Flexible Morals Ch. 06

Burning for a mind to confide in, Phyre moved off to one side to a space where the house met perpendicularly with a long, trimmed hedge. Many of the guests were gathering beneath the pavilion. Others had chosen to remain inside where the tables were already being filled with food that a team of servants were bringing out.

"Drop," Phyre hissed once certain that nobody could listen in.

"Mmm? Something wrong?" The weight of the satchel shifted as the frog hauled himself to its rim and lifted the flap of a lid to peer out. He struggled a little but managed to look up at her with his ebony eyes.

"I don't know what to do."

"Well goodness me, child. It's a party, isn't it? I shouldn't think that there's any specific code at play here. Just mill about and talk to whomever crosses your path. Try dancing out by the music or watching whatever entertainment they have on. Actually, why don't we start with the food, hmm? What are they doing down on the lawn? Is that some sort of bonfire they've got going? Looks to be a big open roast taking place."

Phyre let her voice flow in the direction that Drop was pointing. Sure enough, in a wide open space of lawn, several fire pits had been dug into the ground and were now roaring with heat. Skewered above one was a boar that an Earthborn was tending to with a large, metal pole. Standing over the other two were a set of trays used for searing food. A table sat near by that was piled high with raw ingredients that party goers could grill as they pleased. The market street parties usually had a similar arrangement, albeit smaller due to the inability to dig up the road for fire pits. "No, those get to be really hot. You wouldn't like it."

"Come now, let's try and find something to eat. You may have stuffed yourself on the scraps from before but I had the good sense to hold my appetite until the party," Drop finished his scolding with a decisive croak.

"Fine," Phyre sighed and peeled away from the hedge. Where had Mr. Gilbride gone, that was the one thing that she really wanted to see to. She tried scanning the guests for him as they headed back inside but couldn't make out a familiar face. The constant chatter and movement certainly didn't make things any easier. Inside, the team of servants were loading up silver platters with mere mouthful portions of food to be carried out. Phyre strode up to one and looked at it, then looked at the Solar carrying it who was clearly doing his best to avoid staring at this little, unhooded Vocal girl. "What are these?" she asked. The tray held over a dozen squares of pink meat, each piled high with an orange goo.

"Smoked salmon with a caviar paste, madam," he said with a wave of his hand over the tray.

Phyre felt a thump against the side of her satchel and took it as indication that this was the sort of thing Drop wanted. She reached up, plucked two of the squares from the servant's possession, then moved away again. He gave a slight bow but Phyre was already on her way outside before she thought to reply with anything. It probably wasn't necessary.

"What are you waiting for, child?" Drop cried, followed by an impatient series of ribbits. "My mouth is watering so much I'm going to drown in it."

"Alright," she hissed and quickly flashed a smile to a couple that shot her a curious look. Phyre turned away from them and held one of the salmon squares to her satchel's mouth where a pair of slimy forefeet snatched it from her grip. "Do you want the other one too?" she asked.

"Of course I do. Who could pass up a scent like that?"

"But they're as big as you are!" Phyre struggled to avoid uttering a laugh at this amphibian whose eyes were dwarfing his stomach.

"Don't you go underestimating my appetite." The second appetizer disappeared into the bag, followed by a loud croak. "Just you wait, I've been starving all day in anticipation of this. If my memory of the academy's end of year celebrations are anything to go on, this should be quite a night for the two of us."

"What's that you're doing?"

Phyre's jerked her head around, whipping her voice in the direction of the person speaking. She had been too distracted with the frog to see anyone coming up behind her. Yet here stood a Vocal woman with a deep, blue crescent on her hood. "Um," Phyre stammered. "I was—"

"Is that a frog in your bag?" the woman asked, the crescent shifting as her brow furrowed beneath.

Phyre clutched a hand over the flap of her satchel as though it would somehow stop a fellow Vocal's voice from entering. "He's, he's my pet. I take him everywhere with me. He gets in all sorts of trouble if I leave him at home." She attempted to produce an endearing smile in order to seal the explanation. Such was proving more difficult lately. As time wore on, and she grew older, it almost seemed as if whatever essence that had once made her 'cute' and 'adorable' to adults was fading. Another inevitability of age, no doubt.

"That's a rather bold statement," the Vocal said thoughtfully.

"Yes, I know," Phyre lied.

"And I'm very impressed by what you're saying with the rest of your outfit. It's vibrant, as if to say 'look at me'."

"Exactly." Phyre nodded and couldn't help but utter a nervous laugh as the lady made a far more confidant one. "Oh, who's that." Phyre pointed before the woman could say anything more. "I'm sorry, I have to go speak to... Someone." As quickly as she deemed respectable, Phyre scurried across a section of lawn to the other side of one of the paths that ran around the garden with every intent of putting plenty of distance between herself and that woman.

Once Phyre was sure that she would be free of any further difficult conversation, she took a moment to breath and regain her bearings. The pavilion stood a short walk down the lawn. Most of the guests had gathered themselves there so it seemed the best candidate for where Mr. Gilbride might be.

"Din you 'ave some ovva plan?" Drop asked, his words slightly garbled by a full mouth. "Somefing bout snooping round."

"I want to find Mr. Gilbride first."

A loud gulp emanated from her satchel. "Are you sure that's a good idea. Seems to be that you'd want to be avoiding him."

"If I know where he is, I'll know if I can avoid him."

"Right..." The satchel wobbled a little as Drop moved around and soon appeared to peek over the rim. "Let's have a look then. You think he might be down that way? Under that big tent thing? Hang on, that's him right there, isn't it?"

"Where?" Phyre swept her voice over the crowd but it was so hard to make anyone out properly. The music had started up and she didn't really fancy the idea of going too much closer to the point of mingling in with other guests.

"That one with the red sleeves."

"No, Mr. Gilbride's wearing a dark suit that looks like the sky." Phyre frowned and turned her head to the frog as an odd thought crossed her mind. "How do you even know who to look for? You've been hiding every time there's been a chance to see—"

"Phyre!"

For the second time, she found herself whirling around to meet someone speaking to her from behind. This time, Phyre found the very person that she had been searching for. A warm, welcoming smile hung on Mr. Gilbride's face as he greeted her with a bow.

"Glad you could make it," he continued when he came back up. "How are you finding the festivities so far? Certainly a notch up from the market street fare, isn't it?"

"Uh, yes, it is. Everything's so much more... Fancy." How long had the man been standing behind her? Surely he must have only just appeared or she would have noticed. "Who are all these people?" Phyre asked in an effort to distract the both of them from such thoughts.

"Oh, some folk from around Fissure, though most are trading partners of mine from the surrounding towns. Some have traveled from places as far as Rippling Moon."

"Wow," she exclaimed. Those guests must have flown in on a Vouiareli. It was the only way she could imagine someone willing to make the journey from all the way up by the north sea.

"So, are Hatra and Niptri not here? I haven't noticed them."

"They had to bring food for market street."

"Ah, of course. Wise of them to capitalize on the chance for more business." Gilbride's eyes roamed the garden and locked onto something down by the pavilion. "Excuse me, miss Phyre, I must see to the minstrels."

With that, Mr. Gilbride brushed past her and strode with a driving purpose down the lawn towards a temporary stage where several musicians were currently playing. Phyre only watched him leave for a moment before she too peeled away. "This is the chance," she hissed to Drop.

"What? Now? We couldn't wait a bit longer? There's still plenty of time to have another run at the food, don't you think."

Phyre shook her head, though she knew he wouldn't see it. "No, we should get this over with while he's distracted."

"Hmph, if you insist. But do try to walk a little more smoothly. You're going to make me sick and you don't want a sick frog on your hands. Besides, all this bumping around is making it especially tricky to finish off the salmon squares."

Had Phyre any eyes, she would have rolled them at his chatter. That was what the other races of Keladesh seemed to do when they heard something particularly silly.

"Another thing," Drop chattered on. "Where exactly are you expecting to locate the things that you're after."

"Maybe in his—" Phyre snapped her mouth shut as she passed a servant while crossing through the great, glass windows that led inside. "In his bedroom, perhaps. Actually, he might be keeping them in his study, if he has one. A house this big has to have one, doesn't it."

"I'd imagine so, but what if there isn't anything to find. What if he's burned these letters or pages or whatever else there is that might somehow link him to the Solar."

"Then I'll leave it at that since there's nothing else I can do. But I have to at least see this through until there's nowhere left to go," her tone was firm and final in the hopes that it would silence the frog for good. Keeping their discussion masked from the servants and guards of the house was becoming tiring. That was another thought, what about the guards? Her past trips, this one too, had made it quite clear that Mr. Gilbride employed a good number of private watch. No doubt the same number were on duty tonight, possibly even more. Her voice would make it easy to avoid the ones that she saw first, but sooner or later there was bound to be a door that she needed to go through. A door that was considered 'off limits' to the guests. How to go about handling a direct confrontation? Phyre stopped inside the corridor that led back towards the manor's entrance hall and lifted up her satchel to speak closer with Drop. "There's going to be guards, aren't there."

"Well I should think so. A man like Mr. Gilbride isn't going to let just anyone go parading around his home." Then Drop's eyes widened and he uttered a startled croak. "Hold on, do you mean to say that you hadn't yet thought of this?"

Phyre shook her head.

"Goodness me, girly. What were you expecting to do, talk your way past them? That may have worked for Hatra on those folk outside but they never struck me as the brightest of leaves. Besides, a night like this, I'd say the rules are going to be quite a bit more strict than normal."

Phyre gritted her teeth. Every word the frog spoke only served to make things seem more difficult. Had she really come this far only to be thwarted by a mere oversight? There had to be some way. Then she remembered her trip out into the woods. "What about the cat? His potion, I mean. Maybe this is what it was for."

Drop cocked his head. "How do you figure that?"

"Maybe it... Maybe it makes me invisible to them, do you think?"

The frog's eyes narrowed. "I think you should listen to yourself for a moment, Phyre. Doesn't that idea strike you as rather silly. Besides, you're plainly visible to me this very moment."

"Right, so what else could it be? I don't understand what the cat was trying to do."

"You're heading off course. Forget about the cat. Right now, we need a way for you to get into Gilbride's study. I think I know just the thing. Here, put me down."

Phyre stared at the frog but didn't do anything else.

"Come on now, girl, we haven't got all night." Drop frantically waved his forelegs at her.

"What are you going to do?" she asked. With some degree of reluctance, she reached into the satchel, cupped a hand around his cool, moist body and hoisted him out, then lowered him gently to the ground.

"I'm going to go make a distraction."

"All by yourself?"

Drop feigned a look of offense. "All by myself!? If there's one thing you need to know about these upper class types, it's that they hate to get their hands muddy. Don't you worry, in a few minutes the whole party's going to be put on hold."

Phyre swept her voice over the tiny amphibian. His supple legs, slick, leathery hide and the blue drop of water for which he was named. Not exactly the most threatening of creatures, though he seemed confident enough in his abilities. "Okay, but you be careful. Don't get hurt."

"Please, did you forget? I'm a wishing frog, we're born and trained to be tough. Those delicate little petals back there won't be able to lay a finger on me."

"But those strider birds seemed to bruise you."

"Pah, that's different. Those brutes were teaming up on me. Besides, they weren't afraid to fight dirty. If I'd been up against them one at a time and they had had the good decency to fight fair we would have been having strider stew for dinner, let me tell you. Now you go try and find this office. If you run into any trouble, just wait till my distraction goes off, okay?"

Phyre nodded and watched as the frog started hopping back towards the party. In the corridor's gloom, he blended in rather well. All except for the patch of blue upon his back. She hoped again that he would be safe. He was certainly no ordinary frog. If there was any creature of the amphibian world capable of taking care of itself, it was Drop.