by P. S. Power
"I've missed that one I guess. What is it?"
It took a few minutes to really explain it all and the man didn't seem to believe him at first. Finally Timon sighed.
"We've met before Duke Morgan. In Two Bends? When Patricia was planning to marry my brother? I was called Weasel then?" He held a hand out to his side as if measuring something. "Shorter? Spoke with a heavy accent?"
The man actually stood up in his shock, but laughed.
"Ah! I didn't recognize you at all. So well spoken I figured you as being from the Capital. You can truly get that done? I can give you a few weeks to get the payment around, that's not a problem. Most people don't pay large sums without great planning."
They chatted as the large man walked him out to find the men and women that would be going, since it was an emergency. They had nearly a hundred that could fly and do the work, he was assured, but most of them were either working or had the day off. They did that in rotation.
"Say, is that your craft? It's lovely." The man stopped and pointed up at the sky, which did indeed show that his transport was flying, a bit shakily, away from the area.
Timon stared at it and finally nodded.
"That's it. Of course it shouldn't be flying without me. I didn't bring another pilot with me." Sighing he glanced over at the man, trying not to let his face show how worried he really was. He had a flying rig and more copies of the craft, but it would be a very bad thing for him to lose one in his first week of operations. "Seems that someone is stealing it."
On the good side they came back around about thirty seconds later. On the bad, they didn't have any clue about how to land at all. The thing slammed into the ground, showering a very large area with dirt. Slightly muddy earth really. A large amount fell on the Duke too, which probably wouldn't leave the man feeling happy. It made a try at hitting Tim too, but his shield stopped it all, letting it slide off harmlessly.
Then almost like it was bouncing the thing skipped back into the air, the ground thrumming from the impact. On the next pass it went slightly better, since the thing was left half in the ground, with the doors blocked. The back hatch cracked open and with a bit of dirt trying to slide in on the trays a man crawled out. He was instantly filthy, his nice red and black clothing getting soaked from the water that was pooling at the bottom of the new pit. It wasn't raining or anything, but the ground held just enough moisture for it to be miserable. Finally that man stood up, showing he was a good bit taller than most of the people around him. Not the Duke, Timon didn't think. He had a mustache under the new coat of watery mud and a loopy grin on his face. He looked to be about twenty-four or so.
"So that's harder than it looks. Fun though. Can we get it unstuck? I'd love to go again." The man was staring up at the Duke as if it was perfectly fine to take things without asking.
Timon nodded, trying not to slip into a rage if he could help it. This time was harder than most, but he struggled for it, trying not to let go, after having just had a talk with his mother about how well he could hold things together.
"Get out of the pit. Now." Just as the man did he ran at the door and slipped inside in a single movement, one he would have been proud of if he wasn't about to break something.
He rushed to the driver's seat and lifted off carefully, moving to the right about fifty feet, which was a place still covered with mud, and got out. Then, cringing a bit about the possible damage to the bakery's trays, he turned the device off, making it vanish, with the amulet in his hand.
The big man that had stolen it shook his head, smiling.
"That, is very interesting. How much do they cost? I should get one, right father?" He glanced at the Duke in a way that seemed more than a little spoiled and entitled. It could have been that he was mentally simple too, but it wasn't. The man sounded intelligent enough, he was just acting like a moron.
Timon shrugged.
"About three million gold. It's a Fast Craft, not a Flying Carriage. There are only a few of them in existence right now." He growled the words his breath starting to come in deeper gasps as the combat rage took him. Closing his eyes he nodded, getting the general idea. He wasn't just angry, though that didn't help, but the Morgans, or at least one of them, were triggering it in him. Probably the younger one that was about to have his butt kicked.
When the aura hit people they moved away, many of them running. Even the Duke did, leaving his son, who just stared, frightened and shaking.
There was a rage within him like he'd seldom felt before. Certainly not over something as minor as a possession. He had brothers and sisters, which meant that your things got borrowed every now and again. Most of the time it wasn't even really theft, they just picked up the wrong thing. That wasn't the case here, but given that the man had been trying to land, it was still most likely borrowing, rather than real theft.
Closing his eyes Tim tried to hold the rage back. It wasn't easy at all. Finally, not opening his eyes he called to the man.
"Run. I think you might be triggering this in me. Take off for now. We can talk about your punishment for this later." There would be that, if he could talk the Duke into it. But it would be work or something, not a beating and not death. "Really, I know I'm smaller than you are, but I have a full shield on and weapons. You need to get away from me."
There was a clomping of feet after that and a short ten or fifteen minutes later he was pretty much back to normal. His head was starting to hurt already, which was a given. He looked around and waved to the Duke, wincing at the bright light of the cloudy day.
"We need to get those people loaded up. Also, if the trays can be cleaned it would be good. They belong to my family. I need some water for that. Here, I'll set the craft back up for loading, but please remind them not to try flying it without permission. It will save time, for one thing."
The man moved to his knees, or at least started to, probably to apologize. Timon grabbed him and pulled him up a bit.
"We can deal with this later. What's your son's name?"
"That one is Mark. My heir." He didn't plead for the man's life at least.
After leaving the man standing there for a minute he set the craft up and made it as large as possible, with ten comfortable seats in the back. That's when he realized something, his painting was in the mud, face down. Picking it up he nearly went into a combat rage again, but held on long enough, the anger finally replaced with mere sadness.
"It was a birthday present. Hand painted. I can't replace it."
He said this to the air, knowing that it wouldn't help anything. Maybe he could clean it, if he was careful enough? Borrowing a handkerchief from the Duke he started in on it, mainly smearing mud over the surface. The giant stood and watched him for a while, finally looking down.
"I apologize. This wasn't what anyone intended I'm certain." It sounded like too little and probably was. The man seemed to understand that at least. Before he could do anything a tall woman that looked a lot like Trice, if with slightly less curly dark brown hair, came out and handed him a cup of coffee.
"It helps to fight some of the after effects. You'll want to drink it as fast as possible. The earlier you have it, the more it can do for you."
He gulped the warm, but not burning, fluid, taking it all in as fast as possible. It was a huge cup of it so that took a minute and three breaths of air. He handed the nice cream colored ceramic thing back to the woman, recognizing her, if a little fuzzily.
Baroness Morgan. She'd explained that to him once, when they'd met. She was the sitting Baroness, so she used that title, even though she was a Duchess too, by marriage.
"Thank you. We need to get moving. Lost a bit of time to this already. I have things to do later too." The others were a bit sheepish and silent, but Tim waved at them a little, not thinking nearly as clearly as he normally did. It was a side effect of the rage. You were temporarily left stupid. "I don't... Please tell Mark that I expect him to stand to punishment for this. I'll be back tomorrow. He should wear work cl
othes. It won't just be one day either. We'll be gone a few days, mainly to Austra and then Vagus. Then see to the situation in Breen. I might drop him off here first. Austra and Vagus should be safe enough for him." No one there would be able to go into a combat rage, except possibly Petra. They'd just keep them apart.
It wasn't that he wanted to be around the man personally, he kind of hated him at the moment, but the truth of the matter was that he'd stolen something that cost enough that even a full Duke would have been on trial for it, and probably would have lost, ending up in the gallows. Mark didn't have that kind of clout and was probably being hidden on the family lands, since he had the ability to cause rage in others when he got nervous. It wasn't a great thing and unlike Tor, Timon couldn't fix that for him with a magical device or even a copy of one. Trice, Mark's sister, had the same thing. She had magic to stop it now however. No one had managed to make a copy of the Fast Craft yet, but Timon honestly thought that no one could replicate the device Trice had.
The Baroness looked frightened suddenly, but looked away and nodded. It was a bit much for her to be doing, considering her son was just going to be doing some of that broom pushing that the Duke had offered him as a job. They'd keep him calm and it would be fine.
"Really, it isn't that big of a deal. Though, of course, if he tries to fly without me, or without my permission at least, I will be dropping him out over the ocean. You might want to tell him that. I'll be here a little after sunrise. Then we'll get the produce we need and head out for the day."
It was kind of tempting to just drop the annoying man out over the ocean anyway, which was probably why his mother was worried. So far he hadn't really encountered a good reason why he shouldn't. For that matter, as far as the Morgans knew, that was why he'd come, under orders of the King. Having anyone around that caused combat rage was dangerous.
A thing to be handled, if possible.
Chapter ten
The next hours were a haze of pain and discomfort, as he struggled to get things done. They found the caravan of goods easily enough, but the drivers didn't want to let their wagons be taken, since they didn't have orders for it. That made sense, after having just had something stolen from him too, but was annoying. Finally Timon couldn't take the stupidity of it and offered to fly all the people whose wagons were being taken to the lines with them. That took hours. After he set them down, showing where the currently floating wagons were, he had to set off almost immediately to get back to Lairdgren school in time.
He settled into the woods as carefully as he could, the craft re-colored to first match the night sky, then the evergreen trees as he got closer to the ground. It was dark out already, but if anyone noticed him, it wouldn't be due to his poor handling. The device still worked fine, thankfully. Stupid Mark Morgan and his poor piloting skills hadn't destroyed it or anything. If he had, Timon would have...
Done nothing.
It was annoying and would hurt his business, until he learned to make copies of the things, if he could. That wasn't a reason to hurt anyone. At least not too much. Maybe a little? Some blisters from hard work and sore muscles didn't seem unfair. Or lowly tasks that the man would feel were below him. Timon would have to find a stable for him to clean or a ditch to dig out by hand.
He popped the door and got out, since anyone randomly finding him there would know who he was. If that happened... He didn't really know what he'd say. Maybe tell them that he was interested in a girl he saw earlier? There had been a couple of cute girls that he hadn't gotten to talk to. They didn't even look too much older than he did. It was a little desperate seeming, but as a deflection it should work.
He nearly started to use that line when Hardgrove walked up. It wasn't sneaking with a blade between his teeth, but his movements were smoother and less stooped now. That meant he had a constant act that he was keeping up. Because the Dean of a school had a reason for that, didn't he?
Timon gestured for him to get in and take a seat behind him, the still dirty picture on the wall. Thinking about it as he secured the door for them both he gestured.
"Know anything about restoring paintings? That one got dropped in the mud. Bit of a hassle, but I'd love for it to be clean and nice again." It was such an odd thing to say that he figured the man would gape at him, or at least show some surprise. Instead he examined it closely and finally spoke, his voice soft and considering.
"We can take off most of the dirt using solvents. That might remove part of the paint, or affect the color a bit. Then those portions can be gone over, the color restored. It will take several weeks, since care will be needed. It's a new painting, isn't it?"
Timon was careful not to look back, or even nod overly, answering while facing the window instead. Flying at night took more attention than it did during the day.
"I think so. A Baroness gave it to me for my birthday. I didn't get her name, which I should try to find out. It's the nicest thing anyone ever gave me as a present. Well, some magical things too, you know, from Tor."
They rode in silence for a bit, the man finally turning to look at the back of his head. At least that's what it sounded like he was probably doing. Finally Timon decided to ask about what the man did for a living, mainly to see how he'd react.
"So, Dean at Lairdgren and trusted by the King and my grandfather, Count Lairdgren. You were stooped and shuffled a little in the open and flat courtyard, but in the woods you moved like a dancer, standing up enough that I didn't recognize you by your gait. It's really hard to hide that, which means you've been trained for it. Given your age and general sneakiness, that means spy. One given the go ahead to visit the palace and a dinner invitation by King Richard himself. So... That makes you what? The master of spies for Noram? The teacher of the King's network? Some combination of both..." It hit him then, a thing that was so obvious he nearly missed it. If the man knew Lairdgren and worked at his school, that probably meant the Count, a three thousand plus year old man was the real spy master.
He wondered if anyone else realized that yet?
No sound came from the back seat for a long time, finally the older man cleared his throat a little gruffly and made a "hmph" sound. No words followed it, no admission of truth or denial of it. The fellow didn't act incensed or wronged by the accusations either. It was pretty clear that he wasn't going to give Timon anything on that score. Not that it mattered at all. His job wasn't to find spies, it was just to take people from one place to another.
When they landed it was just before nine, and Timon made sure he turned the vehicle off and took it with him. There were a half dozen Royal Guards waiting for them, but no one put a Truth amulet on them. Instead George just looked at them both, using a hand light. The light red glow came from a bit of metal in his palm, about the size of a small coin. From the air around it actually. It was pretty, he decided. Lyn would probably like some of those as a wedding gift. He still had to get her something, for the upcoming ceremony.
The large guard waved at them both.
"Visual inspection is correct. Timon and Hardgrove. This way please. Everyone is waiting for you. If you have magical clothing you might want to dress for a party." It was helpful information.
Timon shifted as they walked, his clothes moving to a light and shimmering top that looked to be made of mirrored silver. He paired it with black trousers and boots, as well as a belt that looked like leather. The Dean had to stop in place and close his eyes to change and dressed in a green velvet jacket and cream colored pants. His shoes stayed brown and didn't change at all. It seemed an odd oversight at first, until the man noticed him looking.
"If you look perfect anymore, people assume magic is involved. Make one detail a little off and no one thinks that at all."
That made sense. It also confirmed what he'd been thinking before. With a little bit of focus his shoes gained some light scuff marks and his belt had dings in it, like it might from being at the bottom of a trunk. Then he added an almost imperceptible stain on his left thigh, like
food had been dropped there, and been well cleaned up, but not fast enough.
George noticed and chuckled about it, which got a smile from Hardgrove.
"Not bad."
The dining room was filled with people again, but this time he wasn't expected to do much, except meet a few people and explain his current rates and schedule. He also needed to get Morgan over to take Duchess Keene around he remembered suddenly. He could use his own communications device for it, he decided. Instead of bothering to hide that he had one, he just moved to the side of the room and had the woman watching the Ward device take a message. She seemed happy enough to, and asked enough questions that it seemed likely Morgan would have a chance of getting where he needed to go in a decently quick fashion.
After a few minutes of talking about half the room was watching him. Most of them suddenly giving him predatory glances he hadn't expected at all. He was pretty good at understanding people, but this was something new to him. It wasn't until a well dressed woman he didn't recognize walked up to him and glanced at the sigil that marked which unit was his that he really had a sense of what was happening.
"We can always be in touch with you? All the time? I didn't know that. The brown spiral is for the fast transport concern? Most useful." She spoke loudly enough that it was clear her intent was to announce it to the room.
He smiled up at her and quickly ended the communication with Warden.
"That's right. It won't work too well when I sleep, but if there's an emergency I can be to most places in a few hours or less. We're also putting more people on, which is what I was doing there, setting up travel for a client."
"Oh? Who? Anyone I know?" She said it brightly and with a pleasant air that still rang false, he shook his head at her until she looked confused.
"I'm sure you heard the name, since it isn't a secret, but we don't talk about who our clients are without permission. We also don't tell people what they were doing, or with whom. There is an extra charge if you want me to get out of bed to take you someplace myself, if the idea of someone talking worries you." It was his turn to speak too loud, but the woman, who must have been nearing sixty, moved in and laid a hand on his shoulder her arm straight by her side. She was just that tall.