When Tric and Heppa approach Plume and Paper, they see through the front window that Osian has a well-dressed customer at his counter. Alric’s father is wrapping up a stack of fine paper in material of lesser quality to protect it. Then he pulls out a length of fancy ribbon with which to bind the package closed. Tric wonders what kind of knot he will use, and then a warbling sound catches his attention. Mate has landed on the windowsill and is apparently considering the same question. Tric shoos the bird away. “There’re falcons here, Mate,” he warns, making a throat slitting gesture. “Remember that time Aderyn chased you? These birds are bigger, I think.”
Mate tilts his head, looking at Tric with his piercing red eyes and confidently announces, “Pixie dragon!” A few other local magpies are in the area. Emboldened by their company or perhaps proud of his performance during the ambush of the ambush, Mate brazenly flies up toward the roof of the building. Tric hears a falcon call, and then Mate abruptly changes direction, flapping away as quickly as his wings will take him. The other magpies follow along.
When Tric and Heppa step into the shop, the fancy customer is holding his package. “Yes, yes, this is all in order, Osian,” he says. “I’ll see you again next week at this time.”
The condescending attitude suggests that this man is a noble himself. Tric finds it interesting that someone of that standing would pick up paper personally rather than send a servant. He decides to mess with him a little. As the man nears him, Tric says, “Excuse me, good fellow, would you mind telling me what noble lord will be receiving this fine paper?”
“These papers are for Lord Uchal, to whom you are addressing yourself, elf. I would be careful if I were you, out in the fields around this city, for my knights are ever vigilant,” the man sneers back, certain that this prankster is up to no good.
Tric meets the threat with a chuckle, not having enough familiarity with the topic to be cowed. He has seen knights in a tournament but has never faced a mounted warrior himself. “Oh, my! You’re not a horse lord, are you? No, that’s too far away. I thought the horse lords controlled all the knights. Sorry. These Wesnoth politics change so fast,” he says airily. He gives the middle-aged human a grin. “Ah, there now, old chap, just a little elvish mischief. We try not to take ourselves too seriously when we can.”
Uchal turns to look back at Osian and says, “I would advise you to finish your business with these interlopers as fast as you can.” With a swoop of his expensive cloak, he strides out of the shop and disappears down the busy city street.
Heppa has never faced a mounted knight in combat either, but she has some trepidation of nobility which makes her less inclined to mess with them than her cousin is. From what Alric has told her, they will not even let common people have birds without a fight. “Did you know him?” Heppa asks after the strange exchange. She is worried about what sort of trouble this might get Osian into with the noble.
“No,” Tric says breezily. “I do now, though.” He turns from her and sees that Alric’s father has been watching the whole exchange with quietly contained alarm.
When the elves step up to the counter, Osian softly advises, “Y-you really shouldn’t antagonize Lord Uchal.”
“My apologies,” Tric says. “I didn’t know who he was.”
“He’s got the king’s ear,” Osian stutters out.
“The king is… Konrad? One? Two?”
“Konrad the Second,” Osian tells Tric.
“Sorry. It’s hard to keep track of these things. I do apologize,” Tric reiterates. “When next you see him, you can say that you tossed us out most expeditiously.”
“That’s not the kind of reputation I want my shop to have, tossing customers out on the street like that!” Osian protests.
“You can feel free to throw me under the cart to repair any relations. I did not mean any ill will toward your business here.”
“Ah, our relationship has weathered harsher times than this,” Osian says with a self-effacing nervous laugh. Then he closes down that conversation. “I’ll… I’ll get Lonfar.” He considers the array of cords mounted behind the counter for a moment and then, with a sigh, pulls a combination. It turns out to be correct, ringing bells up in the aviary.
When Alric’s mother comes down the stairs, she still has on her arm guard for handling falcons. In one of her hands is a collection of small, thin strips of paper, the kind that fit in falcon tubes for transport. “It’s good that you were able to come again,” she tells the visitors. “Please, please join us for a meal, why don’t you?”
Tric insists that they do not mean to impose, but Heppa graciously accepts, “That would be wonderful. Thank you!”