Bastien can only hear so much with the one ear, dragging a man across the floor with all the heel-scraping that entails, disappearing into the larder, but it's enough to know the instructions have taken, if only because Gal and Vorenia's path toward packing what they can carry draws them past the door and up the stairs.

The strain of feeding so many people without appearing to be buying an unusual amount of food has stripped the larder nearly bare, so there's more room than there might have been otherwise. Bastien hauls the man up to lean against the empty shelves. Can't be comfortable. But there's no resistance. There's even some assistance, the guard pushing with his heels and squirming his way up. Cooperative, maybe, or else having shelves dig into his back just feels better and less vulnerable than being laid flat on the floor.

Bastien gives him a smile. A little one, strained and crooked, that conveys sorry about all of this. The guard tries to say something behind his gag, but he only gets a few incoherent syllables in before he gives up and angles his head expectantly, and Bastien shakes his head. Not sorry enough to ungag him yet.

He steps out of the larder to make room for Isaac and Gwenaëlle and their baggage to get inside. Notes the absence of Gal and Vorenia; with focus he can hear their footsteps upstairs and the muffled warble of someone either crying to panicking at a panicky, fluctuating volume. The hatch to the cellar's been lowered fully shut; beneath it people are shifting, making sure they have everything, reassuring the couple of people whose nerves were too frayed to handle yet another dangerous bump in the road with stoicism.

He stays outside the door. Whatever they're going to do, they ought to agree on it, probably.