The meeting room was the kitchen of an old rambling farmhouse belonging to the cousin of the Innkeeper. The house was situated in an extremely out of the way corner of the countryside surrounded by flat open fields, which gave a good view of the only approach. It was also not far from the coast, which had proved useful on more than one occasion.
In the centre of the large room was a huge old pine table with a mottled surface, the visual history of countless generations who had sat and eaten, drank, talked, argued and agreed through the previous century and the scars of cooking preparations without number. It was clean though, smoothed by many a scrubbing and currently set with several unmatching tankards and mugs surrounding a large flagon of cider, still corked, a loaf of bread on a bread board with a big knife, a large cut of cheese and some butter on a small board. Around the table were set ten chairs of uncertain ancestry, two larger chairs with arms were set at either end. An oil lamp was burning brightly, hung from a hook on the beams above the table, throwing shadows outwards towards the walls.
The room was L shaped with the table sitting square in the middle of the larger portion.
There was a large fireplace which almost filled one wall with a complicated series of wrought iron racks and hangers for cooking, two cauldrons, one huge, hang there with a large ladle close by. One side of the fireplace was stacked with cut logs and a black kettle was hung on an arm which could easily be swung over the heat. The fire on this day was just a glow of embers in a large pile of ash which still managed to keep the kitchen warm enough to make those entering take off their outer coats and loosen their gear. There were some clothes drying on the rack hoisted up high by a rope above the fireplace.
The rest of the kitchen walls were clear apart for a few ropes of onions and herbs on hooks, but a huge oak dresser challenged for mastery of the room, opposite the fire between the two windows. On its shelves were two massive blue and white carving dishes, several smaller dishes with a different pattern in blue, green and yellow, some jugs and a stack of everyday plates that had not been put away in the cupboards of the lower section. A set of two large sinks with a hand pump to one end, stood in the smaller section of the room, with wooden draining boards to either side. The two windows were set back deep into the thickness of the wall, allowing space for two wide window seats with worn covers.
A black and white dog was asleep under the table and rain could be heard tapping intermittently at the small paned windows.
The first to enter was Chloe, the Shepherdess, dressed in her work gear, her waterproof, still dripping onto the flags, over one arm, her hair caught up under a scarf. She leant her stick against the wall by the door, circled the room once, then she crossed to the sinks where she worked the pump until water came through, enough to wash over her hands. Drying them on her sacking apron she drew out the chair at the head of the table and sat down.
Close behind her came Danial, they had arrived together. He was dry apart from his hair and boots, his hair was a black mass lying flat on his head with stray coils escaping down his forehead which dripped occasionally, he had left his coat, to drip, in the hall. He pulled a cloth out of his back pocket and wiped his face, went over to the sink, leant over and shook his head like a dog.
The noise of it woke the dog under the table and it looked out at the visitors, then put its head back down on its paw and rested there watching the movement as Danial moved back to the table, sat down on Chloe’s right hand side, looking across the table at the fire, took the cork from the flagon and sniffed the contents, said ‘ Hmm,’ and put the cork back in. ‘Hmm bad or Hmmmmm good?’ asked Chloe.
‘Hmm, I would drink some of that if we weren’t here for business.’ said Danial and with that he reached over and cut some bread and cheese. Tipping his chair back, he began to chew on the bread and cheese as his head started to steam ever so slightly.
The next to enter was Vivainne the Knight Exemplar, she was dressed for riding in a stout skirt and boots, she took off the oilskin that had been draped around her shoulders and threw her broad brimmed hat onto a side table, her hair was cut short in the manner of knights, she had a knife and a short bladed sword, both in scabbards attached to her belt. She sat down the other side of Chloe, nodded to other two, took out her smaller knife, a vicious looking affair with a long bright blade and cut herself a small chunk of cheese. Raising it up on the end of her knife, she inspected the cheese before putting it into her mouth.
The next to enter was the Hunter, a man who looked older than his forty-five years. Exposure to the elements over the years had taken its toll on his face and his skin looked like well-kept leather. He was completely dry and had no coat, he was carrying some papers and maps which, once he had sat down next to Danial, he proceeded to shuffle, spreading some on the table and putting others aside. He reached over and poured himself a half a glass of cider. Looking up to the others he held the flagon up as a question but was greeted with smiling shakes of the head. His name was Jean Jaeger.
The fifth person to enter came in talking to the sixth. She was simply dressed and in the act of taking off her great coat, the hood of which had kept her sandy coloured hair, which was bound up behind her head, dry. She continued to chatter as she draped her coat out carefully over the carver chair at the other end of the table from Chloe.
‘I only got the message the day before yesterday, otherwise I would have been better prepared, anyway, I am here now.’ She looked up as she finished talking and a broad smile transformed her face. ‘So,’ she said to the room, ‘here we are. All in one piece?’ she asked the room and was rewarded with more smiles in return. Jean poured her out a mug of cider and passed it to her across the table. ‘Thanks.’ She said looking directly at his face as she took her seat opposite Chloe.
The sixth person entered from the shadows into the main lighted area around the table, he was slight of build but not short, ‘That’s all to the good then Violette.’ He said, finishing the conversation, he moved directly to the fireplace where he replenished the fire, raking away some ash from the embers and placing a couple of small logs over the hottest place. Turning again to the table he busied himself, cutting a large chunk of bread and two slices of cheese. He filled one of the larger tankards to the brim from the cider flagon and taking his booty, retired to the left-hand window seat where he set out his picnic on the cloth seat and proceeded to eat and drink. His name was Davide Sandor, a southerner who had moved into the area with his parents as a boy and now made his way in the world as a healer and physician.
The last person to arrive looked tired, he was the owner of the farm and cousin to Danial. He too washed his hands at the pump before sitting himself squarely down next to the woman called Violette. He was a solid figure with large hands and broad shoulders, he pulled food and drink towards him and helped himself. Having swallowed several large mouthfuls and a draught of cider he sat up and looked at the group. ’So,’ he growled ‘let’s make this plan. I may not be at the helm of this escapade, but my first thought is that we need a reconnaissance.’
With that the six at the table sat forwards and Davide Sandor brought the rest of his drink back to the main table and sat between Danial and the Farmer.
Chloe rose up and stood with her hands resting on the table, ‘Thank you all for being here and committing to this enterprise, this is a greater problem than we are used to facing. As you know The Order is involved, they’ve been snapping at our heels for some time, I think that they are beginning to understand that we are diametrically opposed to their mission and a stand-off is inevitable. I see that solving this problem is an opportunity to act before we are taken unawares, if we get it right we can save the girl and set them back so far that they will cease to be an issue, and yes you are right,’ she gestured towards the farmer in recognition, ‘a reconnaissance mission is a must, but I think that we can set up the bare bones of a plan tonight and then tidy it up when we are in receipt of all the details of the personnel and layout that a closer look will furnish.’
This began a long discussion that lasted long into the night, never heated but never void of strong opinion, the skeleton of a plan was built, brick by brick. They already had a sketch of the layout of the fortified Chateau wherein the Order made its headquarters and a map of the surrounding town and countryside. What they needed now was up to date information on the whereabouts of the personnel on any given day. The whereabouts of the prisoner in question was essential as was the nature of the actions necessary to undermine the power of the Order.
The morning found the kitchen empty save for the dog and a lanky boy, not more than fourteen years old. He was clearing the table on which the remains of a meal were strewn. The picked clean carcass of a chicken and an empty pan, plus numerous plates and mugs were all covering the table with no apparent order. The boy was transferring a pile of plates to the sink when the Farmer entered.
‘Good work Thomas,’ he said as he placed his hand fleetingly on the passing boy’s shoulder, ‘When you’ve done, get yourself some food and get yourself off to school, the day will not wait for us.’ Without waiting for a reply, he turned back out of the door and called, ‘Come Jess!’ The dog under the table, one moment asleep, was through the door as if it had been struck by lightning.
The farmer was last seen disappearing towards a large barn with Jess the dog trotting close to his heel.
The Guardians of the Cave 