The weight of Eleanor's secret lay heavy upon Alaric's shoulders as he made his way down the streets of Brackenwood the next day. Everything seemed different now: darker, dangerous. He had lain awake all night, trying to work it all out in his mind. Eleanor's plea for help, the mystery about political factions, the dangerous game he himself was now a part of-all these had mixed in his mind and left him with more questions than answers.
Despite his uncertainty, Alaric had resolved to help Eleanor. She needed him, and he couldn't turn his back on her at this juncture. But the question remained: where should he start?
His first instinct was to find Rosalind. She had always been his confidante, the one person who could unravel even the most tangled threads of thought in his mind. But he couldn't this time. Rosalind had bared her heart to him only the day before, and he couldn't burden her with this secret-not yet. Not while his own feelings for Eleanor were so tangled in his mind.
Taking a deep breath, Alaric resolved to begin with the people Eleanor had mentioned-the merchants and town leaders who outwardly were unremarkable but could well be involved in something far more sinister. First on his list was one Victor Bramwell, a wealthy merchant with several businesses around the town, reputedly well-connected.
The market square of Brackenwood was thick with the din of chatter, the clinking of coin, and the occasional elevation of voice over haggled prices. Alaric wove his way through the crowd, seeking to appear as unnoticeable as possible. It was the last thing he needed-to call attention to himself, and especially not now, when he was playing a role he was so utterly unprepared to play.
Compared to most other buildings, Bramwell's shop stood grand indeed, the windows laced with fine silks and spices from far-off lands. Alaric neared; at the door was Bramwell, accompanied by what seemed like fellow merchants-a big-framed man commanding height, broad-shouldered with graying hair and a thick beard. He boisterously laughed at something one of the men said, but Alaric couldn't get rid of the feeling that behind that jovial exterior lurked calculation.
For a moment, Alaric did nothing. What was he going to do? Just walk up and question him? No, he needed to be subtler than that. He needed an excuse to start interacting with Bramwell, something that wouldn't rouse suspicion.
Suddenly, a thought struck him. Reaching into his satchel for the small leather notebook that he habitually carried to jot down such ideas and thoughts, he would pose as one researching local history-a subject in which he had read up sufficiently to feel confident about bluffing his way through. Perhaps, in the process of the discussion, Bramwell might let something slip.
With his scheme in mind, Alaric approached the store, waiting for Bramwell to finish his conversation with the other shopkeepers. When the men parted ways, Alaric stepped forward, offering a friendly, if somewhat nervous smile.
"Excuse me, Mr. Bramwell?" he said, trying to sound casual. "I was wondering if you might have a moment.
Bramwell turned to him, his bright, piercing blue eyes narrowing somewhat as he appraised Alaric. "What can I do for you, young man?"
Alaric cleared his throat and held up his notebook. "I'm a scholar of sorts, researching the history of Brackenwood for a project I'm working on. I've heard that you're one of the most knowledgeable people in town when it comes to the local economy and trade. I was hoping you might be able to spare a few minutes to talk about your business and how it's connected to the town's history.
The mention of scholarship seemed to ease Bramwell's suspicion, his expression softening into curious interest. "Ah, history, is it? Well, I suppose I could spare a few moments. Trade has been the lifeblood of this town for generations, you know. My family's been in the business for years.
Alaric nodded with eagerness, playing the part of the inquisitive academic: "Exactly! And I tried to comprehend how political and social structure has changed due to the town's growth in trade. I can imagine that a man of your experience would have seen a lot of changes throughout the years.".
Bramwell chuckled, his chest puffing out with pride. "Indeed I have. Brackenwood wasn't always so prosperous. It's taken quite a bit of hard work-and a few good connections-to get us where we are."
Alaric's ears perked up at the mention of "good connections," but he kept his expression neutral. "Connections, you say? I'd love to hear more about that. I imagine trade relies quite a bit on who you know.
Bramwell waved the subject away. "You know how it is: you do me a favor, I return one. Nothing out of the ordinary. But the thing is-knowing who to trust. And in this game, well, that's everything."
Alaric scribbled a few lines in his notebook, but his mind was already racing ahead. Trust. Deals. Favors exchanged. Was this merely typical merchant talk, or was there something more lurking beneath the surface? He decided to press just a little further.
"And what of the town leadership?" Alaric asked. "I have heard there has been some. political maneuvering of late. You don't think that has affected trade, do you?"
Bramwell's eyes flickered with something- perhaps hesitation?-before he composed himself in an instant. "Oh, one hears rumors, of course. But I try to stay out of politics. I'm just a businessman, after all. My job is to keep the goods flowing, not worry about what's happening behind closed doors at the town hall.".
Alaric smiled politely, but Bramwell's response only made him more suspicious. He could say all he wanted that he did not involve himself in politics, but the manner in which he had skirted the question indicated otherwise. There was more to the man than he let on.
Before Alaric could push further, Bramwell glanced up to the clock tower farther away. "I'm afraid I have a meeting to attend, young man," he said courteously, yet firmly. "But if you have more questions, be free to come by another time."
Alaric nodded, offering a quick thank you as Bramwell turned and headed off, disappearing into the crowded market square.
Alaric stood there, watching the bustle around him, an uncomfortable feeling that he had barely scratched the surface of something much deeper. Bramwell knew more than he was telling, but it would take time and patience to get him to say anything more.
For now, though, Alaric had made his first step into the shadows of Brackenwood's secrets. And as he walked away from the market, he couldn't help but wonder just how dangerous those shadows might become.
---
Later that night, Alaric sat in the small cottage staring at the papers with the notes he had taken. His mind was buzzing with everything he'd learned-or rather, hadn't learned. Bramwell was hiding something, of that he was sure, but there was no way to know how deep the merchant's involvement went.
As he sat musing over the events of his day, there was a soft knock on his door. Alaric blinked in surprise; it was late, and he was not expecting company.
Opening the door, he saw Rosalind standing on the threshold, a deep furrow between her brows. She carried a basket of freshly baked bread, but her face told him that she did not come for a neighborly visit.
"Rosalind," Alaric said, moving to allow her to enter. "What brings you here this late?"
Rosalind set the basket on his table, furrows across her brow. "I was thinking about our conversation the other day," she ventured quietly. "I know that you said you need time, but. something has been bothering me."
Alaric's heart sank, and he had hoped this conversation would be avoided for at least a bit more, but it seemed Rosalind wasn't about to let it go. "What is it?
Rosalind hesitated, as if looking for the words that would make her meaning clear. "It's just. I have known you for so many years, Alaric. And I can tell when something's weighing on your mind. You seem. distracted. Like you're carrying a burden you won't share with me.".
Alaric's stomach twisted. She was right, of course. He had kept so much from her in so many ways-his feelings for Eleanor, the danger Eleanor had dragged him into, the secrets leading around the town like an undertow. But how could he tell her now? How could he explain anything without dragging her deeper into this?
I'm fine, Rosalind, he said, though the words were dead inside as he spoke them. "It's just. a lot on my mind lately."
Rosalind didn't seem to buy one word of it. She moved a little closer, peering into his eyes. "Alaric, you don't have to do this alone. Whatever it is, I'm here. You can trust me.
Alaric searched her eyes, weighed by the heavier sentiment within her words. She did care for him, and he knew that well enough. But to what extent could he really trust her with everything? Could he risk putting her in danger?
Before he could answer, there was another knock at the door-this one louder, more urgent.
Alaric and Rosalind exchanged a startled glance before Alaric hurried to open it.
Standing there, drenched from the pouring rain outside, was Eleanor.
Her face was pale, her clothes soaked through, and her expression was one