The Wizard's Butler

by Nathan Lowell

  Barbara stared at Roger for a moment. “You believe they’re here, too,” she said.

  Roger nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And yet you don’t have any talent that I can see.”

  “No, ma’am. I’ll confess to a touch of envy, but lots of people have skills and talents that I don’t have.”

  “What makes you believe they’re here?”

  The question startled a short laugh out of him. He looked up at the canopy above. “This room was locked away for the first few months I was here. I first visited it a few days ago. Look at it. Does it appear to be in a state of advanced neglect?”

  She looked around. “No, but would it?”

  Roger shrugged. “The trees? Maybe not, but the flowering plants? The grasses? They’re not overgrown. I’ll grant that the mosses and stones keep the plantings in check, but this place is natural without being wild.” He shrugged again. “I have no trouble thinking that some kind of magic must be responsible—or at least a team of skilled gardeners. They’re not coming through any of the doors in the house or I’d have seen them.”

  She nodded and looked around. “It is amazing.”

  Esther and Fidelia completed their circuit around the garden and rejoined them.

  “Mr. Shackleford, this is amazing. Simply amazing,” Esther said. “Do the trees stay green through the winter?”

  “No, they’re already changing color. They’ll drop eventually,” he said. “The temperature in here gets rather frosty and the days are pretty short because the garden has the house all around it. A botanist could probably tell you the reasons, but I just enjoy it.”

  “I’d forgotten just how lovely the garden is, Joseph,” Fidelia said.

  “I had, too,” he said. “One of the downsides of living here, I suppose.”

  “What’s that?” Fidelia asked.

  “Well, I could come here any time. So I tend to think ‘I could do that later’ but then never do.” He took a deep breath and blew it out in a satisfied sigh. “Perhaps I need to rethink that, eh?”

  “You’ve enough space in this house for a few dozen people,” Esther said. “Don’t you find it lonely rattling around all alone?”

  “I haven’t, no.” He shrugged. “I’m not alone, and I have my business to attend to.” He smiled at Fidelia. “And friends who call when they’re in town.”

  “What of you?” Esther asked, looking at Barbara. “You want to live here?”

  As Barbara looked around, Roger saw some spark in her eyes as her gaze seemed to caress the graceful branches overhead. “That’s what we’re here to determine, isn’t it?”

  Esther nodded. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “It’s just the first day,” Shackleford said. “Why don’t we just take it as it comes?”

  “What were you planning for me to do this week, Mr. Shackleford?” Barbara asked.

  “I’d like you to work with Mulligan here to come up with a plan for the future of Shackleford House.”

  Roger felt his eyes practically bulge in his head. Judging from Barbara’s open-mouthed stare, she was as surprised as he.

  Shackleford glanced at Fidelia. “Perhaps Fidelia would be willing to assist?”

  Fidelia grinned. “You know I’ve wanted you to do something with this place for years, Joseph.”

  “It’s settled then?” Shackleford asked.

  Barbara held up her hands, palm out. “Oh, no. No, no. Not settled. What do you mean by come up with a plan? I thought you had a foundation all set up and ready.”

  He grinned. “I do. I’ve filed the paperwork. The foundation has been legally established as a not-for-profit public charity with the mission of preserving the history of the oldest continuously occupied location in the state.”

  “Then what are you expecting me to do?” she asked.

  “I’ve hired you for a week,” Shackleford said. “Yes?”

  “Yes,” Barbara said. “You hired me to evaluate the property, if I remember correctly.”

  “I believe the wording is more along the lines of ‘what it might be like if you owned Shackleford House,’ which is what I’ve just asked you to do, isn’t it? Come up with a plan for what to do when you own it?”

  Barbara looked at her mother.

  Esther shrugged. “It seems reasonable to me, dear. If I were going to leave a mansion like this to somebody, I’d like to know what they planned on doing with it after I was gone.”

  “In a week?” Barbara asked.

  “Only six days left,” Shackleford said. “I don’t expect miracles, but show me something.” He grinned at her. “What do you say?”

  Barbara looked at Roger. “You’ll help?”

  Roger nodded. “Of course, ma’am.”

  She looked at Fidelia. “Ms. Necket?”

  “It’s Delia, my dear, and I’d be honored.”

  She looked at her mother. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’ve got your work cut out for you, dear.” She smiled. “And I think I need to go back home to your father and my job. You don’t need me here getting underfoot.”

  “You’re not underfoot, dear lady,” Shackleford said.

  She shook her head. “This isn’t my fight, Joseph. She asked me to come be a chaperone and I couldn’t say no.” She looked from Delia to Roger then back to Shackleford. “You people are possibly crazy, but you’re not dangerous. She doesn’t need a chaperone here any more than she needs a bodyguard at her business with all those strange clients.” She paused. “Actually, she probably needs one there, more.”

  Barbara snorted. “Probably right.”

  “The other thing you should do is check out of that hotel and come live here,” Esther said. She looked at Shackleford. “That’s what you wanted wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, but I’m not blind to the appearances and the risks.”

  “I’ll stay, too,” Fidelia said. “Not like you don’t have the room for it, and I foresee some late nights.” She looked at Mulligan. “You’ll have a few extra people roaming the premises. Can you manage with us?”

  Roger felt himself grinning. “I’d love it, ma’am.” he said. “Guest rooms or one of the suites?”

  “One thing at a time,” Barbara said. “Let me get checked out and move my stuff over. I don’t have a lot with me. Mom can take my car back, and we can figure out how I get home at the end of the week.”

  Fidelia grinned. “A take-charge woman. This is going to be fun.”

  “When I get back, we can sit down and do a little brainstorming about how to handle the task. There’s that parlor upstairs here, the one we were in this afternoon back at the main house. One of the classrooms would probably be the right place to set up planning since it’s big enough for all three of us to work without disturbing Mr. Shackleford.” She blinked and took a breath, looking around at all of them. “Sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

  Shackleford frowned. “One thing.”

  Her face drooped. “I’m sorry—”

  “It’s Joe or Joseph. Not Mr. Shackleford.” He grinned. “Uncle Joe if you like. We can sort the actual relationship if you like. It’s probably fifth cousin Joe or something, but I’d be delighted if you just called me Joe.”

  She smiled at him and Fidelia covered her mouth with a hand, winking at Roger.

  “I think it’s a splendid plan,” Shackleford said. “You’re more than welcome anytime you want to stay here, Delia. You know that.”

  Fidelia nodded. “I do, and this seems like a good reason.” She looked at Barbara. “You sure you’ll feel safe here?”

  Barbara looked at each of them in turn, then looked up at the trees. “Yes.” She grinned. “My mother knows where I am and who I’m with so I’m pretty sure you won’t try anything funny.”

  Esther laughed and headed for the doors. “Let’s get a move on, then. If we hustle, I can be home in time for dinner.”

  Mulligan got in front and held the doors for the women.

  Shackleford wav
ed them on. “I’m going to just sit here for a bit, Mulligan,” he said. Taking a deep breath, he settled on one of the benches that dotted the space.

  Roger saw the Griffins off and turned to Fidelia. “Do you need to get an overnight bag or something, ma’am?”

  “I have one in the car,” she said. “Can I take it around back and park it in the garage?”

  “Of course, ma’am. If there’s anything you need, just ask.”

  “I won’t be a moment.” She followed the Griffins down the path and out onto the sidewalk.

  Roger swung by his quarters and fetched the keys for both the back door and the garage before walking through to let her in. He only had to wait for a couple of minutes before an older model Taurus pulled into the yard, Fidelia Necket behind the wheel. He opened the door to the last bay and she backed into it smartly. She killed the engine and popped the trunk.

  Roger closed the garage door and went to the back of the car. Two well-worn suitcases lay in the padded compartment along with a canvas duffel bag that looked a lot like the one he’d had in the army.

  “Grab the small bag, if you would, Mulligan?”

  He pulled the carry-on from the trunk. “Anything else you need in here, ma’am?”

  She came back and looked in, shaking her head. “No, that will do. For now, anyway.” She slammed the trunk and led the way back to the house. “You’re looking forward to this, Mulligan?”

  “I am, yes, ma’am.”

  “What would you suggest in terms of working space?”

  “We have several choices, ma’am. The upstairs parlor is large enough, as is the commons area in the west wing. There are four classrooms. One has tables for working space in addition to the chalkboards and desks.”

  “What about the ballroom?” she asked. “We could set up a table in there to work on.”

  “Definitely a possibility, ma’am. It’s a bit loud. Sound echoes in that empty room.”

  She nodded. “Good point. Do we have something like flip charts?”

  “Not that I’ve seen, ma’am.”

  She hmm’ed and led the way back through the kitchen to the foyer. “Let’s wait for Barbara to return before deciding on space.”

  Roger nodded and put the bag in the hall closet under the stairs. “We could order some flip charts, ma’am.”

  She shrugged. “I could take Barbara out to the supply store this evening if we need to. With just the three of us, it might be overkill.”

  “No such thing, ma’am.” Roger spoke before thinking and flushed. “Sorry, ma’am. Old habits.”

  Fidelia frowned and cocked her head to the side.

  “Ma’am?” he asked.

  She raised a hand, index finger extended, and turned her head. “What’s that sound?”

  Roger stood still, letting the stillness of the house settle around him. He shook his head.

  Fidelia continued seeking the source, sweeping back and forth until she turned to face the west wing doors. “In there.”

  Although Roger heard nothing he all but ran to the doors, threw one open and dashed into the garden.

  Shackleford sat on the bench where Roger had left him, his faced turned to the light shining in from above. Tears leaked from his closed eyes, the wetness shimmering on his face.

  Fidelia came up behind Roger and took one look before crossing to Shackleford’s side. “Joseph?” Her voice came out as a whisper that seemed to echo through the little forest.

  Shackleford shook his head, just the slightest tremor—back and forth once.

  She started to reach for his shoulder but pulled her hand back. She looked over her shoulder at Roger, her raised eyebrows the only question she needed to ask.

  Roger shook his head.

  She sat beside him and put a hand over his where it rested on the bench. “I’m here, Joseph.”

  “I’ve missed you so,” he said. “Why did you leave?”

  “I’m sorry, Joseph,” she said.

  He lowered his head and brushed at his face with his free hand. “I loved you, Miriam. And you left me.”

  Fidelia’s eyes widened. She released his hand and put an arm around his shoulders. “I didn’t want to, Joseph.”

  “You didn’t want to,” he said, still not looking up. “We would have had a life together. Children. But you left me.”

  She pulled his shoulder closer and he sagged into her. She glanced at Roger, her own eyes looking suspiciously shiny. “Help me get him to his room.”

  Roger crossed the five steps to the old man’s side and took his arm, pulling him up to his feet and looping it over his shoulders. He had to stoop a little to keep from putting too much pressure on the shoulder joint, but the old man came to his feet and allowed Roger to half carry him out of the garden and up the stairs toward the master suite.

  The old man balked outside the library, straightening up and locking his knees. “No,” he said. He pushed Roger away and waved the library door open with a gesture, bolted into the room, and picked up the green book from the end table as he took his customary seat beside the window. The book fell open in his lap and he stared at the page.

  Fidelia stopped beside Roger at the library door, agape.

  “Wrong book,” Roger said, keeping his voice low.

  “Wrong book?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He reads that one when he’s having one of his spells. He reads the brown one when he’s himself.”

  She nodded.

  Shackleford looked up as if seeing them for the first time. “Ah, Delia. What a surprise. Come in, come in. Perkins, some tea, please.”

  Roger gave his butler bow. “Of course, sir.”

  Fidelia nodded to Roger and entered the library, taking a seat across from him. “How have you been, Joseph?”

  “It’s been so long,” Shackleford said. “How was K2?”

  Roger closed the door and went to the kitchen to make the tea.

  * * *

  The library door clicked open by itself on his return, and he entered to find Shackleford standing at the window looking out. “Thank you, Mulligan.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  Fidelia looked up from her chair and nodded at the low table in front of her. “Thank you, Mulligan.”

  He smiled. “Of course, ma’am.” He started to leave but Shackleford stopped him.

  “A moment, if you please, Mulligan,” he said without turning from the window.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Miriam died. Sixty-odd years ago. I was devastated.”

  “You don’t need to explain, sir.”

  He turned then and offered Fidelia a tentative smile. “I do, Mulligan. It’s getting worse. I’m not sure how much longer I can maintain.”

  “Joseph,” Fidelia said. “Come sit. Have some tea.”

  He looked down, thrusting his hands in his trouser pockets. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back again the next time.”

  Fidelia took cup and saucer, filling it with grace granted by years of practice. She held it out to Shackleford. “Your tea, Joseph.”

  He crossed to take the china from her, lowering himself into his chair. He sighed and took a sip, and a second, before putting the cup down again.

  “There,” she said. “What’s this nonsense about not coming back?”

  “Every time I go back, it’s harder to come forward again.”

  “And every time it takes you back a little further?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I used to think it was stealing my memories but it appears to be just pulling them out of me a little at a time.” He looked up at her. “And the only way to stop is to die.”

  She sipped her own tea and glanced at Roger over the rim of her cup. “What’s the deal with the different books?” she asked. “Mulligan says you read a different book. That green one.”

  He mirrored her action with his own cup. “Yes. I don’t know why that happens. That one has nothing to do with cursed objects or demonic actions. I gave up on it a decade a
go after years of study.”

  She nodded. “That’s the answer.”

  He looked up, his gaze snapping to her face. “The answer?”

  “Of course,” she said. “It’s the past. When the amulet takes you back, you forget that you gave up on it and pick it up again. I take it you put a lot of stock in it?”

  He nodded, looking down at his cup and taking another sip. “I did. I was quite disappointed when it turned out to be a dud.”

  “Where’s the new one?” she asked, looking around the room.

  Shackleford nodded at the cushion on a nearby chair. “Under that pillow, I suspect.”

  Roger crossed to the chair and pulled the book from beneath the throw pillow, handing it to Fidelia. “It seems to end up there quite often, ma’am.”

  She frowned. “Curious.” Placing her cup and saucer back on the tray, she took the book from Roger. She opened to the table of contents and scanned down the substantial list. “This seems to be a bit more on point, Joseph. Have you found anything?”

  He shrugged. “There’s a chapter on an artifact that might be this one. A black iron necklace that grants the wearer extra powers at the expense of their mental capacity.”

  She peered at him over the top of the book. “Might be?”

  He shrugged again. “It’s a sketchy report. The most salient fact being that whoever picked it up put it on and died when they took it off.”

  “And you think there might be some other black iron necklace?” she asked, lowering the book to her lap.

  He glanced at Roger as if looking for support before shaking his head. “No, actually, I think that’s it. There doesn’t seem to be a way to lift the curse.”

  Fidelia frowned. “There’s always a loophole. Always.”

  “That’s what I thought, too,” Shackleford said. “But this is old. Older than history. I’d think older than mankind, but that makes no sense at all.”

  “Really?” Fidelia asked.

  “Who’d be around to put it on in the first place if not some person?” He smiled into his cup as he took another sip. “Some ape? An uplifted chimp? And where would it have come from? Iron working is relatively new in a cosmological sense.”