Chapter Text
Beneath the dancing shadows of the birch trees, the black carriage rushed down the dirt road. It swayed and jumped every time it hit a particularly annoying stone, or when the wheels caught on the muddy puddles. Gale had forfeit his plans to continue reading his old copy of the Texentes Magicam, to save his stomach from the unbecoming nausea he had started to feel a few miles back. The light was growing uncomfortably dim to read, anyway.
He checked his pocket watch. Again. His ship had been delayed, arriving at the Baldur's Gate port too late for Gale's comfort, and his travelling schedule had been drastically affected by it. He had arranged for the first carriage available (more of a fancied-up cart, really), to take him straight to the outskirts of the city. Then, he had spent the first half of the trip anxiously counting the remaining coin in his pocket. It had been enough to pay the driver, but not enough to see him through the rest of the month without some strict cuts in his expenses. Assuming his client didn't complain of his tardiness. He forced himself to hope. One could hardly be held responsible for being a victim of the sea's mercurial whims… right?
His stomach, thankfully empty, growled unpleasantly as it twisted again when the carriage swayed violently, with the hard sound of the wheels catching on a rock. He pressed a hand against it and closed his eyes, holding tightly on to his bag. It couldn't be long now.
He was so focused on remaining in control of his insides, that he barely heard the coachman knock on the carriage as it came to a stop.
"We're here, sir."
Holding on to his cane and his bags, Gale stared at the mansion in front of him. Beyond the black, curled iron of the gate, covered in dried, burned vines, it was a shadowy, imposing figure against the twilight sky, the dark bricks contrasting with the white decorations and window frames. There was an air of luxury and grandeur to the extensive grounds around it, much like many other manors Gale had seen in his lifetime. It gave him a feeling of nostalgia and homesickness that was hard to shake off.
And yet, as he passed through the gates, limping his way along the path to the main entrance, struggling to carry all his luggage as the carriage disappeared on the horizon, Gale couldn't help thinking that something about the house was off. There was no gardener in sight, nor anyone expecting him by the door. He couldn't see any smoke rising from the chimneys that would be a sign of fires burning in the kitchen as the dinner service was prepared, or from the hearths around the house keeping the chill at bay. A manor like this one was usually a busy place. Servants that were neither seen nor heard, but still things were always moving. Like clockwork.
Perhaps that was why his services had been requested. Someone to make things work. To bring some order. Someone experienced in ruling a house such as this one. Considering the subtle air of abandonment on everything he could see, and the lack of a gatekeeper, he would have plenty of work to keep himself busy.
He reached the door just as the clouds ripped and it began to rain, the first timid droplets announcing an incoming storm, considering how dark the skies had become. Fighting to recover his breath and feeling a terrible ache in his chest, Gale dropped his bags rather clumsily around himself, hoping to regain his composure before meeting the master of the house.
Shivering, he knocked firmly on the door, hoping to get someone's attention before he got soaked. Ten minutes passed, as the rain steadily picked up, and nobody came. The butler was either busy or severely lacking. He checked his pocket watch again. He was late, but it was still a reasonable time of day. There was no reason to believe the master would be so upset he would leave him outside… right?
He was knocking for a final time when the door opened with a creak, and a pale figure appeared on the other side.
The elf was dressed in a bone white linen shirt, the absence of a cravat leaving a long, pale neck exposed to the cold air outside. His waistcoat was unbuttoned and scandalously red, a bright, bloody shade that made it's wearer look even more pale and sickly, not unlike a corpse or a marble statue in a temple. The trousers, also white, hugged a slim waist, and were perhaps a bit too tight to be worn in decent company, despite the elf being slender and ethereal, as most of his kind were. If this was, in fact, the butler, he could understand why his services had been requested. No respectable person in service would dress so messily, or act so unmannerly.
"Good evening, my good sir. I'm Gale, from Waterdeep. I believe Mr. Ancunín is expecting me."
The elf examined him from head to toe, holding on to the door as if he were considering closing it again, and leaving Gale to brave the elements. His eyes rested, for an uncomfortable amount of time, on Gale's hold on his cane, firmly stiff by his side. What a poor butler, indeed.
"So you are the new hire?"
Gale held back the impulse to frown. This was highly irregular. This house was in very clear disarray if the butler dressed, behaved and spoke like that, as if he had been barely awake. It was far too early for staff to be retiring for the day, and if Gale had been summoned to work, the butler surely had to know about it. And yet, he could ill afford to antagonize the staff before he secured his position with the master of the house…
"I believe I am, yes. If you'd be so kind as to lead me to Mr. Ancunín…"
There was a wicked smile lifting the corners of the elf's mouth as he opened the door wider still, stepping to the side and inviting Gale in.
"Welcome, Gale of Waterdeep, to Midnight Manor."
The interior certainly lived up to the name. Even with the candles lit, it was darker inside than any house he had been in before. The walls of the entry hall were covered in mahogany wooden panels, in contrast to the white accent of the wall behind. The ceiling was also white, with more mahogany accents, and the thick carpet on the floor was a deep burgundy, with patterns in black. He followed the elvish butler down the hall and into what could only be described as a ballroom. It had numerous vertical mirrors between each of the tall windows, creating the illusion of a bigger hall. The walls here were bone white, all colour provided exclusively by the heavy, velvet curtains and the luxurious sofas spread around the room. Near the marble fireplace was a maroon divan, luxurious in its dimensions and decorations. Golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, encrusted with small crystals like falling water droplets, as if they'd been covered in dew.
At the far end of the ballroom was a grand piano, flanked by a couple of armchairs with blankets folded over their armrests.
"Am I to understand you are sufficiently qualified, and will maintain absolute discretion regarding each and every thing you see, hear or perceive within the walls of the manor?"
Gale's eyes focused back on the butler, who was still walking ahead of him and hadn't even done him the courtesy of turning back to speak to him. He hadn't bothered to give him any context or explanation about the rooms, or asked any questions beyond that. Gale was used to curious butlers that welcomed him and gave him a little tour on his first day, indicating pain points they expected him to deal with, or giving hints as to their masters' and mistresses' quirks and peculiarities that made their work unique to that family. It was the first time, that he could recall, that anyone had enquired about his capacity for discretion. That was a quality far more suited for and demanded in higher spheres, or in more unsavoury ambiances.
"I assure you, Mr. Ancunín can be at peace knowing anything I see or hear will remain behind my sealed lips. I have had ample experience managing sensitive information in the past."
"Oh? What about?" There was a mischievous air to the way the butler turned to look at him as he walked.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell, sir.”
There was a loud laugh as the heavy doors opened under the elf’s hands, revealing what appeared to be a study on the other side. “Very well played, Gale of Waterdeep.”
Beyond the windows that graced the curved wall behind the mahogany desk, the sun had already set beneath the hills. Daylight was fading slowly, painting the sky a vivid red that matched the curtains perfectly.
Gale leaned on his cane as he watched the butler close the doors firmly behind them, circle around the room, and sit in the high chair at the desk, hands folded neatly on it's surface.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Ancunín. Take a seat, if you will.”
Feeling suddenly cold and confused, Gale took the chance to sit in one of the chairs, his grip on his cane still tight. He was trying to remember everything he had said since he crossed the threshold of the manor. Trying to recall if he had mentioned his belief that the elf was the butler, or made any comments that might upset him. No, probably not. He hadn't been kicked out of the house yet, so he was probably safe.
It wasn't his fault, really. No aristocrat ever opened their own door. That was as rare an occurrence as rain falling upwards. Certainly, none would appear so dishevelled when expecting company. The clothes offered no clues either. The fabrics weren't especially rich, despite being sharply combined. The only thing of note was the delicate embroidery. He wondered which tailor would create such basic garments yet put in so much work on the decorations.
Where had Gale found himself?
"My apologies, Mr Ancunín, I…"
“No need to apologise, dear Gale. The confusion was more than understandable. May I have your last name?”
Gale swallowed.
“Dekarios, Mr. Ancunín.”
“Ah. Would you happen to have ties to the Dukes of Waterdeep? I seem to recall the widow Duchess had a very promising son who disappeared without a trace, and the family name was Dekarios...”
Gale broke out in a cold sweat, feeling an uncomfortable twist in his guts at the shame and the exposure. He had hoped that travelling so far south would grant him the quiet blessing of being unknown. Outside his country, nobody should know his family name beyond the powerful nobility, and he avoided them as much as possible precisely to prevent these situations. Either Mr. Ancunín was more informed about wider politics than any of his peers, or he had done an excellent job tracing Gale's background when he responded to the open position. Either way, it was worrisome. What reason would a mere high class citizen have to inform himself of his staff’s background so thoroughly?
“Your position here is secured, sir, so do not fret. I need someone I can trust as my steward, and I believe you will fit that role perfectly. After all, why would a former Duke lower himself to a commoner’s position if he had nothing to hide?” Mr. Ancunín smiled wickedly, and Gale felt a spasm in his heart, pain shooting across his nerves like wildfire. Stress wasn't any good for his affliction, and feeling like a mouse cornered by a hungry cat wasn't helping. “I shall be discreet about your past, as long as I can count on your discretion, too.”
Oh. This must either be some obscure business Mr. Ancunín was running, or he was some sort of criminal.
Thinking about the few coins in his pocket, Gale swallowed. Rejecting the position was not an option. As… As long as nothing particularly immoral or illegal happened in this house… he would endure. Then, he would leave Baldur’s Gate as soon as possible, with as little fuss as he could manage. Yes. That could be a plan. Perhaps someone in Calimshan or Amn would have need of a steward, or even a butler. A music teacher? A valet? He would even take a coachman position at this point.
“Of course, Mr. Ancunín.”
The smile on the elf’s lips became pleasant as he leaned back in his chair, long fingers tapping gently on the desk. His eyes shone with predatory glee, knowing quite well he was holding the invisible leash that had suddenly appeared between them. No doubt he was enjoying the superiority of knowing oneself in a position of unusual power over someone that would, in other circumstances, not even consider him worthy of a second glance. It was just one more blow to Gale’s already mortally wounded pride.
“Good. I knew we would reach an understanding.”
“Indeed.” Gale sighed, trying to rearrange himself in his seat. “If I may speak frankly, Mr. Ancunín, I haven't seen any servants around, and this is quite a big house.”
“Ah, yes. I have a very limited staff, only trusted individuals, you see. My business is delicate in nature, and after all, there’s only me to take care of. You shall meet them in the morning. I expect you to familiarise yourself with them and the rules they already know. I don’t have many, but I am quite strict in enforcing them.” Mr. Ancunín rose from his seat with a groan, stretching not unlike a cat, joints popping loudly. “I’ll be hosting a nighttime event at the manor in two days, so I expect you to settle in and prepare for it in the meantime. The staff already knows the details.”
Two days. Two days to get to know all the existing staff, familiarise himself with the manor and it’s routines and needs, and settle himself within the dynamics of the household before they had to entertain guests. That was a lot of work to achieve in just two days…
Mr. Ancunín gave him instructions on how to reach his rooms before retiring for the night, and as Gale struggled to carry all his bags downstairs, juggling his cane while trying very hard not to trip on the carpet, his thoughts kept churning. Beyond the open windows, the manor was shrouded in darkness. His rooms were cold from being closed and empty, and he wondered how long had it been since the last steward had left the place. There had been a thin, almost imperceptible layer of dust over everything, so perhaps a week? Maybe more? Had there been a steward at all, before him? Would he have been fired once Mr. Ancunín settled in? Were many of his staff new hires?
It was not uncommon for the new master of a house to replace some members of staff, sometimes even in its entirety, to bring in new blood that would learn to work for him, instead of upholding old family traditions. It was seen as a petty move against faithful servants who had most likely spent decades dedicated to the same family. But nobility, as Gale knew very well, was seldom swayed by propriety behind closed doors.
Would Mr. Ancunín be an unkind master? It was a possibility. Gale felt their exchange had been a power play, and he had been the obvious loser. He was not unfamiliar with the cruelty masters could wield over their employees. He had thankfully avoided that kind of treatment so far, but he guessed the time would come in which he, too, would face the inevitable fate of a commoner working for power.
Later, as his luggage laid empty beneath his cold bed, and the rain outside having developed into a full blown storm, he walked the house in silence. An oil lamp and the ominous echoes of thunder in the empty halls his sole companions. He followed the lit candles, burning like enchanted wisps, leading to his uncertain fate in the dark. The wooden floors creaked as he put the lights out, one by one, and closed the heavy curtains against the night. The occasional burst of lightning created sinister, living shadows that crept like clawed, bony hands across the walls. As though a haunting spirit wished to strip the house of its secrets.
It was probably a terrible mixture of Gale’s worries and his exhaustion, but that night the manor felt more threatening than any other he had ever worked at.
He caught a glimpse of himself in one of the ballroom mirrors. Ever since the incident, he had avoided looking at himself too closely. His long sickness had left him abed and rotting and ever since his health had not been the same. He looked like a poor imitation of what he had once been, a husk in which skin was barely a step away from clinging to the bones, and the circles under his eyes permanently shadowed the sadness in his gaze. His hair had greyed out prematurely, white strands of hair mixing with the chestnut brown. There were dark lines that curled up around his neck, like putrid vines that showed even over a well-placed cravat. Unkind reminders of how close Gale had been to death’s door.
There had been times when he had yearned for that sweet release.
Gale longed for something else nowadays. For the placid sound of the waves and the sparkling gleam of the moon on the water. For the smell of salt, books and melting wax. For the sound of a piano played by gentle, wrinkled hands. The comforting weight of a purring friend on his lap.
None of those things would ever again come easily for Gale. His own choices in the past had made sure of it.
Snuffing the last candle, Gale took slow steps in the dark, back to his rooms, his cane stumping quietly on the floor, the small pool of light cast by the oil lamp doing little to keep the spectre of shadowed corners at bay. There was much to be done come morning.
Mr. Ancunín’s rooms were as decadent and disastrous as he had imagined they could be. As he laid out a clean set of clothes on the bedroom stool, he couldn't help but pick up the several cushions and blankets that had no business being strewn around the floor. He walked around, opening the curtains wide, informing the master of the weather as he did, and that breakfast would be served as soon as he was dressed for the day.
First thing in the morning, he had descended to the kitchens to check on the state of the installation and how the pantry was doing. There, he had found a quiet old lady working away, lighting the fires and oiling a single pan for cooking, bacon slices and eggs ready on the worktop beside her. He guessed he should be grateful that a cook was within Mr. Ancunín’s limited list of services required. It was good to know he wouldn't be the one to have to deal with kitchen service, on top of everything else. She had introduced herself as Auntie Ethel, and had commented on how lean and starved Gale looked, before bullying him into taking a seat and swallowing down a generous bowl of oatmeal.
It was far from the best meal he had ever had in his lifetime. For some reason the porridge was lumpier than it should be, and the oats sometimes were inexplicably crunchy. But it was the most filling morsel Gale had had in days, so there was that. He swallowed every spoonful and was grateful for it. Then, made a mental note to wake up even earlier to make his own breakfast, should his attempt to find a better cook that day be fruitless.
In retrospect, Gale should have known misery loves company, because upon opening the curtains to Mr. Ancunín’s canopy, he found out one more thing about his new master.
He liked to sleep in the nude.
Gale had almost closed the curtains again with a yelp as he was greeted by the sight of a rounded, pale arse, blindingly reflecting the sunlight coming from the window behind him. It was almost offered, hanging obscenely outside the red blankets and white sheets, the skin smooth as porcelain. It was the absolutely inappropriate noises the elf was making as he moaned and contorted that made Gale finally step back, shielding his own eyes from the sight.
“By the gods…!”
Gale composed himself, remembering his duties and his place, and how busy he was. There was no time for prudish behaviour.
“I would suggest you dress appropriately for nighttime, Mr. Ancunín. Your health would surely benefit from a good nightgown, of which I see you have plenty.”
“I see no point in dressing up for an activity best done bared. But I wouldn't presume you to know about such affairs, Gale.”
Ah, he was a moody person in the mornings, then. Good. If Gale was to be trapped here and held hostage by the shames of his past, he would make sure to make his master's life just a tiny bit unpleasant, if purely for his own amusement. His insistence on using Gale's first name was too familiar and bordering on obscene, considering the man was all but stark naked on the bed, and was making no effort to cover himself, not even a smidge!
“There are, indeed, activities best done naked. Sleeping is not one of them. Now, if you will…”
To his credit, Mr. Ancunín required no assistance in dressing himself, although that was because he refused every accessory and garment Gale had laid out for him, that would have polished his looks into something more respectable. As if Gale’s sense of fashion had ever failed him. Preposterous. Instead, he worked quickly and efficiently on the room: opening the windows, clearing the sheets and tying up the canopy curtains, all while planning how to tackle all his duties for the day.
When he made it back downstairs, he saw that Mr. Ancunín was already sipping tea in his office as he read the newspaper, his feet resting on the desk. Gale clicked his tongue in disapproval as he passed by, opening the curtains of the ballroom one by one before doing the same in the office, much to the displeasure of his master, who groaned when the light flooded in.
“I will be working in my study all morning. Make sure nobody disturbs me in the meantime, yes? And close the door behind you when you leave.”
Gale took the discarded breakfast dishes, frowning at how little had been consumed and how much of the bread, butter and marmalade had been messily spread around. This was a habit he had mostly seen from the ladies he'd served, during lunch and dinner times. Was that the reason Mr. Ancunín looked sickly pale and so lean? Would a more suitable meal stimulate his appetite and have him eat a bit more? Perhaps a favourite dish… But what?
In the reflection of the glass window in front of him, he saw Mr. Ancunín quietly take a small, silver sugar bowl from one of his drawers, and sneak an entire teaspoon of sugar into his tea cup before hiding the bowl back in his drawer. Ah. So he did like something. Well. Maybe some other sweet treats would persuade him to improve his appetite, even if marmalade did not make the cut. Gale made a quiet mental note of that as he exited the office, closing the door behind him.
It was already late in the morning before Gale had the time to enquire, of the only person he knew, as to the whereabouts of the rest of the staff. Ethel had kindly pointed out that they would most likely be working near the stables, and so that was where he headed next. Once outside Gale discovered that taking a stroll through the gardens, soaked by the previous night’s rain, proved a challenging task with his cane, but he persevered. If a few acrobatics were all that stood between himself and his current duties, Gale deemed it worth braving the dirt and the absolute minefield of puddles at the back of the house.
There, he encountered a broad-shouldered tiefling woman. She was dressed comfortably, wielding an axe as she chopped wood diligently over a stump, watched closely by a small redheaded girl that clapped every time the wood split and fell to the sides. It was impressive how high the piles were, considering how early it was.
“Oi! You must be the new dude in charge, eh?” The tiefling girl swung the axe over her shoulders as she smiled, waving excitedly at him with her free hand. Gale chuckled at her enthusiasm. Well, at least the rest of the staff was more charming than their master… “Dammon! Come, say hello!”
“I am, indeed, the ‘new dude in charge’…”
“Good! We needed bad for someone to put these lot in order, or nothing gets done around here, I swear! I’m Karlach, by the way. I’d shake your hand or give ya a hug, but it would be a shame to ruin those nice clothes, eh, pretty boy?”
Astonished, Gale blinked. That had been… direct.
Pretty boy…?
The little girl giggled as the tiefling dropped the axe next to the wall and began gathering all the split wood for piling. There was dirt all over her clothes, and her hair was messy. Gale doubted she even bothered to comb it from time to time, and was only half surprised to see one of her horns was broken. She looked nice enough to deal with, for sure, despite her bluntness. It was clear there was no ill will, and Gale would pray for the miserable wretch that happened to get on her bad side. Be it the impressive muscles that rippled beneath her working clothes, or the military demeanour with which she carried herself, there was something about her that spelt the kind of trouble one could get in after being anything but pleasant.
Gale found himself smiling.
“I take it you are a labourer of the house?”
“Sometimes. Other times I’m in charge of the gate, or driving the coach when Astarion needs a lift to town.”
Gale frowned. It was one thing for the staff to be so familiar between each other, especially if none of them had public duties. But to call Mr. Ancunín by his first name with such familiarity… No aristocrat Gale had known would tolerate such behaviour, and the elf had seemed to be the type of person that appreciates being respected and addressed correctly. Had his deductions been that far off? How long had this girl been working at the manor?
“Ah, I believe it’s been five years, give or take, mate. I’m not very good at keeping up with time.”
So it wasn’t new. And either Mr. Ancunín wasn’t bothered by it, or it had been something he had repeatedly corrected her for. Although considering she had been in his service for half a decade already…
“I’m Yenna, sir. I help Auntie in the kitchen.”
The little girl waved her hand, legs moving back and forth as she watched the scene from her perch on the stacked boxes at the side.
“Nice to meet you both. I’m Gale Dekarios, but you can simply call me Gale." The fewer people that knew his surname the better, considering the circumstances, propriety be damned. With a bit of luck, he would be able to get away with being called by his first name by the rest of the staff… “I’m trying to get acquainted with everyone here, before I begin my stewardship…”
“Welcome, Gale! I’m Dammon, the guy for anything and everything that requires capable hands, from the gardens to the stable or house maintenance. I’m glad Astarion has finally decided to hire a steward.” A tiefling man with a bright, kind smile exited the stable, wiping his hands on a dirty, oily cloth. He was wearing a smiths apron that had, without a doubt, seen better days. The leather had been damaged in patches of random sizes, scattered all over, and his pouch was filled with tools. “Apologies, I’ve been working on the horseshoes, and I’m also rather dirty.”
Huh. Another one calling Mr. Ancunín by his first name. Dangerous familiarity, or a pattern that Gale could not yet see? Too soon to know.
“A pleasure. Is there anyone else in the house I should meet? Mr. Ancunín told me his staff was quite limited…”
Both servants shared a quick glance, and Gale saw the way they frowned in confusion, before Dammon quickly schooled his face back into a neutral smile. It made him feel a bit uneasy. It was common for the service staff of different houses to have it’s own idiosyncrasies, each one not unlike a small ecosystem of it’s own, in which rumours spread as quickly as fevers, and grievances became infections hard to deal with. To keep all staff contented with one another and prevent petty squabbles was a complicated task Gale had mastered with time, and secrets were not a great indicator of the health of this one.
A very particular master with, no doubt, very shady business going on. A limited staff with secrets, and one that referred to their master by his first name… Not for the first time, Gale wondered what he had got himself into?
“Come." Dammon threw the cloth over his shoulder, gesturing for Gale to follow as Karlach turned about, back to piling the chopped wood. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the gang.”
Children.
The house, Midnight Manor, was held together by… actual children!
Dammon had taken him into the stables, where a workbench with tools sat in a corner that connected with a small smithy. The tiefling had explained that was, most of the time, his workspace, and if he ever sought him out, that would be the place Gale would find him. Then, he had walked Gale to a room that mirrored the stables, in which a group of six tiefling children were sitting down in a circle playing with something similar to marbles. They all dressed in comfortable work clothes with various amounts of dirt on them; one of them was wearing a horse’s cheekpiece over her shoulders like an untied scarf.
One of the kids, a girl named Mol, greeted him and let him know she was in charge of the lot. Dammon had rolled his eyes and told him that all of the kids performed various, simple tasks around the house: sending and receiving the post, retrieving the newspapers, running quick errands, helping in the kitchens and laundry, stable work with the horses… anything that didn’t require handling money or other delicate affairs, which were taken on by the adult staff.
Gale had asked Dammon to accompany him to the kitchens for a cup of tea and a chat, if he could spare the time, to fill him in on the finer details. He had hoped the intimacy and closeness of the moment would make the tiefling lower his guard, enough to tell Gale anything worth knowing that he would not say in front of the children or his peers. While they nursed their steaming cups of tea, Gale made the first move.
“Thank you for welcoming me so warmly. Moving into a new home is always difficult. Feels a bit like intruding into someone’s life.”
“Ah, of course, mate. You seem a decent and kind man, and the people here are mostly pretty chill about every day stuff. Don’t worry, you’ll fit in very quickly.” Dammon blew on his cup, warming his hands on it as his tail swished slowly behind him. “Have you been in many houses?”
Gale chuckled.
“A few, yes. Although I have to say this is my first time so far south, and working outside nobility. It’s… an interesting change.” Too soon to tell if it was a welcome one, though. Gale was starting to think it wouldn’t be.
“Oh, man! Have you truly worked for the high ups? What’s it like?” Dammon’s eyes were suddenly very bright, his full attention now on Gale.
“Well, the rhythm is a lot more intense for the steward and the bailiff positions. Usually, nobles have many businesses, and we were often spread thin trying to manage the house, or houses, as well as the minor details of their other affairs. Although the higher the noble, the more staff they would have, so the real challenge then became coordinating between all of us to be able to work efficiently, instead of stepping on each other’s toes, really.”
“I can’t imagine something that big. Or that busy. It’s generally pretty quiet around here. The manor’s not that big, and Astarion doesn’t usually make much use of it beyond the regular parties and suchlike. He’s mostly working in his study, and on rare occasions, hanging out in the music room or the library.” Dammon smiled at him, almost looking apologetic before taking a tentative sip of his tea. “I hope you don’t find it boring. It must be quite the downgrade.”
Indeed, it was. But that was just what Gale had been looking for. Less social relevance meant fewer prying eyes that could possibly be aware of his identity. And the further away he got from home, the better. Neverwinter had been… a mistake. One he would endeavour not to repeat.
“I’m looking forward to the change of scenery, if I’m honest. And a change in rhythm, most of all. While I do enjoy a challenge, I have discovered I value the stability and comfort of a simpler position more.”
Dammon nodded, as if understanding Gale’s sentiment, and took another, longer sip of his tea. Gale let the time stretch, knowing that rushing his inquiries would make the tiefling suspicious and uncomfortable, and get him nowhere. Perhaps he should try a different approach.
“I have to say, one of the things I’m more surprised about, is the staff itself. I have never seen so many tieflings in one place. Or so many children.” He heard Dammon go quiet and felt him stiffen beside him. Gale frowned, not understanding the situation. Had he said something wrong?
“Astarion has been very kind to us,” Dammon began, carefully. “He pays fair wages. More than any of us made when we were working in the city. More than we could ever hope to earn.”
“What do you mean?”
Dammon gave him a suspicious look, as if he thought Gale had been laying some sort of trap for him and was considering if it was worth letting himself be caught in it. Meanwhile, Gale was absolutely baffled by the situation.
“We’re tieflings, man. Nobody wants one of us working in their shop, planting their crops or cleaning their homes if they can help it.”
Oh. Gale had thought this was a problem long gone, but perhaps he had been blinded by what he knew, and the other places in which he had been living. It was hard, sometimes, to remember he was not at home, and the world outside the greater cities of the north was vastly different.
“Oh, I meant no offence, please. I have no issues with tieflings. I never have.” Gale cleared his throat, feeling as if a great boulder had taken sudden residence in his stomach, shame and sadness spreading all around him. “Is it… that bad? I have never been so far south of Waterdeep before.”
Dammon sighed and left the tea cup on the kitchen table. The silence was deafening, only broken by the quiet sound of Auntie Ethel humming a tune in the distance.
“Dunno how it is up there, but here it was bad before the war, and it got worse later.” The tiefling rolled up his sleeves and showed Gale a few, pale scars of old wounds long healed. They were criss-crossed lines, some of them coarse and pink, as if something had sliced deep into the flesh years back. “I was born before the war, and let me tell you, at least here, It got so much worse after Elturel. Many of us thought we would find new lives when we escaped, yet we only found rejection.”
The fall of Elturel during the war had resonated through the Sword Coast, and Gale had read about it in the news. It had been a terrible affair, and Waterdeep and Neverwinter had welcomed refugees without any issue. He had thought all other major cities would have behaved the same. That the dark times in which parents abandoned their tiefling children in the wilds, thinking them cursed, had long since passed. But he should have known that, in a land where slavery was still unpunished, albeit uncommon, the situation would be significantly different.
“I’m so sorry, Dammon… Had I known, I would never have…”
“It’s alright. But you should know about this. No tiefling in Baldur’s Gate, or probably south of Daggerforth, will appreciate any remarks on the subject. And you probably shouldn't bring it up around Karlach, either.”
Oh.
“She fought in the war, didn’t she?”
Dammon nodded.
“Not voluntarily. She doesn’t talk about it much, and you shouldn’t ask her. She doesn’t like it.” Dammon took another sip of his tea, recovering the forgotten cup from the table. “It’s nice to know it isn’t this bad everywhere, I suppose. Gives one hope for better times, eh?”
Gale pressed his lips together and smiled, nodding, and then sipped his own tea. It was still too warm for him, but he found that he’d rather keep his mouth busy with scalding tea than daring to say anything else. He had been very lucky that Dammon had been so understanding and he hadn’t antagonised the tiefling completely. What other awful differences would he discover between his home and Baldur’s Gate?
As if he didn’t already have enough reasons to be homesick.
“Mr. Ancunín mentioned that there are some rules I needed to be aware of, and that the staff would tell me about them.” He hoped the change of subject would be enough to dissipate the heavy atmosphere that had descended between them. Dammon blinked at him. “Do you happen to know what he meant by that?”
The tiefling nodded.
“Yeah, don’t worry. It really is very simple, he’s not a complicated guy to work for.” Gale had to disagree on that one, but he suspected that was some particular hell that Mr. Ancunín had devised specially for him, for some reason. “He doesn’t want to be bothered when he’s working in his office, and we’re expected to knock and leave anything he has requested outside the door. No service is allowed in the upper floors of the manor while he’s hosting his parties, especially not the children. He’s very adamant about that. And no visitors should be allowed in unless he’s expecting them, or Lord Szarr comes by. Ah, when Lord Szarr does appear, Astarion always asks us to go get him, even if he’s in his office. Personally, I find Szarr a bit imposing, so I don’t let the children be around when he’s here. He just looks… creepy. Astarion is always in a foul mood after one of his visits.”
The Szarr name did ring a bell, but Gale wasn’t able to recall what was familiar about it. It was concerning that it wasn’t entirely unknown to him, but why? Was it for his own safety, or something else? Maybe he could ask his mother, in his next letter… Morena had always been better at remembering names than he had.
“I understand.” Gale frowned, still thinking about one of the things Dammon had mentioned and that had remained with him. “You mentioned the parties. Why would Mr. Ancunín not want any service present? No music? No servers? Cooking? Footmen?“
Dammon shook his head.
“Ethel usually starts cooking by midday, and we leave everything prepared in the ballroom, but they barely touch the food. Musicians are welcomed in a little while after the first carriages arrive at our doors. Karlach guards the gates for the night, allowing them in and out, but nothing is required from us until the next day, when we serve breakfast, clean up the remains of the party, and make sure the stragglers… leave the manor.”
“Stragglers?”
He could scarcely imagine any scenario in which there could be anyone left after the musicians had already departed for the night, and the candles had been all but consumed. Well… there could be reasons, of course. Gale was hardly naive about the ways of the world and, despite not participating in some of the events that took place in the high circles of society, it was known that some partook in nights of carnal pleasure and indulgence. Most improper, decadent affairs. Would Mr. Ancunín…? Surely not. Those must be purely social affairs… right? But as much as he thought about it, Gale couldn’t deny the evidence. Mr. Ancunín was a bachelor, as far as he knew, and if it were proven that he had a hedonistic nature then the conclusion was clear… despite his unwillingness to see it.
Dammon looked at him over the rim of his cup, cheeks slightly coloured. Must have been the warmth of the tea.
“Astarion’s parties last all night, sometimes even late into the morning. He is quite strict that we don’t disturb him, so we serve breakfast and then lead out any remaining guests that we find, so they don’t wander around the manor. Karlach and I usually manage that, discreetly. I assume… that duty will now fall on you.” He took another sip, longer than any of the previous ones, and as Gale’s mind spun, trying to understand where he had ended up, the smith cleared his throat. “Astarion is… a complicated person, but not entirely unkind. If all we have to do is deal with a bit of queerness, and fake ignorance of his affairs in exchange for a fair, decent life, I know that I will choose this any day. I hope you are of the same mind.”
And Gale also hoped. Oh, he hoped. Because it would be a right shame if he had just made it to Baldur’s Gate with what was left of his savings, only to be trapped in a hell of a household, with no prospect of finding another source of income any time soon.
Gale gripped his cane with his free hand, forced a pleasant smile on his face, and took a steadying sip of his tea.