When Tor left the room and tapped the Capitals sigil, Gemma answered.
“Tor?” Her voice was soft and hesitant, but became happy enough when he responded.
All he had to do was activate a plate for each Count or Countess and a few other key people. The plates were meant to be mounted, on a table or wall, so had holes in them for that, accept his, which was smaller and meant to be carried in a little bag of shear material so the light would show through if anyone ever wanted to talk to him.
Then they just had to pass the devices out and explain them to people. That he'd leave to these people and specifically tasked to Gemma, who looked pleased but uneasy. Quavel and the other servant looked like they didn't approve, but the Royal Guards all did. One of them, an older man slapped her on the back, smiling when he hit shield.
“Good. You don't learn responsibility unless you have it. People forget that sometimes.” Then he nodded at Tor respectfully before asking Gemma what she wanted done with the plates.
Tor found Smythe at the mouth of the room looking pale and slightly shaken.
“I see you did it. I know I asked but… will they work at the distances needed?” The man didn't seem pleased really.
Well, Tor was skeptical too. It was a new device and that meant it had to be tested, they all did. He explained that they should work anywhere, as if in the same room. Maybe even off in different lands, if it came to it. Smythe just nodded grumpily as they walked slowly out to wait for the transport to come.
It flew in from the north, settling slowly as was protocol when coming in to the palace complex, so that the Royal Guard wouldn't freak out and slap the giant palace shields into place. They'd done it a few times Tor had heard from Rolph, at first just to test it and then any time someone came in too fast. That meant settling at more than about a hundred feet per minute, which almost didn't look like it was really moving at all and took about ten minutes as they stood waiting.
“They really are a bit off. A cream and gold wood coach with the royal seal on the side gets people’s attention, lets them know that the people inside mean business. This off black shine looks nice enough, I'm not belittling the effort or effect, but it… lacks presence. Well, no help for it now, is there? Orders are given, it is for us to but obey.” The old man spoke abstractly, almost as if ignoring that Tor was right there. He did that, talking about Tor as if he wasn't standing right next to him sometimes too. At least he didn't seem to do that with a anyone else, not that anyone had said.
Standing in silence for his part, Tor watched the craft settle, it was a steady movement, skilled and exacting. It was probably one of the new military pilots, Tor guessed, since they'd started making a point of training them at the flight school and Smythe was, by some mistake or capricious design, still the head of the military, attempted murderer or not.
Tor got the idea, he could investigate with impunity, because he could call in the whole King’s army to back up his word, but it didn't make him feel any better. He was almost tempted to just fly himself. It would be nearly as fast and more comfortable once he factored in the stony silences and the old Counselor acting like Tor had been the bad guy in all of what had happened.
Just before the craft settled, not ten feet from the ground, four black and purple clad Royal Guards came out, each carrying a modestly sized canvas bag with carry straps. Smythe had a single trunk and looked back at Tor's four cases with a smirk.
He nearly explained that they were mainly filled with devices and gold to help set up businesses and relief efforts, but didn't. His actual gear, what he needed to survive, including housing, was on him. He'd miss the little bag with his razor, soap and tooth care stuff, but if he pulled that out, he could wear it discreetly on his side, next to the communications device. Smythe could smirk all day, but it didn't change the reality. Tor was more ready to pick up and move, even lose everything, than he'd ever been before. If someone stole his trunks now, or even stripped him of amulets, it would mildly inconvenience him, but that was all.
When the side hatch opened Tor had to blink. It wasn't a military man at all, but a military woman that stepped out. She still had short blond hair and smiled at him winningly, bounding down the ramp fast enough that the guards all went for their weapons. She stopped in front of him and tried to give him and awkward shield hug. Then she straightened and looked at Smythe, her boss. It was a bit blank, but polite enough, as if asking for an introduction.
Ah.
Tor realized they probably hadn't exactly met before. That made sense really. Sara was a spy and low level military member as part of her cover, if Tor had it right, so no-one that the head of the military would know on sight.
“Oh… Um, Sara, this is Smythe of Westend, head military Counselor and all around swell guy. Decent fighter too. Willie, this is my, um, friend, Sara Debri. Her mom heads the Debri merchant house. She's a sergeant in the army, runs supplies by air. Personal flying though, I didn't know she flew transports yet…”
It turned out she didn't, which they noticed when the driver crawled out from the front, dressed in a tan shirt made of silk and soft canvas pants in a similar color. Sorlee. It made more sense than her normal drab gray dresses he'd grown used to seeing her in. For one thing it looked kind of official and less like she'd just stolen the craft.
Great, another spy. At least he knew who they were this time. The Royal Guards, well that was so obvious they didn't really count as spies. They reported to the King. If they needed to strip him, turn him upside down and shake to get information out, they'd do it and not bother hiding the fact most of the time. The only one here he wasn't sure about was Smythe, but that didn't matter did it?
Assassins had their own category in his mind. Before anything else, Tor crawled in and checked out the interior, looking for traps, attackers or anything that might be troublesome. He didn't find anything, but suggested the more proficient guards check it too. He watched what they did, checking under each cushion physically, getting on hands and knees to look under each bench, tapping the walls to check for hallows or odd sounds. When they were done and piled out, Tor slapped an amulet to the inside wall, explaining to the guy in charge, the same older man he'd met earlier, who said his name was George and didn't give a rank, what he was doing. It went up with just a bit of tacky putty on the back, since it would take that or glue to do the trick on smooth focus stone.
Then he hit the sigil, getting a soft gasp from the people outside.
“Master Tor, it's so pretty! It looks like one of the grand carriages of the King. The woods all grand and shiny too. Did you change it into wood? Is that strong enough?” Sorlee had enough sense to be concerned about practical matters at least.
“It's still focus stone, the shield on the outside just reflects light to look like this now. Obviously,” he added for George and his guards-people, two of which were hard looking women that could probably tear him in half with a strong exhalation.
“We can fly with it in normal mode and decorate just before landing, so we won't be advertising who we are the whole time. That probably wouldn't be a problem, since no one has seen this before, but just in case, no need to tempt anyone.”
Tor hit the sigil so that everyone would know how to do it. Pretty basic really. He left the little tan focus stone square on the wall of the craft, since they'd want it later.
In the back the Royal Guards all sat together, and Sara settled right beside him, smiling and happy to see him, or so it seemed. Sorlee waited for everyone to be seated, closed the heavy counter weighted side door that they'd all used as a ramp and then flew off a good bit faster than she'd landed, headed nearly due east.
Tor did a quick inventory of what he had on, device wise, knowing that he clanked a little when he shifted and his shirt bulged in the front. Both hands had devices held in place by leather thongs too, for flight and Not-flyer controls. Shield, of course. Then without speaking to Sara at all, he closed his eyes and dropped into a working state briefly. Not to be mean or even work on some project or another, but so he could examine how her arms worked when she moved.
The field portion of the movements. She wasn't helpful, holding remarkably still for some unknown reason. So eyes still closed he poked at her arm. She'd taken her shield off and so had he, which made her think he was trying to hold her hand apparently. It worked well enough. When they touched he could understand what her brain was doing to process sensory information from her left hand. He stroked it gently, and caught a sense of warm friendliness from the girl. Then, reaching over with his other hand he pinched her lightly. She didn't say anything but stiffened and felt slightly annoyed and bemused at the same time.
After an hour or so of this he opened his eyes and let go of her hand.
