Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter.

26 December 1019
Bois-de-Bas, Armorica

Dear Mum,

I am home, and now, on the day following the Nativity of Our Lord, I wish to tell you once again what joy it gave me, and continues to give me, when I think of you happily wed to John Netherington-Coates. (Though I confess that I continue to think of him as my friend John, as I find myself quite unable to call him “my dear step-papa.”) I had grown so used to you looking weary and dejected, and there you were at your wedding, beaming and blushing like a school-girl. For the first time I felt that I could return to Bois-de-Bas with a peaceful heart.

And what a different journey it was, than that first journey I took over eight years ago! Instead of traveling in the pauper’s class on the oh-so-slow Lombard, alone, excited, and nearly terrified out of my wits, I made a much speedier journey on my own packet, the Amelie, surrounded by my wife and daughters and all the comforts of home. Or, if not quite that, at least all the comforts my dear Amelie could contrive.

I spent much of my time with Amelie and my daughters, of course, and about my studies; but I had also much time for reflection. Eight years ago I was a young journeyman, running away from home to build a new life in a new home; and while traveling through the Abyss I came to realize that I have built that life—that I have everything I ever wanted, and more.

I have a wife whom I love, and who loves me; I have two wonderful daughters; and we have a comfortable home in Bois-de-Bas. I have advanced in my craft, both in my skills and in my position as grandmaster of the Armorican branch of the Former’s Guild; and I have also advanced the state of the craft itself. We are prosperous, as a result, and on the way to becoming more so.

I have won the respect of my friends and neighbors in Bois-de-Bas and Mont-Havre, and also of the other Armorican guild masters. I have the ear of Lord Astley, His Majesty’s governor; and as Sir Armand of Bois-de-Bas I have, by force of law, His Majesty’s ear as well should I happen to need it in some tricky situation.

Tuppenny Wagons is doing well; the guild here is growing; Bois-de-Bas is on the way to becoming the second city of Mont-Havre in practice as well as in law (for, you know, it is only the second chartered city in all of Armorica).

And if I am happy, so are my relations.

Cousin Amelia is enthralled with her Maximilian and her studies, and who knows what she may yet achieve? Cousin Jack has established a new career as a travel writer, and who knows to what exotic places this will take him? (For my part I am pleased that he is here in Armorica, and that my daughters know and love their Uncle Jack.)

And then there are you and John, happily settled in Norwich Street. (If the memories crowd too close in that house, as I have told John, a word to Wackspallen can see Norwich Street sold and a new dwelling arranged. I do not wish to see any shadow on your happiness.)

Call on my if you need me, and I shall attend; thanks to Luc and the others, the wagon works are now well able to do without me for a few months at a time.

Amelie is calling me; so I hasten to add that Anne-Marie and little Maggie adored the Christmas presents you sent home with us; I have included their thank-you notes in this same cover.

Your content and cozy son,

Armand

Author’s note: I realized quite suddenly, just as I finished last week’s letter, that Armand’s arc is complete: he truly does have everything he ever wanted. To continue his story I would need to deprive him of some it—to break up his marriage, or have his dear Amelie or one of his daughters die tragically, or start yet another war. But I’ve always detested the kind of “sleuth’s marriage is on the rocks” plots you see in long-running mystery series; and as I’m fond of Armand, I think he’s earned the right to rest on his laurels for a while. I expect we will hear from him from time to time, but the center of gravity needs to move elsewhere.

And where will it move? We shall just have to find out together, week by week.

Next letter

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Photo by Dawid Zawiła on Unsplash