The Dark Lord Cecil

by Wade Adrian

  She nodded. “Wise, no doubt.”

  Cecil pushed a chunk of potato around on his plate. It was seasoned with things he had never tasted before. He didn’t really care for it. Or for the conversation. Somehow he had a feeling it was going to get around to who they were planning to stab and with what. Not the best mealtime discussion.

  Lady Aldora sat back in her chair. “We are presently in the kingdom of Greater Azul, though one could argue the tower and its people are a sovereign territory.”

  Egerton nodded. “Naturally.”

  Cecil shook his head. “Let’s not burn any bridges just yet, hmm?”

  She ignored him. “The most common problem of the last few decades has been our eastern neighbor, the rather barbaric kingdom of Rojo. They put pressure on our borders every few years, just to remind us they are there. In truly trying times we are commonly allies, but peace breeds contempt.”

  Egerton rubbed at his chin. “And you press their borders in turn?”

  “Of course. To do less would be to appear weak to an aggressor.”

  Cecil rolled his eyes. “Saber rattling” was the nice way his father would put it when talking to other farmers at market. Some of them preferred a less publicly spoken term that involved genitalia.

  But it was all perfectly normal… apparently.

  “Though I must admit…” she shrugged a little, “this push on their part seems abnormally aggressive. Typically they don’t move much past the East River, the natural border between our countries. It causes them no end of problems trying to supply troops on this side. Even if they hold the bridges, it’s simple enough to reclaim them and cut off any troops on our land.”

  “No insignificant barrier then.” Egerton nodded a few times. If it all made sense to him, that made one of them.

  Murray held his cup up to his face, his red eyes reduced to slits as he mimed taking a deep breath. “This kind of crap is what convinced me to go after the crown.”

  Egerton’s introspection turned to irritation in an instant. “Oh? I’m surprised you understood these notions well enough to even form an opinion.”

  Murray didn’t seem to mind. “It’s not difficult to understand, it’s only difficult to stomach. Fortunately I’ve misplaced mine.” He set his cup back down. “It’s all pointless posturing. If people would just talk this nonsense wouldn’t be necessary.”

  “And how did that opinion pan out for you, Muireach?”

  Murray shrugged. “Wasn’t how it went down. When I couldn’t get my point across to my idiot brother, the king of Aralone at the time, I had to go looking for power enough to either help or hinder him, depending on his mood on any given day. I tried appealing to nobles, setting up labor unions, and attempted back door deals with our neighbors. None of that worked in the end. Unfortunately when I did manage to find power enough, the crown, it turned out Kenley’s forbears had found me first. They were a bit more hostile back in the day. They argued the crown remain lost by dropping part of a building on my head. Rather convincing point when delivered properly.”

  Cecil stared across the table. “Damn, man.”

  “Water under the bridge, boss. I guess, anyway. Who am I going to be mad at? They’re all long dead, and I’m not. Sort of.” He spun the cup a few times on the table. “But take my word, all this posturing will bite someone in the butt. You can either make damn sure it’s them, or make damn sure it’s not you. I doubt you have the time or resources for both. Nobody ever does. And just like always, this isn’t cut and dry. No matter who you ask, there’s two other sides involved.”

  Egerton scoffed. “You can hardly encapsulate the entire spectrum of politics and warfare into such tiny thoughts.”

  “Pretty sure I just did.”

  Lady Aldora took a sip from her own cup. “He has a point, in his own strange roundabout way.”

  Egerton seemed taken aback as he turned his red eyes to her. “I’m sorry?”

  Murray muttered. “You sure are.”

  Lady Aldora set her cup down. “We have limited resources, so we need to plan the best use of them. So far we have, what, a few thousand skeletons? At this point we don’t even have a steady supply of food. Raiding is a notoriously spotty way of finding resources.”

  Egerton shrugged. “We’re working on that. And we don’t just have skeletons, we have the treasury as well. Lord Cecil has postulated that we could buy the loyalty of local farmers and ranchers with it.”

  “Not a bad idea.” She nodded. “Well done, my lord.” She inclined her head to Cecil.

  He fiddled with his own cup of tea, trying to keep his eyes off of her dress. “It’s what I know. Though it’s going to cause problems in the long run. All of this started because your father was getting pressure from his superior about farms that weren’t producing their fair share.”

  Lady Aldora smirked. “A strange coincidence.”

  “I suggest we only approach one or two farms. We don’t need much. That will feed the farmers, us, and the guys downstairs.” Cecil cut his eyes around the room before looking at Egerton. “Up stairs? Where are the scholars, exactly?”

  The skeleton pointed at the floor. “Down two stories in the grand archives.”

  “Grand? This place is too big.”

  “Unfortunately it’s only getting larger as we uncover more. And we may need more farms as you accrue more followers.”

  “The ones we’re guaranteed to get don’t eat. Anything else, we’ll deal with as it arises.”

  “As you wish my lord.”

  Everyone else seemed bound and determined to make as many enemies as possible, as if it was a requirement for being a country, or whatever they were supposed to be. Personally, Cecil agreed with Murray. Problems for the sake of problems was… problematic.

  Tim tilted his head. “Bloody amateur hour down there.”

  “Shh!” Ani hissed. “If we can hear them, they can hear us.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  “I doubt it. And even if they can, I don’t think it matters.” He shook his head. They hadn’t had much trouble getting inside. The place only had a few doors left and most of those were exterior, windows were plentiful and completely unguarded, and the pitted stone structure was simple to climb. The only difficulty had been in finding living people. “If I’ve got all this straight, this Cecil guy is in charge, despite not being the least bit qualified, and sounding rather disinterested.”

  Ani squinted as she glanced down the hallway. It was empty, as ever.

  Only a few floors seemed to be occupied. They were a flight up from the room the meeting was taking place in, crouched by a stairwell. The lack of doors, stone walls, and spartan decoration allowed sound to travel. It would be a concern for any competent command structure, which of course meant it was of no concern at all here.

  She shook her head. “But he’s in charge of these… skeletons. That has to count for something.”

  “Counted enough to get Gomer to run with his tail between his legs, I guess.”

  “So why don’t we recruit him, instead?”

  Tim raised an eyebrow at her. “What exactly do we have to offer the king of the skeletons? What does anyone have? I mean, even the fall back position is out. Did you see that lady? Yowza. No offense, but I don’t think we can prop you up as a replacement, leaves in your hair and all.”

  Ani ignored the usual clumsy attempt to anger her as she pondered the problem, tilting her head back and forth as she examined the edge of her dagger. “Well, there’s always the old standby: his life.”

  18

  The “grand” archives were easy enough to find. Egerton had given Cecil directions but apparently had other business to attend. He didn’t seem to care for the scholars, or the idea of them being here. He’d muttered something about them recording insignificant events which would muddy the retelling or something.

  Cecil was fine with this being the absolute height of his power, so he didn’t really care what they wrote down.

  Murry follow
ed along in his wake. He’d found a feather to stick in his stupid hat. He looked ridiculous, but then again, he was starting with skeleton so anything was an improvement.

  The doorway to the archives was the only one they found that was blocked off. A curtain kept none of the sound in. He could hear people muttering and shifting papers about on the other side.

  Cecil held up his hand then regretted it. He let it drop to his side. “Umm, knock knock?”

  The voices on the other side cut off in an instant. There was a bit of shushing, too. It was nearly a minute later when Kenley’s face appeared, sticking out on the side of the doorway, the curtain held close around him.

  Apparently Cecil wasn’t supposed to peek. Even he, with his general distaste for all of this, was a little suspicious about that.

  “Yes?” Kenley blinked at them a few times. “I mean, yes, my lord?”

  Cecil rolled his eyes. “Save it for Egerton. I’m here for two reasons. First, there’s food prepared upstairs. And if you’re going to try and maintain this level of…” Cecil waved his hand at the curtain, “secrecy, you’ll need to eat up there or send your people to fetch it.”

  Kenley seemed to ponder that for a moment. “I’m not sure it’s proper for you to be feeding us. We’re supposed to be impartial.”

  Cecil rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

  Murray sighed, clearly of a like mind. “Well then it’s going to go to waste and we’re going to throw it out. And you and yours will have to scrounge for food. Probably in the trash. So why don’t we save you a disgusting and demeaning step and just say we both did our parts in that scenario, hmm?”

  The scholar’s eyes cut about as he rolled that over in his head. He disappeared inside the curtain. Hushed whispers followed for a few brief moments before Kenley reappeared. “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks.”

  “Ugh, don’t thank us you garbage hound. Stay out of my trash can. What are you, a raccoon?”

  Cecil shoved Murray aside. “Furthermore, I’m going to need your help on something.”

  Kenley shook his head, and the curtain by extension. “No, sir. I can’t. I’ve already tampered enough.”

  “Well, you see, there’s a problem. That food you don’t want? It’s going to run out. We need to convince people to send us more. My understanding is that we have funding to that end, but there is still the problem of negotiation. And oddly enough, I figure that will go better if we’re not sending skeletons. So, given the lack of options, I’m going to go and I need people to go with me.”

  Kenley frowned. “Lady Aldora can…”

  Murray bit off a laugh. “Set foot on a farm? I doubt it.”

  The scholar hung his head. “I see your point. Let me… let us discuss this for a moment.”

  “Go for it.” Murray stood at attention just outside the door as Kenley disappeared back inside.

  Cecil rolled his eyes as he leaned against the wall. He could hear whispers but couldn’t make them out. “Ungrateful little…”

  Murray’s red eyes cut to Cecil. “Careful, boss. You’re starting to sound a bit like Egerton.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  The curtain pulled aside. Kenley stepped out in drab clothing, his colorful robe left behind. “I would like to formally state that I do this under duress. My peers have agreed that continuing to eat is important to our work, and they have volunteered me for this effort on the grounds that I am already inappropriately involved and it spares the rest of them from sharing my shame.”

  Murray wrapped his arm around the scholar’s shoulders. “Aww, don’t worry champ. We like you. You’re our good buddy.”

  “You have no idea how big of a problem that statement is for me and my career going forward, especially as I am required to write it down.”

  “Problem. Pfft.” Murray made a rude gesture at the curtain as they started walking. “Hey, wheres your magical dream coat?”

  Kenley’s face twisted with distaste. “My robes are those of my order. Of a scholar. Their coloring is intended to show that we have no allegiance, but wear the colors of all nations and groups.”

  “Yeah? Well it looks silly.”

  Kenley’s eyes dropped to the floor. “That is a… common opinion, yes.”

  Cecil shook his head. “Leave him alone, Murray. I can understand their intentions. It’s a good idea, no matter how outlandish.”

  Kenley’s eyebrow crept up. “Outlandish?”

  “With the events of the last few days, do you think anyone is going to let you walk around all neutral? They’re obsessed with drawing lines and pushing people to one side or the other. Pretty sure it didn’t start recently, either.”

  The scholar shrugged. “Some refuse us, certainly, but we still record the histories as best we can. There is an old saying about victors writing history, which has gotten us into many doors. People want their side of things told, rather than letting their enemies dictate the only record.”

  Murray tilted his head a little. “You guys must have a super bloated take on things. How much of it is redundant?”

  “A fair amount, I admit. That is why we have two divisions. Some record new histories, like me, while others are tasked with taking all that we record and making a single cohesive history from it.”

  “Still probably bloated.”

  “Most likely.”

  Cecil rubbed at his chin. “Huh.”

  Murray’s attention turned from the scholar. “Something up boss?”

  “Mr. Kenley has inspired a notion.”

  “Oh?”

  “These scholars think it’s worth trying to remain neutral and largely unseen in all this nonsense. I think they might be onto something.”

  The world smelled right for the first time in a few days. Cecil sat on the bench of the wagon, his eyes shut. The old horses knew to follow the road, they didn’t need him until it was time to stop.

  “What is that smell?” Kenley didn’t seem to approve.

  “I think it’s the livestock.” Bonnie shaded her eyes with one hand and covered her nose with the other.

  Cecil sighed. “Yes, it is. I didn’t know how much I missed it.”

  Kenley couldn’t have appeared more shocked if Cecil had slapped him. “Missed it? It’s assaulting my nostrils!”

  Cecil gave him a level stare. “For your record, I grew up on a farm not unlike this one. So I’m sure this trip will be helpful to you.” He reigned in the horses. It was midmorning and everyone was hard at work, as it should be, with only the head of the family abandoning his toiling to approach them.

  The farmer had gray hair and brown overalls. “We don’t want any.”

  Cecil hopped down from the wagon. He had changed back into his old clothes, which might be drab and unfit for a throne room but were practically formal here. “Good morning, sir. My associates and I have come with a business proposition.”

  The farmer spat. “Don’t want to hear it. Turn around.”

  Cecil nodded. “Oh, I understand, trust me. I live on a farm just like this one. That’s why I’m here, and that’s why I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

  The farmer took a few steps closer, a shovel in his hand. His voice was lower, hard to make out even so close. He didn’t want his family hearing. “Heard it all before, son. Jabber on if you like, but do it while you’re riding away on that wagon.”

  “I understand. I do. Work to get done.” Cecil nodded and dug into his pocket. “But I also know that it’s not so simple as all that.” His hand returned holding a gold coin. Murray had fetched a bag of money from the treasury like it was nothing. That bag alone might have been enough to buy the town of Hearthshire. “I also know this right here can make a big difference.”

  The farmer stared at the glinting gold coin. It had an unfamiliar face and writing, but it was still gold.

  Cecil tossed the coin at the farmer. The man dropped his shovel to catch it.

  “Consider that a token of
good will. There’s more.”

  The farmer, being a farmer, bit the coin. Cecil hoped the man’s eyes widening was a good thing, and that he hadn’t broken a tooth doing something so silly. He looked up at Cecil from under gray brows. “I don’t understand. You… want our crop?”

  “Sort of. I don’t want your seasonal harvest, no. All I want is for you to part with some of your personal crops. Garden stuff. Maybe the occasional chicken or pig.”

  Bonnie was still seated in the back of the wagon. “Oh, and potatoes, if you’ve got any. And carrots. And onions.”

  Cecil tried to ignore her as he kept his eyes on the farmer. “You use the money, you better your own stores and you have some left over for us. Sound fair?”

  The farmer stared at the coin. “We can’t spare enough to feed three people every day. Not now. Maybe not ever. Not without someone noticing.”

  “Nothing to worry about. I’ll try making the same deal with a few other farms. A little here, a little there, I think it will all work out. Do you think any of your neighbors will be keen on the idea?”

  The farmer nodded. “Yeah… yeah. How much money are we talking here?”

  Cecil pointed at the gold in his hand. “That’s to say thanks for listening to us. I know that’s no small thing. My father would have chased strangers away with a stick by now.” He dug another coin out of his pocket, a silver one. “This is an advance on the first shipment.” He tossed the silver to the man as well. “We’ve got a box set up that you’ll take the stuff to. Inside you’ll find another silver just like that one. One each time you come.”

  The man’s eyebrows had crept up. “That’s… you could buy a lot more for that.”

  “Got mouths to feed, so I’m interested in a constant supply. And it seems like a chance to help out some people that I know are struggling. I know because I lived it.”

  The farmer shook his head. “Can’t say I’d be as generous if I was in your place.”