Chief's Office(#21233Rhn)
From the doorway this room looks large and cavernous. Its floors, walls (what can be seen of them) and ceiling are all dark wood. It is easy to see that the room is naturally dark, especially at night, but in several places, dispersed throughout the room, big round candles are standing to give light when needed.
To the left, on the wall that the doorway is in, a bulletin board is hung. At the top, "Notes for Harmon here, please" is written, and several small notes are attached. Further around that side, on the wall perpendicular to the doorway, is a humongous depiction of the Breelands, including Combe, Archet, Staddle, and the hill itself. Attached to the picture in several places are small gold-colored badges which read, "With Strength We Serve." There is a wooden stepladder against the wall to the side of the picture, which is tall enough to extend practically from the ceiling to the floor.
About twenty feet from the door, on the opposite wall, is a large window which looks out onto the hillside. In front of the window, is a large wooden desk, covered in papers and well used. A huge chair sits between the desk and the window. The chair has a few pillows piled up on the seat.
On the right side-wall, there is a huge brown sofa. A pillow is perched on one end of the cushions and a light blue blanket is draped over the top of the back. There is also a table with a drawer in it, nearer the door. The drawer is cracked open a few inches, and one can see inside just it enough to be able to see that the drawer is divided vertically into files.
In the midst of it all, there is a huge rug covering the majority of the floor, on top of which sit a few chairs, presumable for guests in the office. At the near edge of the desk, and facing outward, is a wooden block, attached to which is a brass nameplate which is engraved with, 'Chief Harmon Rootwhistle.'
Contents:
Ottewell
Obvious exits:
Corridor
================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Wed Aug 03 17:06:22 2005
Bree time: Midday <12:18 PM (noon)> on Sterday of Autumn - October 22,1435
Moon Phase: First Quarter Moon
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Breelands Weather
The midday autumn air is cool but pleasant around you. The sky is clear and the sunlight shines brightly.
The heavy constable arrives in the office. Advance warning was sent ahead to the Captain of the news. Ottewell Whitethorne III. Son of old Otty Whitethorne. Arson.
Ottewell's face upon arrival is one of rather extreme dissatisfaction. After passing the open door, he speaks immediately. "Cap'n. This is lies. I wasn't there. My shoe . . . I don't know how that happened. It was one of my second set. I've only got two. I didn't even know it was missin' till I got to the scene. Someone's been put up to makin' it look like I did it." He is rambling. "You know me Cap'n. I ain't the type to go about things this sorta way." His rant leaves him heaving a bit; his cheeks redenned above his wiggling beard, and sweat covering his grimaced face.
Chief of the Breeguards- perhaps it is his position alone that gives him the air of demanded respect... Of course there is a concerned frown on his face as he leans back in the chair. He listens without saying a word, nor moving very much at all, really. Simply listening, his brows sometimes knitting together with the effort of thought...
"Well, son, it doesn't look good, I can tell you that much..." He takes a deep breath and leans forward on the desk, steepling his fingers, then peering over them at the guard. "Tell me, where were you last night? Apparently you had left your post a few minutes before the fires started..."
The constable nods, shifting a foot in an awkward gesture, and eyes darting to the floor before they return to the Chief's. "I had word of a burglary, and went to go look into it. The fella that reported this to me, I'd seem him about a bit the last few days, but that's all. Haven't seem him since. I don't know if he's from Archet or what. Anyway, this fella told me he'd witnessed a burglary ongoing and to hurry to it. He lead me to the scene, then he disappeared on me. I figured he was afeard of the burglar, so I goed into the home. Only to find it was the home of a Rushlight family, who weren't even home, and no burglar or disturbance to be seen. Then I seen the red fire down the block, and headed o'er to it, only to see these Rushlights there lookin' at a fire." He gasps. This is quite a work out. "I tell you. Someone set me up to this. And that it was Greythorn's home. She's got it out for me. I'll warrant she burnt her own home to make me look bad."
Announcement: Endaerion has changed the poll to: I need more cowbell!
Again he listens- this man looks like he was built for listening (And not only because his ears were the size of small dinner plates, but because of his position on the guard, of course, and the fact that he spends much of his life listening to similar tales, while trying to wheedle the truth from untruth, striving to uphold justice and all that.) and nods slowly as the words pour forth.
"I see, I see. So, in effect, you're saying that unless we can find this unknown boy that disappeared like a spirit into the night, that you have no alibi, and no one knows where you were at the time of the fire, correct?" He pauses at the last words of the guard, and smirks, just slightly. "She burnt her own home? I highly doubt it. I wouldn't warrant anyone going to such lengths just to seek revenge on someone. And I doubt there's anything that you could have done that would cause her to do such a thing. Why, the whole idea in itself seems absurd. Of course, you have meantioned her several times- I remember hearing the name in passing. It's almost like you yourself have a strange facination or intense dislike for the woman... though we don't jump to conclusions here..."
And at that moment, a young breeguard- sooty faced and panting for breath runs in- one charred key in his hand, and a thick gold ring- slightly dirty but otherwise unscathed..
Ottewell's oblivious to the young guard. "Capn! You know me better than that." He's close to panicking now. "And you yerself said we ougtha have that Greythorn checked up on! You wanted me ta get someone talking ta her right o' way, which I've set someone on." He huffs, "Cap'n, you listen now. She's a devious type. A right witch she is, and she put this altogether, she did. I got a family. A good family, and I'm happy here. Why would I wanna go burning down her home and lose all that? You think on that. You know as well as I she associates with 'em hooligans and shifty types. That she's the cause of all this ruckus we've got into here. And I've done plenty to get her to want revenge. I put out that notice for her arrest, which still hasn't happened, and which makes me wonder if our constabulary ain't doin' it's job. And now you, taking her side like that. I never thought I'd see the day I'd question even you Cap'n. I told you what she propositioned to me . . . her bribe she tried." He has so much more to ramble, but is simply out of breath now. So much so, that he doubles over his belly, as much as that is possible, resting his palms on his knees.
The Captain blinks, and stands up. "Now, now, Whitethorne, you're making it worse for yourself going on like this. Please, sit down..." Lest you give yourself a heart attack, or forget how to breathe.. The captain takes the items from the guard, who, after taking a lengthy and calculated look at Ottewell, slips out again. The Captain studies the ring for a long time. "I don't know why, Whitethorne. Perhaps you're frustrated with things, perhaps you hate her, and wanted to take away what /she/ had in life? She's a woman, Ottewell. We all know women are hardly capable of such things. They are gentle of mind and nature- there's hardly room for malice in there! Now, I know what sort of people she associates with, but perhaps that is your opinion of them... Now look, Ottewell, the evidence is stacking up against you- there's your shoe, found at the scene, your lack of alibi, this ring, which I'm only going to presume is yours, unless you happen to tell me otherwise- and I pray that you do! And this key, which, as yet, has no significance, but I'll look into it. Your obvious dislike toward the woman is a huge factor, where I'm aware she's bought you a drink at the Prancing Pony before, and has not spoken a bad word toward you!"
The constable's eyes fall on the ring, and widen visibly. His face redenning; no purpling actually. He stammers, "How . . . that's the one that was stoled!" He points a fat finger at the ring. "That was stoled in that burglary! That proves it. I knew it were Greythorn who had me burglarized! Thieving, deceitful wench!" He's definitely lost his cool now. Very unusual for him. "Cap'n. What's got into ye? This ain't you talkin'. Why yer sudden change of mind?" Suddenly, he starts to step backward out of the room, slowly. Trying to be subtle about it, as if appearing merely to adjust his stance with bent knees.
There are guards in the doorway. "I will not have such words spoken in my office, Constable Whitethorne!" The captain shouts, folding his hand over the ring, and balling them into fists. "Listen, man, you're going mad- there's no evidence against this Greythorn woman, and there won't be until we find her and interview her! There is a stack of evidence against you, however, and if you continue to rave in such a manner, then it only confounds the evidence against you! If you appear to be unsound of mind, then why wouldn't you burn the house of a woman you hate?? Now, I think you need a few moments to cool down. Go out into the entrance, sit down, take some deep breaths, and we'll continue this when you're more level-headed."
Ottewell turns, nearly taking out the doorway as he does so; his belly bouncing into the frame. He doesn't respond verbally, merely disappearing from the room in his thudding footsteps.
The Captain lets out a loud exhale, and opens his fist, looking closely at his ring quietly as his mind turns.
A moment later, and there is some commotion down the hall. A moment later, Scarlet Greythorn, the one and only, is led in- placidly, by a guard, who whispers quickly the situation in the Captains ear, then backs out. The woman has tear tracks that run down her face- she is clutching a piece of curtain in her hand. What a strange picture for this woman to be in- of despair, of loss... She regards the Captain carefully.
The Captain regards her passively. The persuasiveness of his defense of earlier replaced by coldness and blank eyes. "Ms. Greythorne. Tell me what happened." He leans back, folding his hands behind his head and waiting for her story.
The woman weeps quietly into her piece of curtain for a few moments, "I'm sorry.. it's just..." And she dabs at her eyes, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and turns those eyes- without a hint of misery within their depths (a different shade to her actual expression and demeanour) on the captain. "Well... I was staying at my cousin's house..." another shuddering breath, "Because she's sick, and she's all alone there in such a big, cold house... and then I heard the commotion, and looked out... and.... and..." It's all too much- she breaks down again.
He doesn't hide his lack of sympathy. Underneath it all, he's just as suspicious of her as Whitethorne, and has been for some time. But she has her purposes.
"I see. You have any way of knowing how this happened? Did you leave a fire going? I'm assume you /didn't' leave a fire on." He adds the last sentence carefully. "I'm also assuming you didn't leave any candles or lamps lit. And that there's no explanation that's consistent with an accident." He pauses for a moment to allow the words to sink in. "Do tell me if my assumptions are wrong."
Again she sniffs pathetically, dabs at her eyes and seems to fight some inner struggle to express the words in a properly devestated tone. "No, I wasn't at home all day or night... of course I didn't leave anything lit.. I wouldn't do that if I was staying the night with Lucy... it couldn't have been an accident! Someone has done this to me! They've taken away my home, and all my posessions... I.. I don't even have a husband to support me, or anyone to help me-- who would do this? And why?? I don't understand..." And she weeps, again.
He opts for candor now. "I'm going to do you a favor, Ms. Greythorne. And keep in mind this ain't the sort of favor I'm used to doing in 20 years of guardin' this town." He folds his hands on the desktop. "Yer a troublemaker. But a clever one, I think. And I don't buy yer sobbing for a second. I've seen many sobs by many jailees o'er the years. But the evidence we've got says Otty burnted down your house. And there's no evidence suggesting anything else. So as I see it I've no choice but to lock him up and send him before the Council. So that's what I'm going to do, despite the fact that part of me thinks you've had a hand in this somehow." Another brief pause.
"But I'm going to take things at their face value. Because, frankly, Bree needs me, and they don't need a mouthy type like Ottewell messin' things up. He doesn't realize that you have to pick your battles. And I think you are alot more harmless than Otty makes. He seems to be fixated on you in some unhealthy way. I have think he's got a dual interest in you, if you know what I'm meanin'. And I ain't the only one who thinks that. So the long and short of it is, I thinking its best for Bree if the guards and you and your friends come to a bit of an understanding for the time being. I'll let my investigations focus on more important matters, if you agree to let us run our show here. Otty, unfortunately, will have to go."
The tears stop, as if on cue. "Why, I've never made trouble in my life, Captain, save for when I was young, and I hardly think that counts. So you're suspecting Mr. Whitethorne? Why, that is a shock, although I always thought he didn't like me- even when I bought him a beer he didn't say thank you or anything... Though the dual interest certainly is unnerving-- is he unhappy with the wife, then?" There it is, the subtle slip back into that coy and arrogant tone of voice she always has. After all, one can only keep up an act for so long.
"What type of understanding would that be, then? I'm not one to interfere in the affairs of Breeguards, me, so you carry on doing what you need to do. I shall sleep easier at night to know that Ottewell isn't roaming the streets any more. I shan't have to worry that my bed should catch fire under me while I am trying to rest."
He grimaces a bit, "I don't expect you to confess to me what you are up to. That would make my arrangement a bit difficult. You'd have trouble trusting I'd hold up to my side of the bargain. Let's just say we can have a silent understanding. I'll let you go on about things without trouble, whatever those "things," may be, and you'll let the guards be. If it is as you say, you should have no problem doing that. And perhaps I'll ask in return that you and your "friends" I've gotten word of simply but in a good word for me now then. It's time for things to calm down in Bree, and it would do lot to spread a good word. I, in turn, will retract the notice for your arrest and let the public know that the guard responsible for that notice is to be terminated from his position, and that the guard does not endorse Mr. Whitethorne's conclusions about your character. In return, I simply need your assurance to what I've proposed, and perhaps an agreement that you'll cooperate with me. I'm going to need you to at least acknowledge that, in order for this to work. I fear the only other solution, and it is an undesirable one, is for me to have you arrested right now based upon Mr. Whitethorne's charges." There's the slightest gleam in his eyes--the gleam of perceived power perhaps--at his last statement.
Scarlet searches the man's face- her eyes narrow, and dart back and forth. Over the years, she's become more than accustomed at this task. Why, this couldn't be working out better for her, could it? She's being asked to go back to doing what she was doing, the troublemaking Breeguard is going to be removed, and she's striking deals with the top man in the job. "So all I must do, is put in a good word for you, and cooperate with you? Oh, and let the guards be, which is no problem for me, of course. I've never not let them be- it's always been that Whitethorn man giving me trouble...."
The Captain nods. "Like I said then, it should all work according to plan. Although . . ." He looks a bit irritated. " . . . if you feel the need to talk to one of the guards about this or that or the other thing, come talk to me first. Although I'd suggest you might want to keep a distance from my guards in the future, so that there's no suspicions of impropriety." He wags a pointed finger. "And mind you, there's nothing improper about this arrangement. It's in the best interests of Bree." He's persuading himself, if anything. "So we have an agreement then? Let me know now. I need your agreement now, so I know where we stand. If we do, you can go on your way. The only expectation I'll have is that if I call for you, you'll come have a talk with me. You can expect all future meetings to be on the most civil of terms, of course."
"Of course. We're friends now, as I see it. Of course, like many of my friends, no one knows that we are friends at all. I understand completely." The curtain scrap disappears into her cloak, and she wipes her hands clean on the material. "Yes, we have an agreement. I am interesting to see how things shall develop from now... Feel free to call on me any time, of course. For whatever you need. That's what friends do, after all." And something about this comment suggest the pendulum swings both way. She sidles comfortably toward the door.
The Captain simply nods, regret already showing in the blankness of his stare. But he forces himself to erase it with a firming of his bottom lip; reaching for a pen to jot down some notes. Things he needs to remember about this conversation. He doesn't watch her leave.
And with that, she's gone, wandering down the hall as if she now owns the place. Well, perhaps she owns some of it now, in a sense. And as she passes by Otter, she makes sure no one else is watching, flashes him a cruel smile, then lifts one hand to wave in a goodbye fashion. Then she's out of the headquarters and wandering home.
The heavy constable, who wasn't here when Scarlet passed by earlier, is now seated at the table in the front room; his large head buried in his hands. He is muttering something to himself inaudibly. He looks up briefly at the sound of steps, just in time to see the cruel smile. It causes his heart to race suddenly. What could that mean? He'll soon find out . . .