You bid Fig farewell and leave him to his broth.
"Chin up, there," you murmur to Tom as you return to the stables. "I've another scheme in mind yet."
"Somehow, that makes me even more nervous," he says with a smirk, eyes on the ground.
Over the next day, you and Brute canvas the castle with news of Tom's predicament and a plea for donations on his behalf. You cut such a charming figure that you're well-received most everywhere you go. You entertained delusions that Brute would be an adorable asset in your work, but the creature is too unfocused and untrained to be much help; it's more likely to try to pull you from conversation to show you a remarkable specimen of horse dung than to help win hearts and loosen purse strings.
You gather up enough courage to go right to Her Majesty herself with the appeal, focusing more on Tom's hardship than on any wrongdoing the Baroness Kiell might be party to. (You're not exactly keen to create a diplomatic disaster in the name of scrounging up a few farthings.)
"Bid him make petition with his grievance, good Bandochel," she says as you conclude, with practiced sympathy. "The Throne may have redress to offer of a sort."
You bow and withdraw, a touch disappointed; you're absolutely certain that so retiring a soul as Tom will never assent to being a petitioner before the King. His awe would set him into a swoon, and his embarrassment would burn him to a crisp. Judging by the King's meaningful waistline, there's no need for another roast at Court.
You're much encouraged in the reception that follows, however, after news spreads amongst Her Majesty's retinue of your appeal. You're already well-liked among the Queen's staff of attendants, counselors, and personal guards. Consequently, you find your collection begins to grow substantially; though relatively small in number, the Queen's staff have more coin at their disposal than your average menial or conscript. The generosity you witness does your heart good.
Onward