There were also a large number of men outside with tools and shovels. Will even spotted a pickaxe in one fellow’s hands. Are those the workers Blake hired? It seemed like too many, and what would they need a pickaxe for? Steeling himself, Will kept walking, and when he got closer he saw that the entry was partially blocked by several men who were mounting a new door in place.
One of the workers glanced at him as he approached. “Servant’s entrance is around back. This door won’t be usable for a while anyway.”
Will stifled a laugh. It was almost refreshing to be thought of as a commoner again. Tired, he nodded and waved a hand in acknowledgment as he walked around to enter through the kitchen door. He was almost there when a man who seemed to have been dipped and battered in dirt yelled at him. “Hey, you! Get over here!” Will walked over. “Give me a hand.”
With a sigh, Will helped the man right his wheelbarrow, then he took a shovel and loaded it up again while the other fellow took a breather. The workman seemed to have had a hard day, so he didn’t complain. “What are you folks working on here?” he asked, genuinely curious. He had asked Blake to remodel the root cellar, but it appeared as though the men were involved in a brand-new excavation.
“Oh, pardon,” said the laborer. “I didn’t realize you weren’t part of one of the crews. Guess I should have guessed by the fact you weren’t dirty.”
“No offense taken,” said Will. He finished shoveling the dirt and rocks into the barrow.
“On the other side they’re refitting the cellar to be a dungeon. Over here we’re excavating for a workroom or some place to do magic and things. Who knows with these nobles? I feel sorry for whoever he plans to torture, though. That’s no way to die.”
Will hid a smirk. A workroom? I never told Blake to do that. “Who lives here?”
“Oh, you’ve heard of him!” said the workman emphatically. “It’s that crackpot from Barrowden. The one who married Princess Selene last year after murdering her husband-to-be.”
“Crackpot? Seems like I should have heard of him.”
“Everyone has,” insisted the stranger. “Supposedly he stopped the Darrowans and stopped the war, but the rumor is that he made a pact with a demon to do it. Sound familiar yet?”
Will put on a look of disbelief. “A demon? You’re making this shit up.”
“Cross my heart,” said the worker. “I’d swear it to the Mother. After that he came to Cerria and the king sent him here to become a wizard. Bad idea if you ask me, but then—”
“They never do ask,” said Will with a sympathetic nod.
“Yeah. Rich people are crazy. Why would you send a confirmed demon worshipper to Wurthaven, to make him even more powerful? Anyway, after he came here they say he straight out murdered Lord Spry’s son. That’s the same fellow who was going to marry the princess. Then he murdered the father and took his bride!”
“That can’t be true!” exclaimed Will in mock outrage. “The king wouldn’t stand for it!”
The laborer shrugged. “If you ask me, they’re all nuts—noblemen, royalty, wizards—all of ‘em. And with all these people disappearing, who knows what’s going on? Makes you wonder why this prick’s got us out here digging a new dungeon, doesn’t it?”
Will straightened up, then offered the man a hand to help him get back to his feet. “Well, truth be told, I know the man you’re talking about.”
His new friend gave him a wary eye.
“He’s me. And I promise I’m not planning on torturing any people, though I might make some of the creatures who are actually making folks disappear suffer. If I don’t get myself killed first.” He lifted a hand and tipped an imaginary hat to the man before turning back to the house.
Chapter 35
There were more surprises in store for him when he stepped through the kitchen door. Blake was standing in the room with his back to where Will had quietly entered, while across the room and facing the manservant at an angle was Laina Nerrow, who bore an expression of extreme vexation.
“Do you think she would have approved of this—this—waste? She trusts you, Blake! Is this how you repay her?” sputtered Laina.
Blake’s tone was steady as he replied, “I assure you, Her Highness personally instructed me to give him full access to her accounts. She would have done exactly the same in my place.”
“She’d agree to digging up the property to install a fucking dungeon? Are you mad? What has he done to your brain?”
“It is his money to spend,” said Blake calmly.
“The fucking hell it is!”
“And he didn’t ask for a dungeon. He only wanted me to refit the cellar. The expansion for a laboratory was my idea, as well as something Her Highness would have doubtless done if she were here.”
Laina threw her hands up in the air. “Only because he’s twisted her brain into a limp noodle!”
Blake relaxed slightly, putting one hand on his hip in gesture that would definitely have been too casual for such a servant speaking to most nobles. “You know better than that, Laina. I know you dislike him, but even you don’t believe he’s evil. Quite the reverse, in fact.”
Will’s half-sister pressed her lips together in frustration, unable to deny what the man had said. Then she found her voice. “It’s still a colossal waste of money. Think how many people it could have helped.”
“A moment ago, you were fine with the money being kept safely in Her Highness’ accounts. Now you’re suggesting she’s parsimonious for not giving the money to your charity? Hasn’t she already donated considerably to the cause?”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point then, Miss Nerrow?” asked Blake in an innocent tone that would likely have infuriated even a saint.
Laina’s face was turning red when her mother appeared behind her. “Stop haranguing the poor man, Laina. I raised you to comport yourself better.” Blake bowed as the baroness entered the room.
Her eyes were the first to fix on Will standing quietly in the kitchen doorway. Despite her station, Agnes Nerrow curtseyed respectfully. “It appears our gracious host has returned. I am glad to see you again, William, if you will forgive us for bursting into your home unannounced.”
Laina and Agnes both glanced at his trousers, noting the one bare leg with curiosity. Will stepped forward, feeling uncertain, and his cheeks colored as they stared at his ruined clothes. A few seconds passed, then he regained his wits. “Excuse my attire. It’s been an interesting day. If you’ll pardon me, I need to change.” Without another word, he slipped around Blake and out the other door, heading into the hall. All he could think of was getting to his bedroom and locking himself in. Nowhere was safe.
Behind him, he heard Blake’s voice. “Pardon me, milady. I need to attend to my employer. I’ll return shortly.” He followed Will into the hall and up the stairs.
Stopping at the head of the stairs, Will turned around. “What in the hell is going on?”
“Their house burned down. I told them you would put them up for a while.”
“I didn’t agree to that!” Will hissed in a whispered yell.
Blake raised one brow. “You’d have turned them away? Be honest.”
Fatigue and frustration combined to overwhelm him. Will’s eyes focused on the balustrade that bordered the stairs, and suddenly a piece of it exploded, flying away in a shower of splinters. Blake jerked and stared, then looked back at him. Neither of them said anything for a few seconds, until Will spoke first. “Fuck.” He’d inadvertently reflex cast a force-lance. There was no doubt now.
“Not to worry. I already have a carpenter downstairs. I’ll put him on the repair as soon as he finishes the door,” said the manservant reasonably.
Closing his eyes, Will rubbed his face while composing his thoughts. “I need some quiet. Please give my guests my apologies. I’ll speak with them after I’ve rested.”
“Certainly, sir, however—”
Will held up a hand to silence the man. “No
buts. I’ll think about all this after a nap.” Turning away, he went to the master bedroom door and opened it. He came face to face with Mark Nerrow, who was in the process of changing into a robe and slippers. Will’s robe, and Will’s slippers. The two men stared at one another for a split second, then Will gently closed the door.
“It was the only room fit for a man and his wife,” said Blake from beside his shoulder. “The guest rooms were too small.”
Will pointed at one of the guest room doors.
“Miss Laina is in that one, sir.”
He pointed at the final bedroom.
“I put Miss Tabitha in that one.”
He nodded, pursing his lips, then responded, “They’re sisters—couldn’t they have shared a room?”
“Ordinarily, sir,” agreed Blake. “But Miss Laina’s bodyguard, Darla, is sharing her room. It seemed uncouth to force all three of them into one room.”
“Oh, sure. That makes sense,” agreed Will equitably, a strange sound in his voice. “And the servant’s quarters downstairs, I assume that’s occupied as well?”
“I’m letting Armand share it with me,” said Blake. “But I can sleep in the parlor, and you can use the bed. He and I were taking turns anyway.”
Will pointed upward. “The old attic quarters?”
“Monique is using it for now.”
“Monique.”
“Their maid. She doesn’t have any family in the city, so she had nowhere else to go.”
“Naturally,” said Will, starting down the stairs.
Blake called after him anxiously, “Where are you going, sir?”
“The dormitory I suppose,” announced Will. “I’m sure they have a closet I can sleep in.” He made it to the bottom of the stairs when a figure with long dark hair darted out of the hall and charged toward him.
“Brother!” It was Tabitha, presumably referring to his status as their pretend brother-in-law. She caught him with a smile and threw her arms around him.
Will froze, but Tabitha didn’t release him. She was a bit like Sammy in that regard, or perhaps she sensed his tension. Will’s emotions grew turbulent, and his fatigue ate away at his control. After a moment he returned the embrace, staring over her shoulder. Tears began to well in his eyes and when he looked up, he saw Agnes and Laina standing in the kitchen door, watching him.
Agnes walked over, and Will silently disengaged himself from Tabitha. The young woman’s face registered that something was wrong, though she wasn’t quite sure what it might be. Agnes took his arm and led him back up the stairs. “I assume you saw Mark in the bedroom?” she asked.
He nodded.
“He was just changing. We lost most of our clothes, but he wasn’t going to bed. You look tired.”
“Yeah.” Somehow, he couldn’t protest as she pulled him along.
“Let’s put you to bed for a while then,” she said soothingly. Her husband was stepping out into the hall as they approached. He nodded at Will and started to say something, but Agnes warned him away with a look. She took Will into his bedroom, and Blake followed them in. “Get some rest, and when you’re awake I’ll have Armand prepare something warm for you to eat. We can talk then.”
“I’ll see to the rest, Your Excellency,” said Blake.
The baroness nodded and quietly ducked out of the room.
Will stared mournfully at Blake, but the manservant merely shrugged. “Let’s get you out of those clothes. They look like they’re ready for the rag pile.”
For once, Will didn’t fight while Blake helped him undress. A few minutes later he was in bed, his head comfortably resting on his favorite pillow. Selene’s pillow, he noted absently, vowing to hide it after he woke later. She had brought it with her after leaving the palace. Glancing up at Blake, he asked, “Remind me again, why didn’t they go to the palace instead?”
“The baron didn’t trust the king,” said Blake immediately. “Not after what happened a few days back, when you were whipped.”
“Oh, that makes sense,” said Will, then he closed his eyes and drifted away.
He woke up suddenly somewhere close to noon, feeling a sense of impending doom. It was too late. He’d wasted too much time. After a moment, he oriented himself and his heart rate returned to normal, but the anxiety remained. I’m not prepared for tonight, he realized. That was the heart of the matter.
But he was rested. The sleep at the Alchemy building, as well as a few hours of rest after the regeneration potion that morning, had combined to leave him feeling hale and hearty, though he wasn’t sure if he was sound of mind. Janice flashed through his thoughts, and he hastily pushed the thought away. He needed to get ready; there wasn’t time for wasting.
Will rose and dressed in simple but clean clothes, a pair of trousers and a light tunic. A pair of boots and a belt completed his attire, and he was dressed, though he felt strangely light without his customary under-the-tunic brigandine. He would have to order another made once everything returned to normal.
That done, he went to his desk and did a quick mental assessment of his resources. Two potions of regeneration, eighteen blood-cleanse potions left, twenty vials of alchemical fire, and a foolish amount of white phosphorous. He also had his armor and weapons, which he summoned and checked briefly. One sword was badly nicked, so he spent a moment to sharpen it with a spell, then sent it back to storage.
There was still a vampire in a jar, but until the renovations were done, he couldn’t do much with it. He readied an Ethelgren’s Illumination and closed the curtains to the bedroom before summoning the jar to check its contents. His heart was pounding, but the jar was still sealed and seemed otherwise intact. Keeping the spell in hand, he untied the twine, then removed the cloth covering the jar. Nothing jumped out, and when he glanced inside, he saw that the pile of pieces had reunited into a whole—an emaciated body lay within.
One eye stared up at him, but the creature seemed too weak to move. He replaced the cloth and tied the jar shut again, speaking to it all the while. “Wait a while longer and I’ll feed you, but don’t think of leaving the jar. The sun is out.” Then he sent the creature back into storage.
He felt better after assessing everything, so he brought out his journal and began his daily ritual of running through each spell he could cast, one by one. That didn’t take long, and afterward he moved on to the new spell he was working on acquiring, the iron-body transformation.
An hour of that left him a little frustrated, but he knew it was all part of the process. The spell was slightly more complicated than Selene’s Solution, and he’d only managed to master one other eighth-order spell at that point, so it was reasonable that it would take him a while to get the hang of it. The question is whether I’ll be able to use it before I get turned into a pincushion for fangs again.
With that done, it was time for his more repetitive practice, thought that seemed almost pointless now that he was beginning to reflex cast the force-lance spell. Being able to cast the spell unconsciously was great, but he wouldn’t feel truly comfortable until he could also count on being able to do so deliberately. But once I can do that, which spell should I start working on next? Getting to the point of reflex casting took a lot of time and practice, so choosing a spell he would need to cast quickly and often was important before investing the effort.
The problem was that he had a lot of useful spells. The chameleon spell would be a great choice, but so would the unlocking spell, or the wind-wall. Or hell, even the climb spell. Then again, a larger defensive spell might be best. The force-dome used a lot of turyn, but if he was faced with a large scale attack, it might be the only option for defense, and it would be a lot easier to learn to reflex cast than the iron-body spell would be.
“After a hundred years or so, most of the spells you use frequently get to the point where they’re instinctive.” Arrogan had told him that, and he suddenly wondered what his future self might be able to do. Future Will could probably handle this whole vampire problem withou
t breaking a sweat, he thought enviously. If only he were here instead of me.
Drawing the curtains, Will opened one of the windows and looked outside. There was a tree about twenty feet from the bedroom, so he took aim and began practicing on it with the force-lance, trying to remove individual leaves. The spell was coming together in less than a second now, but it still refused to let him cast it with merely a thought.
Glancing down, he saw the laborer he had spoken with that morning staring up at him curiously. Will smiled and waved broadly, causing the fellow to hurry back to his job. Will shrugged and shut the window. “At least I tried to be friendly.”
At that point, he had done all he could. It was time to face the world, so he went to the door and stepped out. He could hear voices downstairs already, and he hoped he wouldn’t be inundated with questions. All the noise was coming from the dining room, so he turned and headed that way. The table was nearly full when he stepped into the room.
“Will!” said Tiny cheerfully, waving from the far side of the room. “I thought you would sleep all day.”
He didn’t feel like explaining his solitary practice, so he replied with a simple, “I needed the rest.” Gazing around the room, he saw that the entire Nerrow family was gathered around. The side door opened, and Blake and Armand entered carrying a variety of plates and dishes—all covered with food.
Will’s stomach rumbled appreciatively.
Blake called out, “You’re just in time. We had given up on waiting for you to come down for lunch.”
He ignored his manservant and pulled Armand aside quickly. “You didn’t let him prepare any of this, did you?”
The older cook winked at him. “You’re safe.”
“Thank the Mother,” Will exclaimed, moving to find a seat.
Chapter 36
It was a simple meal, but it had obviously been put together by an experienced hand with an eye for perfection. Will took note of several things he wanted to ask Armand about later; in particular, he had questions about the sauce the older man had used, but that would have to wait.
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