The Manse Calliope had rented stood across the street from the Garden of Morr. The house, an impressive pile of gray stone, was aging, its tiled roof defended by crumbling gargoyles and nesting ravens. It was surrounded by overgrown gardens that would have been a luxury in a more popular district. A low stone wall surmounted with wrought iron surrounded it, giving it a slightly menacing air.  Large elms reached out over the fence, dropping leaves onto passing travellers as though straining to grasp them.


“You sure can pick them,” Kayden said, somewhat grumpily, “I think I might turn to stone if we found ourselves a nice sun drenched villa.”


The next several days passed uneventfully, save for modifications Calliope was making to her rented house. In accordance with her instructions the place had been cleaned and furnished before she had arrived but she still insisted on inspecting every room and allowed no staff within the walls. This left a great deal of the menial work to whichever of Kayden’s troops managed to get themselves arrested usually for brawling or starting fights with the local watch. This, fortunately or otherwise, provided more than enough bodies to keep the place clean. Calliope spent long hours walking each room and also making circuits of the grounds, occasionally touching the wall or running her hand over a section of masonry. As always she refused to explain her actions but there was a general consensus that she was laying protective spells on the house. That made everyone, with the possible exceptions of Mesmer and Morek, more than a little nervous. The top floor attic space she reserved for herself and forbade anyone to enter, a command that probably would have been unnecessary even without the dozens of ravens that seemed to constantly be in attendance.


“You are welcome to find other accomadation more  befiting to you station,” Otto told Kayden snidely.

“Look on the bright side,” Calliope added, making a guesture to encompass the Gardens of Morr, “quiet neighbours, close to the Temple…” The black basalt dome of the Temple of Morr was visible on the other side of the gardens a thin stream of offatory smoke rising from it to join the hazy miasma that seemed to cling to the city. It was not one of the great temples of the Empire archiecturally but like everything in Nuln it felt the need to be large and imposing. The gates to the manor were open and in the cobble stone circle stood two conveyances. One was an elegant carriage in polished chestnut inlaid with gilt trimmings and crimson curtains. The other was a functional but heavily built wagon with an iron cage over the back drawn by four massive dray horses. A dozen men in muted red tabards surrounded it armed with swords and large shields. If Calliope was surprised to see them she didn’t show it, continuing at her stately pace until they joined the company beyond the gates. As she reigned in her horse, a finely dressed man got out of the carriage. He had been muscular in his youth but was obviously going heavy with good food and a lesiurely lifestyle.

“Lady Blackwood,” he said unctiously, “a great pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Yes it is! Yes It IS!” cawed the Raven on Calliope’s shoulder. She absently reached up and scratched the bird.

“Adlebert Bartholomew Bosh I presume?” Calliope asked as Mesmer helped her from her horse and took up a postion to her left.

“You presume correctly madame,” the man, Bosh, replied nervously, clearly resisting the urge to tug at a too tight collar at such an overly precise use of his name. Stories abounded about what a Wizard could do if they knew your true name and those stories rarely ended well.

“You have seen to my directives then?” Calliope enquired, as dismissive of small talk as ever. Bosh nodded and produced a folded parchment from his ermine trimmed coat and extended it to her. Calliope opened it, scanned it, then handed it to Mesmer who tucked it away into a pouch.

“Kliendorf and Bosh prides itself on punctiliousness and discression,” Bosh said with a self important simper. Calliope’s returning smile was so slight it would have been missed by most.

“That is why I choose you of course,” Calliope responded, a slight ironic smirk in her words. It went right over Bosh’s head and he bowed and looked pleased at the compliment.

“Would you like to inspect the uh…” Bosh made a guesture to the wagon. Calliope glanced at it and shook her head.

“You are one hundred and thirty four gelt short, but you may recompense me by leaving the wagon,” Calliope informed him. Bosh’s mouth worked open and closed like a landed fish but after a moment he composed himself and bowed.

“Very well my Lady, if you have any furth need of Kliendorf and Bosh it would be our pleasure to serve.”

“Yes it would, yes it would,” cawed the raven. Bosh bowed and all but scrambled back into his carriage, a moment later both it and the file of guards clattered out the gates. At a word from Otto two of the knights closed it after them and lowered a wooden bar to seal it.

“A hundred and thirty four gelt short of what?” Kayden asked. Calliope indicated the wagon with a nod of her chin and Kayden climbed up onto the back. Inside were a dozen iron hopped barrels. He prized the top one with a knife and let out a low whistle.  The barrels were filled with silver coins that glittered in the sunlight. If every barrel contained the same amount, the wagon represented a small fortune.
 
“Pay for you and your men, I am sure they will enjoy their leave more with coin in their pockets,” Calliope suggested. Kayden nodded his head, running his hands through the silver with a pleasing clink. Calliope noted the surprised look on his face.

“You didn’t think I would string you along with promises forever did you?” she asked, arching her eyebrow.

“It happens more often than you think,” Kayden replied, the mercenary’s cynicism clear in his voice.

“If you wish you may deposit your share with one of the counting houses here, though I would advise against using Kliendorf and Bosh,” Calliope continued. Kayden frowned and turned to her, allowing the coins to trickle through his fingers back into the barrel.

“Why, you banked with them,” Kayden pointed out. Calliope quirked a cruel smile, but the only response was the cawing laughter of several dozen ravens.
 
__________________________________
 
Almost from the moment they arrived a steady stream of footmen began to appear bearing calling cards and invitations. Calliope coldly accepted them but made no reply to any of them. Predictably her reclusiveness began to attract invitations from persons of increasingly high rank. Calliope continued to ignore them, spending long hours sequestered in her attic or walking the Gardens of Morr. She collected fallen wood from the elm trees and forbid the burning of anything save coal, which was plentiful in the city if more expensive than timber. She also began to whittle the wood into odd geometric shapes each the size of a human thumb. Mesmer was seen coming and going from the attic, carting up sacks of who knew what.

By the time a week had gone by the troops were beginning to grow rowdy. Many of them had spent their pay advances already and the number of men on ‘house duty’ was growing. Kayden, accustomed to being kept in the dark, bore it stoically. Calliope ate breakfast each morning, the sorceress seeming to subsist almost entirely on pomegranates and black coffee, and discussed news from across the Empire. There were rumors of a necromancer in Sylvania, though such rumors were common enough. The harvest was said to be poor in Reikland and the Emperor was bracing for trouble as he was forced to lean harder on his provinces to feed the heartland. A Brettonian treasure fleet had been caught in a gale in the Sea of Claws and had gone to the bottom. They discussed all these rumors and more. As always Calliope’s interest seemed fixed on Averland and even local gossip about that province was precious too her. Not that this stopped her from ignoring the invitations of several minor nobles from that prosperous province.
 
Finally, at breakfast on the eighth day, a card arrived that broke Calliope’s apparent determination to remain impassive. It was a gilt encrusted parchment bearing the seal of Baron Eustache Hollerman, inviting Lady Calliope Blackwood and companions to dine the following night. Calliope sat down her coffee and turned to Mesmer. She wrote a quick reply in her elegant spidery hand and scattered sand over it before rolling it up and sealing it with a blob of purple wax from a candle.

“Send a man to tell the Baron and his Lady wife, that we would be delighted to attend,” she told the grim servant. Mesmer nodded and hurried off.
 
“We really ought to train a couple of your girls to impersonate ladies in waiting,” she mused. Calliope’s party, swollen by Kayden’s mercenaries, was decidedly light on anyone who might be considered genteel, her knights not included.

“I think I’d have to pay a bonus to get them into dresses,” Kayden replied in a neutral tone. Calliope made a dismissive gesture.
 
“Speaking of bonuses, please bring ten more of your men into the house tonight, make sure that includes Francesca, and don’t include anyone who had a sibling die in childhood,” she instructed, then she paused before continuing as though it were the most natural segway in the world, “and find some clothes that emphasise your princely rank, you know something garish and border-princy, ruffles and plumes and what not,” she continued, casually insulting.

“My Lady,” Otto began, “is a mercenary captain really an appropriate guest?”
 
“Well I can’t very well show up alone,” Calliope objected “and I need someone vital and handsome.”

“Why?” Kayden demanded. Calliope looked up at him as though surprised he had spoken.

“Hmmm?”

“Why do you need someone vital and handsome?” he demanded. Calliope plucked a pomegranate seed between two fingernails and popped it into her mouth.

“Because unless I very much miss my guess, the Baroness Hollerman will want to seduce you.”