First Lady Selwin smirks, knowing the irony of passing the Lordship of Ector to me.
I scan the document quickly and hand it to Carmen.
“What about Lucinda?” I ask. “She’s capable. The people love her.”
Santé doesn’t blink. “Her first allegiance is to Fortrus. She cannot make promises to Eastmarch.”
I flex my stone hand inside my glove, looking for options, glad that the whiteness has retreated from my neck and shoulder. In the last few days of rest, Rose also has begun to look healthier, although not as much as I’d hoped.
Focus.
“I’ve already got more than enough lordship to handle,” I say, motioning to his paper. “This is worse than bone magic.”
Santé rolls his head around his neck and pushes his arms out to stretch them. He’s as ill-suited to bureaucracy as I am, though he has a flair for it. More to the point, though, I think he’s ready to be on the road again. “Don’t make this more difficult than it’s got to be, Mr. Steeps.”
Carmen grins.
“But . . .”
Santé sticks his lower lip out and whistles.
The door opens so fast I have no doubt this has been orchestrated in advance. Cobalt stomps in, trailed by Barkus, who looks clean and healthy, which also means he’s had too much time on his hands.
I scowl. “Was this your idea, Cobalt?”
“Naw,” he says, “but I support it.”
“Didn’t want a title for yourself?”
“I’d be required to give my holdings to the Abbey,” he says, grinning. “That’s not in the best interest of Eastmarch, I’d wager.”
“Indeed not,” Santé says, answering for me.
I scowl again. This is toadshistle. Everybody knows Cobalt bends the rules. If he wanted to, he could be the First Lord of Ector. Magnus and the other Mitres would refuse any holdings offered in his name. They’d assume them to be ill-gotten. The Mitres may have forgiven him, but they know him too well.
“Relax, First-Lord Steeps,” Cobalt says grinning. “Nobody’s suggesting you actually administrate. We’ve all heard about your finances.”
“You think Carmen wants to be saddled with this?”
I look at Carmen, who is grinning from ear to ear and trying not to laugh. She manages to shake her head “no” in order to back me up.
“She’d be better than you,” Cobalt says. He turns to Carmen. “You’d be better than him.”
“Of course I would. But I don’t need this either.
I scowl around the room. “See?”
Carmen finally laughs out loud. “I told you he’d be difficult.” This is what she’s been grinning about all day. She’s been in on it the whole time. No wonder she wanted to come. No wonder they had carriage and escort ready.
Lady Selwin clears her throat. “We will pick someone to represent you, Mr. Steeps. Most lords have stewards and chief stewards. We will pick someone with a good tax record, someone you trust to handle your affairs. Your chief steward will make sure your yearly taxes go out, along with the rest of Ector’s. This will be much easier on you, but still meet the King’s objectives. You could simply check in from time to time to ensure things are being handled in accordance with your intent.”
I know where this is going and I don’t like it. There’s only one person in this room who has experience ‘administrating.’ One person who has run an inn, a beggar’s ring, an orphan racket, and apparently Tom’s underground household, The Broken Abbey. One person who frequently coerced me to drug his visitors.
Cobalt confirms my suspicions with a backward glance at Barkus.
Shistlewad.
“You said ‘Someone I trust.’”
Cobalt grins back at me. “Well, there was a very limited field. We had to settle for ‘almost trust.’ And wasn’t he already managing your other properties.”
“Without telling me they were my properties!” I shout.
Barkus cringes, but then rallies. “Who’d a’ thought the little runt hiding in the rafters would one day be the First Lord of Ector?”
“Was this your idea?”
Barkus grins, his missing hand tastefully covered by a clean steward’s towel. He ignores my question completely. “I’ve already taken the liberty of moving your things to the Lord’s Manor, Lord Steeps. And the Lady’s. A good steward anticipates his Lord’s needs. A great steward asks for forgiveness.”
“And my house?”
“We’ll patch it up and rent it out to a real cobbler. For a fair price, mind you.”
“What about my son, Timmy?”
Barkus grins even more widely. “The good Lady Steeps has already made some arrangements. Says he needs a few months with a true artisan before he takes over at Redemption Alley.”
“You’re in on this?”
Carmen is laughing so hard she puts a hand over her stomach.
Before anyone can say anything else, I kick over my chair and stride to the door. “Fine, but see to it that Carmen gets a long—a very long—daily report about your activities. Preferably before she has a chance for morning tea.”
Everyone grins. Like that’s going to happen. Nobody’s going to bother Carmen.
“And don’t ever bother me. About anything.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Barkus says.
#
There’s one other fly in the ointment, or pigeon, as the case may be. Even as Ector’s news spreads to Eastmarch and beyond, the pigeon houses are filling up with something bigger. “Fortrus is on the move,” the messages say. “The Abbey is mobilizing.”
At first this isn’t too worrisome for me. If the Brothers of Light want to investigate en masse the slaughter at Southreach Abbey, who am I to second guess their judgment? Fortrus itself narrowly avoided the same fate last winter. But I don’t need to tag along. Lordship aside, Fortrus is still the safest place for my family and me.
It’s the addendum I receive the following day, from a private pigeon house, which worries me. It’s addressed specifically to me, and they’ve spelled my name correctly. That’s the first cause for alarm. In addition to the usual update, the reverse side is crammed tight with Timmy’s blocky cobbler-script. “Da. Don’t worry about me. I’m with Father Hugues. We’re going to crush those bastards who burned Southreach!”
About the Author
Benjamin K. Hewett is a NASA Program Analyst who lives in Houston and chases numbers for a living. Amid writing short stories, blog posts, and novels, Ben also enjoys playing with his three kids, coaching soccer, and juggling fire. He has a BA in French and a Master’s Degree in Public Administration. Subscribe to Ben’s newsletter at BKHEWETT.COM to get the latest about upcoming sequels or read what he’s thinking about.
About the Illustrator
Marta Maszkiewicz is a Warsaw-based artist specializing in the fantasy and fairy-tale genres. She creates art for books, advertisements, and computer games. When not at work, she can be found reading, gaming, doing traditional Indian dance, or serving the whims of her very own cat. Marta also has a degree in architecture, which she carefully avoids using.
Teamus Steeps is an acquisitioner, not a thief. Admittedly, the nuance doesn’t play well with town authorities, but ever since he left his home in Ector over a misunderstanding with the assassins’ guild, he’s managed—mostly—to leave that reputation behind.
Unfortunately, the dark guild isn’t so forgiving. When the passes south begin to thaw, the guild is at his throat again, and this time they have leverage. Teamus knows that the butcher bill must be paid if he’s going to have any peace for his family, even if it means losing his soul.
But that’s only if the tax collectors don’t catch him first.
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Shadowcloaks Page 26