My dear sister, Anya,
I just realized it's rather irregular of me to use your name when addressing these letters. I think I am beginning to miss you. Are you beginning to miss me stopping by every other day to ask for a loan?
Things are only getting stranger here on Ambrosia Ranch, now that I've arrived, but at least I know at long last what's going on here. Sort of.
I think.
And I'm not sure I like what I do know.
It's been a long day.
Anya, back home you'll recall the practice we have of indentured labor. Someone who commits a crime has to work it off on behalf of the person they wronged, right? And other countries have harsher stances—I know the Southwesterners put their criminals to work for local businesses. It's basically slavery, but they deserve it, right? I mean, they committed a crime. Maybe it's not
right
, but it's a gray area, right? Do you understand what I mean?
All this is probably making you more sure than ever that coming here was a mistake. Here I am, looking for excuses for something that's probably horrible. I just don't know how to place it, morally. I think I might be in over my head, is the thing. And maybe I just don't understand. I mean, here's the thing...
How does all that stuff I was talking about apply to fey, do you think?
Ambrosia Ranch was a beautiful estate, and much larger than Senya had predicted. It was carved out of the bamboo forests with the meticulous right-angled precision of a yardstick. A ten-foot tall fence of what looked like iron or steel encircled the ranch, though curiously, there were no gates—just an open entrance. Curious. As the hob and Jerrod started to unpack supplies, Senya hopped out of the cart and approached the boundary.
"Wouldn't it make more sense to bring the cart closer?" he asked, as he examined the bars. They were not steel, as he'd guessed, and they were covered in ornate inscriptions. What were they wrought of? "Past the fence, up to the farmhouse?"
"The horses don't cross the barrier," Bobbin called. "Besides, we try not to bring animals into the—" She cut herself off.
Senya didn't initially parse her words, as he was busy reeling from the realization that this was
silver
he was looking at. How much could a several miles-long fence of silver cost, he wondered? Then the hob's words clicked with him, and his eyes widened. "Wait. Are you saying—
Jerrod
told me you keep animals!" He whirled on the two. The hob was nervously stroking her furry hands together, like a fly rubbing its legs, but these words caused her to turn and glare up at Jerrod. "Sheep, he said! Cows!"
"Mm. Did he say that." Bobbin raised one eyebrow. "Interesting."
"Heh..." Jerrod rubbed his back with a guilty shrug. "Mighta, uh, exaggerated."
"Lied, more like." Bobbin set the bag down and crossed her arms. "I told you not to lie.
Never
lie to the Master. I've half a mind to thrash you myself, and he'd be within his rights to!"
"I didn't have a—" Jerrod yelped as Bobbin suddenly lunged up, grabbing him by the ear and lifting him slightly. Senya was shocked by her strength—she looked like such a scrawny thing. "I didn't have a choice!" he protested. "He misunderstood, Bobbin! He thought we were slavers!"
"Bobbin, please!" Senya hurried forward, alarmed. "You mustn't—could I please just have an explanation?"
Bobbin hesitated a moment, then, with a sigh, released the stockman. "Ugh." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "It's not something I can explain easily, Master. Suffice to say that your stockman stretched the truth almost to its snapping point." Her sharp teeth visibly grated. "I can promise you an explanation, but we really
must
get the supplies inside. Jerrod, see to the horses. I'll take your bags."
Jerrod rubbed his ear. "Fine," he said mulishly. He handed his cargo to Bobbin, who held it with ease, and unhooked the horse from the cart. He gave Bobbin a funny look that Senya didn't quite understand. Both Bobbin and Senya saw it.
"What was that?" Senya asked her, as Jerrod walked off. He badly wanted to know what was going on, but it seemed like getting the stuff into the house was a bigger priority—only then could they discuss matters clearly. His curiosity for the day-to-day got the better of him, though.
Bobbin gave a short laugh. "Jerrod forgets his place. I suppose I do, too, sometimes."
"Don't you outrank him?" Senya asked. Ignoring Bobbin's frown, he went over and picked up the last two items.
"I'm the hob," she said, "first and foremost. Your uncle was always quite clear on that, though he did give me more... motility." She grinned. "I wasn't the straw boss in any regard until he came along."
They entered the ranch. As they passed the threshold, Senya felt a strange ringing sense in his gut, like he'd swallowed a tuning fork. The feeling quickly passed. Hoping that this, too, was not too complex to get a swift answer about, he gestured tot he gate questioningly.
"Wards," Bobbin said flatly. "Won't trouble you or Jerrod. Me..." Senya noticed that she had paled slightly. "... they know I belong, but spelled silver of any kind has a special hate for fey."
"Who placed the wards?"
"The man who founded the ranch." Bobbin frowned, cocking her head to the side. "Or was it a woman? Aah. The house was built after their time, you see, and at the core I'm a house fey." She winked. "I came in a generation later."
Senya looked around. The ranch itself was full of life, though much of it was hard to make out. The path to the house was flanked by twin rows of some sort of nut tree, bushy enough to block most of his view. Senya could see vast acres of green with flecks of purple beyond—grapevines, perhaps—as well as a great old red barn, a small house in the distance, a large cluster of fruit trees, and what looked like a marsh or pond area,
For a ranch so fastidiously cut from the bamboo forest, he realized, the Ambrosia Ranch was extremely overgrown. Maybe that was deliberate. Maybe it was a deliberate effort to segregate the... whatever it was they kept.
A question for when we get inside,
he thought, swallowing. The bags felt heavy in his grasp.
No point bothering her here.
"What about the cart?" he asked after a moment, glancing back. He did a double-take.
The cart was gone.
"Seen to," the straw boss said. She leaned in and, to Senya's slight surprise, kissed him on the cheek. "Just be patient, Master. All will be made clear. Know only that I am loyal to the family first and foremost. Even with that with which you do not trust Jerrod, you may trust me. Do not fear."
Senya felt a lump form in his throat. Despite the soothing intent she clearly had, Bobbin's words felt ominously specific.
Oh, please don't let me die today,
he prayed, though not to any gods, as the gods were, of course, dead.
I didn't even get to get off last night.
The farmhouse was smaller than Senya might have expected from such a grand estate—just a simple two-story house. Lavish by his standards, but hardly a mansion. Senya wondered if the original builder had known just how great and vast and strange a ranch they were going to be managing. Probably. They'd probably known more than Senya did, too. It was painted in faded pastels—greens and blues and pinks. He felt the walls as they approached. It was a well-built house, at least. Yew wood, it seemed, which surprised him: The expense of transporting this much yew had to be prohibitive. And yet.
"How does a house fey become bonded to a house?" Senya asked.
"Oh, well..." Bobbin giggled slightly, edging past him to the door. She seemed in better spirits the closer they got to his new home; Senya found it hard to reconcile this almost bubbly bugbear with the matter-of-fact straw boss he'd been speaking to just minutes before. "When a house and a hob love each other very, very much..."
The door swung open. Senya jumped slightly, feeling Bobbin pat his butt slightly. "In, then, young Master. You must make yourself at home."
It was dark inside, but Bobbin scampered in, padding on those bare, hairy soles of hers, tapping candles here and there and causing the wicks to surge into life. It was a casual display of magical skill, and Senya was caught up in admiring it for a moment. He missed the street magicians back home. More than that, though, he missed his sister, the mage, who might have the wits and will about her to make sense of all this. There were many good reasons Anya was a wealthy magewright and he was an ex-bum who was possibly about to get his organs harvested for money, but the main one was that she was just better at taking complicated and difficult situations and breaking them down to what she knew what to do with. Senya had always struggled more with seeing the forest for the trees.
The entrance room appeared to double as the dining room. The table was crafted of beautiful polished oak, as were the three chairs around—a matching set. Several small desks and bookshelves bore the candles Bobbin had lit, though there was a hook in the ceiling which once, perhaps, had held a chandelier. He glanced at it, and Bobbin evidently followed his gaze, because she bit her lip. With teeth that sharp, Senya reflected, it was a wonder she didn't cut herself. "I had to generate some quick capital after Mast—the last Master's death," she said, her voice quiet. "To track down eligible relatives, to hire on the stockman. Your great-great-uncle had a lovely elf-made chandelier... I had to make a decision. It was either that or sell the livestock."
Senya frowned at her, feeling sorry despite himself. "I don't care about any chandelier," he said. "It sounds like you made the right decision."
"Well, perhaps." She shrugged. "I am pretty good at making them."
"So, hang on." Senya thought about sitting in one of the chairs, but thought better of it. He felt safer standing. "You say there
are
livestock?"
"Hm." The hob raised her eyebrows. "You have a good set of ears, Master. Well, I suppose it's time." She made a show of stretching, probably as a delaying tactic. It also accentuated her lithe young frame nicely. Bobbin wasn't exactly voluptuous, but she was fit and attractive, and her fur didn't do much to dispel Senya's attraction—especially not when she was stretching for him like that. If anything, it accentuated her femininity. She completed the sketch and smiled, moving to sit in one of the chairs. "It's a difficult explanation, but—"
"Bobbin!" Senya and Bobbin both turned as the stockman Jerrod arrived at the doorstep, grinning. He raised one hand in a salute that struck Senya as somewhat ironic. "In a better mood, now, boss?"
