Adventures of the Crown: The Noble Bandit

CH 1

Darkness filled the countryside as the clouds obscured the moon and stars above. A lone, shadowy figure walked down the path towards an old rusty gate. Pausing for a moment, they looked at the land ahead of them. Slowly, they lowered their hood and let out a low humming sound before raising the lantern to a sign that read: Whitefield Farm.

The person's pale skin could be seen as the lantern’s light shone down on it. He was a young man with golden-flecked brown eyes that almost seemed to twinkle and dance as the fire from within his lantern reflected within them, making them appear almost supernatural. With a shake of his head, the man’s nose twitched at the smell from ahead of him. It was a mixture of marsh and muck, not a combination that was easy on the nose.

The land before him rested on the edge of the Lost Travellers Marsh, a place that could be dangerous for anyone traversing the place to reach the other side. There was only one other way around the marsh, and that was by boat. Yet despite the dangers held within, there seemed to be a deliberate path that led straight towards the marsh.

“Isn’t this a charming place?” The man mumbled to himself, pushing the gate open slowly, which caused it to creek loudly. Ahead of him, he could hear the squealing of pigs, which caused him to pause for a mere moment. After the sounds of the pigs ceased, the man shook his head and muttered, “This will be interesting, I said. An adventure, I thought! Better than having my head cut off and made an example of! But no, here we are, on a pig farm,” his voice dripped with sarcasm at each word.

Again, the man continued on his way down the path towards the farmhouse, glancing at his side to the pigpens briefly. He scoffed, before muttering irritably to himself, “I am a glorified pig farmer now. Nobleman my foot.” After another shake of his head, the man returned his attention to his destination, all the while trying his best to not think about his new predicament. A single thought bounced around his mind. Perhaps death would have been better after all?

Before he could get halfway down the path, the lantern’s flame went out, and the man uttered a groan of frustration. Carefully, he felt around for the fence that led up to the farmhouse, but instead of finding the guide he needed, the man soon felt his hand being snuffled at by a pig, leaving a warm, soft feeling against the skin where the pig's nose had touched him. “Huh, I thought it would be wet and slimy, but it’s dry…” he muttered to himself, his tone curious over the difference in his expectation against the reality he experienced.

After a moment, the man then uttered a firm, “Shoo, I do not have any food, and I wish to keep my fingers if you would not mind?” He withdrew his hand before then carefully making his way forward while his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. Finally, after a moment of blind stumbling, he reached the small wooden porch, which caused him to stumble over the first step. A misjudge on how far out the step had been from him. “Gods be damned!” He cursed out loudly, clambering up the rest of the steps to the front door.

As soon as he stepped into the building, the man lowered the cloak of his hood. He fumbled about for a moment before finding a light source at the entrance. “Finally,” he sighed out. “I hope I don’t have to live in this place any longer than needed. I’ve lived in sewers with more luxury than this,” he quipped to himself. A slight attempt to bring some amusement to the situation.

Looking around him, the place almost seemed chaotic. Paper, furniture, everything that could be out of place, was out of place. Pulling a face, the man then moved into the kitchen. “What are the chances of there being anything edible here?” He questioned himself, opening up the pantry. To his surprise, there were a couple of things, but there were not many options. He shrugged, took some of the bread and idly chewed on it as he explored the rest of the farmhouse.

The living room was as messy as the kitchen and entranceway, but nothing stood out to the man all that much. “Looks like the knights ransacked this place looking for clues,” he stated, his voice quiet. Slowly glancing around, he hummed in thought and then said to himself, “They said they found my father and his wife dead… in the bedroom?” Glancing back the way he came from for a moment the man let out another, longer sigh.

“I swear if this place is haunted…” was muttered under his breath, the man's eyes narrowing. “No. Those two wouldn’t haunt the place, right? I mean she might, just to spite me, but he wouldn’t… not if that journal is real?” Closing his eyes, thinking of everything he had learned, the man couldn't help but wonder about the things he knew.

His father, Nel Whitefield, had so much debt that they had dragged him into the illegal slave trade to pay it off. Then when he had come asking his father for help to save his dying mother’s life, he had agreed to help, having lived his life in the rough and tumble streets of the King’s city of Falanthyst, this sort of thing had not phased him. Becoming a bandit and a slaver was just another step up from the life of crime he had already been experiencing.

Then, the king and his knight had gotten involved, along with that Elven woman… and now he was forced to play nobleman to lure the real mastermind behind the slavery out. He did not know where to search for clues, no people he could interrogate, nothing. He was up the river without a paddle. All he could do for now was to wait to see if anyone took the bait that he was here now, with a brand new noble title, pigs and all!

Making a low grunt in his throat, he turned from the mess of the living room and stormed upstairs. The whole place did not hint that this had once been home to any kind of nobility. There was nothing of value here at all. Not even a speck of gold anywhere! Not that he had come to steal what was now rightfully his, but it was the principle of it all. Right?!

As he reached the top of the stairs, he looked along the hallway. There were several rooms there. Two down one end and three down the other. He first checked the end of the hallway where the three rooms were, finding one was an enormous bathroom and one study. However, the third room seemed to be locked.

Tapping his chin in thought, he mumbled out a question. “Did they give me another key for this one?” He shrugged and then glanced to the other end of the hall. “Well, can’t put it off forever,” he then sighed. Taking in a deep breath, the man finally walked towards the other two doors. The one room was a library that had been as equally ransacked as downstairs had been.

However, what held his attention the most was the room directly in front of him. This wouldn’t be the first time he had been in an area that had the dead dwelling within, and it wouldn't be the last. He closed his eyes before opening the door. Surprise washed over him as the once-dark room blinked into light.

“Oh! So you had some influence after all, old man,” the man said as a small smirk slid onto his lips. “This must be Rattus technology, no lamps, not magic either,” he continued, awe in his voice as he looked over the glowing crystal-like objects on the ceiling. “Only in your bedroom, though? So not as much influence as all that, but some.”

Curious, the man continued to peer up at the light, not yet paying much attention to the rest of the room. Then it dawned on him. Looking back at the bed, there was… nothing. No dead bodies, no blood, nothing at all. The rest of the room wasn't exactly tidy, but someone had to have moved the corpses somewhere.

“Did the knights move them, maybe?” He idly asked himself before shrugging it off. “Guess it doesn’t matter, now, let’s see what you own, old man,” he whispered to himself as he moved further into the room and opened the cupboards next to the bed.

A couple of parchments filled with taxes paid to the crown, some other documents, nothing the man had much use for. If he could find some information about the debts his father was in, or something he could use, then he would have a lead, but no. There was nothing the man could use, even here.

A slight groan of the floorboards behind the man caused him to pause. He smiled to himself, still idly looking at the parchments in his hands. Was the farmhouse so old it creaked and groaned all of its own accord? His smile turned into a smirk, his hands quickly dropping what was originally in them, only to grab at the hidden daggers in his cloak.

Spinning around, he aimed his weapons at… a young, frightened woman? His brow curled up curiously as he studied her. Her weapon was nothing more than a vase. His gaze trailed down a little, taking note that she was not wearing the usual clothes a thief might wear. Her clothes were not such at all, but instead a nightgown.

“Who are you!? There’s no gold for you here, thief!” She demanded. Her voice sounded capable, but he easily noted the slight quiver within her words. He almost chuckled out loud. He had assumed the same of her. However, he already knew who she was, but had not expected her to be here.

Esta Blumora-Whitefield. Technically, she was his step-sister. Her mother married his father, though Esta had not known of his existence. He was the illegitimate child, after all. Though had the crown not mentioned him to her? Or had she not expected him to show up? Either way, he had nothing to fear from such a woman. She was obviously no fighter, unlike himself.

“Relax,” he claimed, lowering his daggers and returning them to their hidden sheaths. “I am Nelson Whitefield. I was sent here on orders from the crown. Though I admit, I was not expecting anyone else to be here,” Nelson said smoothly. He observed the woman but with a smile on his lips. She seemed to think over his words before finally realising who he was.

“Oh. I see,” was all Esta could say as she lowered the vase down, though still held onto it. She then seemed to realise her state of dress. Her cheeks flushed a deep red as she tried to cover herself a little more with the vase. “I didn’t think you would be here tonight. I came to sort out their burial and, well, clean before you got here, my lord…” she mumbled. The title she gave him seemed forced from her mouth.

“Nelson’s fine,” he replied, nodding a little. He would never admit it, but he didn’t like the title. He had wanted nothing to do with noble life. However, he had no other choice. His options were to either repay his life by helping the fool king with the slavery issue, or they would behead him for his part in it.

She offered him a thin smile before bowing her head. “The bed has been cleaned, and the sheets changed if you wish to sleep there tonight. It is your room now, my lor-… Nelson,” she said, motioning towards the bed with her hand. She then dipped her head and backed out of the room, not once turning her back to him. “If you need anything, I am just down the hall…”

“Of course,” Nelson replied, voice calm. He closed the door once she had returned to her room. “She resents me… don’t blame her, because she isn’t related by blood, she has no choice but to step down for me…” he sighed with a shake of his head. This was going to be a rather bothersome life for a while.