How Hen had earned the responsibility of solving disputes between the maids she still wasn't sure. Something in her demeanor made her a suitable mediator, and the Chamber Head was quick to take advantage. There were a number of tasks on Mistress Hen's roster that had been slowly added over the years. Despite how busy they made her, the greatest benefit became how easily she could move around the palace; and keep Master Brecke informed of the Warlock's progress.

Returning to the yard to find her guests, Hen found nothing but the whisper of the wind and the laundry gently drying. Her first assumption was a little off the mark; that they must have hidden when they heard someone coming.

"Hello?" she tried in hushed tones, "Are you there? It is only I. You needn't be afraid."

Sweeping back the hung linens to look for them, an errant corner whipped at her injured eye.

"Fuck!" she cried without thinking.

"Now Mistress Hen, do not forget where you are," said Lyre, an arm resting on the wall she leaned against, "This is the palace, after all."

"Oh! Thank goodness," sighed Hen, "But... where is Fiepet Strahl?"

"The honorable elder Strahl has gone to enquire about his brother's whereabouts."

Hen's wide eyes betrayed her.

"You needn't be afraid," said Lyre, echoing Hen's words back to her, "He's not out to cause trouble. He'll only find himself kicked back out onto the street again to wait in his curricle."

"You are not the one who came with him then?" asked Hen, "He said 'we' followed him, I thought you'd come with him."

"From this Grunterbad place?" Lyre picked a piece of down from her sleeve, and blew it into the air, "No, it was the other one," she said, "The pretty brother."

"Master Brecke... I must speak with him at once!" The flustered Hen let her mouth run away from her.

With a smile, Lyre removed that self same piece of down from where it landed softly on Hen's fichu.

"Do not forget where you are," repeated Lyre, "There's no sense running off to find the Innate when they're more than likely to come to you. Dear Mistress Hen, you're much too pretty for the world to see its end. Tell me again what the Warlock is planning."

The tray awkwardly balanced beneath his arm, Fiepet politely knocked on the door at the top of the stairs. With no answer, he knocked again. At Strahl's Printworks there were only three in residence, having never felt the need to hire a maid of all work or a coachman. The little that Fiepet knew of servants came from the books they printed.

A servant would knock, and the master would tell them to enter. With another attempt and no reply from inside, he was quickly at a loss as to how he should proceed. Remembering the business for which he had come, Fiepet was ready to cast aside his menial persona and throw open the door when a quiet voice spoke out to him.

"Come," it said.

A careful, steady hand turned the handle. Fiepet composed himself before entering the room, his eyes down-cast, and every movement deliberate. He was playing his second role since arriving in the Madning Isle, and he hoped to improve his performance.

"Put it with the others," said the voice.

On a long table to the left of the door, lay a variety of untouched trays littered with almost every kind of delectable treat. The kitchen had tried everything, but neither master had much of an appetite. One needed to regain his strength and find his bride before the wedding preparations were completed, and the other...

The Counsel's discerning tastes and meagre interest in life's joys had seen him grow thinner throughout the century. He would fuel himself as needed in the years of the Warlock's rise, but now the enemy lay vanquished, and with no one to share in his feast of celebration, the Counsel rarely thought to eat.

Fiepet discovered that his tray would not easily fit beside the others. With it firmly wedged in the crook of his arm, he used his other hand to consolidate the parfaits and bonbons, and put the meat pastries next to the radish squares. The process of reorganizing was not only time consuming, but the noises it made attracted the attention of the master.

"Could you not do that-"

The Counsel advanced with speed, a swift step and his slender fingers were wrapped around Fiepet's throat; the tray he had brought clattering to the ground, the contents of the little dish it held spilling onto the floor.

"Forgive me," wheezed Fiepet, "I hadn't meant to make so much noise..!"

"I know you," said the Counsel, his wide accusing eyes flaming up at him, "You were there last night. I saw you upon the stage. You stared at me then. Is that why you followed me here?"

Fiepet had the strength to free himself, but also possessed the wit to know that he should not. He cleared his throat and relaxed the fists he'd made without thinking.

"I've come to find my brother," Fiepet rasped, "I thought you could help me."

The Counsel released his grip and broke into a hoarse and labored laugh.

"You came to me to ask for help..?" he asked, the incredulous amusement subsiding, "Did you not think I would flay your skin and sear your sinew with the flames upon my breath? Have you not heard what I do to those that irk me..?! The depths to which I would sink to satisfy my depravity?"

Fiepet shook his head. "No, but the man you're describing... he sounds like the villain from the play. The ...Professor?"

The Counsel regarded the strange young man, a puzzled expression painted on his pale face.

"The Protector," he corrected.

"I understand you are a very important person," Fiepet conceded, "And that is why you were unable to speak with me when I arrived at the palace. But I come to beg, most humbly, for your assistance in finding my brother. He was taken last night from the Sirrup House, and I believe the perpetrator of his abduction is known to you."

"He is?" asked the Counsel, in a rare moment of interest.

"Indeed, sir!," Fiepet replied, "He is the gentleman who disrupted the performance. The one you saved from further trouble at the theater."

"Ursa..? He ran so fast from there... I don't believe he would have taken a stranger with him. He is not fond of strangers."

"But the cart he stole!" explained Fiepet, "My brother was inside it, quite knocked out. There had been an earlier attempt... someone tried to take him, and it happened to be the kidnapper's cart that your acquaintance has now ...borrowed."

"If it was only a mistake, he will likely return to you," said the Counsel, "In time."

He knew the futility of those words. Time was running out and there was every chance the brothers would never meet again in this life.

"Please," begged Fiepet, "My brother and I, we are not of this place. I fear that something will happen to him in my absence. I made a promise to my father that I would keep him safe, if you can tell me where to find them, I will go there myself and never bother you again."

The Counsel was seldom bothered by people. Most knew to fear him.

"I do not know where they might be," he confessed, "I searched for Ursa for a very long time and last night was the only glimpse I had of him."

Fiepet visibly deflated.

"Go home and wait," suggested the Counsel, "There's nothing you can do."

Things had been tolerable when hope was at play. But now the brave determination of Fiepet Strahl was considerably diminished. Go home? He could not. Wherever they were, it was too far that home could be reached again so easily. Even if he made it back, how could he leave Delph behind to find the way alone?

"I will return to the theater and wait for my brother," Fiepet told him, "But before I do..."

"Take whatever food you want with you," the Counsel generously offered, "It will not be eaten otherwise."

"We have food enough at home, but I don't know how to get there. When the time comes, I will take my brother back to Grunterbad. But before I do, I must learn the way."  

The Counsel looked at him closely, as though there would be some tell-tale sign of him having come from another world. He looked as any other man on the Madning Isle.

"Say it again. Who are you and where have you come from?"

"I am Fiepet Strahl of Grunterbad. My brother and I followed a man through the water who'd come to pay his respects to our father. Somehow, we came to this place. Now my brother is missing, and I must find him."

He didn't look much like the witch he remembered on the shore of the River Vel, and yet there was a familiarity he could not place. It was possible the witch had had children on the other side, where time flowed like water.

From the day they dragged Ursa from the boat to the day he left, his hatred for the witch did not abate. In Rel's honor, he protected him from the bloodshed of the insurrection; never allowing him to tarnish his immortal soul, and meting out vengeance for them both. At the world's end, the Counsel was prepared to suffer in the realm of torment for his sins, but not Ursa.

Ursa deserved to find his place in the everlasting Hymm, where Rel and his family awaited him. If he'd learned the witch's kin was within striking distance, it could already be too late to save his soul.

"I will help you look," the Counsel told him, "At once!"

The Counsel's door flung open, and with it a loud bell rang out to signal the master's call. His attendant appeared in a flash beside him.

"Is it... time?" he asked with a bow.

"Horses. Saddle them, yours and mine," the Counsel told him.

"At once." 

"This man will take yours."

"But, Master, if you run into danger-"

"Remora," the attendant's rarely uttered name on his master's lips, "I am returning to the Sirrup House to pick up the drunkard's trail. There is no danger beyond the assaulting stench of wine and vomit. Your head must hurt from where he hit you. Rest and take comfort."

Remora bowed, his brow flinching, his feet unable to walk away.

"In case," said the Counsel, "Know that I am grateful for all you have done. Let this order to saddle be my last to you. Enjoy the freedom that remains, and do with it what you will."

Nodding his assent, the attendant left to make preparations, his breath having gone before him.

Fiepet scanned the hallway for signs of Lyre. She had probably returned to pester Mistress Hen, or been caught and gone back to see her curious friend in the city. Either way, he thought it for the best, that their association had come to an end. He wanted to always see the good in people, and yet something about the way she lived had made him fall victim to prejudice.

He didn't like when she was there to remind him of that.

As one might have expected from the Velvet Palace, the horses and supplies were readied by the time Fiepet and the Counsel had descended the staircase. A cloak adorned the master's frail body, and a riding crop placed in his hand with reverance. All but Fiepet lowered themselves in his presence; a man who commanded authority, and yet had barely the strength to mount his horse. 

That he should leave without his servants, that he should leave without eating; Fiepet feared a ghost would follow him to the Sirrup House.

"Ah!" Fiepet remembered, "I borrowed a curricle from Master Pie at the theater. I should take it back and return it to him."

An upward tilt of the Counsel's head, and a member of staff was assigned to the job of delivering the curricle.

"You do ride, don't you?" the Counsel asked Fiepet.

"Of course!" he replied with a laugh, "We've horses enough in Grunterbad."

Fiepet placed his foot in the stirrup and mounted the dappled steed before him. It was his second time riding a horse, and for the first, his father had led it by hand. Not wanting his inexperience to mark him, he leaned down and stroked the horse's mane.

"Don't give me away," he whispered, "I talked too big... I'd forgotten how small my pond was."