The Dark Lord Cecil

by Wade Adrian

  “Of course. Of course.” He nodded. “I’ll see to the paperwork immediately and…” he voice trailed off as a bell hanging on the wall rang. “Oh dear.”

  Cecil glanced up at it. “Is my time up? Lunch served? I can see myself out.” All in all, things hadn’t gone that poorly. Calder had been right, of course. Erwin’s crazy streak had shown up, and he should have checked into it, but everything worked out okay anyway. Who knew greed could work in his favor?

  “What?” The balding man blinked at him. “Well, I suppose you could say your time is up, yes. Hop to, Seesil. You need to get going.” The balding man was out of his chair and around the desk in less than three steps. He practically shoved Cecil out of his chair. “Come come, hop to.”

  “I just want to make sure we’re clear on-”

  “Yes, yes. I’ll send an envoy later. He’ll have the paperwork and the cypher to allow you to understand the terms not explicitly spelled out. But right now, you need to be on your way.” He shoved Cecil’s unmoving feet across the bright blue carpet.

  The large doors had never closed entirely, but when the balding man pulled one open he stood taller and his eyes widened.

  A tall man with long red hair and a beard to match stood in the doorway, decked out in dark blue clothing trimmed in gold. His hand was held high as if he was just about to shove the door open. He glanced down at the pair of them. “Ah, psychic as ever Reginald.”

  The balding man let out a small “eep” and lowered his head. “My Lord, welcome, welcome. I trust my staff has seen to your every whim, and the road treated you well?”

  The tall man scoffed. “From what I hear, you’re a might short on staff.” He walked on by Cecil and Reginald, paying the farmer not a single glance.

  Reginald shoved Cecil out the door. “The lad had to go. Scheduled every waking hour. Why, today alone he set up a meeting in the middle of lunch.”

  “Barbaric.”

  The door shut behind them, Cecil on the outside. It didn’t stay shut, though. It stood open the customary crack. Seemed to be something of a design flaw. There was no one in the hall, so he stopped and waited. With any luck he’d get a chance to get the details hammered out a bit better.

  He didn’t exactly have anywhere else to be.

  “My time is precious, but yours is not. So, I’m going to make this brief and you’re going to clear your schedule so I may do so.”

  Redhead wasn’t the nicest chap…

  “Of course, my lord. Consider it done. That was my last appointment for some time. As much time as you as you need, in fact.”

  “That was an appointment? My word. You have my pity, Reginald.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “To put not too fine a point on this, I have a problem. And since said problem is in your sector, you have a problem.”

  “A… problem, my lord?”

  “The Duke of Perenoin sent a letter to my home. My home, Reginald. It makes some rather bold claims which boil down to parcels of land sitting idle. Idle land is wasted land. The Duke questions why his share of the takings from these plots of land do not exist, and I, previously unaware of this, must now question why my share of the takings from these plots of land do not exist. With the pressure on our eastern borders, I don’t think I need to tell you how bad this looks. Almost like someone thinks they can slack off in these trying times. Like the efforts to supply our troops are not important to them. Or worse yet, that someone might be using this land to harbor our enemies.” There was the sound of wood creaking. “One of these parcels of land is in your sector. So, Reginald, is this parcel of land truly idle, or is this another of your… pet projects? Please rest assured that neither answer is going to please me, so feel free to be honest.”

  Reginald’s voice was quiet. “Umm… do you have paperwork to this effect?”

  “Of course I do.” The sound of papers flapping through the air followed.

  Cecil frowned. He wasn’t Reginald’s biggest fan or anything, but this nincompoop was being needlessly harsh.

  “Ugh.”

  Cecil’s eyes turned at the sound of a new voice.

  A radiant young woman stood at the top of the stairs. Her hair shone like spun gold, and her skin bore only the slightest kiss from the sun. She wore riding clothes of a deep blue trimmed in shimmering gold.

  And she was staring at Cecil with an irritated expression, her eyes narrowed. “Is this the town magistrate’s office?”

  He blinked. “Yes.” He pointed at the door. “Right in there.”

  “Did my father come through here?”

  He tilted his head a bit. “I don’t know who your father is. Tall guy? Redhead?”

  “Lord Yale Thorn. The master of all the world you’ve probably ever seen, and then some.” She lifted her chin. “Not that I should expect you to know as much. You look like you got lost on the way to the market.” Her nose twisted up slightly. “Or the stables.”

  He looked down at his outfit. They were the nicest clothes he had. Not a patched knee or elbow to be had. Not a stitch out of place. Well, there was some dirt on his boots, admittedly. It happened when one walked on them.

  When he looked up again she was standing beside him, her eyes on the door.

  Lord Thorn’s voice rose from the far side. “Here. This one. Dire Hill, of all the stupid names.”

  The young lady tilted her head as she listened.

  Cecil could barely hear anything for the blood thumping in his ears as his heart raced. She was miraculous. And she was close enough he could smell her. Lilacs. Lilacs, a touch of lemon… and just a hint of horse.

  Apparently he smelled a lot like horse.

  She didn’t seem to mind as she stood close beside him, a hand up to her ear facing the door.

  Reginald stammered. “Dire Hill, my lord? That has been…” papers shuffled, “well, abandoned for generations. There was some talk of renovating it in my grandfather’s time, but it’s, well, it’s…” he cleared his throat, “people say it’s haunted, my lord.”

  “Balderdash. Keep your campfire stories, I’ll take my share of the profit, and give the Duke his share to keep his nose out of my affairs.”

  “It’s not as simple as all that, my lord. Crops take time to grow, and the land has been left to its own devices for so long-”

  “I’m hearing a lot of excuses, Reginald. That’s not your job. Your job is to make it happen. So make it happen.”

  “Hummm…” Reginald’s voice was barely loud enough to hear. “But there’s no one to work it, and…” his voice trailed off and a moment later loud footsteps thundered towards the door.

  It flew open, the balding man’s eyes landing on Cecil. “Seesil, my boy! Have I got news for you!”

  He blinked a few times. “Umm. You do?”

  “You still want your own parcel of land? Turns out I’ve got one. Not the one you had your eye on, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  3

  Cecil just stared at the balding man for a moment.

  Well, that wasn’t exactly how the day was supposed to go. He had figured he’d just sign some papers and wait for Erwin to… move.

  This was a problem for Reginald and he was trying to make Cecil its solution. Saying no might, no not might, would certainly hurt his chances of getting the man to help him in the future. His character wasn’t in question, here. It was clearly pretty shoddy.

  “Well, how could I say no to that?” He tried to smile. It felt a bit lopsided.

  He hadn’t ever even heard of Dire Hill, and it was supposed to be haunted too? Lovely. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but if it had sat idle that long it was going to be a nightmare with or without them. Like trying to grow crops in the woods. Maybe a few ghosts would be a good thing, he could probably use the help.

  “Quite right, quite right!” Reginald smiled and wrapped an arm around Cecil’s shoulders. “Good man, good man.” He seemed to just take notice of the young lady standing only inches away. H
is eyes went wide again as he stammered. “Lady Aldora, my apologies. I had no idea you were here. I do hope everything has been to your liking?”

  Her left eyebrow crept up as she looked at him with crossed arms. “So far, I suppose.”

  Reginald glanced back at Cecil, still held tight by his arm. “Oh, this is Seesil-”

  “Sess-ul.” Cecil corrected.

  “Right, that. I trust he wasn’t a bother?”

  She tilted her head slightly. “Only to my nose.”

  Cecil waved a little. “I’m going to have my own parcel of land.”

  “How nice for you.”

  Wow. She cared what happened to him. What a peach. And the way she rolled her eyes was just adorable. He did that too, sometimes. They had so much in common…

  Lord Thorn appeared in the doorway. “I trust the matter is on its way to being handled, then?”

  Reginald nodded several times, like there was something wrong with his neck that kept his head from sitting still. “Yes my lord. I’ll see to it myself. This very night, if it pleases you.”

  “If it inconveniences you, then it pleases me.” Thorn shoved Reginald and Cecil aside as he left the room. “Come along, Aldora. I’m sure there’s some meager accommodations to be had in this backwater.” He cut his eyes to her. “If you’re done listening in, that is.”

  She gave him a beautiful smile, her eyes lighting up. “Oh father dear, I would never do that.”

  “Good. Quite good. I almost believed you that time.” He started down the stairs and she followed without so much as a glance back at Cecil or Reginald. What a dutiful daughter.

  Reginald let out a slow breath. “Gotta watch out for that one. She’s got the bug bad.”

  “Bug?” Cecil glanced up at Reginald, whose arm was still draped over his shoulders.

  “Politics. Power. It’s not just in her blood, it’s what she thrives on. Keep a weather eye, indeed.” Reginald rubbed at his chin, his crooked arm putting Cecil in a headlock. “Oh, terribly sorry.” He released the young man, who took the opportunity to wander a few steps away as he rubbed at his neck.

  “No problem.” Cecil rasped.

  “Well, we best get started. He wants results, which means you’ll need to get to work as soon as possible.” Reginald turned and stomped back into his office. “I’ve got the standard forms of feudal stewardship here, you’ll need to sign them. Then we’ll head over so you can get to work.”

  Cecil’s head was already shaking as he followed. “It takes months to properly raise a crop. It can’t be done any faster. And that’s with plowed fields.”

  “All the more reason to get to work. Though I admit we might have to send crops to the plot for you to deliver for the sake of keeping up appearances, can’t expect a man like Lord Yale Thorn to understand, or care, about growing seasons” Reginald dug through a stack of papers before slapping a few down in front of Cecil and shoving a pen and inkwell to join them. “I assume you can write your own name? If not, just draw an X on the line, there.”

  “There’s a schoolhouse near my home, so I can read and write, yes.” Cecil picked up the forms. There didn’t seem to be anything dastardly hidden in them as he skimmed the wording. It was in every way a very standard form with his name and “Dire Hill” added in underlined spaces large enough to accommodate quite a bit more, just in case. “I’ve never heard of this place.”

  “It’s on the far end of the county from your family’s present holdings. You can probably just barely see the hill itself from there. The Dire Hill plot is actually on top of the hill, without much else around. Can’t farm on an incline after all.” He tapped the stack of papers. “Time is rather of the essence, my boy. This will make Lord Thorn happy, or at least less angry, which means the rest of us don’t need to fear his wrath for a while. And that’s good, in case you’re fuzzy on the concept of nobles.”

  He really was. The concept of feudal governing had been taught in his schooling, but this was all much more complicated than he had thought. He’d just wanted to take over a neighboring farm. But if this is what it took to get there… he picked up the pen and signed the forms. He considered writing his name phonetically for Reginald’s sake, but he held off. Guy was doing him a favor.

  Sort of.

  Really more doing himself a favor. But it worked out for Cecil, too.

  Politics. Ugh.

  Reginald snatched up the forms, turned them around, set them down on his side of the table and swished his own signature on them before nearly cracking the wooden table underneath with a stamp. “Done and done. Congratulations Master Kyne on expanding your family holdings.”

  “Right… about that, if you expect this farm to be something as soon as possible, I’m going to need some help to get it rolling. I doubt the place has any animals, seed, or even a plow.”

  Reginald swept his hand through the air, dismissing the concern with a flippant wave. “Fret not, fret not. I’ll make arrangements to have beasts of burden and tools delivered as soon as possible. A few days at most. This is on me too, after all.”

  Well at least he could rely on Reginald’s sense of self preservation. “Uh-huh.”

  “We also dictate what is farmed on each given plot for each given season, at least what you’re expected to grow for your betters, you can grow whatever you like on the rest as long as it doesn’t cause problems. So we’ll provide you with the necessary seeds.” He flipped through a different stack and pulled out a sheet. He blew some dust off of it. “Looks like Dire Hill was designated… wheat. How original.” He stood up from his desk, putting one of the papers Cecil had signed on top of a stack and rolling the second up and holding it out to him. “For my records, and for your records.”

  “My records. Right.”

  Reginald smiled a bit. “You’ll figure it out. More of a formality, really.”

  Having his own stamped copy meant… that Reginald couldn’t alter or make a new copy here without him being able to contest it. Right. Good thing. Especially with this guy. Cecil gingerly took the rolled up sheets and tucked them into his coat pocket. “I’ll guard them and the land as best I can.”

  “But of course.” Reginald nodded as he shoved Cecil toward the door once more. “For the record, we don’t actually encourage you to guard anything. That’s what the army is for. In keeping with that policy we also don’t provide weapons, armor, or training in the use thereof unless you sign up for the militia. Legal matter. Hands are tied.”

  They were back outside in record time. Reginald seemed perfectly adept at heading down the stairs two or three at a time without a care in the world. Cecil almost fell down the second flight trying to mimic him. He took the bottom set at the normal pace. Not like Reginald could leave without him.

  When he got outside the man was already on a horse and had Winston’s reins in hand. “Come, come. No time for dilly dallying.” He tossed the reins to Cecil. “First stop is the store house.” He pointed off to his left. “How much can your horse carry?”

  “So far? Exactly one me.”

  “Hmph. Well, we’ll see. Might need to bring along a packhorse or pull a little wagon or something. Besides, we’re not going to be transporting all of your supplies, just enough to get you moving.”

  No wagons were available, so Winston ended up with one large bag of seed tied behind his saddle. He didn’t seem to mind. As far as the rest, the records said there was a house and a well on the property, so he should be fine to get started. Reginald even threw in a jar of preserves.

  “Starving farmer doesn’t accomplish much.” He nodded, sagely.

  The ride up to Dire Hill took the better part of the day. It loomed in the distance for most of the trip, getting larger all the while, and yet it always seemed… dark. Like clouds overhead refused to let light fall directly onto it. Otherwise it was a bright and beautiful day but Dire Hill sat in shadow.

  Cecil decided that was a good thing. Summer got hot. Perpetual shade sounded nice. There should still be ple
nty of light for crops to grow. The shade from his family home had never stopped weeds from growing around the foundation.

  He wouldn’t say as much to Reginald, of course, but… Cecil really wasn’t much of a farmer. Sure, he toiled in the fields, but there were intricacies he had never picked up. Knowing which days to plant and harvest was something his father could just feel. The man could tell you it was going to rain in two days, and how bad the winter would be from observing the first snow. He’d never been wrong.

  Cecil had none of that. But he didn’t really know of any other farmers that did either. Most just seemed to play it by ear. He could give that a go. And if he failed? Well, the land was suspect anyway. Reginald would tell Lord Thorn they had made every effort, and the Duke would hopefully get off his back in turn.

  Or not. Not was more likely.

  After he got to see the place with his own eyes and drop the seeds off, he’d head home. Calder would know what to do about all of this. There wasn’t a doubt in Cecil’s mind.

  “Look, Seesil…”

  Cecil sighed.

  “I want you to know I don’t expect miracles here. I know this place isn’t in the best condition. We just need to play this long enough to get something to give to Lord Thorn. Oddly enough, nothing is something in this case. If the land can support plants, we’ll get a construction crew out. If, in a few months time, the whole thing is a bust? We’ll tear it down and divvy the land up amongst the closest neighbors. No more outstanding taxation for a useless plot.”

  It was more or less what Cecil had expected, though more complicated, as ever. “Well, I’ll do my best anyway.”

  “Excellent. Excellent. Keep that attitude and you’ll go far. Or, well, at least as far as you’d like. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. That’s how things work in life, Seesil.”

  Cecil didn’t want Reginald scratching his back. He was an okay sort but not that okay.

  Lady Aldora on the other hand…

  “And here we are, I think. Officially.”

  Cecil shook his head to wake from his own thoughts.