Before Penny could reach it, Dorian opened it from without and announced, “His Grace, James, Duke of Lancaster is here.” That was all the warning we got before he strode into the room. The Duke looked in good health. He moved briskly, and his face was slightly flushed, as if he had been exercising. I didn’t know that he had recently confronted Devon Tremont, but I would have been glad if I had known.
As it was, he seemed to be full of energy. “Mordecai!” he said, in a rather loud tone. “I am most relieved to see you awake and moving again.” Rather than pull up the chair he sat on the bed with me.
“The reports of my demise were premature, Your Grace,” I answered smiling.
“I told you, call me James when we are alone,” he replied. “I was planning to have your commendation ceremony and oath of fealty taken tonight, but it seems that will not happen for a few days more at least. You seem to be gaining strength quickly, though.”
“Thanks to Penny. She has been an angel of mercy through all of this,” I smiled at her.
“Yes, I have some matters to discuss with Penny as well,” and he looked at her grimly.
“I cannot thank you enough for your care of my nephew,” he said, “I understand that you burst in upon my lady wife and insisted Rose help you find him?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she kept her eyes down.
“You seem to have a touch of the prophet’s gift I hear. No matter. Then yesterday you stood your ground and told me in no uncertain terms that if I tried to usher you from the room I would, let’s see… What was it?” He was searching for words.
“Draw back a nub, Your Grace,” she filled in for him.
“Yes, that was it. And you meant it too, didn’t you my dear?” He was smiling at her in a fashion that reminded me of a dog, before it bites you.
“Yes, Your Grace, even now,” she said demurely.
“You realize of course that such brazen disrespect for your lord could have dire consequences. I could have you taken to the yard and whipped for insolence,” his tone was neutral, but I started up, trying to get out of the bed.
“You can’t do that!” I said, but he waved me away.
“Yes, Your Grace, this is true,” she replied.
“You have not reported for work since yesterday, when you left your post without notice,” he continued, “and you spent the entirety of last night alone in this room with my nephew.”
“Yes, Your Grace, I would not leave him, ’til he were dead or sure to live,” her tone held a sliver of defiance in its tone now.
“Others could have managed. It was hardly proper to have a young woman in here all night, but you don’t care, do you Penelope?” he asked.
“No sir,” she said, “I would sooner be damned than leave him to the care of others.” She was staring him in the eye now.
“Are you in love with my nephew, Penelope?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” she would not hide it.
“You leave me no choice then, Penelope Cooper. You are dismissed from my service, I have no need for such a disrespectful maid. One who does not know her place, cannot serve me. I expect you to clean your things out of the maids’ quarters within the hour,” his tone was deadly serious.
Somehow Penny had not expected that response. Somehow she had thought that her good deeds would outweigh her mistakes. She stood stunned for a moment, lips parted slightly. A few seconds later she felt tears beginning to form in her eyes, and she turned away, thinking to get her things before he saw her weeping.
“Don’t leave, Miss Cooper. I have a few things to say to Mordecai as well, and you should hear them first,” James added. “Mordecai, since you are unwell I doubt you will be able to attend the dance tomorrow night. It is our last celebration before the guests return to their homes, so it should be a grand affair. Genevieve has spent quite a bit of time planning for it.”
“So I am told,” I was unsure where the Duke was leading the conversation.
“Genevieve wanted me to tell you that if you had a lady in mind to bring to the ball, she would be welcome, even if you were unable to attend.” He looked at Penny then, with a mischievous smile. Reaching into his jacket he pulled out a scroll and tossed it onto the bed. “The oath and such will have to wait, but the lands are yours, along with the title and privileges, Count di’Cameron.”
I stared at him slack jawed, “I am honored. I...” I was having problems figuring out what to say.
“As my guest, and a fellow lord, you are entitled to your own retainers and such, within reason. If you have a wife, consort, or even a simple companion, they may, of course, stay with you. It is not my place to judge a landed noble. Advances upon my staff would be considered a grave insult however, so I trust I don’t have to fear such a breach of faith with you.” He studied Penny at length during his speech. “Don’t sell yourself cheaply, my dear. You’re worth your weight in gold, and if my nephew has sense to realize it, he will be a wealthy man.” Then without another word he turned and left the room.
Once the door had closed, Penny and I looked at one another, “What the hell was that?” she said.
“I think he was trying to do us a favor... maybe,” I replied.
“I just lost my livelihood!” She was not amused.
“Well, I’m prepared to offer you a new position,” I ventured.
“As what, chief concubine? Because if that’s what you think of me you’d better guess again. Just because last night we... That was magic, I didn’t have full control of my faculties!” She was working herself into a fit. Not that I would have said as much.
Taking slow breaths I eased myself out of the bed and started walking toward her, “I would never suggest something like that Penny. The Duke was just making it clear that we could continue to stay together, under whatever relation or fiction we choose to employ.”
“‘Fiction we choose to employ,’ can you hear yourself, Mort? Just because you’re the bloody Count di’Cameron now, doesn’t mean I’ll happily pack my bags and come move in as your doxy!” I was almost to her now, but she was backing away. Given my delicate state, I wasn’t fit to chase her around the room. I tried another tactic.
“‘Companion’ doesn’t necessarily mean prostitute, Penny, and if you need some better title you could be my maid-servant.” I gave her a lopsided grin, employing my considerable knowledge of psychology. It worked. She turned red and came at me, teeth bared and claws out.
“You pompous slack-wit!” She launched herself at me with a shriek that would have made a banshee proud. I caught her wrists as she came, and struggled to subdue her. Unfortunately, as most wrestlers can tell you, a lot of your upper body strength relies upon the muscles around the rib cage, and mine were in terrible shape. I’m sure I’ve mentioned before how terribly smart I am.
Pain shot through me as I grappled with her, trying to get her still for a moment. In spite of the agony, I managed to drag her in close and wrap her in a bear hug, whereupon she bit me. She bit me! I refused to let go though, and stepping back I fell onto the bed, holding her tight to me. That earned me a lot more pain as her weight fell onto me. Twisting, I got myself on top and pinned her down. Have I mentioned she’s as strong as a she-cat? But at last I had her caught. “I’m not making the same mistake I did the last time we argued,” I said, my face inches from her own. “You’re not going to escape as soon as I start talking.”
She growled at me, her face flushed, but she relaxed a bit. “You’re going to pay when I get loose, and you don’t have the strength to keep me down for long.”
“I don’t need long, I need a lot more than that. Penelope Cooper, will you marry me?” The genius of my plan was such that she went stock still.
“What!?” she said.
“I asked if you would marry me,” I repeated myself articulately, and with great charm I might add.
“I’m a commoner you idiot,” she replied.
“So am I.”
“Not anymore you’re not. You’re the bloody damned Count
di’Cameron now,” her words were pessimistic, but her face showed me a glimmer of hope.
“I could have married you before, and no one would have cared, and as far as I know there’s no law to prevent me from marrying anyone I choose.” She wasn’t fighting anymore, so I relaxed my grip.
“I don’t want to marry you,” she protested, “you look funny.” Her eyes were wet.
I leaned down and kissed her. She kissed me back, growling a little in the back of her throat. When I came up for air she looked at me, “this has to be the stupidest way to propose to a girl I ever heard of.” I kissed her again and put my best effort into it. “You don’t even have a ring,” she mumbled after that. I kissed her again, and she quit complaining.
Some time later we lay, exhausted. Well, I was exhausted. Despite my youth, I was in no condition to be engaging in wrestling matches—among other things. It was worth it, though. A thought occurred to me, “So was that a yes?”
She looked at me slyly, “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
I smacked her with a pillow. That started a war, but eventually she yielded, “Fine, fine! Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!” She was laughing as she said it.
Later I lay thinking that in spite of the good fortune I was currently enjoying, I still had one rather large problem, Devon Tremont. He had already assaulted Penny, and now he had tried to kill me. I was also quite sure he intended to create a lot of trouble for the Lancasters. Unfortunately, I had no idea what to do about any of it. Another knock came at the door.
Penny had gone down to fetch her things, so it was up to me to answer it. Life is hard sometimes. Dorian and Marc stood outside, “You really are alive!” shouted Marc. I stood back to let them in.
“To what do I owe the great honor of your visit?” I said mockingly.
“Does a man need a reason to visit his cousin?” Marc answered.
“Your father told you then?”
“Indeed! And he gave me something for you,” he tossed a large pouch to me. I almost dropped it. It was very heavy.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Two hundred gold marks; Father got most of it off his lordship this morning and he made up the difference from his own purse. The two of them had the most amazing conversation, or so I hear.” He spent a few minutes catching me up on what he knew.
“Hah!” I laughed when he finished. “That’s a fine start, but the devil still has much to answer for.” We all agreed on that point, and we spent a while discussing what sorts of unpleasant things might befall Lord Devon before his return home.
Since that conversation wasn’t really leading anywhere productive, I decided to switch topics. “Oh by the way! Have I mentioned I’m getting engaged?” That drew some stares. We talked for a long while after, and I wondered how I would resolve the question of who would be the best man. I decided to put the problem off for another day.
Chapter XVII
IN RECENT TIMES MAGES HAVE become rare. When mages were more common, no lord of men dared rule without magic to back him. With the loss of most of the old bloodlines, wizards are no longer so necessary to those who wield political power, for their enemies do not have magic to use against them. As a result the last few families died out in large part due to assassination, often coming from those they served. Those mages who arise from common stock have ever more to fear, for they have none to support them.
~Marcus the Heretic,
On the Nature of Faith and Magic
Penny was gathering her things from the maids’ quarters. It wasn’t a large task, since she really didn’t have much. The two uniforms she left, her replacement might need them, and they didn’t belong to her anyway. A few nightgowns, a homespun dress, and a few sundries. Putting them in a pile they seemed pitifully few. Up until now her life had been a long hard road. Perhaps now things would work out better. She sat down on the bed one last time and looked around the room, letting her mind drift back to the day she had first come to work there.
The vision took her without warning. A man was walking down a hallway, wearing a brown robe. Something about him seemed familiar. In his hands he carried a large clay jar, and by the way he moved, it must have been heavy, filled with something. She saw him enter the kitchen, a place so well known to her that she recognized it instantly. The cook looked up and at him and went back to work without a word. The man was well known there. The kitchen scullions were out setting up the tables so the two were alone.
The hooded figure stepped up to the cook and said something, but she couldn’t make it out. With a nod the cook stepped out, taking the back door to fetch something from the small garden outside. Once he had gone, the man drew back his hood and opened his jar. She recognized him then, and wondered why she was seeing him there. Lifting the, jar he poured the contents into a large pot where the soup was simmering, and something told her it was nothing wholesome in that jar.
The vision shifted then, and she felt somehow that it was several hours later. It was the ball, and people were dancing, but something was wrong. She saw herself in a long gown, dancing with Lord Devon, and he was laughing, as if at some joke she had just told. Around them, people began to double over, retching. Blood was on the floor and people were crying in pain. Devon leaned over to kiss her... and she screamed.
She woke then, still screaming, her face damp with sweat. Not again! she thought. This can’t be happening. Then she remembered Father Tonnsdale’s story. The night everyone had died at Cameron Castle, and she knew what she had to do. Goddess, forgive me!
She left her things on the bed. She knew the events of her vision were still some time in the future, but she didn’t think they were too far off. Slipping into the hallway she headed for where the villain lived.
It took her only a few minutes to get there. Such a short time when you know that your life is about to change forever. Just a bit ago she had been happy, looking forward to a life she could not have imagined. She should have known it was too good to be true. She took a moment to consider, she could try to warn everyone, but no one would believe her. That would only leave the killer to find some other time to work his evil. The world was not just, she knew that. Those people learned that lesson sixteen years ago, and still their murderer goes unpunished, she thought. But no longer, she would see to that.
She was almost to the door when she realized she needed a weapon. The man she meant to kill was too large to attack unarmed. She went back to the great hall and found one of the hard iron pokers used to manage the logs in the fireplace. The long black iron was heavy in her hand. She figured it would do nicely, so long as she could surprise him. She returned to the large double doors that led into the chapel. She opened them, and as she entered she put the hand holding the iron behind her back.
The chapel itself was empty, but she knew he was likely in the chambers behind the back of the altar. Her heart was beating wildly, but she kept her attention on her task. She found him in his study, leaning over his desk. A small form lay on top of it, quivering. The horror of it almost unmade her, but she held her resolve in an iron grip, a grip as hard as the iron in her hand.
“Shhh, Timothy, just relax, it will be over soon. The goddess needs everything you can give.” Father Tonnsdale kept his hand on the boy’s forehead, holding him down, while the force within him drew upon the boy’s spirit. Timothy was dying, but it was necessary if he was to become the tool Father Tonnsdale needed. A small noise behind drew his attention and he was startled when he saw her enter the room.
“Penny!” he said, trying to keep his calm. “Timothy has suffered a fall, would you help me hold him? I think he’s having a seizure!” It was a poor lie, but he was sure she would believe it, at least long enough for him to salvage the situation. Two bodies would be almost as easy to hide as one after all.
He looked away from her, back to Timothy, hoping to draw her attention to the boy, while his eyes found the dagger that lay on the desk.
“Certainly Father, I’ll be glad to help you
,” she stepped up behind him, and even as his hand reached for the dagger at his waist she brought the iron poker down across the back of his head. He dropped like a felled steer, sagging limply to the floor. The back of his head was crushed. She took another swing to make sure the job was done properly. Then she dropped the iron and checked to see if Timothy was alright.
He wasn’t. The boy was dead, though there were no visible marks upon him. His skin was slack, drawn, as though something had been taken from within him, leaving him empty. The sight of the boy ate at her conscience. If only I had gotten here sooner, perhaps I could have prevented this as well, she thought. She was still in shock, numb and unfeeling, but her mind was clear.
I will hang for this, she thought, and she knew it was true. There was no evidence that the good Father was anything more than he had always appeared. Timothy’s body would prove nothing. There were no marks to show anything had been done to him. Even had there been, she was the one alive, she was the one who had just bludgeoned a priest to death. She double checked to make sure the priest was dead. No sense hanging for a crime unfinished.
No one saw me enter. That was a thought with promise. If she could hide the body she might even delay the time until the search for his killer began. She took the older man’s legs in her hands and began trying to move him. “What did you eat?” she said aloud. There was no way she could move the fat bastard very far. He had to weigh in excess of two hundred and fifty pounds. At last she settled for dragging his body behind the desk, where it could not be seen from the door. She laid Timothy beside him, though she felt bad at having to leave him there with the corpse of his murderer.
Taking the keys from the priest’s pockets she locked the study door behind her as she left. With luck it would be several days before they were found. There were no services for three days so it was possible they might not be missed for a while. Now she just needed to get out without being seen. For some reason she still had the iron poker with her, I should have left it with him, she thought. No matter, she would just replace it where she had gotten it. Trusting to luck she stepped through the double doors of the chapel and into the hallway.
FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy Page 22