Chapter Text
Samwell Gotch looked out over the funeral attendees. His brothers were in the front row, in various stages of crying or shock. Various business partners of both Father and Grandfather sat gravely, all in black. Ouroboros Codswallop sat to the side, his black silk hat in his lap.
He tried not to look at the more colorful bunch in the back.
He certainly did not look at the two coffins behind him.
He’d only been seven years old at Mother’s funeral and his whole world had cracked apart. Now at seventeen, the pieces he’d patched together had shattered and there was no one else to lean on.
But he was used to having a lot of responsibility, and he wouldn’t buckle under the weight of the entire Gotch family now. And he was just going to ignore the warring grief and relief that were tearing him apart. …And everything that was about to crash down on him, on just him. Right now he had to speak, and that was all he was going to focus on.
“Thank you all…” His voice creaked and he cleared his throat. “Thank you for coming to honor… our father and our grandfather. They were… were devoted to the legacy of the Gotch family… always thinking only of… of the advancement of… the family and of society.” He swallowed thickly. He’d struggled to write this speech, and knew it was inadequate. He hadn’t even managed a basic five-paragraph essay, but this was the fifth attempt and the only one both true and appropriate. It was a hard line to walk. “I know… Looking out today I know people from many different backgrounds are here to… show their love for… these two gr-great men. They were family, they were investors, they were innovators. I know it would mean a lot if they knew so many people had gathered to… to celebrate their lives.”
He paused to look down. Maxwell and Hatwell were both crying. Wealwell had switched seats with Johnwell to hug Maxwell. Blanewell was trying to hug Hatwell, who didn’t acknowledge him. Roywell was staring straight forward, expressionless. Johnwell was hunched up, blinking hard. Everyone else looked solemn. Serious.
The only other people crying were a couple of people far in the back. Samwell knew Comfrey Macleod on sight, and saw her wipe her eyes as she leaned over and whispered to the older man next to her. A younger man in a leather coat was crying, as well as a rather sinister-looking man. The rest of them looked grim, aside from a girl not much older than him who looked a little bored.
How dare she. He inhaled to yell at her to get out if she couldn’t give his family the respect they deserved, then swallowed his breath and looked back down. He wouldn’t make a scene. He had to be reasonable. He wouldn’t ruin this day and embarrass himself and the whole Gotch family. They might have that luxury, but he didn’t. He continued stiffly.
“Our grandfather was a visionary and an innovator. He put our name in the sky and gave… gave wings to people who would never be able to fly on their own,” he said sharply. “He inspired so many because he truly believed in the goodness of people. He believed we could advance society to improve life for everyone, and to learn more about the world.” Maxwell was sobbing now, and Wealwell was quietly crying into his hair, messing up his perfect center part.
He paused, voice lowering a little. “Our father believed in tradition. He saw himself as the rock that would hold our family in place, that we could build our future upon. He had a vision of his own, and took great pride in bringing the family into the present day.” Hatwell suddenly turned and grabbed onto Blanewell, banging his head into his brother’s side. Blanewell flinched and clamped his mouth shut.
“When the Gotch skyship was crushed over Scrapsylvanian skies by a freak shower of rusty metal, we didn’t know how we would be able to go on. But we all have to. And the Gotch family will stand together and find a way to be strong despite… despite this terrible tragedy. So… thank you for joining us today as we say farewell to two… great men.” He stepped away from the podium and went back to sit next to Roywell, his footsteps echoing through the otherwise silent hall. Roy nudged him with his elbow, and he nudged back. A few other people spoke, but the boys sat huddled together, hardly listening.
When the service concluded everyone came up to offer their condolences. The older three thanked them all quietly while the younger ones stared up hollowly or wiped at their damp faces. Samwell kept an arm around Wealwell, who he knew would be feeling as sick as he was. He shook hands, he gravely thanked their relatives and business partners. All of them offered to be there if the boys needed anything. Of course most of them didn’t live nearby, and they had businesses of their own to run, Samwell knew. But anything they needed, they said, just ask.
“And I’m sure you’ll go to live with your relatives,” said old Lord Greypace.
“Ah – well I’ll be eighteen in a few months,” Samwell said, squeezing Wealwell. “We… we’re all still in school. I… I might have to take some time off to handle things, but I’ll manage. The house staff does a good job, and Father had been teaching me about the family finances. Our financial advisor will help out, I’m sure.” The lord frowned, so Samwell forced a smile and looked away from the yawning abyss. “…But you’re right, we have plenty of relatives. If we need help, we can always go to them.”
Ouroboros Codswallop hadn’t come up yet. He’d been speaking to Comfrey Macleod and her band of rowdies at the back of the hall for quite some time. It didn’t feel right to be going after financial pursuits at a funeral service, but he knew the Wind Riders were difficult to pin down. Father had complained about it enough.
“Terribly sorry, children,” Mr. Codswallop said when he did eventually plod over. “A tragic day indeed. I am so sorry for this tremendous loss. I shall, of course, be helping see you through these… difficult days to come, in any way I can.”
“Thank you.” Samwell thought he really might throw up now.
“Ah…” Codswallop looked around. “Young Master Samwell, I wonder if we might have a word about that.”
“Of course.” Samwell’s stomach churned, but at least something was happening. At least he could get down to business now and start dealing with this… with all of this. “Roy, will you –“
“I’ve got it,” Roywell said. He was just fifteen, but the others usually listened to him. They would right now, at least. Samwell nodded gratefully and followed Codswallop into an antechamber.
“How are you today, young Samwell?”
Samwell stared at him. “…I’m fine.” He’d never had to talk to Codswallop alone, only with Father.
“Wonderful. Now, I didn’t want to discuss this with the younger ones, but it’s important that you understand. You’re aware, I’m sure, that your father named Lord Cadswitch as your legal guardian, should the worst befall him.”
Samwell nodded. “…Until I’m of age, and then it’s me.”
“Correct. Ah – your birthday is in September, yes?”
“September seventh. Just three months away.” Samwell straightened up. “I’m sure we can find a way around that, can’t we? For such a short time?”
“I’m afraid not.” Codswallop looked grim. “I’ve checked the laws tip to top, top to bottom, and they are all very firm.”
“That’s ridiculous, everyone’s going back to school at the end of the summer anyway. I – I always take care of them anyway, and Father taught me everything I needed, I’m old enough!” Samwell could hear his voice rising and fought to keep it low.
“I understand this is troubling.” Codswallop nodded sympathetically. “So I pursued Lord Cadswitch’s will. Of course you’ll all have an inheritance from him, that’s been secured, so you don’t have to worry.”
Samwell stared blankly.
“As to legal guardianship, though… Well the wording of the will was a bit confusing.”
“…So you can work something out. Will we… go to one of our uncles for a few months? We could spend the summer out of town and –“
“If only it were that simple,” Codswallop sighed. “You see, your father… I’m afraid he didn’t get on with his brothers and cousins. Didn’t agree with their life choices or financial decisions. He did not believe they would be good influences on his own sons. I’m sure you didn’t spend much time with them.”
“No… No, but they’re family.”
“Yes. And your father was very clear in his will that his sons would never be influenced by or indebted to the rest of the family for any reason. He quite plainly did not approve of them. He only named Lord Cadswitch your legal guardian because he knew it was wise to have one. I’m afraid he never anticipated his untimely demise, or his father’s.”
Samwell flinched. “Then what… what are you saying? What’s going to happen to us?”
“Well that… is the confusing part. The, ah… well it’s… stated explicitly, it’s just… quite strange. Eccentric, excuse me.” He cleared his throat and pulled out a document to show Samwell. “You see here… Now this is your father’s will, this is the portion I’m speaking of.” He paused to let Samwell read it himself, then took another paper and put it in front. “And here is your grandfather’s. Right here, it states that any minors in his charge, in the event of his death, will be given into the care of Comfrey Macleod and the Wind Riders. …And then you see here, this last bit that was added in later that all legal decisions will fall to… a Mr. Daisuke Bucklesby.”
“That… that can’t be real. That can’t be legal!”
“I had the same thought, but I had a chat with Verity Wiswold, your grandfather’s financial advisor.” He nodded to an elderly woman walking up to pay her respects to the bodies. “You’ll note her initials there, at the addition. She said Lord Cadswitch was in a clear state of mind and insisted that this all be specified.”
“But… but… But they’re not family!” Samwell said desperately, mind racing. “They can’t – I mean surely in these circumstances we can just… spend the summer with Uncle Wrightspot and –“
Codswallop was shaking his head. “I truly wish you could, young Master Samwell. Regrettably the documents are airtight.”
Samwell stared at him.
“But as you say, it is only three months. We can all look forward to you turning eighteen and taking the reins, so to speak.” He chuckled dryly.
“I… I… You have to do something about this,” Samwell hissed, glancing over at his brothers. Maxwell was already straying away from Roywell, and Wealwell had thrown up. “We can’t possibly…”
“I do apologize. I will continue looking, but I’m afraid this is how it must be for a short time.”
Samwell looked up suddenly. “What about – my marriage arrangement. To Rowena Goldstone, her family’s doing well, I hear! What if… what if we moved that up to… to right now, immediately, we could get married now and the family could take in my brothers.”
Codswallop rubbed his chin. “Well… I can certainly make inquiries if that’s what you want –“
“Yes,” Samwell said instantly. “Yes, please do. Tell them it has to be as fast as possible.”
“Very well, I will make a note and contact the Goldstone family as soon as I return to the office.”
“…Today?” Samwell begged.
“Monday, I’m afraid. …But I will be sure it’s the first thing I do when I get in the door.”
“Thank you.” The boy’s shoulders slumped and he wished he could just let his knees buckle and lie on the floor.
“But regardless, I will be in contact.” The old man leaned in close. “Samwell. These people are not family. They are not… shall we say… ‘your kind of people.’ These are ruffians. Rowdies. Criminals.”
“You’re leaving us with criminals!?” Samwell choked.
“Well, the legalities,” Codswallop muttered, waving a hand vaguely. “Just remember this. I did some research, to prepare us both. Macleod owes your family – owes you debts that have not been collected. And she is still currently borrowing money for her expeditions. Daisuke Bucklesby is the most wanted criminal in Pilby, a bandit of the worst kind. Onion St. Clay is well-known in the financial world for being a master of fraud, no self-respecting accounting firm would hire him. Haunch Saxon has been charged with drunk and disorderly conduct numerous times, and is equally unemployable. Vanellope Chapman is a pirate through and through. Sylvio Dufresne has been taken into police custody countless times for questioning, and somehow always manages to evade a sentence. Marya Junkova is a runaway urchin from Scrapsylvania, which tells you all anyone needs to know.” He paused. “And Montgomery LaMontgommery is… a children’s book author.” He frowned uncertainly.
“That’s… that’s Maxwell’s favorite author,” Samwell mumbled, staring off into space.
“Ah, well that is a bit of good fortune for young Maxwell.” Codswallop smiled. “But be wary that he does not sway your impressionable young brother away from his loyalty to his family.”
“No one’s swaying Maxwell away from our family,” Samwell snapped, still fighting to process everything.
“And remember, you are the head of this branch of the Gotch family now. …Or will be, in three months. You will be making the decisions. And I work for you. I swear I’ll do everything in my power to help.”
“Thank you.” His voice cracked and he looked down in shame. Codswallop patted his shoulder awkwardly and ambled away. He stood there for a moment, just trying to breathe before walking back to his brothers.
“What’s up?” Blanewell asked.
“We… there’s a problem with the wills,” he muttered as the very ragtag band he dreaded walked up to them.
“Well now, Longspot’s whole brood,” Comfrey said, smiling down at them. “Ah, there’s Max, Cadswitch always loved you. Feet still on the ground, huh kid? For now?”
Maxwell looked down, shutting his eyes tightly. The others looked uncomfortable.
“Well! S’pose you’ve all heard the news. We’re gonna be going back to… back home to…” She trailed off and shook her head.
“Babysit,” Daisuke suggested.
“We’ll be looking out for you children until you go back to school at least,” Montgommery spoke up, smiling. Maxwell looked up, tears in his eyes.
“Don’t worry, it won’t be that long,” Samwell said icily. “I’m working on a better solution for all of us.”
“You the oldest?” Comfrey asked. “Can’t keep ‘em straight, you’re all too close together. Sam, was it?”
“I am Samwell Gotch, and I am the head of the Gotch Family,” Samwell growled. “You will show me the respect I deserve.”
“Oh, I’ll show you all the respect I showed your dad, with that attitude.” Comfrey laughed.
“All right kiddos, this ain’t forever, might as well make the best of it, right?” Vanellope said. “This is Comfrey, Daisuke, Monty, Marya, Onion, Sylvio, and Haunch, and I’m Van. What are your names?” She looked expectantly.
Samwell glared at her. “Samwell. Roywell. Blanewell. Hatwell. Wealwell. Johnwell. Maxwell. In that order. Don’t feel like you need to learn them, we certainly won’t make the effort to learn yours.”
“Okay.” Van laughed, unbothered. “Well, Wells, things are gonna be a little different for all of us this summer, aren’t they? But we’ll get by. Because none of us got a choice in this. You don’t want us poking into your lives, and I assure you the feeling is mutual. But here we are, my lads.”
“We’re not your lads,” Hatwell growled.
“Figure of speech, I call the crew my lads too.” She waved it off. “So… you take all the time you need here. I sympathize, I do. Me own dad passed away when I was just a girl and I was lost. So you take your time here. When you’re ready we’ll go back and get settled. I’m sure there’s plenty of room for us to camp out for a while. We’ll make do, right?” She turned to the crew, who nodded with varying degrees of reluctance.
They stayed until everyone else left, just to get more time before they had to go home, but before long Van ushered them out to the Zephyr. It was cramped onboard, but the boys stayed huddled together though Maxwell at least was distracted by looking up at the balloons. They landed outside the manor. By the time they disembarked, Samwell managed to collect himself a bit.
“Just… just remember, this is our house,” he said, trying to extend his voice the way Van had. It sounded terribly small. “You’re… barely even guests. Don’t touch anything, don’t take anything, don’t break anything. It all belongs to the Gotch family. Not to you.”
“You got it, lad,” said Marya with a sharp grin. She bounded down the gangplank while Samwell seethed.
“All right, that’s enough of that,” Haunch muttered, glaring around. “This place is ridiculous.”
“Your ship is ridiculous,” Roywell called.
“Your face is ridiculous!” called Marya from far ahead.
“You’re all being ridiculous,” Van boomed. “That’s enough. Everybody inside. We’ll rustle up some food –“
“Dinner is served at six,” Samwell said crisply.
“Served?” Daisuke chuckled.
“Yes. Served. …Though the staff weren’t expecting a whole hoard, so there may not be enough for you.” He smirked.
“Fine by me.” He pulled out his rifle. “Sylvio, wanna check around, see if we can find any varmints for a stew?”
Sylvio chuckled darkly. “Oh, I would love nothing better than to go out… hunting with you, Daisuke.”
“Just get us some dinner,” Comfrey muttered, looking around at the perfect gravel drive and the neatly-trimmed topiaries. The sky felt farther away already.