I recalled yawning. I only had a small bit of sleep at that point, and the constant running for my life was not doing me any favors. Luckily Camilla seemed to have concocted up a solution for our aching feet and now we had a nice, if a bit rough, seat as the miles began to roll by. The horses were churlish from their evidently long journey, and I could not blame the poor beasts. If I was not so exhausted I would have blessed them, but I felt I should perhaps wait until the next stop. Camilla sat close to me, the two of us pressed together, careful not to bite our tongues from the occasional large bump in the road that felt as if it sent the carriage careening across the path. 

"So signor, where is it that you go at such a late hour?" I asked the coachman, wanting to make small talk so as to keep the man from suspicion. Even if we had done nothing wrong, the mind wanders at night, left to its own devices. 

"Believe me, it is not by design, sir priest." The coachman said. His blunderbuss hanging just beside him, stacked on a small rack just below his seat to his left, built into the carriage for quick and easy access. "I had left Verezzo, making my way through Pavona and to Remas the great, and I had planned on camping this night until I saw unsettling things in the wood. Strange lights and the screams of men. I barely had time to piss before I was back in the wagon, and that was some hours ago. Now I believe I will go to the Bajamonti Villa in the hills and wait there, by leave of the Duc De La Rochefoucauld‎. I am known to his son and have made many stops there over the past decade." 

"A Brettonian noble?" I inquired, my interest piqued. I was curious on the Brettonian, but I was very interested in the 'noble' aspect. A large villa meant good food and soft beds. "Strange that, I wonder why they would be so far south. Would we be able to secure a room for the night there as well, or would that be too intrusive?" 

The man thought for a moment, eyeing myself and Camilla for a brief second before answering once satisfied of our motives. "He might take some convincing, but it is worth a try, signor. He may want something in return, and I cannot tell you what. It is always something different each time, when I approach. Usually he merely wants a package delivered to Luccini or Remas, or to send a parcel to a ship set for Brettonia. He and his family are nice enough hosts, as long as you give due respect. If you can speak their tongue, they will welcome you doubly." 

"Luckily I can," I said, and Camilla raised an eyebrow. I winked. I could not speak Brettonian nearly as fluently as Tilean or Reikspiel, and truth be told I would need a small refresher. But I could manage the accent well enough so as not to offend them, and perhaps a greetings or two would go a long way. For once, I was glad my professors and tutors at the church found such promise in me. It was almost too bad I disappointed most of them, in some form or fashion. I turned back to the driver. "Why is the villa called Bajamonti? Are villas not named after the family who resides there?" 

"You speak the truth, signor. The estate has been there many generations, and legends say an old curse lies over it from when the Bajamonti family resided there. No one dares change the name now, or face the wrath of those that once dwelt and are now buried in the crypts." 

"Ah." I sighed, tired at the prospect. 

The coachman laughed. "Tonight has made me think there could be some truth to the supernatural, but fear not from these ghosts, signor. I have been there many times, and never have I seen a spectre or ghoul feasting on the flesh of men. Just some old servants tripping over themselves."