who had ‘harumphed’ down at them from their carriages as they rattled and clacked through the cobbled streets. Fortunately, the well to do sorts were not quick to bother themselves with the affairs of miscreants, and the watch had yet to be summoned.

“It’s quite a large building. I wasn’t able to have a very thorough look around. Rodney was getting tired,” the archer explained.

“Look at the poor little guy, he’s exhausted! If he were human-size that would have been like hopping across the border!” Vish complained on the cricket’s behalf.

“Yes, yes, we’ll make sure he gets a nice place to put his feet up tonight. I will personally give him a foot massage… or ear massage. Whatever,” Gabriel said impatiently.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Vish mumbled back.

“What did you find?” Gabriel prompted the hunter.

“Just the one outer fence, some fairly heavy wooden doors, and a few guards,” Figo spluttered quickly, still nauseous from the body-swap.

“A few guards? How many is a few guards?”

“Three.”

“Three what? Three patrols? Three battalions?”

“No,” Figo said, holding a hand to his mouth to prevent the contents of his stomach coming out with his words, “Just three. Three guards. I only saw three.”

Raised eyebrows flew around the group.

“That… doesn’t seem right,” Gabriel said.

“That’s what I saw.”

“Maybe there are more inside?” Vish suggested.

“I don’t think so. They were patrolling alone and, how should I put this, they didn’t look like the most capable sorts,” Figo said, following it up with a silent apology to the gentlemen he had just insulted.

“Are you implying that the Albright’s are skimping on protection?” Gabriel clarified.

“So it would seem.”

The captain folded his arms, “On a scale of one to Lydia, how scary did they look?”

“Vish,” Figo replied quickly.

“By the gods.”

“I can take three Vishes,” Lydia said quickly.

“Rodney could take three Vishes. Are you sure about this, Figo?” the captain inquired.

“Well, as I said, I could only get to part of the manor, but I’m sure of what I saw. There was one guard at the gate, one patrolling, and another who alternated between the two.”

“Nobles normally put their most intimidating looking protection on front gate duty,” Lydia said, “It’s a show for their poncey guests. I freelanced for some events in Badanis for a bit before I got shit bored of being a doorman.”

“Do you think it could be a trap?” Gabriel asked.

“Yes,” Lydia answered quickly, “Or they just skimped on protection.”

“Screamer did say that the gangs tend not to interfere with the nobles,” Gabriel mused.

“So, we breaking in?” Lydia asked.

Gabriel looked across the street at the old manor, glowing soft tangerine in the early evening light. He looked at the runners that crept up the worn stone, and at the tops of unkempt bushes and shrubs peeking out through the ancient iron fence.

“If we have to,” the captain bit the tip of his thumb, “but I suspect there might be another reason for the underwhelming guard.”

It took them one turn of the third wheel to make the necessary preparations, by which time the oranges and scarlets of sunset were joined by a palette of violets and pinks. Gabriel had insisted that they really try and sell the farce, and that required one or two props, not least of which, was a carriage. Lydia had found a carriage for hire near the docks, and had paid the driver a handful of coppers to quickly swing by the Albright manor. The man had complained bitterly that he was usually paid in silver for his services, not copper, but Lydia found that the promise of his continued attachment to his testicles was enough to bring the price down.

The rest of the preparation was simple, although not easy - they just had to make Vish look like a vaguely presentable human being.

Figo put his new knife to good use and set about trimming the squirming mind-mappers hair and beard until it looked like some part of his appearance was deliberate. The quick cut revealed a swathe of hidden greys, that added to Vish’s distinguished air and didn’t, as Gabriel claimed, make it look like someone had dumped a bucket of ash over the mind-mapper’s head. A pendant and some rings poached from Bling’s collection completed the look, and for the first time since the mercenaries had met the wayward foreigner, Vish actually looked like someone you wouldn’t cross the street to avoid.

“I feel like a chandelier,” Vish grumbled in the backseat of the coach, sandwiched between Figo and Lydia.

“That’s not fair,” Gabriel reassured his friend, “chandeliers bring some light to people’s lives.”

“So funny.”

“Do you remember your lines?” the captain pressed.

“Nah, just thought I’d wing it.”

“Are you going to take this seriously?”

“Probably not.”

“See, now, I know you’re winding me up.”

“But it still works.”

“And I can’t stand that.”

Vish put a hand on Gabriel’s knee, “I know you can’t, buddy. I know you can’t.”

The carriage pulled up outside the Albright manor as twilight took hold and the shapes and edges of the buildings started to blur into their surroundings. Gabriel exited first, fulfilling his role as valet by opening the door for the others and taking special care to assist his ‘master’ down the steps. The others were not quite as invested in the farce, but all in all there was sufficient pomp and ceremony to draw the attention of the guards at the front gate.

“Hail, guardsmen! Well met,” Gabriel said with a sweeping bow.

“And ooh might yous be?” said the first sentry from beneath an ill-fitting kettle helm.

“Me? I am but a humble and proud servant. My master is the one of whom you should take note. May I present to you, the venerable Lord Haggis Neep, of the Neeps and Tatties Bank of Suppersford,” Gabriel’s nose was parallel to the paving as he invited Vish to step forward.

“Hello,” Vish said, clenching and unclenching his hands, “I’m very rich.”

“That so?” the second guard asked, leaning heavily on his halberd.

“Must be nice,” the first said, inhaling some phlegm back into his throat.

“Yeah, not bad actually,” Vish agreed.

Heads bobbed like ducks fishing for bread.

“Perhaps, my lord, you might state the intention of your visit,” Gabriel prompted.

“Oh yeah. Can I see Lance Albright’s mum?”

“See who now?” the first guard asked, the hint of a threat layered in with his rurally accented speech.

Gabriel cleared his throat, “We desire an audience with the head of your noble house. We are here on invitation. We have travelled many leagues.”

“Got an appointment?”

“I do not believe we are expected.”

“Now that’s a shame, innit? Off you go then,” the guard in the kettle helm waved them on.

Figo was starting to fidget with his hands, and Bling was yawning openly. Their charade was starting to develop some cracks.

“Maybe, Lord Haggis, you could explain to these fine gentlemen the nature of our visit?” Gabriel was boring down on the mind-mapper, “Perhaps a little persuasion is required?”

“Hm? Oh. Oh, alright,” Vish said with a roll of his eyes.

The mind-mapper looked at the two men in turn, satisfied himself that he had a good read on them, and then Vish tugged. He tugged, and pushed, and, finally, he stretched. He held their minds wide open, like sacks being shoveled full with fertilizer. Then he spoke.

“How dare you deny me an audience! I should have you executed!”

Despite the horrendous ham-acting, the guards were listening. Vish was demanding their attention, just not so much with his words as with his abilities.

“Already I have been forced to wait because this Lance character, who requested my presence, is off dallying somewhere. Now you leave me out in the cold,” Vish rubbed his forearms reflexively, “or moderately temperate, I should say… actually rather pleasant, really-”

“My lord,” Gabriel steered.

“Right. As I was saying, you leave me outside as if I were some common serf! I shall have an audience this night, or I shall take my business elsewhere.”

The guards were not exactly awestruck, but they were rapt. Such was Vish’s skill that he had managed to make his speech fill their tiny minds. It was all they could think about, all they could empathise with. It was their purpose and their privilege to listen.

So compelling were Vish’s words, that, when he was finished, the guards didn’t know what to do with themselves.

The mind-mapper waved a hand in front of the first guard’s glassy eyes.

“I think you broke them,” Lydia said, somewhat appreciatively.

“Naaah,” Vish prodded the gatekeeper in the chest, “Well, maybe.”

“Bloody hell, Vish, what have you done?” Gabriel said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Nothing! Probably. I’m pretty sure they’ll snap out of it soon.”

“Hope so. They seemed like such nice people,” Lydia said as she swanned between them, “Coming?”

“It looks like we are,” Gabriel sighed.

Lydia dragged open the door, hissing and rasping on its hinges, and led the way.

Inside they were greeted by a large reception hall, furnished in greens and blues. The effect of the décor was such that the mercenaries had the impression of suddenly drowning. The carpet, tapestries and walls were all of the same aqua scale, conjuring images of the sea so vividly that it was a surprise not to see fish swimming between the bannister rails.

“I’m getting motion sickness just standing here,” Gabriel said, his skin colour blending with his surroundings.

“It’s certainly, uh, thematic,” Figo said kindly.

“I like it,” Vish declared.

“You would,” Gabriel returned.

“I applaud their commitment to a style.”

“Actually,” Gabriel said, studying a bare patch on the wall that was slightly less dusty than the rest, “I think this is just what was left over; there are pictures missing.”

As the mercenaries looked around, the absent artwork became more obvious. Frames hung empty or were removed entirely, rugs had been uprooted, and plinths lay bare. Whatever other decorations had once offended visitors to the Albright house, they did so no longer.

“Looks like you were right,” Lydia announced, without any suggestion of praise.

“It happens sometimes,” Gabriel shrugged.

“They really are broke,” Figo whispered.

“Who are you? What in the gods’ name are you doing here?” a matronly woman declared from the furthest doorway.

“We were let in, ma’am,” Gabriel rushed to explain, before anyone else could put their foot in their mouth, “Am I correct in assuming that we stand in the presence of the Lady Albright?”

“Do I look eighty-two, you moron?” the woman shot back.

A quick appraisal put the sable-haired lady at no more than fifty. Her garb was more suited to a younger woman, whilst the tight bun she wore on top of her head would look more at home on an older lady. Luckily, attire and hairstyle averaged out at somewhere near her actual age.

Gabriel was slightly tempted to answer in the affirmative to the lady’s curt question, but decided to shelve his flippancy for the time being, “My sincerest apologies, madam. We must speak with the lady of the household.”

“What in the aether do you want with her? I am the steward of this family; I handle her ladyship’s affairs,” the woman retorted, her bun bouncing on her head with each word she uttered. Every syllable was delivered like a spank on a naughty child’s buttocks.

“Lance Albright applied to my bank for a substantial loan,” Vish said with unpracticed confidence, “Since Lance is nowhere to be found, we were told by his employees at his antiques thingy,” Vish frowned, “Emporium! His antiques emporium. Anyway, yeah, they told us to come here.”

The stewardess’s spine straightened so tightly it looked like she were on a torture rack, “A loan?”

“Yeeeah, kinda looks like they need it,” Vish indicated the threadbare carpet with his eyes.

“Ahem, forgive my previous brusqueness. We were not expecting visitors,” the stewardess explained as she smoothed out her turquoise dress, “Which bank did you say you were representing?”

Vish looked at Gabriel, “butler?”

“The Bank of Neeps and Tatties…” Gabriel said without meeting the lady’s eye.

“Indeed. Well, you may call me Angelica. Please, follow me and I will show you to the mistress.”

“Oh, right, thank you very much,” Vish said cheerfully, and sprung after the matron.

The stewardess took them through a second hall, kitted out much like the first, and up a wooden staircase that creaked with every step. At the top of the stairs, they were met by a hallway lined with four sets of doors on either side. As she guided them between halls, she discussed the fortuitous timing of their arrival.

“As I am sure you can see, the Albright family has fallen from grace, somewhat. This was once a rich and proud family. Alas, Lance has all but brought us to ruin with his frivolous spending and ridiculous notions of becoming a merchant. Oh, listen to me, now,” she scolded herself, “that’s not entirely fair. The family fortune was all but lost long before Lance sought to branch out. In truth, he was making a concerted effort to save this family, but sadly has no mind for business, and no notion of frugality. Now the poor soul has gone missing, and I fear he has perhaps fallen prey to his creditors.”

Angelica stopped before the last door on the right, and placed her hand on the worn brass knob, “The Albright’s have had a dreadful time of it recently. Why, just yesterday some hooligan shot the mistresses’ cat with an arrow that had a finger attached to it! I couldn’t believe it when the guards told me. I mean, really, what is this neighborhood coming to?”

“That is a very unfortunate and difficult to explain accident,” Vish said, licking his lips.

“Accident? Pure malice if you ask me. It wouldn’t be the first time the other houses had made some cruel jest at Mistress Albright’s expense.”

“The bastards.”

Angelica eyed the foreign banker peculiarly, “Quite. Tell me, sir, who did you say at the emporium instructed you to meet with Lady Albright?”

“Oh, umm, I think it was a Kevin? Something like that. I’m not great with names,” Vish said in his ‘what can you do?’ kind of way.

“Curious,” Angelica said as she opened the door.

The chamber within was an old study, covered in paintings and fabrics of very dubious quality and extremely garish colours. Knick-knacks that challenged even the broadest variety of tastes were strewn across the floor, depicting pastoral scenes, ships and birds. In the corner of the room, wearing a ballgown as old as she was, and decked head to toe in jewels of all shapes and varieties, was Lady Albright.

The matriarch was singing along with herself as she played an old, tarnished violin. She sang and played with such gusto, soul, and relish, that it took the mercenaries a moment to realise the violin didn’t have any strings fitted.

“I’m just rather surprised,” Angelica continued, “That any confidante of Lance’s wasn’t aware that Lady Albright lost her mind many years ago.”