by Elliot Burns
“Nothing wrong with four inches of wood,” said Jack. “Don’t put yourself down.”
Footsteps sounded from beyond the room; Elena and Mav would be here soon. Jack slid his dagger back into his sheath and approached the door. The bolt struggled against his pull at first, but with one heave he unlatched it and opened the door.
Standing in the doorway amidst the gentle patter of rain, was a man. The shower hadn’t touched his long white hair, even though his hood was down. A red aura traced his outline, and every so often soft wisps of blue light drifted off like sparks from a flame. The man smelled like a bonfire but sourer, more akin to the smoke of a forest fire recently extinguished.
He wore wide-rimmed goggles that reminded Jack of a war pilot. A leather mask covered his face, but the side and back of it had been cut so that his silk hair flowed to his shoulders. His dark blue robe was reinforced by steel shoulder pads. Two leather belts were across his waist, with loops holding potion vials in them. Behind him, attached to his carriage, was a pull-cart that appeared to be loaded with everything he owned. His fingers were stained yellow like a smoker’s, and they had been burnt so many times that his skin was scaly. Whoever this man was, Jack couldn’t help a feeling of unease in his presence.
“Mav? Elena?” he called out.
“Perhaps our conversation may be best with just two sets of ears,” said the man.
Jack suddenly felt that he’d been rash in opening the door. Standing in his castle made him feel safe, as though no harm could come to him. He couldn’t die permanently, of course, but that didn’t mean he wanted to experience it again.
“May I come in?” asked the man. He had yet to set a single foot toward the threshold.
Jack wouldn’t betray any fear to him, but he needed Elena and Mav here. Rather than let the visitor think he was worried, he decided on a different tactic. “If we’re gonna talk, then we need drinks. It’s late and the servants are asleep, but I can wake them.”
“Mav? Elena?” he called out.
No answer. He’d see what the stranger wanted. If his proposition, whatever it was, was no use to him, he’d get rid of him. “Okay, who are you?”
“By way of introduction,” said the man, “I am Crowley Drach. Here and at your service.”
“Got it. What do you want, calling here at this time of night? I don’t suppose you noticed, but I’m not blessed with Hollywood looks. I need a little more beauty sleep than most people.”
“I request an audience with Lord Halberd.”
Who did the man think Jack was? A servant? If that was his misapprehension, then Jack wouldn’t spoil it. By playing the lowly servant, Jack could study his guest. It was said that you could learn a lot about a man by how he behaved with his inferiors.
“He’s busy,” said Jack.
“Do you think he could be troubled?”
“Probably not. He gets grouchy when he’s not had enough sleep.”
Crowley looked at him so intently that Jack was taken aback. There was something deep and menacing about his stare. As he looked back at Crowley, he felt something strange inside his head. It was as though Crowley had reached forward and somehow had gotten his hands inside Jack’s skull. Jack felt the man rummage around in his head, searching through his thoughts and his secrets.
He quickly activated mind shield, and he imagined himself holding a re-enforced metal shield in his mind. He pushed it against the image of Crowley’s hands in his brain, and he felt Crowley withdraw.
Mind Manipulation increased by 50%!
[50% toward level 2]
Why was Crowley trying to get inside his head? What did he want? His splitting headache returned without warning, and with full force. He pressed his fingers against his temples as if that would push the pain away.
“Are you troubled?” said Crowley.
“I get headaches sometimes. It’ll pass.”
Crowley went out to the cart behind his carriage. He came back with props, as if he were a travelling actor here to perform a play. He held a fold-away wooden table under his arm and a few tincture bottles in his hands.
“Are you a salesman?” asked Jack.
“Not quite. This will cost you no flek, my friend.”
Crowley unfolded his table and set it down. It was made of thin wood and had metal hinges that let it be packed up when not in use. He set his vials upon it and began mixing some of them together. A sour smell rose in the air. After dabs of one liquid and drops of another, the result was a potion that bubbled in a glass vial.
“Try this,” he said. “It’s just the thing for your aches.”
“I think I’ll pass on the strange potions, thanks.”
“It’s perfectly safe.” Crowley drank a little from the vial, then offered it to Jack.
Jack stood with his arms crossed.
“Of course,” said Crowley, “if you’d prefer to keep your head pains, that is entirely your business.”
His head throbbed again. This was a bad one; a wave of pain crashing against his skull. It made him nauseous. He took the vial from Crowley and drank it. The taste was metallic like steel melted and then diluted with water. In a second, his pain disappeared. His head cleared, and his stomach felt light.
Status gained: Replenished
[You are invigorated with energy. Your aches and pains drift away like mist.]
“That is just a raindrop of my talents, and it is free. To see the full storm, your master will have to pay. Now, my ache-free friend, can you go and get your keeper?”
Jack was suddenly interested in what else Crowley could do, and why he was here. “I’m Lord Halberd, actually,” he said.
Crowley laughed. “I know you are. I have met many lords in the past, and I have learned that one must indulge important men in their paranoia. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Crowley Drach. Here at your-”
“Yeah, you said. Are you in the habit of knocking on castle doors in the dead of night?”
“I have travelled alone for some years now, and I’ll be the first to admit that social norms have long-since slipped me by. We have things to discuss, Lord. Profitable ones, I assure you.”
The patter of Elena’s feet signaled her approach. Her hair was tied back, and her eyes bore the remnants of sleep not yet washed away. Judging by her clothes, she evidently slept fully dressed.
“Elena,” said Jack. “Glad you made it. I need a word. One second, Crowley.”
The man nodded. “Certainly.”
He and Elena walked a few minutes down a hall on the west wing and into a scullery. At one point, this would have been used to wash dishes and launder clothes, but now it was bare. In the middle of the room was a wooden block counter with dust icing the top.
“What do you think?” said Jack. “Did you get a look at him?”
“What does he want?” asked Elena.
“He has a proposition for me. I wouldn’t have opened the door, except I’m not in a position to turn down help if it's genuine. He made me some kind of weird concoction to get rid of my headache.”
“I didn’t know you were troubled,” said Elena.
“It’s the emporium chair. If I use mind shield long enough while I’m in it, I get headaches. It’s fine.”
Elena went to lean forward on the counter but then saw the dust and then thought better of it. She crossed her arms. “His mask will be covering up a disfigurement of some sort, which should worry you.”
“You can’t go discriminating against someone because they have a problem with their face…”
“This man is an alchemist.”
“And a mage as well,” said Jack. “He conjured some kind of illusion to make it seem like he was arriving with a dozen carriages.”
“An alchemist-mage who wears a mask. Hmm…in all probability, this means he experiments with dark elements. Things that well-trained alchemists are told to stay away from. Spells that decent mages eschew.”
“There was definitely something weird about him. And the
smell-”
“What kind of smell?” asked Elena.
“Like a blaze after it’s gone out, or like wet firewood.”
“That’s the scent of mana burning. A spell must be at work. Send him away, Lord.”
Caution told him that Elena was right. Unexpected visitors, especially of the mage variety, could be dangerous. Then again, Jack had always agreed with the motto ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained.’ If he was going to be strong enough to defeat Lord Veik, he had to take risks. Whatever proposition Crowley had in mind would be worth hearing.
“Can you fetch Mav?” asked Jack. “I’d like you two to wait outside the door while I meet with Crowley. Make a noise so that he knows you’re there, but leave us alone.”
“Lord…”
“I’ve already died twice, Elena,” he said. “It wasn’t a picnic, but another time won’t destroy me. Anyway, I doubt someone clever enough to be both an alchemist and a mage has travelled all the way here to murder someone who can’t be killed.”
“It’s up to you, Jack.”
They split in different directions after leaving the scullery. Elena padded along the floor toward Mav’s chamber, while Jack escorted Crowley into the third study. The room was as it had been before. The giant bookcase covered one wall, and a nest of creeper plants and crystals the other. On the desk was the chess board. The white pieces were scattered across it, while the black army sat on the chess board and faced the white king. It was a reminder of Bruce’s visit, and Jack felt the urge to go and reset the pieces.
He gestured to a seat. There were just two balloon-back chairs in the room. “That was a neat spell,” he said. “The carriages were indistinguishable from the real thing.”
Crowley waved his hand dismissively. There was a circular patch of skin between his thumb and index finger that seemed a normal pigment. The rest of his hand was burned to various degrees. “Just a parlor trick.”
“Does your hand hurt?”
“What do you think? My fingers are so calloused that I could stick my hand in a nest of vipers without flinching.”
“I’ll try and get a nest ready for the next time I see you.”
“I see the famous Halberd hospitality has not waned,” said Crowley. “Although, it has been many decades since I was here. I was a boy then, here as an apprentice with a mage named Horlock.”
“I’m not especially fond of unexpected visits in the night,” said Jack. “What do you want?”
“My reputation in many parts of Royaume is such that travelling at night is…safer for me. I hope you will forgive me for wanting to keep my head firmly attached to my neck.”
“Perhaps people don’t like you knocking on their door when they’re tucked up in bed.”
“I have travelled hundreds of miles through evil-infested milieu and plague field shitholes. I haven’t stopped in four days, and it is only an alchemical pinch that stops my eyes falling shut while we talk. I hope this shows you how serious I am.”
Boots clomped on the halls outside the room. Jack felt a little more at ease now that Elena and Mav were there. Crowley tilted his head ever so slightly toward the door, but didn’t ask who was there.
“You’ve made your point,” said Jack. “What can I do for you?”
“Tell me, Lord Halberd. Do you have enemies?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard of Lord Henry Veik.”
“And in your homeland, too? What of that?”
“You sound like you know more than you’re letting on.”
“You get pains when you are in your chair, don’t you, Lord Halberd? The tool you use to build your kingdom leaves your mind vulnerable.”
“Now what a minute. Just how did you know-”
“I can teach you to make your mind a fortress that not even a Boarwight could trample,” said Crowley. “I can lend defenses to your kingdom that will have make your enemies want to stick their delicate parts in a fireant mound rather than face you.”
“And what’s that gonna cost me?”
Crowley stood up. At six foot three, he was much taller than Jack. His luscious white hair spoke of good health, while his burned hands and leather mask gave a different view. He was a confusing man, but Jack sensed that there was truth to his words. “May I?” he said.
“I don’t know what you want.”
“This is my price.” Crowley leaned toward Jack. The wet bonfire smell clogged his nose, but he forgot about it when Crowley whispered into his ear. “I want your blood, Jack. Not all of it; but some of it.”
Jack leaned back in surprise. “My blood? Why the hell would you want it?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Crowley.
“If it was, do you think I’d ask why? Why are you so vague about everything? The whole cryptic-mage thing is a little cliched.”
“When you die, you do not stay dead. That is the truth, isn’t it?” said Crowley.
Jack shrugged. There was no point lying about it. “What about it?”
“You blood has regenerative effects, Jack Halberd. Think of what could be done with it. The potions that could be brewed, the spells that could be cast. All I ask for is a sample, and everything that I promised will be yours.”
Crowley had made an attractive offer, there was no denying that. He could help Jack, and right now it was hard to turn down help. Still, he couldn’t trust Crowley. The guy had already tried to get inside his head once, and luckily Jack had the skill to keep him out. There was no telling what he would have done if Jack didn’t know the mind shield power. There was no way he could give some of his blood to a guy like that. He was kinda old-fashioned in that way; he liked to keep his blood to himself.
“I’m sorry Crowley, but the answer is no. You’re asking a pretty fucking high price,” Jack told him. “But I admit that your skills interest me. Will you consider anything else?”
“I want what I asked. Nothing less. I need your blood, Lord Halberd. I promise I will be careful with it.”
“I have a rule; I don’t give any of my blood to a stranger. Apart from when I donated blood back home, of course, but that’s different. Our business is done. So long, Crowley.”
The alchemist stood beyond the threshold, where rain splattered on the drawbridge and onto his boots. The air filled with the smell of burning mana. When the downpour splashed the alchemist’s cloak it evaporated, leaving him dry.
“This might sound uncouth,” said Crowley, “and I apologize if its pricks your feelings. There are many things you lack for the fight ahead.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you, Crowley, but you’re asking for too much.”
“A time will come when you regrets saying no to me. Perhaps then, the conditions of the deal will have altered.”
“I’ll just have to take that chance.”
The alchemist walked toward his carriage. With a snap of his fingers, a driver was conjured from the ether. The scent of burned mana wafted through the air like a spent firework. The illusory driver whipped illusory reins and bore away the all-too-real Crowley Drach.
It was only after the alchemist departed that Mav shuffled into the anteroom. A tearing gale joined the lashing rain, and it had taken Jack and Elena’s combined efforts to shut and bolt the door. He heard the howling of the wind stray through wall cavities, though mercifully its chill didn’t reach him.
Jack could tell straightaway that the thief wasn’t himself. If his lumbering steps weren’t enough, his red eyes and gaping mouth were a giveaway. Gone was the sense of mischief and cunning, replaced by a man who would struggle to pull up his own pants.
If his behavior was the consequence of too many late-night wines, then he and Mav would have to have a talk. If strangers were going to tap on the castle doors in the dark hours, he’d need people he could lean on. Right now, the slightest weight would make Mav collapse to the floor.
“Go to bed,” Jack told him.
Mav seemed cognizant enough to understand. He started to amble back the way he came, but not fast
enough to avoid Elena noticing.
“Lord, perhaps-”
“I don’t want to talk about him right now, Elena. I have more things to worry about. I take it you listened to my conversation with Crowley?”
“Most of it. But I didn’t hear what he asked of you,” said Elena.
“the guy wanted to draw blood from me,” said Jack. “What do you know about him?”
“I do not know the man, but I know of his order. He is part of a sect of Magier Alchemi. This man practices the dark alchemy but doesn’t submit to sensible precautions. I don’t doubt that he can provide everything he offered you, but he is not to be trusted.”