Campfire Stories (2/2)

“I mean... maybe. I'm one of the rare toys that ended up with the Human job, so there's that.”

“Wait, what?” Apollyon leaned forward, mouth open.

“You heard me big boy,” she hopped up on his knee, and closed his jaw. “We could legally marry!”

His eyes bugged out at that, and she laughed, before showing mercy and heading back to her seat.

“Kidding, kidding. It's... eh... I kept getting hauled up in class when the lecture turned to humans, because I could answer some questions. I kind of got tired of it. I got the mindset without all the benefits of growing up human, and if I wanted to keep myself awake at night I'd worry about it more. But there's no point in that. I decided I might as well lean into the other part of me that I was “born” with, and go be a soldier. And I'm a damned good soldier!” her voice dropped. “Not my fault I was born after the wars. But when another one comes I'll be ready.”

“Do you.... mmmm... actually hold rank?” Dracosnack asked.

“Well that's a hell of a question! I am a Private First Class, thank you very much!” her grin faded a bit. “Commander Mastoya told me I'll probably be at this rank for a good long while. Says I've got a ways to go before I'm leadership material.”

“It's not for everyone,” Apollyon muttered.

“What?” she squinted at him.

“What?” his smile was entirely too innocent.

But Threadbare's mind was somewhere else. He'd waited politely to ask until she finished, though. “Excuse me,” he asked. “What's this about legally marrying because you're human?”

“You didn't hear about that?” Glub asked.

“Evidently not.”

“Yeah, it was the talk in the regiments last week,” Buttons shrugged. “Council just approved a request from the big churches. Now only humans can legally marry other humans.”

Threadbare stared into the fire.

“Why?”

He'd spoken more forcefully than he intended. The others fell silent, and there was nothing but the crackling of flames.

“Why are they trying to get in the way of people falling in love?” Threadbare asked, finally. “That makes no sense.”

Apollyon coughed. “Ah. This... well... it's not about love, actually.”

“Then what is it about?”

Apollyon shrunk in on himself, as the others stared at him. “It's... well... I'm a noble. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Yes. Enough to... hear talk from other nobles. It's because of inheritance.”

“Ah...” said Dracosnack. “It's the theoretical immortality part, isn't it?”

“Theor... no, you are immortal,” Apollyon said. “Every Golem and Doll Haunter is immortal.”

“Unless we die and there's no soulstones about,” Buttons said. “Which has already killed a bunch of us, actually. Wanna gamble on how many of us are gonna make it through a whole century?”

“It's... no, I... they're worried about... well, eccentric nobles leaving their titles and fortunes to immortal beings. The title stops, then. Unless they're murdered, and that's an ugly thing to consider, isn't it?” His voice wavered as he spoke the last sentence. It was almost pleading, Threadbare thought.

“I am very disappointed,” he decided. “No, no, not with you, Apollyon.”

The man sighed with relief.

“I am disappointed that they waited until I was off the council before voting on this,” Threadbare sighed. “I think it was because they knew how I would have voted.”

“It was, hmm... pretty close, from what I hear,” Dracosnack said. “But the dwarves were okay with it, mmmm... Lady Easterlynn-Proudsmythe argued for it, and Longcroak voted for, instead of how everyone expected him to go. Mother Celia fought hard against it, but she just didn't have the votes.”

Threadbare wondered now, if that was why she had been in a worse than normal mood all week. Perhaps?

“We're heading to Easterlynn in a few days, aren't we?” he asked, rhetorically. “Perhaps I can ask the Lady herself about the vote.”

“She may be in residence,” Apollyon shifted. “I know Father speaks with her a lot. Perhaps I can arrange an appointment.”

“Mmm, I rather suspect that with Threadbare himself here, she won't have an issue seeing him, hm, directly,” Dracosnack gestured at the fire, and muttered words to stoke it a bit with his magic.

“Well,” Threadbare said, shaking his head. “Let's talk of happier things. Will you take your turn at the story circle, Dracosnack?”

“I would, but half my story is not my own,” Dracosnack said, meeting Threadbare's eyes. “I began my existence as a mindless toy, that Celia used to fight her battles. You know more about that part of my life than I do.”

“I do, don't I?” And he summed up what he'd seen, back in those early days. It took a bit longer than expected, and Apollyon's eyelids were drooping and the fire was low by the time Threadbare finished. “I'm sorry, I didn't intend to take up that much time.”

“Naw man, it's a good story,” Glub clapped Dracosnack on his back. “You kicked ass.”

“If you say so. Now I study. I am a, hm... research mage. I am working with Mister Graves sometimes, and trying to gain recognition and wealth enough to, hm... afford my own projects. And perhaps unlock a job that is all to do with academia, and research.”

“That is a worthy cause,” Threadbare nodded. “There's still so much we don't understand about magic.”

“Currently I am trying to study the nature of the world's aetherfield, and it's... mmmm... changes, over the decades. Particularly the era that pre-dates the aetherial text.”

“Either what now?” Glub asked.

“The words we see. The status sheets. The... Change Over.”

“Caradon spoke of that once,” Threadbare said. “When I was still a juvenile.”

Dracosnack's cloth eyelids opened fully, and he turned his green glass orbs on Threadbare. “Did he now? What did he say? Exactly what did he say?” the plush dragon pulled out a book, an inkwell, and a pen.

That took more time to explain, and by the time he was done, Apollyon had nodded off, fallen asleep on the ground by the warm fire. Buttons and Glub set up the tent around him, and the golems fell silent then, watching the fire burn down, with no more words necessary for the moment.

But Threadbare's mind kept turning back to that law that they'd passed without him, and thinking it over.

And no matter how he turned it over in his head, he didn't like it; not one bit. He had the feeling that this meant more trouble in the future.