by P. S. Power
“Look, Rolph, it's just the sex part though, you get that right? I mean, you make my short list of people that I love and everything, so it's not that I don't have feelings for you, it's just that I can't, you know, do anything about it.”
No more words came out for a while.
“It's OK Tor. I… get it, you are who you are and part of that isn't really something you have control over. I'll deal. We can still be friends though, right? I mean… I haven't said anything because I just figured that if you knew you'd hate me, or be afraid or something. I…”
“Are my best and truest friend. Always. Don't ever doubt that.”
Silently, without speaking again, they climbed the stairs together. It was tense and uncomfortable. Dismal really. Tor did love his friend, but… just not the way he wanted him to. The failing was his, and always would be. The whole situation left a void in his middle, like maybe he'd lost his friend now.
Why couldn't anything ever be simple? For a second a flash of anger came over Tor and he wanted to punch a wall, he didn't, because that would have been wasted effort. It hurt that he'd caused his friend pain. So much that Tor felt it himself and probably would for a long time.
As they walked Rolph reached out and touched his arm gently, just to get him to stop.
“Well, awkward and all now, but here.” A rolled piece of paper with a red ribbon on it was produced with a small flourish from the inside of the Prince’s purple and black jacket.
“Your wedding gift. Late, I know…”
It was a land grant. For the Wildlands. All of them, nearly four thousand square miles. Tor blinked when he read the document and on the fifth time through he smiled.
“Thank you, but isn't that an awful lot?”
“Abbie told me to give it to you. She expects you to turn it into a forest you know. So why not? Right now it's just going to waste. Besides, this way you won't move off to Afrak on me or something. I… I know you don't want to hear it, but I kind of need you, even if we are just friends.”
Tor hugged him and hoped it wasn't cruel. Who handed out thousands of miles of land like that?
His friend. Obviously.
Everything stayed strained and Tor didn't see Ali or Karina for the next three days. Actually, after the second day everyone was gone suddenly, or busy. The only person around that didn't have anything to do was one Torrance Baker. Well, he did have a few things to do. Sitting on the bed in the room he and Ali shared, Tor made a new hand for Smythe of Westend. After all, he could now and he had cut off the last one. It seemed right to fix what he'd broken, even if it wasn't a perfect thing at all. It was very like a real hand, but it wasn’t one, after all.
It didn't take long to make, about six hours, since it was nearly just copy work. Then he made a hundred copies of that, and did a hundred left hands too, then did copies of Trice’s arm field and flipped it as well. That way if people needed a hand or arm, he could just give them one. Tor knew he needed to do legs, but decided he should really get with Smythe and give over the hand first, just to make sure it worked well for him.
Amazingly, he managed to find his way through the maze of the palace corridors, not being in any hurry, trying to stall just a little really, Tor looked for secret passages and doors in the walls. He knew they were there, some paintings swung out, for instance, and a few recessed wooden panels slid to the side to let people through. Nothing really jumped out at him in particular, not in the older looking section he found himself wondering, trying to find his sometimes boss.
The correct corridor would have escape his notice without a guide, being rather more narrow than the rest of them and hidden behind several twists of hallway and a large decorative screen that totally escaped his notice the last time Tor had come to visit led by the King. It was a nice thing, mint green and cream silk on a focus stone frame, so a new piece, obviously. Such materials hadn't been around more than a year or two so far. Still, without the yelling coming from behind it, Tor wouldn't have even thought to look at all.
“I'll fucking kill you Smythe!” The deep male voice cried, a loud thump coming not three seconds later, followed by some clattering.
Then the sounds got louder, until finally two struggling figures knocked the nice screen down and ended up laying on it. Smythe was indeed there, Tor noticed, happy to have found the man so easily. The large man on top of him was big. Huge really, and had a knife out that he was using both hands to try and drive into the older and smaller counselors throat.
Smythe was using both arms, his left hand and the stump of his right, to try and hold it back, but that wasn't working too well. The other man half roared, his look more than a bit vicious.
“Now I'll teach you to mind your manners you fucking spy!” The bigger fellow screamed.
Chapter Twelve
Tempted as he was to let the scene just play out, Tor knew that letting his boss die probably wouldn't look good when he applied for the next one. Instead he walked over carefully, trying not to slip on the silk and stone frame under his feet and simply slapped the knife out of the Counts hand. Or Duke or whatever the hell the giant was. Being that big and well dressed, he had to be someone, didn't he?
As his palm hit the side of the man's hands, Tor's shield kicked in, making the blow hit with a more solid presentation than his soft little hand would have normally allowed for. The first blow didn't work, nor the second, but on the third the knife left the bigger mans hands. The guy was livid, but not in a combat rage, so Tor just pushed him off the man in cream and goldenrod yellow with his left foot and stood waiting, ready to fight if need be, hoping it wouldn't turn out that way.
The man climbed to his feet fairly slowly and tried to hit Tor, just to have the blow stopped in the air. The man stuck again getting a look and crossed arms in return. It should have been obvious that the current technique wasn't working, which normally got royals to pull a magical weapon of some kind, but this one just stopped after a while and stood with his chest heaving. Smythe stood a lot more smoothly than a fifty odd year old normally managed and seemed almost unperturbed by the fact that this fellow had just tried to kill him not thirty seconds prior.
“Oh, There you are Tor. Did the King send you already? I'd thought to give you what time I could before we went to work, but things are rather more delicate and pressing than I'd anticipated.” The man didn't take his eyes off the large attacker, but didn't seem worried either. Kind of smug actually. Tor knew the look well. Checking the older man's field for injury, it was plain that the guy was freaked. So it wasn't smugness but fear? Abject and pure terror? Oh. Well. Tor nearly felt a little better about Smythe then. At least he wasn't just taunting the man on purpose, simply covering his own perceived weakness.
“Not from the King, no. Just bringing a present actually, here.” Tor carefully slipped the amulet onto the man’s neck and mimicked tapping the sigil, the instant that happened the other man stopped puffing in anger nearly as much and stared, either fascinated or terrified, Tor couldn't tell.
The right hand that wasn't there appeared and morphed rapidly as the old man looked at it himself. After a minute the hand that sat on the end of his arm looked as much like the original as Smythe's subconscious mind would allow. It was nearly perfect. The older man moved it carefully, then felt it with his other hand.
“Very good. Thank you.” He said, as if Tor had brought him a glass of cool water and not a new hand.
It nearly made Tor do a little happy dance like the combat giants from school sometimes did when things went well for them, because he'd half been afraid that the Counselor might get all emotional or try to hug him. Instead it was a simple thanks and back to work? That was manageable. The other man's mouth gaped.
“You grew his hand back?”
“Oh, no, not really, it's not real, just a magic hand. It works and feels though.” Tor looked at the screen under their feet, it was a bit scuffed, but looked salvageable.
“Here, let's get these things set back as well as
we can and then deal with what caused it. Smythe wasn't trying to kill you was he? I hate it when he does that to me. Really annoying.”
The man stopped for a second.
“Uh, no? He was accusing me of killing and raping young girls. Said if I couldn't prove it under some lie telling thing, or wouldn't, that it meant I was guilty. I told him to shove his magic trick up his ass. I'm a Baron, not some stupid kid from the hills. You think I don't know how easy it is to get a fancy magic light these days? I own a dozen myself.”
It was kind of a fair point so Tor nodded.
“Well, that kind of makes sense, still, the truth devices are solid. I made them myself, like Smythe’s new hand? The real point though is about those girls, you didn't kill them you say?” Tor focused and cleared his mind, trying to sense the pattern of the man. Baffled but not lying, not totally.
“Of course not. I already told him that!” A large fist closed again and looked ready to swing.
Tor turned to Smythe again.
“He's not lying. We should get him to agree to the full interview, just for the sake of records and all that, for the King, but he's not the killer.”
The Counselor smoothed his robes.
“Obviously. But we have to clear everyone. Still, I apologize for trying to force your hand Baron Rochester. It was a bit underhanded of me. I was going for expediency rather than diplomacy and I can see now that was a mistake. I'm sorry about that.”
Tor spun and smiled at the big Baron, “See? Just a misunderstanding all around, no need for hard feelings, well, shall we go and get the interview finished? Obviously we know you're innocent, I just read the truth of that in your field, so I’m not just saying that either. That's not the issue here. What we need from you now is any information that you may have that can help us find who is. The thing there is that you may not know that you have any information like that. Anything could be the piece we need. Are we set up in there?” Tor pointed and walked in as if he knew what he was doing, just hoping the others would follow.
The set up was familiar at least, several devices that took in sound and would repeat it later were sitting on the table, along with a couple of the truth amulets and a glass of water. Tor gestured to the chairs in turn.
“Alright if I do this one Counselor Smythe? I need the practice.” With the giant still worked up, it made sense to get the object of his rage a little out of the way, didn’t it?
The Counselor chuckled, looking straight into Tor's eyes, his face… kindly.
“By all means. I seem to have made a hash of it already, you can fix it for us.”
The Baron let Tor explain the truth device, which he did in much greater detail than normally would be the case, since the man seemed so uncertain about it actually working. Then once the man was set up Tor tried to keep things conversational and friendly.
“So, Barron Rochester, you just said you were innocent of the killings in question, but we have to get things for the record, would you repeat that for us?”
Without much pause he did, the field staying solid cream and yellow the whole time.
Then Tor walked him through everything the man knew about the killings, which he did as a personal narrative. It wasn't until they got to the seventh girl that the field went black.
“You said you didn't know her? But that's not exactly true is it? Who was she to you?” Tor didn't attack the man with it, not wanting to set him off, but the guy clearly looked agitated.
“I… knew her. Some years ago, we had… a dalliance. It wasn't a large thing, but she was a little under aged at the time, so I felt I shouldn't mention it.” That was all true, but Tor didn't let it go at that. A lot of nobles had sex with girls and boys that weren't strictly legal, fourteen being the age at which a person could consent to such things by kingdom law. That this man was trying to hide it meant that he felt ashamed of it. People would snicker if he had a relationship with a thirteen year old or even a twelve year old…
“How old was she then? That information doesn't have to leave this room.” Smythe put in casually.
The man hemmed and hawed, but finally told them.
“Ten.” He said, looking down at the table top, embarrassed.
As well he should be. The man was clearly in his mid thirties and the girl that had just died was only sixteen. That meant the man was way too old for her at the time too. Tor felt his face go cold as the blood rushed from it. A slight trembling that he really wasn't used to came into his arms and shoulders. After a few seconds he thought he got it.
Rage.
Ah.
“Well, we won't report that, except to the King, of course.” Tor said softly. “Have you done it again, taken a girl that young for a lover?”
“No.” The man said, his light staying pure.
Good. Tor didn't know if he couldn't have hidden the body well enough to just make the man vanish. Or, well, he could, of course. Just drop the body into the sea halfway to Soam. It was something to keep in mind. Or use an explosive weapon on him. That could work with one of the new type.
“Alright. Well, you and I are going to have a personal problem over that in a few minutes, but for now it's clear you don't have anything to do with these murders.”
Smythe gave him a horribly strange look, probably because Tor was being so unprofessional that it was unheard of. Luckily that didn't faze him at the moment, Tor decided. Standing he gestured for the man to follow him and started towards the back of the palace complex, hoping that using it for this kind of thing wouldn't bother the Royal Guards much. Maybe he could buy them off with hand pies later? Once in their practice square, Tor turned and looked at the man.
“We agreed not to mention what was said outside the confines of that room, and without saying why, I can't challenge you properly to a duel. So instead it looks like a good old fashion fight.” Dark clad figures moved in quickly, closing off the entrance with their bodies, weapons to hand. Wensa and George were both there, along with ten others, but none of them spoke. In fact, Tor doubted that the Baron even realized he was surrounded like he was.
The man laughed.
“Oh? A little boy is going to fight me? Hardly a fair fight is it?”
Tor tilted his head. That was true. He had a shield on, and was very well armed after a second he turned off all his amulets and handed them to Wensa, except for his clothing amulet. Now it was fair.
Only it still wasn't. Seven foot tall and muscularly lean, trained to fight and recently even trying to kill a man, Baron Rochester wasn't really ready for what was coming. The first three moves from Tor ripped the cartilage in the bigger mans right knee with a pop that nearly made Tor vomit. The other leg went a half minute later, as the man knelt gasping in pain. Then over the next half hour the pain got worse and worse. It was a punishment, not a fight. The man had defiled a child.
Some things couldn’t be left to stand.
The guards got that, and none of them even twitched a muscle to help the larger man, noble or not. There were limits after all and the guy had crossed them for certain.
When the man lay on his side gasping and crying, Tor relented and moved closer to him, speaking softly.
“If it happens again, I will find you and kill you. Remember this. These aren't idle words. Oh and just in case you want to challenge me to a duel or “make war” over this, my names Torrance Baker. I don't want you to go after the wrong man after all.”
Then they all left, leaving the man there alone. No need to humiliate him further.
No one said anything to him as they all walked away, not even to mention how stupid it was to beat up a royal and not kill them like that. Trouble would come of it, of course, it pretty much had to, didn't it? It wasn't until they got to the palace door that Smythe turned.
“Major, if you would log that as “unspecified corporal punishment”? I believe that should cover things nicely, at least the paperwork side.” The man looked at Tor askance again, but kept walking and didn't say anything until they we
re behind closed doors.
“I'd heard of course, about your control of combat rage, but that was… impressive. I really thought you were going to kill him, but you actually measured your blows the whole time. Bit of a fool, baiting a person casting aura like that.”
Tor nearly asked what the hell he was talking about when he noticed that Wensa stood behind him, still carrying his devices. Oops, nearly forgot those.
“Thanks Wensa. I'm sorry I used the guards practice yard without permission, please let George know that?” He raised his eyebrows, which got her to chuckle.
“I'll pass that along, though I doubt anyone minds overly. We all heard after all. Besides, just getting to walk after attacking the Counselor wouldn't do at all. This way saves troubles all around. No need for military intervention now.” She left at that, which made sense, as she actually had work to do. Unlike a certain fairly useless builder he could have named.
Smythe didn't hover over him or anything, and didn't suggest he apologize to the Baron either, which was a first given everything. It was the noble’s protocol after going all rage monster on someone and beating them. Then again, Tor had kind of meant to do what he did. Really, he hadn't felt like he was in a combat rage at all. Everyone else had backed off, sure, but that had just made sense at the time.
“So, what are the facts on these murders?” Tor asked, admitting that he'd faked his way through the whole interview.
The facts were frightening. A lot worse than the Baron had mentioned. The girls weren't just raped and killed, they were… brutalized first. Just to make it even scarier, all of the killings had taken place in the Capital and all in the last six months. So far it had been one girl per month, all found floating in the King's river. At first people had just thought they were drownings. Most of the girls weren't from the area and while people born in the Capital could all swim, some of the country folk couldn't.