The Last Necromancer

Chapter 7, Part 1

Fitzroy didn't mention the knife incident the following day, but I was curious about something. "When did you realize I had it?" I asked as we ate breakfast.

"When I sat at the desk, I felt for it and noticed it missing."

Almost immediately then. "Why didn't you confront me at the time?"

He flattened the newspaper on the desk, his back to me. Clearly he didn't think me a threat. "I wanted to see what you would do."

"But what if I'd caught you by surprise, when your guard was lowered?"

"I never lower my guard."

"Not even when you're alone?"

He half turned so that he was in profile, and considered his answer before he said, "Sometimes."

"Which times?"

He turned a little further and regarded me through narrowed eyes. "You expect me to tell you?"

I grunted a laugh. "I suppose not."

He cracked the top of his boiled egg open with a spoon. "You won't catch me at such a moment, anyway."

"You're very arrogant, aren't you?"

"So I've been told."

After breakfast, he proposed another walk around the estate, and I readily agreed. The day was overcast and warm, with dark clouds gathering on the horizon. I got hot quickly. Sweat trickled down my spine and gathered in uncomfortable places. Fitzroy didn't look the least bit hot, but he only wore a shirt with no waistcoat or jacket, whereas I kept my jacket on. Taking it off would reveal too much now that my shirt was damp.

This time we stopped at the stables to see to the horses. Fitzroy rolled up his sleeves and mucked out their stalls, but I hung back. My father had not owned a horse, and while they were always present in the street, pulling carriages and carts, I'd never gone too close. Those hooves looked dangerous and the teeth large. I filled a pail with water from the trough and another with feed, but passed it to him instead of going in. I admired the way he walked behind them, without a care for the hooves, and rubbed their noses, getting close enough to have his own bitten off.

"Do you ride often?" I asked.

"When I have the opportunity," he said, closing the stall door and rejoining me.

"For pleasure?"

"Not anymore." He handed me an empty pail and I returned it to the back of the stables. "You don't like horses?"

"I like them well enough," I said. "As long as they are over there and I am over here."

"They frighten you?"

"I don't want to get too close to an animal that could crush me, kick me or bite me. What if it were startled? What if it didn't like the way I smelled? Or it liked my smell too much?"

"Unless you smell like an apple, there is little danger that a horse will eat you."

He led the way outside, and once again I had to trot to catch up to him. I passed a number of sharp and heavy looking tools that I could have grabbed and used on him, but he didn't seem worried. Either he knew I couldn't go through with hurting him or he had faith in his ability to stop me, even with his back to me.

"Fitzroy," I said, "slow down. I wish to ask you something."

He slowed his pace. "You should refer to me as Mr. Fitzroy."

"Or I could call you Death. Or do you prefer Mr. Death?"

He walked off. "Go on."

I blew out a breath. "What will you do when you cannot trace me as far back as you wish to go?"