Jonathan Wadesly yawned, as he clambered gingerly down the stairs into the space below. It was just shortly before sunrise and as usual he was the only one at the shop, as he rented the apartment space directly above it. Carefully setting his candle aside, he pushed the stairs back up, and shut the latch with the steel hook used specifically for that purpose. He took a minute to stretch. Tempest’s Eye born and bred, he was used to the thin mountain air and the bitter cold, but it was becoming harder and harder to ignore his aches with each passing winter.
He wondered if his parents had the same aches and pains when they had been his age, although he knew they were of better constitution, having been labourers their whole life. They had wanted more for him, though, and thrift and a little bit of luck had seen them earn enough coin to buy Jonathan an apprenticeship to become a clerk.
He walked into the staff kitchen and started a fire to cook his breakfast and heat the morning tea. He relished the warmth from the stove, as he collected the mug that matched his mood—the one with “Pray heed, all pious men of Sigmar! I am unfit for polite society until I have partaken of my morning tea” painted on its surface. He stared absentmindedly into the kettle. It had been a long time since he’d thought about his apprenticeship, and Janice his one and only sweetheart.
He never wanted to be a clerk. He had big dreams once. He had talked with Janice about joining the Crusade that had been building up momentum. It was every faithful’s dream to set forth and reclaim the lands of Sigmar and he had yearned like so many youths to find honour, glory, and riches in the Crusades, or martyrdom in the trying. Mr. Grumbleson agreeing to take him on as an apprentice clerk put paid to that dream. Faced with the prospect of a better life for him and his family, he felt pressured to accept.
He remembered the last time he saw Janice. He’d begged her to stay with him, but her heart was set on the Crusade. She had told him that she would send for him when they had succeeded in founding a new settlement. After all, Floyde’s of Aqshy could be found in all the Mortal Realms, and surely the firm would have work for him in a burgeoning new settlement. She never called for him; the Realm of Beasts had claimed her bones along with thousands of the blessed dead.
The whistling of the kettle broke him free of his reverie, and he pulled it from the fire and mix in the tea leaves. He was in the middle of frying his bacon and eggs, when he heard the bells attached to the front door, alerting him to the fact that someone had arrived. “Is that bacon I smell, lad? Cook me a rasher, will ya?” the loud voice of Mr. Grumbleson called out from the offices. The Duardin trudged onto the kitchen, still wearing his thick woollen coat. He looked at the ready tea kettle and the bacon frying in the pan and clapped his hands with a grin. Mr. Grumbleson went ahead and prepared the table for the two of them and settled down as Johnathan arrived with the pan and set the bacon and eggs onto the plates.
“Good lad,” Mr. Grumbleson said, as he hopped onto the stool and began to wolf down the food. They ate in affable silence, as was their routine. There were two other people who worked in their branch office, but they often showed up just before business hours. Mr. Grumbleson spooned a bit of egg and waved it for emphasis. “We’ve got a busy day ahead of us, lad. I’ve got work for you, if’n you’re up to it.”
Jonathan looked up from his plate. “What’s the job?”
“You know the big Crusade that’s gearing up? The one to that island?”
“Yeah, everyone’s been talking about it. I know we’re getting a lot of contracts for it too.”
Grumbleson grinned. “Aye, that we are. Our first job’s a good one too. We got a hefty contract for wayfinding. The usual preliminary scouting and figuring out the lay of the land,” he said, looking pleased. As well he should be, that was a lucrative job, not just for the fees the firm would undoubtedly incur from Hammerhal Ghyra but also because it meant Floyde’s of Aqshy had first dibs on any valuable finds that they could reasonably cart off or secure. Everyone did it and the cities were often content to let it slide as long the various outfits doing the work exercised a bare modicum of common sense.
“So, what does the head office need from us?”
“The firm did some work on the island a few decades ago. Some of the documents should be stored in our office, so they’re wanting us to look in the archives. Find maps, and the like. Likely old and out of date by now but every little bit helps, ye ken?”
Jonathan sighed, thinking about the dusty attic where they kept most of their old documents. “Don’t make that face, lad. It’s important work, and the head office will surely take note of our contribution.” Jonathan wasn’t so sure about that, but he let Mr. Grumbleson continue about how they would be getting bonuses for this. Grumbleson was a Senior Partner in his firm and knew his job, but Jonathan suspected the reason he was here in this small branch office was because he was a little too nice and trusting for his own good. Jonathan had been to the head office; he knew what kind of apex predators stalked the halls of Floyde’s of Aqshy.
This was also the reason he was going to do the best job he could. The last thing he wanted was to attract any unwanted attention and the best way to do it was quickly, efficiently, and without fuss.
“Are ye still listening, lad?” Grumbleson asked, snapping Jonathan out of his reverie. “Ahh, yeah. I’ll get right on it after I help you open up.”
They finished up with their meal and washed up. Jonathan took a few minutes to help Grumbleson get ready until Miriel finally arrived, and he excused himself to head up to the archives. He walked to the back of the office, unhooked the steps from the ceiling once more, and climbed up to the upper floor landing. There was another set of steps leading up to the attic and he climbed up, used his key to unlock the archives, and pushed the door open. He sneezed as he entered. Opening the door had kicked up a cloud of dust that had accumulated in the room. The attic was their deep storage, where they held records that they didn’t immediately need on hand, and it had been months since Jonathan or any of his colleagues had needed to make the visit.
He set upon the task at hand with his characteristic thoroughness. His back still ached, but the work at least turned his mind away from his earlier thoughts of what could have been. This was his life, and in truth it had not been an altogether bad one.
“How’s the work coming along now?” Mr. Grumbleson asked, as he stepped into the attic. He looked at the pile of scrolls that Jonathan set aside, as he stroked his greying beard thoughtfully. “Oh, hey Mr. Grumbleson. I’m making good time. Found a bunch of reports, and some maps. I even found an old policy, if you could believe it,” Jonathan replied with a chuckle.
“A policy?” Mr. Grumbleson asked, his brows furrowing.
“Yeah,” Jonathan replied, not picking up on the sudden concern in Mr. Grumbleson’s voice. “Taken out by some noble named François D’Île VIII. Funny old thing. It’s against the whole island. It was so comprehensive they bound it into a book.”
“Lad…”
Jonathan looked at Mr. Grumbleson curiously. The Duardin looked rather concerned. “What is it Mr. Grumbleson?”
“François D’Île VIII was Gallus Tidestayer’s name when he was still human,” he said. “Let me look at that policy,” he said, moving with a speed and purpose that surprised Jonathan. He watched as Mr. Grumbleson leafed through the pages, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper the farther he got into it. “By Sigmar’s golden bottom!” the Duardin cursed. “I knew it. I knew this was before we put in the Stormcast Exclusion but I had to make sure,” he exclaimed, as he walked towards Jonathan and pushed the old and yellowing tome back into his hands. “Quick, lad, run to the main office and explain the situation. This policy is still valid.”
Jonathan’s eyes widened, and he was running before he could even completely process what he had just learned. He had heard about the Stormcast problem, of course. Some of the policies that Floyde’s of Aqshy had underwritten were tied to the lifetime of the policyholder, which made thing very awkward when the God-King Sigmar in his infinity wisdom decided to start taking mortals and reforging them into the immortal Stormcast. Sure, it was 50/50 on whether they remembered or even cared, but sometimes some of them did, and the claims that resulted from those times were the stuff of hushed whispers and haunted looks by the most senior and powerful figures of the insurance industry. Jonathan had once remembered a senior part go dull-eyed and hollow as he recounted his one and only Stormcast claim, but they were so rare that he had never considered that he would be involved in such a case, much less be the one dropping it onto the main office’s lap. Still, adrenaline and novelty was good for keeping the inevitable panic attack at bay, and he soon found himself in front of the hallowed portal leading to the rarefied and opulent main office of Floyde’s of Aqshy.
He staggered into the lobby. The poor receptionist stared at him in alarm, as Jonathan babbled with wide eyes, while waving the tome containing the policy about. It took a while for the poor receptionist to decipher his words enough to learn that Mr. Grumbleson had sent him; that it was an emergency of the highest order; and that it was a case involving one the Stormcast.
If he had been in his right mind, Jonathan would no doubt have felt intimidated by how quickly he was shunted off to a Senior Partner of a decidedly different temperament than Mr. Grumbleson. Eleanor Verdigris was an Aelf. She was tall, severe, and elegant, which put her right at home in the highest and most cutthroat halls of Floyde’s of Aqshy. She also owned the largest collections of swords Jonathan had ever seen in his entire life. Her office bristled, and yet she was still the sharpest thing in the entire room.
She regarded him with cold disdain, as she steepled her fingers and leaned forward. “I was told that one of our Senior Partners sent you to explain a matter of utmost importance?” she said. She looked dubious, no doubt because of the branch office Jonathan hailed from. “Explain.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jonathan said. The room helped him focus, and his explanation was a little more coherent. “I see,” Eleanor said when he had finished. “That is indeed quite the dilemma,” she continued, not sounding perturbed at all. “Especially at this time; all our best agents are preoccupied and there’s no time to recall any of them.” She studied Jonathan closely. He had never felt so scrutinised in his life. “But, let me see, you are Jonathan Wadesly, yes?” she said in a way that suggested she already knew everything about him. She paused for a second before continuing. “Yes, you have the necessary qualifications, though you lack the field experience. Still, we must make do. Stiff upper lip and all that. Congratulations, it seems your lot in life is to be improved by this very important discovery, and it is only right for the person who found this important information to steer the firm in the right direction.” Her voice was a knife’s edge that made Jonathan keenly aware that she had just passed the buck to him.
She stood up and walked to a cabinet and opened it with a key. He watched as he retrieved a belt of duelling pistols which she then unceremoniously thrust into Jonathan’s free hand. He stood there dumbfounded. “I assume you know how to use these? Our men on the ground can be a troublesome lot, and you’ll have your work cut out for you to be sure.”
“I, uh, I’ve done the training, but are you suggesting I use these on our own agents?”
She looked at him with mild surprise. “Why, yes, that’s why I gave them to you.”
“H-how should I employ them?”
“If I were in your shoes, I would simply endeavour not to miss. Now come along. I’ll have my secretary pack some essentials for your journey and organise your passage. She’ll also inform Mr. Grumbleson of your new assignment. You leave within the hour. Welcome to the Slidecrown Crusade, Mr. Wadesly. Don’t forget to send reports every quarter. I look forward to hearing good things from you.”
Jonathan clutched the belt of pistols in one hand and the policy in the other. He thought about Janice, whose bones had been lost in the Realm of Beasts and wondered if the Realm of Life would be any kinder.
~*~
