A Grimoire for the Baron

by Eon de Beaumont

  “Who the hell are you?” Querry snarled, barely able to even move his lips, struggling against the mystic restraints to no avail.

  The man, tall and lank, retreated a few steps, crossed his arms, and chewed on the stem of his pipe. Some dark stubble lined his wine-darkened, full lips. “I’ll ask the questions, Mr. Knotte. After all, you’re the one who’s broken into my villa and robbed me. It seems I’ve caught you in the act. Whatever shall I do with you now?”

  His inflection and nonchalance recalled to Querry an Anglican noble. This man was used to being obeyed, flattered, and catered to. He clearly expected to be fawned over. He’d be disappointed. Querry didn’t acknowledge such status. In truth, he despised it.

  “You son of a bitch! Let us go!”

  “Why would I do that? I’ve apprehended you burglarizing me. You won’t get off so easily, I’m afraid.”

  “What do you want?” Querry noticed another figure cowering in the corner of the room, a slight young man with gnarled spikes of golden brown hair and bright, emerald eyes. His long, slender ears protruded past his tangled tresses. A fey. Accustomed to the mercy of the Fair Folk, Querry appealed to him.

  “Help me.”

  The faerie shook his head and focused on his worn boots.

  The dark man waved his hand in the faerie’s direction. “Mr. Knotte, Mr. Frolic, this is Tom Teezle, my… assistant.”

  Querry detected a faint curl of the fey’s lips at that explanation. “So what? What do you want from us?”

  The man sauntered over to a cupboard, took out a crystal glass, poured himself a generous share of the clear, local, licorice-flavored liqueur, and downed a large swallow. He squinted at the burn and wiped his lips with his silk sleeve.

  “I have a proposal for you and your accomplice, Mr. Knotte,” he said.

  “How do you know my name? Nobody knows me here.”

  “I do.” He stroked Querry’s face, but it didn’t feel sexual. Still, Querry recoiled as much as the spell allowed.

  “What do you want?” Querry repeated, unused to feeling helpless and not at all fond of the sensation.

  The man backed away and sat on the edge of the desk with one thigh on the surface and his bare calf hanging over. “As I see it, I have two options. One, I can hold you immobilized here until the authorities arrive. They’ll certainly cart you off to Solanopolis to stand trial. I wonder what they’ll make of your unique companion, or if they’ll recognize the man wanted for questioning in regards to the death of the Anglican Grande Chancellor. I assume many inventors would like to study the intricacies of your Frolic. So far, they can’t manage to duplicate him. And they want to. They want to very much.”

  “Let Frolic go,” Querry said. “He had nothing to do with this. Turn me over, if you must, but let him go.”

  “You don’t get to make demands, Mr. Knotte. You have very little to bargain with.”

  “But not nothing?” Querry grasped at the slim possibility.

  “Not nothing.”

  “Querry, be careful,” Frolic warned.

  “Tell me what you want from me,” Querry demanded.

  “It’s simple. I’m organizing an expedition, and I’m in need of people with certain talents. Skilled help, if you will.”

  Querry glared. If this man wanted his talents, it likely wasn’t for anything legitimate, and Querry didn’t like being called “help.”

  “What’s the nature of this expedition?” he asked.

  “Archaeological. I have been researching an artifact, and I think I’ve located it. I’m putting together a team to help me retrieve it. I think your skills will be very valuable to me. It’s not much of a choice, Mr. Knotte. You and your associate can agree to help me, continuing to do all the things you enjoy doing anyway, finding the adventure you seem to covet, and probably making some profit along the way. I’ll even pay you for your time. If you refuse, I’ll have little choice but to alert the authorities of your, shall we say, activities.”

  “What exactly would we have to do?” Querry asked, feeling a thrill at the prospect of treasure and exploration.

  “Querry?” Frolic sounded uncertain.

  “I’m traveling to the jungles south of Allied Libertania. The forests are largely uncharted, full of savages and wild beasts. There’s also political unrest between the Portalegrese and Belvaisian rulers, and there are frequent slave revolts. Basically, it will be fairly dangerous, and the more men I can conscript who know how to use pistols and rapiers, the better. Come on, Mr. Knotte. I can see it in your eyes. It sounds like grand fun, doesn’t it? You want to say yes.”

  “Damn it. What’s this artifact you’re after, then? And what’s in it for us?”

  The man’s eyes narrowed, and Querry watched the stranger size him up, wondering how far he could trust him and deciding just how much to reveal. The older man chewed his pipe again, clearly a frustrated or nervous gesture. Finally he said, “You don’t need to know that. As for what you’ll receive in return, I’ve already explained. Travel, treasure, and the adventure of a lifetime. I’m asking for your skills with a sword and pistol, your companion’s knowledge of clockwork, and your gifts in regards to… infiltration. The rest need not concern you.”

  “I’m afraid it concerns me very much. I’m not willing to put Frolic or myself in this situation without all the information. Who are you, by the way? What’s your name, and how do you know so much about us?”

  “I’m Lord Gavindale Starling, Mr. Knotte, and I apologize for my reprehensible manners, but this is an unusual situation, is it not? I trust you can see fit to forgive my faux pas. So, are you and Mr. Frolic interested?”

  “Frolic,” Frolic said softly. “Just Frolic.”

  “Wait,” Querry said. “Lord?”

  Lord Starling sighed dramatically. “Yes. I am a baron. I’m also a magician of considerable talent, as you can see, so I find myself no longer welcome in Anglica. May I have your answer now, Mr. Knotte?”

  “It’s Querry. And no, not until you answer my questions. Otherwise I’ll take my chances with your so-called authorities. They’ve never been able to hold me before.”

  “I know,” Lord Starling said with a hint of admiration. “Very well. I’m seeking a source of magical energy, a fabled font of arcane power that’s been mentioned in mystic manuscripts for centuries. You’re an astute man, Querry. Surely you can see the world is standing on a precipice. Either magic or technology will rule men’s lives and provide their resources. I’ve seen the devastating effect industrialization has had on this world, and I’d like to provide a viable alternative. Magical energy doesn’t require slave labor or pollute our precious water and air. If I can find this well, I’ll be able to offer the people of the world a clean and harmless source of power. Will you help me?”

  “It’s not one or the other,” Frolic said softly. “Magic and clockwork can exist side by side.”

  “I want to give the world this energy source,” Lord Starling said, ignoring Frolic. “Magic can do so much. It can create items without workers risking their safety in factories. It can provide light and heat without spewing toxic fumes. It can heal injuries and illness. The possibilities are endless. Please, Querry. Please help me do this. If you won’t help for the benefit to humanity, help for the exotic treasures you’re likely to find in the jungle. I assure you, you’ll return from this excursion a wealthy man. Beyond that, you’ll have the opportunity to see parts of the world where no civilized man has ever set foot.”

  “What do you think, Frolic?” Querry asked, fighting the spell to try to look over his shoulder at his partner. He couldn’t manage to twist his neck enough to see Frolic’s face, but he couldn’t miss Frolic’s deep sigh.

  “I don’t know, Querry. Reg is going to be furious. But I’ve been a prisoner before, and I’m not eager to be one again. It sounds like he wants to do some good. I like the idea of doing something beneficial, after all the destruction we’ve caused.”

  Querry didn’t bother ar
guing over what Frolic saw as destruction. They’d destroyed the clockworks similar to Frolic out of absolute necessity, though Querry knew Frolic felt their loss keenly. His clockwork love felt alone without them, the last of his kind. Querry simply asked, “Do you say we agree?”

  “We have no choice,” Frolic said. “And I can’t help feeling a little excited. It’ll be a more fun challenge than picking pockets down by the tavern. I say we show them what we can do.”

  “Very well. What do you need from us?”

  Starling smirked. “Tom?”

  The small fey nodded his understanding and took some a vellum scroll from a small, ebony box on the desk. Resting it on his outstretched palms, he held it out to his master. Starling unrolled it.

  “This is a binding, magical contract. You will sign it in your blood and be released from it only when our mission is completed.”

  Querry hadn’t been expecting anything so extreme. Damn, why hadn’t he paid more attention to how magic worked while he’d spent all that time with the faeries? He imagined his gentleman having a good laugh at his expense.

  “I don’t have blood,” Frolic said.

  “No matter,” Starling said, waving the small complication away as trivial with a flip of his hand. “My servant will see to it. As long as your intentions are honest, you will be bound by the contract. Violate it, and both of you will die.”

  “That’s a bit much, isn’t it?” Querry protested.

  “You’ll have nothing to worry about so long as you do your jobs.”

  “Show me this bargain,” Querry demanded. “And for goodness sake, let us out of this silly enchantment. My muscles are cramping.”

  Starling rolled his eyes and waved his hand again, as if brushing away a minor annoyance.

  Querry felt a tingling sensation as circulation returned to his limbs. He lifted his foot gingerly, smiling as his body followed the commands of his brain. He stretched his fingers and curled them into fists. Then he stretched his arms over his head, just because he could. He hurried to take his place by Frolic’s side. Both of their hands went to the weapons they wore at their hips, though they knew the swords would do them little good.

  “The contract,” Querry repeated, reaching out his hand.

  Starling placed the parchment in his palm, and Querry unrolled it to read:

  We, the undersigned, hereafter referred to as “agents,” do willingly, in good faith, and without ulterior motives pertaining to personal profit, profits to other parties, which are defined as goods, services, or the exchange of information of possible benefit to outside persons, organizations, government bodies, or religious or political establishments, do agree to assist the undersigned, hereafter referred to as “the patron” to the best of our abilities. The agents further agree to protect the patron’s interest, in terms of physical safety, financial stability and personal information of both an arcane and mundane nature. Such information shall include, but is not limited to notes, scrolls, manuscripts, maps, grimoires, and privileged information exchanged verbally or overheard.

  The agents further agree to use any and all skills available to them to further the patron’s mission, inquiries, and interests. To this end, the agents swear, through a binding, magical agreement, wherein the well-being and physical comfort of said agents shall be directly tied to their continued, good-faith efforts to ensure the success of the patron and his expedition. To this end, agents willingly agree to carry out any and all direct orders issued by said patron, excepting those which can reasonably be assumed to lead to serious injury or death. Superficial injury, defined as injury from which agents can recover with minimal treatment, is excluded from this exception.

  Should said agents willingly, with malicious intent or in pursuit of interests separate from the patron, fail to perform their duties to the best of their talents and abilities, by arcane bond, they shall suffer physical pain and injury up to and including death. Upon agents’ renewed cooperation and adherence to the previous terms, all arcane penalties shall be revoked.

  This contract is rendered complete upon successful fulfillment of the patron’s goals, and is rendered null and void upon death of the patron or agent. If, in a period of five years, both the patron and agents are living but the mission has not been completed, agents are released from the agreement.

  Querry massaged his temples as he tried to make sense of the obtuse language. He wished he could ask Reg to take a look at it, but he didn’t think Starling would entertain that idea. Much of what the contract said escaped him, but words like death, serious injury, and physical pain did not. He didn’t worry so much for himself; he’d survived worse. He didn’t like the idea of subjecting Frolic to such danger, though, and he hated being toyed with and left in the dark. He’d hated that most about working for the faeries back in Halcyon, never knowing their real motivations or his part in their games. It might be worse than what Frolic could face at the hands of the authorities. At least with them, they’d know what they stood against. But the authorities weren’t the problem; the people who would bribe or threaten them to obtain Frolic, who would take him apart piece by piece to learn how he worked and how to duplicate him posed the real danger.

  Querry made his decision in an instant. “I agree. Where do I sign?”

  Lord Starling handed him a small, sharp dagger, and Querry wriggled out of his leather glove to drag the thin blade across his wrist. The aristocrat caught his blood in a shallow, sterling dish. Then he dipped a fancy, feather quill and handed it to Querry. Before Querry could change his mind, he wrote his name in large, looping letters across the bottom of the document. As he did, he caught the faerie, Tom Teezle’s, gaze and watched his reaction. Tom’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but exposed nothing more than the slightest interest. Faeries could be completely clear in their opinions, Querry knew, but only if they so desired.

  “I need to sign as well,” Frolic said.

  Querry realized he’d decided for Frolic, had been deciding for him since he’d found Frolic in the inventor’s basement. Querry hadn’t meant to, but it was done.

  The fey, Tom Teezle, stood close to Frolic. “Magic is your life-essence. You know this. It is what flows through you like blood. Sign in magic.”

  Tom lifted Frolic’s slender wrist to his chin and regarded the bluish tubes mimicking veins. He drew in a deep breath, harvesting Frolic’s scent. To Querry’s deep shock, Tom Teezle ran his tongue up the soft inside of Frolic’s arm, and his gaze never left Frolic’s honey-gold eyes as he did. Frolic shivered, whether from discomfort or pleasure, Querry couldn’t be sure. Querry might have been jealous had a human taken such liberties, but he’d been around faeries enough to know they didn’t regulate physical interaction the same way as his people, if they regulated it at all. Most couldn’t begin to comprehend human rules in regards to such things, so Querry felt no offense as he watched them. As Frolic’s white lashes fluttered with sensation, Tom Teezle stepped back and regarded Frolic through narrowed eyes.

  “The resonance of this enchantment is familiar to me. I can’t imagine how or why he—”

  “Tom, attend to the task at hand,” Starling said, an edge to his proper voice.

  Murder flashed in the fey’s eyes for less than a second, but Querry caught it. He restated his theory about magic being Frolic’s essence and waited for Frolic’s reply. Frolic simply stood with his white brows knit together and a miniscule crease between them.

  “Do you agree?” the fey asked again in a breathy, husky tone.

  “Yes,” Frolic whispered.

  “Then sign.” The small faerie held the inside of Frolic’s wrist against the contract. A thin thread of sparkling gold spread from Frolic’s delicate wrist to the scroll. For a moment, the golden light in Frolic’s large eyes dimmed, but by the time he blinked everything had returned to normal. The filigree of magic twisted in the air like a serpent caught by the tail, winding and looping over itself until it formed Frolic’s name in an elaborate script full of unnec
essary flourish. It sank into the parchment with a hiss and a puff of ochre smoke, searing the signature there next to Querry’s.

  A loud pop tore Querry’s attention away from the spectacle. As he turned to see Lord Starling opening a large bottle of Belvaisian sparkling wine, he noticed from the corner of his eye Tom Teezle sliding the scroll inside his shirt.

  Starling poured the foaming, pale gold liquid into four crystal glasses and passed them around. He raised his, and the others reluctantly followed his example. After a quartet of clinks, all of them but Frolic downed the wine. The clockwork boy merely watched the tiny bubbles rise to the surface of the liquid so nearly matching the shade of his eyes. The undoubtedly expensive wine was wasted on Querry. Reg would have appreciated it more with his refined tastes, and thinking of him robbed Querry of any enjoyment he might have gleaned. In his excitement over Starling’s grand expedition, he hadn’t considered his partner’s reaction. From the time he’d been a boy and first glimpsed Reg, Querry had wanted nothing else. He never thought life would let him have Reg, and now it had, but Querry, by being a self-absorbed and bloody stupid bastard, had probably just lost him. His head swam, and he felt suddenly sick. What had he done? Reg had given up his whole life to save Querry; asking him to wait until he and Frolic completed this quest was too much. Reg was the gentlest, most compassionate man Querry knew, but he’d never been one to suffer an insult from anyone. Growing up as they had, they’d learned to look out for themselves. They’d learned to defend their pride because they possessed precious little else. Reg never forgot those lessons. Even from Querry, he would only take so much.

  Feeling like he’d fall over, Querry stumbled to the ornate leather chair behind Starling’s desk and collapsed. He couldn’t catch his breath. Though he’d been chased by armed men dozens of times, scaled walls, fought and destroyed terrifying devices, ventured into the Otherworld of the fey, and even defeated Halcyon’s former Grande Chancellor and his clockwork soldiers, he’d never been so afraid or felt as miserable and hopeless as he did now.