Chương 174: Cordyceps Thirty-Nine

"Oh, you must be Milo's little friend. He mentioned you in his letters, you know."

"Mum!" I smiled up at the middle-aged woman standing before me. Misses Milo was quite the pretty lady. Tall, with the same aristocratic cheekbones as Milo himself and currently dressed in a fashionable gown and flashy heels. She didn't seem like the eccentric woman that I'd imagined after seeing that opening room. Then again, her dress was on the more colourful side, as were her shoes.

"It's nice to meet you," I said while giving her a little bow.

"I like your dress, it's very colourful." She chuckled.

"Little charmer. Why thank you, I'm quite fond of it myself. Now, do avoid teaching my little boy how to be suave, I have enough difficulty with his father."

"Of course, ma'am," I replied. She patted me on the shoulder, then gave Milo's forehead a smooch which left a lip-shaped print just below his hairline.

"You boys have fun now, and no misbehaving, even if you think you can get away with it on your birthday."

"Yes, Mum," Milo said. As soon as his mom was past he started to vigorously rub at his forehead.

"I hate it when she kisses my head like that. It's embarrassing."

"It's not so bad," I said as I licked my thumb then started to smear the makeup on his forehead around some more. Milo grimaced, but he didn't stop me from helping. The two of us were back on the lower floor, now in the eastern wing of the building in a corridor next to the mansion's ballroom. It was a large room made somewhat smaller by the presence of two grand tables surrounded by seats. Milo and his family would have pride of place, of course, but otherwise it seemed that anyone could sit wherever they wanted.

The party was meant to be somewhat informal, from what I'd gathered. At least, as informal as a party for the nobility could be. There were maids and house staff bustling around, cleaning up last minute things, setting up the tables, and generally preparing for the arrival of the first guests.

"So, do you want to get the introductions done now or later?" Milo asked.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You know, the cheek pinching and the handshakes. We can either stand by the door and suffer through it all in one go, or we can linger around here and get ambushed every few minutes."

"Oh, right. Probably best to get it over with. Plus we'll be able to see if any of our friends arrive." I grinned.

"And we'll be able to see the gifts coming!" Milo laughed.

"That'll just make it worse. You know I don't handle anticipation well." I patted him on the back.

"Yeah, but it's funny to see you squirm." Milo snorted in a very inappropriate manner, then led the way towards the front of the house and that strangely decorated parlour. During the tour, we'd slipped past the kitchens in the east wing, and I'd noticed some temporary staff working there. They were easy to make out, seeing as how they didn't have the house's uniforms which all featured the Milo 'M' heraldry over their hearts. I'd have to find a way to get in touch with some of them later.

For now, we moved over to the side while a few footmen came in and out. Milo started talking about a sporting event he'd been to a while ago with his father and I listened while making the appropriate sounds. A few carriages were lazily pulling into the driveway. The party wasn't due to start for another two hours, but it seemed like punctuality was something of a way of life for some nobles. Milo and I stepped outside, but remained at the top of the stairs. There was an order to this.

Milo would stand a step ahead, trying hard to look proper and dignified while I stood a step behind and to his right. Out of the way but still present. If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it. Had I been to his left, that would have marked me as a sort of manservant of something. At his right, I was a friend who was giving him pride of place, which was only appropriate seeing as how this was his birthday.

The amount of little moves and systems of propriety was frustrating for an outsider like myself. There were a few books about it in the Academy library, but what was and wasn't in fashion changed often enough that those were nearly useless. The only purpose it served, besides acting as a sort of social lubricant to keep things moving, was as a way to make interactions between those 'in the know' and those without as obscure and confusing as possible for those not in the in-group.

No wonder the new-rich thought the nobility were so incredibly snobbish. I wondered if these traditions would hold. At the moment in City Nineteen, a lot of the wealth was in the hands of industrialists. The nobility were older money, slower to move and slower to gain new capital, but still hanging onto their old wealth and definitely still holding onto old political power. It was a bit of a headache.

Milo did a good job of navigating it, greeting people as they came up the steps with smiles and handshakes and earning his fair share of additional lipstick stains on his cheeks. I got off a bit lighter. Eventually a few more boys from the Academy arrived, a couple from our year, and more from the senior years. That made our group large enough that we were crowding the steps, but that was fine. Then a carriage rolled in, and I found myself straightening a little.

The heraldry on its side looked like a kiteshield, one face had a green square and a blue-and-black striped quarter. The other side had the side-profile of a goblin's face, teeth bared. The carriage came to a stop and a hobgoblin leapt from the driver's seat and opened the door. The man and women who stepped out ignored the hobgoblin as though it were never there. They were both dressed appropriately for the event, and the woman had a small gift-wrapped box in her hands.

"Is that Count Coller?" I asked one of the boys. He glanced at the man, then nodded.

"And his wife, yeah," he said. Count Coller was a somewhat influential noble, not to mention one who was rather prosperous. His family had been some of the first to establish themselves in City Nineteen. Unlike many of the others, instead of focusing on gaining wealth by working the land or starting an industry, they had focused on servicing the other industrial needs of the city. His workers formed a block of trained employees that could be rented out to any factory in need of professionals.

It was a decent service in a city with so many factories. He also had other services. Accounting, security, foremen and clerks, all available to those willing to pay. If that was all, then I don't think the Union would have cared too much about him, though his people often served as scabs. What made this man a target was his ownership of something like three-quarters of the goblin slave population in the city.

He had long ago pivoted from using trained human employees and now ran most of the disposable goblin labour systems. It made him a very rich man. Milo greeted him with a smile, and he returned it. The count was fairly young, maybe in his early thirties, and he seemed both energetic and charismatic, rubbing Milo's head and making a few quick jokes with him before moving on. I kept an eye on him as he moved inside. One of three targets confirmed. The next didn't take long to show up.

Their carriage was an older one, but well-maintained. The noble that stepped out of it opened the door on his own and walked over. Most noblemen carried canes as a fashion statement, but this man needed his. He was an elderly gentleman, rough and rugged looking. Baron Erspell, an older family that had never risen to any great prominence. He had several thousand acres of land some ways from the city, and he had a number of smaller factories on the edge.

He cared for livestock and fertiliser, and I was uncertain as to why he was a target. There wasn't much I could dig up on him. Did he mistreat his workers? That was possible, but they were so far from the city that it was hard to tell. In any case, he shook hands with Milo who then shook his hand out once the baron was past. Looked like the old man had a hard grip. I nodded to him as he moved on, and he didn't return the gesture. Two of three, and the last was Milo's father.

It was about time to move on to the next part, then.

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