A day in the life of Carson

This story is another story that was never intended as a story.  It was . . . well, I will take a few paragraphs and explain things a bit. 

Carson and his brother Johnathen are the grandchildren of Tarl deCourbet, a rather important man in the realm of AvonLore . . . Tarl, yes, that Tarl, from the previous story.  Their father Thaddeus was the sire of four children, a girl and three boys.  As the boys reached adulthood, the three boys, their ‘cousin’ Eloise and their escort Evn took a tour of the realm, finding adventure.  They found a great deal of adventure in the far Wilderland, fighting goblins.  The third brother named Victor decided the adventuring life wasn't for him, and he returned to the capital with Prince Roderick, a self-centered sort who was jealous of his older brother and heir to the realm, Thurstone.

The other two boys and their companions continued to help fight the goblins and became embroiled in finding one of their companions, their ‘cousin’ Henery.  This search eventually led to an alpine valley with a stone circle and a group of dark druids about to sacrifice Henery and complete some great ritual.  The great druid was killed near the end of the ritual, and the group and a few surviving foes were propelled 19 years into the future by the power of the interrupted ceremony.  They were discovered by powerful family and friends and were ‘transported’ to the mythical Inn of the Unicorn, a cross-world nexus located somewhere on world tree, Yggdrasil. 

The group of heroes, now 19 years into the future, have agreed to assist in a strange mission . . . they have done so at the behest of Tarl deCourbet and King Dargoth BloodAxe.  You remember Dargoth from the previous two stories . . .

This party is about to start an epic campaign that will take many years to complete.  They are taking any opportunity to gain a little training before they go.  Carson’s player had mentioned to me being interested in a bit of Investigator training for his character Carson, and this ‘story’ is the result.

Note : this story was written in one sitting . . . and it took about six hours.

A day in the life of Carson

Carson and Johnathen deCourbet are at the home of their parents the day after their meeting at the Inn of the Unicorn.  They have already rested for a week, but they now have one additional week to rest prior to their departure for Nesloryan and their mission.

With Isabel installed as the ‘Eorl’ of Abelard, Una and Thaddeus now have a home in the hills to the north of town.  A fine home in the midst of a wooded track, the pair have the time and privacy to spend upon their chosen professions, Una on her witchcraft and Thaddeus on his Arcane Sorcery.

Una is home today, but Thaddeus is off on his father’s business, as he is helping him in this ‘Prophecy’ business by managing the basics of the investigation while his father bounces around and does what he does best.

Victor is home to visit his brothers, both twin and older.  He has been rehabilitated after his questionable support of Prince Roderick in a scheme to overthrow his brother Thurstone . . . Victor’s quick turn against Roderick when it began to go bad helped Victor’s case, but he is still seen to be of ‘questionable reliability and is not really accepted in Royal circles at this point.  He is, however, always accepted at home.

Isabel returns today, taking a break from the daily business of the demesnes to visit her brothers.  She was a young woman of 21 when they disappeared, newly married.  She was always smart and quick of mind, but the brothers notice that she has also gained a level of common sense, or really uncommon sense, that she lacked at times in her youth.

A lovely day visiting and comparing notes leaves Carson and Johnathen wondering if they will ever become completely comfortable again in the presence of those they knew and still love.  So much has changed in nineteen years . . . . . . . . .

That afternoon, the family gets a surprise . . . Grandfather Tarl shows up for dinner.  Una seems to have been expecting him.  An enjoyable meal is had by all, and a round of wine, ale, etc. is served in the main room afterward.

Carson leaves for a moment and steps outside.  He is alone for only a few moments before he notices his grandfather approaching.  They talk for a few minutes, small talk of family and plans for the week and such . . .

“So, lad, what are you plans for tomorrow.  I ask only because I have arranged an opportunity for you, a chance to train with a master.  This man has skills that might be useful to you in this task that you’ve agreed to.  The things he shows you will also be invaluable to you if you take on the full mantle of the Constable in the future.”

Carson readily agrees, having been waiting for Tarl to pause so that he could do so.  Carson knows and respects his grandfather greatly . . . any suggestion made by him will be agreed to without hesitation or question.

“Grab your gear,” Tarl says.  “Whatever you need for an overnight trip.  I’ll have you back by tomorrow night.  I would, however, leave your bow and your shield . . . you shouldn’t need them.”

‘Curiouser and curiouser,” Carson thinks to himself.  ‘No Bow or shield?  Alright, if Grandfather says so . . .’

Carson grabs a small knapsack of gear and comes back downstairs to find Tarl talking quietly with Una.  Una is nodding, and then she turns and smiles as Carson enters the room.

Tarl calls out suddenly to Malcolm, “Ready to go, you know the spot.”  Tarl and Carson suddenly fade out and fade back in . . . to a darkened alley in a city, an old city, just after sunset.  As Tarl and Carson walk down the alley to the street beyond, Carson quickly takes in what he is seeing.  They reach the street and Carson looks up and down the narrow street for clues.  Finally, he says, “Glockenhollow?”

Tarl nods and smiles.  “Good guess.  And those skills that you just used without my prompting, they are the skills that my friend Rafael will be helping you with.”

Tarl leads Carson up the street to a small square.  On the far side of that square is an Inn, the sign of the Singing Wren.  Tarl walks in the door with Carson trailing and walks up to the counter and calls softly, “Customer,” after ringing the bell.  A tall woman steps out from the back room and sees Tarl, bowing to him.  “Master Draco, as expected.  Here is your room key.  There are refreshments in the room.”

Tarl nods and leads Carson towards the stairs.  At the top of the stairs there is door the right and hallway to the left with many doors.  Tarl unlocks the door to the right and the pair enter . . . a much shorter hallway.  Tarl relocks the door and they walk down the hall to the farthest room, which Tarl unlocks.  The room is lit by oil lamp, and is well appointed with a table and chairs and a bed against the inside wall.  On the table there is a carafe of wine and a mug of ale, with a refill for each in small sealed pewter containers.

Tarl is quiet for a bit as they each relax and sip their drinks.  Suddenly, Tarl asks, “How many tables were there downstairs in the main room of the inn?”

Carson sputters for a moments and then answers.

“Close, there were five.  How many windows facing the street in that same room?”  Carson answers, and Tarl shakes his head.  “There were three.  What color was the innkeepers blouse?”  Carson shakes his head.  “How many oil lamps are lit in this room.  Too late, if you are having to look now.”

Tarl stops and places his hand on his grandson’s arm.  “Relax, Carson.  Take a sip of your drink.”  Carson does so, his eyes a bit wide and uncertain.

“Son, I don’t mean to demean you or belittle you . . . but I have to make a point clear.” Tarl finishes his wine, refills his goblet and begins . . .

“This mission is an odd one.  You have an ultimate goal and you have no idea where to start.  You know the mission is important, but no one is sure how to complete it.  You have on your team a number of fine fighters.  Your brother is one and Hrothgar is another.  Bo is quite solid if a bit defensive minded.  Grimm is solid, she has fine scouting skills and she’s a good tactician I am told.   Subotai is a great archer and spotty in hand-to-hand, but he makes up for it as a scout.  Gwilym is . . . learning quickly, and he has a sharp mind, he is skilled at Arcane Sorcery and has a brain like a sponge.  And you, Carson, are good in a fight, good with a bow, good as a scout and you have a sense of justice which, to be honest, could help you keep the group from making any faux pas in Nesloran.

“What this group does not have is me.

“OK, the group does not have an observer, an investigator, someone who can see what normally is not seen, someone who can help the group find clues and maybe save their asses in a tight spot.  Someone who is looking for things that others might miss.”  Tarl chuckles and then continues.  “You probably don’t understand what I meant by those odd questions about this place, but you might in time.”  Tarl pauses and takes a gentle draw from his goblet and savors the flavor for a moment.  “Hmmmmm, nice vintage.  I shouldn’t be gulping this.”  He eyed Carson for a moment and then smiled before continuing.

“I was raised in Glockenhollow; common knowledge I believe.  Despite the fact that I was the son of a guard officer, I spent a great deal of time on the street, learning the trade of a thief and con artist; NOT common knowledge.  Oh, don’t give me that look, Carson.  I also learned the skills of a shaman as a youth, but you don’t see me following that trade either.”  Tarl smiled and laughed and then continued.  “This town holds so many memories for me, and it is a good place to learn what I think you need to learn.  You will meet Rafael tomorrow.  He is nearly my height, he’ll be cloaked but likely will show no weapon.  He will come and get you here when he is ready to start your day’s training.  He will refer to me as ‘the old sneak’.” Tarl smirks at that.  “He was raised here is Glockhollow as well, and he will take you places that may surprise you.  Follow him and do as he says and pay attention to him.”

Tarl took another sip and stopped talking.

Carson sat and wondered what he had agreed to . . . and wondered what he would see with the coming of the new day.

Tarl chatted a bit and finished his wine in a leisurely fashion.  Once he was done, he excused himself and called to Malcolm, and he was gone.

---         ---         ---

Carson finished his ale and thought about what his grandfather had said for a bit.  He considered a walk around town, but his experience with Glockhollow was minimal and he didn’t want to get lost or get himself into something that he couldn’t handle on his own.  Finally he checked the room, got undressed and went to bed.

Carson awoke to a knock on the door.  Sighing, he rolled over and considered whether to ask who was there.  The knock came again, and this time Carson realized that someone was knocking on the table . . . in the room.  Bolting upward, Carson eyed a man sitting in one of the chairs at the table.  He was wearing black leather trousers and a gray shirt, and his brownish cloak was open and dripping water onto the floor.

“Good morning, Carson,” the man said quietly.  “The old sneak said you’d be here, ready to learn.  Well, get dressed . . . it’s time to learn.”

Carson grabbed his clothes from the chair he had placed beside the bed.  Once dressed, he buckled on the sword belt and he then pulled on his cloak.  He was soon ready to go, if a bit bleary eyed and confused by the start of the day.  He then eyed his teacher Rafael more closely.  Light build, just taller than himself, dark hair and eyes.  He had a dagger visible on his belt, but no other visible weapons.  Brown boots, short and of supple material, completed his outfit.

“What do you see, Carson?  I see you looking at me, what do you see?”

Carson described Rafael as he’s just observed.  “What else,” Rafaele asked.

“Well, you’re sneaky, as I didn’t hear you come in.  You managed to unlock the door as well.”

“Is that all,” Rafael asked.

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Not bad, but you have a background as a Constable.  Your grandfather told me about that, but little else.  Now, do you want to know what I have learned about you?”  Carson’s eyes narrowed and he nodded.

“You are not a drunkard or you would be much less functional than you are now.  You are a bit nervous, but not especially so, either an inborn trait or a reliance upon the fact that your grandfather would not place you in the hands of a maniac.  You are presently uncomfortable without the heft of your shield.  You also seem to be looking about, almost as if you are used to be carrying more equipment.  A well-used bow is part of that equipment . . . your calluses indicate that you don’t rely more on bow or sword, but will use either readily.  I would assume you have been more active in the outlands, in the woods and wilderness, and have spent little time in the city as of late, if at all.”

Carson sighed.

“That shamshir is a good weapon.  It won’t draw the attention of the guardsman, but it’s handier and deadlier in a fight that a shortsword.  Keep the cloak over it when you can, no sense in being obviously armed.  Pay attention as well as you can today . . . I will be throwing a lot at you.  I will give you occasional directions and will ask questions; follow my instructions, and answer the questions as best as you can.  Pay attention and learn.”  Rafael walked to the door, removed the key and left it on the table.

Carson followed Rafael out into the hallway and out a door.  Down rain-covered steps the pair went, with Rafael making nary a sound . . . Carson tried to emulate him.  It was not raining, although Carson was sure that it had been . . . the smell in the air, the slick steps and Rafael’s wet cloak proved that.  ‘Oh,’ Carson thought, ‘I should have mentioned that to him, the wet cloak.  Damn!’

The pair emerged from a narrow alley and onto a street.  They walked down the street and up a side street a ways until they came to another open square.  They did not enter the square, but instead slipped into the shadows of a corner between buildings . . .

Carson noticed that it was quite dark except for the light from a couple of street nearby lamps.  He looked to the sky and found no hint of morning’s light.  ‘What time is it,’ Carson wondered to himself.

A soft elbow to the ribs drew Carson’s attention.  “Watch,” Rafael whispered.

A wagon was entering the square.  The bed of the wagon was covered with a tarp. 

The wagon was maneuver around to the side of a restaurant and a large door was opened on the building.  A large man stepped out and greeted the driver of the wagon.  The pair uncovered the load and placed it just inside the door of the building.  Carson saw sacks of what appeared to flour in the bed of the wagon.  The pair unloaded most of the flour and then they each grabbed an end of the poorly bundled tarp and placed it in the back of the wagon.  The big man waved the driver off and went inside, closing the door.  The driver mounted the seat of the wagon and drove off.

“Well, what did you see?”

Carson started at the sudden question.  “Well, a load of flour for the restaurant.  A big fellow from come out and helped the driver unload the wagon . . . and then they were done.”

“What else?”

“Hmmm, they didn’t recover the remaining sacks of flour, few as were left.”

“What else?”

Carson thought for a second and a thought formed.  “Umm, the tarp, they placed it in the bed.  But, they took it inside while they were unloading the wagon, and the pair of them carried it back out,” Carson paused for a moment and then continued, “like it was heavier, or maybe had something in it that it didn’t have before.”

“Not bad,” Rafael said quietly.  He then elbowed Carson and headed into the square.  “Watch everyone that we see for a bit.  I’ll ask you about them later.”

“But, what did they have in the tarp,” Carson whispered to Rafael.

“What indeed,” Rafael replied smiling.

The walk up the street led them past eight people out and about as the sun finally started hinting at it’s impending rising.  They came to a small tavern that was already open for the day, or had never closed, whichever.  They took a seat in the corner and food was brought for them; cheese and bread and meat sliced off of the pig that had been cooked for dinner last evening and some stew.  They ate first and then Rafael looked at Carson and started asking questions.

“Who did we see first?”

“A woman.”

“Describe her.”

“Dirty blonde, shoulder length hair, brown dress with a red vest, gray wool cloak.”

“Weapons?”

“Ummm, no”

“Silver dagger on left hip in an embroidered sheath . . . fancy.  Describe the third person that we saw.”

This continued for some time as Carson continued to try to keep the people straight and get as much as possible correct.  When they paused for a draw of ale, Carson felt he had done a woefully poor job.  A few minutes later, a man walked into the tavern.

“Watch him,” Rafael said softly.

The man approached the ostler and then glanced around the room.  He quickly turned his eyes from Rafael and Carson and moved to the other corner.  Food was brought to him and he began eating.

“Don’t eyeball him, use you peripheral vision, observe but don’t stare,” Rafael said.  He then made short work of the food remaining in front of him and, upon finishing, leaned back in the chair with a satisfied look on his face and belched loudly.

Carson continued to observe the man.  Young and tall, well-built, likely full-human, Carson thought.  He had the look of a tough guy.  No weapons showing, but was that a short sword hidden underneath the cloak?  Hmmm, he’s glancing at the door, like he’s expecting someone.

The door opened again and two men entered.  One was about Carson’s size, well-dressed, nice boots with some mud on them.  He had no visible weapon, but was also wearing a cloak.  The taller man was rough looking, rough leathers and a cheap wool cloak, heavy and gray.  Carson saw the weapon handle, sword hilt by the look of it, sticking out behind his neck mostly hidden by the hood of his cloak.

The pair joined the first fellow, with the rough man watching the door and the room while the other two talked.  Soon, a bag of coins crossed the table, smallish, eight or ten, maybe twelve coins, Carson surmised.  The first man seemed pleased as he hefted the bag and smiled.  The well-dressed man said something sharply and the three rose and headed out the door.

As the door closed, Rafael’s eyes lost their dreamy state and he quickly stood.  He placed silver two coins on the counter and headed for the door.

“What was wrong with that encounter,” Rafael asked as they walked outside.

“Many things, Carson replied.  “I’d say we saw a pay-off, although for what I don’t know.  What bothers me is, well . . .”

Rafael had looked and spotted the trio while Carson was talking.  They had walked down a bit and were turning up a side street.  Rafael turned to follow them while pulling Carson after him.

“Blend in, Carson.  Keep well enough back to avoid drawing attention, but close enough so as not to loose them.  Now, what else bothers you about that exchange?”

“I think there was gold in that bag.”

“Very good.  Watch for a guard patrol and follow me, I’ll watch them.”

They turned up the side street just as Carson spotted a pair of guardsmen, on-duty watch by the look of it, coming up the street.

“Get them to come with you,” Rafael said softly.  “Give them your name and add, ‘on the business of the King’s Constables’, and ask them to follow you.  If they refuse, insult their mothers and follow me quickly.”  He then headed up the side street.

“What,” Carson said, trying to remain quiet.  “Fine, no problem.”

Carson approached the two guardsmen and announced, “Carson deCourbet on the business of the King’s Constable.  Follow me, we have a situation.”  He then turned and trotted off in pursuit of Rafael. 

The two guardsmen followed.  “Who, what’s going on?” while the other said to his partner, “deCourbet?  Let’s go, this might be legit.”

The trio moved up the street and to a tee on a darkened street.  Carson looked for Rafael, and then suddenly heard something above him on the left.  He then saw a rock drop to the ground after having struck the building to his left.  The guards continued to look left as Carson turned right, surmising that the rock had been thrown from that direction.  He saw Rafael hiding behind some crates and he led he guardsmen over.

“What goes on here, sir,” the senior guardsman asked in a low voice as they all hide behind the crates.

“We have a trio of men in that building, downstairs and in back by the look of it.  Side door there would be our way in.  Ten to twelve gold exchanged hands in the Pot and Lantern Tavern and I believe this may involve someone, not something, that is being exchanged. 

“OK, fine,” the guardsman replied softly, listening intently.  “What do you want to do?”

“Carson, watch the place for escapees,” Rafael replied.  “You two are with me.”

Rafael headed off with the guardsman, while Carson watched the building.  Anticipation increased in Carson as he waited, but he didn’t need to wait long.  A fight broke out inside, with the guards announcing themselves and the sounds of fighting following.

Carson decided he needed to be closer and he ran to the corner of the building.  Here he had a view of the street and he had the front door covered.  A few seconds later, Carson heard footsteps inside running for the front door, the door suddenly opened and the first man from the tavern rushed out, only to be tripped by Carson.  The man fell flat on his face and tried to get up, only to see Carson’s shamshir blade a foot away from his face.

”In the name of AvonLore and Athenae the Just, I take you into custody.  Give up your arms or suffer the consequences.”

The man didn’t move as one of the guardsman came out of the building and pulled a horn from his cloak and sounded a long call.  He waited a bit and then sounded again, and this time he received two replies.  Soon, four guardsmen joined them, an additional half-a-dozen a few minutes later.

---         ---         ---

“What the Hel was that,” Carson asked Rafael as the guard took the three men away.  A pale man, obviously abused and with untreated wounds, had been pulled from the room, treated and ushered off quickly, also under guard.

“To be honest, we wandered into something completely unexpected,” Rafael said smiling.  He then looked at Carson and asked, “So, did they come along obediently or did you have to insult them?”

“Hmmm, well,” Carson said quietly, “I actually tried a trick I’ve seen my parents and others use.  They simply stated to follow them, and they turn and head off as though there is no question that you are going to follow.  I wasn’t sure it would work in this case, but the King’s Constables mention and my last name seems to have been enough to convince them.”

Rafael laughed out loud for a bit and then nodded.  “Good, good.  Now, investigate the scene.  The guardsman aren’t interested, they have all the information that they think they need.”

Carson went through the building carefully.  A low attic upstairs held a variety of odd items.  The front room was little used.  The building appeared to have formerly been a shop of some type, but was now on a side street that was not so well traveled.  In the back were three rooms.  One was the bedroom of the first man in the tavern, the tough guy.  Carson found normal items in the room, and then found a bag containing lock picks, rope, a few pairs of gloves and a half-a-dozen empty sacks.  A wardrobe held a few clothes and many things of value; rings and bracelets and such, mostly.

The second room was empty, had been occupied, but not recently.  A bed, an empty chest, and a wardrobe, all empty.  Carson found one loose floorboard, removed it, found a hiding place with two bags of coins in them.  Mostly copper, some silver; the total value probably came to around a few hundred copper.

The third room also held a bed and a wardrobe, but that was also where the pale man had been held.  Tied to the bed, obviously.

Carson reported everything that he surmised from the place.  A petty thief or burglar, Carson surmised.  The prisoner was a bit of a head scratcher, Carson had to admit.

“Someone who had crossed the Thieves Guild, from the sound of it.  The young tough, our first man in the door, is a member as well.  He found the man, somehow got him to come here or dragged him here, either.  He then went to the guild to sell him, for about 10 gold pieces from the sounds of it.  A tidy profit for sending a man to his death, eh?”

Carson frowned, and nodded.

“Well, that was a useful diversion, but we have training to complete.  Off we go, Carson.”  Carson stepped outside and saw that it was barely dawn.  Carson sighed.

---         ---         ---

Rafael kept Carson at it all day.  ‘Watch him’, or ‘watch her’, or ‘what was she REALLY doing’.  He took Carson into a number of shady, dirty places and had him investigate the premises, describing what he found.  Sometimes Rafael added information that he had missed, sometimes he simply nodded and they moved on.

Carson was well fed, as Rafael stopped three more times in different taverns throughout the city.  Each time it was good food and, ‘Watch him, Carson.’  ‘Now, did he have any jewelry?’, etc.

Finally, not long after dusk was gone and night fallen, they returned to the Inn that Carson had stayed in the previous night.

“Alright, Carson, that will be enough for today.  You’ve done well, better than I had expected.  If you ever need any further lessons, you will find me through your grandfather.”

“Thank you, Rafael,” Carson said, bowing his head in respect.  “I feared I was not doing well today, but I will certainly reflect upon what I have seen today.”  Carson paused and then added, “Sir, what exactly is it that you do for a living?”

“I am chief special investigator for the Crown.  I report directly to the Chief Constable of AvonLore.”  He paused and then laughed a bit before adding, “Close your mouth, son.  And I see a question in your eyes . . . ‘Why is he helping to train ME.”  Rafael laughed again and continueed.  “I was found by the old sneak, your grandfather, and recruited to the Royal service.  At that time I was a young scoundrel, a bit of con man, and I made the mistake of ‘marking’ your Grandfather.  Well, that went wrong very quickly as you can probably guess.  He didn’t turn me in, but he said, ‘I’ll be seeing you again, so, I’d be more careful if I were you.’  That scared me straight for a time, and I avoided the obvious cons for a bit.  Then, one day, I find myself face-to-face with him again.  He introduced himself this time, and I felt doubly stupid for my previous attempt to fleece him.  Imagine, me, trying to con Tarl deCourbet!  Well, long story short, he found work for me, helping him on one of his ‘missions’.  After awhile, he turned me over to the Falkirk College for training.  I actually learned investigations and criminal justice under Gunner macAilpein himself for a time.  I worked for your grandfather for a few years after I completed my schooling and then joined the Royal Investigations Corps.”  Rafael looked at Carson and his eyes narrowed.  “Ah, that’s right.  You are living out of your time.  You probably met the elderly Prince Westerfield decades ago.”  He smiled and brushed back his hair and revealed a slightly pointed ear.  “I’ve been in this business for almost fifty years.”

© 2017 Thomas D Taylor All Rights Reserved