Table Manners

Table Manners

The floor creaked and echoed softly in the room as Grimm made his way around the table, neatly adjusting the red cloth over its aged and scarred surface. He pressed the wrinkles smooth and brought it to an even hang.

“This needs to be calm, welcoming, and slightly askew, else he will know something is off….”

He ruffled up the center slightly and spilled mead on spots as he walked around again.

“Better.”

He adjusted the chair and looked it over. Well made by a practice hand. Its decoration was simple and built for purpose. He used his knife to whittle away at stress points in the joints. Not enough to out right ruin, but help them along should he need them to fail. This was a cunning and dangerous prey to take the seat, and if he could, he would like to have more than just one leg up should it come to it.

“Now for the bait… What did I do with those cups… Ah!”

He pulled two iron tankards out of his satchel next to the door and cleaned only one of them before setting them on the table. He considered his next step. This beast was cautious and should he consider Grimm a threat, things could go poorly. Best to plan in triplicate. He removed a small vial from his coat and applied the blue, syrup-like content on the tip of his finger. Carefully he lined the rim of both cups for a right-handed drinker, followed by the bottom of both cups. Just a touch where the stems had been forge-welded to the walls. Finally, he placed the last of it in the bottle of mead.

“Let’s hope my gut is stronger than his.”

Sitting under the table, he placed the frame that could hold one of his Flintlocks to the underside, and pressed it into place, forever marking the wood. Though he did not add the hardware to the case, hoping to show that he felt safe in the monter’s presence. At least safe enough to not need that between them. The traps under both chairs, however… he double checked before placing the false bottom back into place. One shot was just going to make his mark angry. The thought had him looking about the small room. Taking in again the distance from the hidden hatch, to the table, to the door.

“And now, the peace offering.”

He pulled the wrapped bread, and cheese wheel from his satchel and set up a modest table. Anything akin to fine dinning would likely invite suspicion from this seasoned savage, so simple it was kept. Grimm cut a small wedge from the wheel and helped himself to it as he placed his worn-down coat and gauntlets next to the satchel with his swords and flintlocks that were known to the invited guest.

Grimm stretched and flexed, as if prepping for the fight of his life, which this may well end up being. He had told only two people of this meeting. The Invited, and the host. If things went south, both would be removed from the board and there was no need to involve Rook and Riana with such a mess. Plausible deniability. Or just unwilful ignorance. Whatever it was, the less they know, the better. For now.

Marching boots outside told him the shift was changing for the guard. His guest was due to arrive. Grimm set more wood into the fireplace and pushed the soup pot into place. The concoction inside anything but food. Should he fail to cool it in time, the bomb inside will make sure he won’t be alone at the toll bridge for long.

“At some point this might be stupid, but…. I feel safer for it.” Reassuring himself.

Grimm sat at the table and started shuffling his cards to steady his hands and stop from pacing. He had never been fond of climbing into a cage. Let alone being the bait.

“This has to be done, or we will never get things moving…” He reminded himself of what prompted him to Hexhaven in the first place, and just as he started to recount that damned cannon, a similar rap hit the door. It slowly opened and the silhouette of Grimm’s monster stood in the door.

Pausing at the door, this force of will took in the room, examining Grimm as he shuffled the deck and gestured at the empty mugs.

“That’s one”