1865-11-11: Precautions
Precautions
Summary: Aidric prepares a gift and a contingency.
Date: 1865-11-11
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Players:
Aidric  

Aidric had argued against this very thing, writing a list of former thorns he believed might have joined this Grey Prince, yet there was no denying there was sense to it. Especially when he was riding to war. What if, One forbid, he was killed? Then what? Allow the Queen and her minions to flail about aimlessly trying to find the traitors in their midst? Of course not. By the same token he could not in good conscience simply hand over the list to the Queen, or Lord Tristan or Sir Thaddeus, the temptation to arrest every name would be too great and some of those names may be no more guilty than Aidric himself was. That is to say, guilty of having served the Thorn once.

It was this dilemma that brought Aidric to the book binder’s shop, and urged him despite the lightness of his purse to rent the workroom for an hour. He’d done the hard work already, preparing a scroll of his somewhat famous work about Prince George the Dragonslayer with a roller at one end that was partially hollow. Now all that remained was to finish the list and seal it inside.

He had to ensure the list survived him and that if it did it was in the hands he could trust to use it correctly. The complication was he was not sure the person he picked could fully be trusted yet. So the scroll would be a gift, and the gift would hold the list and when he was sure the person he gave it to could be trusted, he could tell them about it.

That was the plan at least. It was far from foolproof he could die before he was sure and the list would remain hidden for centuries only to be found by some fortunate historian or collector. Still it was better than nothing.

Aidric paused at the sounds of keys in the door. Had the hour passed already? Damn. He scribbled quickly and then when the note was done hurriedly put it in the roller and attached the cap with a healthy dollop of glue.

Glue which got on his hands, but when the door opened the work was done and the book binder found him doing nothing more clandestine than trying to wipe the excess glue off his hands.

“Did your work go well my lord?” the book binder asks hanging the keys off his belt.

“Yes, thank you,’ Aidric say abandoning the glue for now. He’d call for a basin of water when he got back to the inn and wash the damn stuff off his hands. He had coin enough for that at least.

“Won’t be needing more time then?” the man asks hopefully.

Aidric smiles flatly. “No. Your shop is yours again, Master Eglin, with my thanks.”

Turning back to the work bench Aidric takes a moment examine the scroll, and finding no paste on the parchment rolls it up and tucks it under his arm turning to go. The book binder however is waiting, palm out.
“Ah yes, coin,” Aidric says as he reaches into his purse to produce a silver coin which he drops in the man’s hand.

“Spend it in good health,” he offers with a dearth of sincerity before slipping out of the binder’s shop and into the marketplace beyond.

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