“Well, that looks like everything,” I said, pushing my chair back so I could rest my feet on my study desk, hands held behind my head in what I figured was a very self-satisfied-looking pose. “I got my book back, Theo got his sword, all the other stolen items were accounted for and returned, the mystery of the 'wraith' has all been sorted out, Blackstaag has been dealt with . . . rather humiliatingly.” I took an unlit cigar and propped it between my teeth. “Looks like it's all done. Finished.”
“Milord,” said Cyrus, a trace of a smile on his face, “there is still the matter of Greybridge Keep.”
“Yerg!” I gurgled forlornly, my hands clutching my forehead in mock despair.
“I'm sure it can wait, Milord - with everything else we've handled today, we should probably take a bit of a breather.” He grinned at me. “I only mentioned it to annoy you.”
“Well, as luck would have it, I actually have an answer for you today, Knight-Captain,” I said, sounding rather smug.
Cyrus looked genuinely surprised for a moment, and then he nodded slowly. “Shall I begin making arrangements, start moving a few things over there, Milord?”
“Yes. We've got a few days to get ready, obviously. Like you said . . . we could use a breather, both of us. It'll be nice being able to get a full night's sleep around here, not being woken up by the sound of ringing bells or screeching rugs.”
“That's for sure. Probably for the best if you took a full week off before we started the bulk of the move. I'm assuming you'll want the vault there turned into a study, like you have here?”
“No, Cyrus. I'll be staying here.”
He blinked. After a few seconds of sitting there, looking smug, I decided to help with my Knight-Captain's confusion.
“Greybridge Keep is a marvelous place. And huge. It was built to house the number of people I now find myself employing. Logic says I should move there . . . you yourself didn't even have to ask what I'd decided just now. You simply assumed that I was going to bow to the inevitable, make the decision that makes the most sense. Well,” I scratched my chin, raising my eyebrows a bit, “I have a sneaking suspicion that Tenarreau expects the same thing.”
“Uhm, okay,” said Cyrus, his tone dubious.
“We don't have any real idea what Tenarreau has planned for six months from now. He may give me the information I seek about my family, stripping me of all my newest territory in exchange. He may attempt to hang on to the information and saddle me with even more territory, or some new task. Claiming a new keep, one that's more centralized and closer to the thick of things, sends a message that I'm moving forward, accepting things . . . that perhaps I anticipate keeping this new territory. Maybe he threatens to take it away. Maybe it gives Tenarreau a firmer grip on me, or steers me towards embracing some other things he's got planned for me. I don't want him thinking that.
“I want him thinking of me as a clever, unpredictable Lord who has been dutifully doing what he's been told, one who is sitting back and patiently waiting for his sovereign to make a move. I want him to think of me as a guy who could accept losing most of his territory with a smile and a nod of the head, but who expects to be given something in return. I want to be ready to act, ready to move at full speed in one direction or another in six months time. I cannot do that if my attention is split, and if my time is occupied by things like having to settle into a new keep. Or,” I gave him a significant look, “if I get too bogged down with the business side of things. Which is why you'll be going there.”
There was a very, very long stretch of silence. My Captain's eyes practically fell out of his head.
“It . . . you mean, you-”
“Cyrus, please stop doing that with your eyes . . . that's just unnatural,” I said, pretending to whisk some dust off of my sling with my right hand. “And yes, I do mean. You've got a better handle of things happening up North than I do anyways – I've been operating on nothing but your recommendations these past couple of months, in fact. Every now and then I'll come out to Greybridge Keep, which we'll have to rename to something snappy and businesslike, and I'll personally take care of anything you feel I should. However, for the most part, you'll have free run to do whatever you feel is best.”
“It . . . I'm only supposed to-” he managed to gasp, bug-eyed, his hand running through his hair, bewildered. “I mean, I-”
“Cyrus, again . . . could you stop it with the eyes? Please, that's just wrong . . . it makes my own eyes water just looking at you,” I said, smirking slightly at my flummoxed Knight-Captain. “It simply makes sense, you going out there, and I'm sure you'll agree. I've been spreading myself too thin. So have you, in fact. With the new position, you'd get a percentage of my share of the monthly tithes, not merely a stipend, and would be in complete charge of Greybridge Keep. As I've mentioned, you understand the business side of things as well as I do, and this frees me up to focus more on political matters. And,” I raised a finger warningly at him, “I don't want you suddenly running on two hours sleep a night, either. You'll have to delegate – learn to trust the people you're working with. Maybe then you'll see why I had such a hard time delegating stuff to you.”
“Milord, I . . . don't know what to say,” he stammered.
“Well, say 'yes', obviously! Otherwise, I'll have to lock myself in my study for a few days and come up with some other plan,” I laughed. “And bear in mind – this is an experiment of sorts. Six months from now we could lose everything, depending on how things go with the Prince, so this arrangement might be temporary. Still, more than enough time for you to make a tidy profit . . . more than you've made in the past five years combined, I would guess.”
“It . . . is more than I'd even dreamed, Milord,” he said, sounding bewildered and off-balance. “I'm just . . . I'm a little shocked.”
“Hmm. Yes, I suppose I did spring that on you a little quickly. Well, tell you what,” I said, reaching into my desk drawer and pulling out a medium-sized leather purse, tossing it on the desk. “A thousand – consider it an advance against what you'll be earning next month. Take some time to get used to the idea, maybe take a few days off and celebrate with your girlfriend . . . uhh-” I said, snapping my fingers frustratedly, willing myself to remember.
“Cynthia, Milord.”
“Yes, Cynthia. Sorry. Take Cynthia somewhere nice, have some dinner, a few bottles of wine, see a play . . . maybe get out of the city for a while. Something like that. I'm in a rather good mood all of a sudden, and I should be able to manage for a bit without your services, now that things have played themselves out. That is, unless something entirely unexpected pops up in-”
There was a sudden crashing noise that came from the outside hall, followed by a second, louder crash, followed by the sound of two knights raising their voices in alarm.
“Halt!” cried one at the exact same moment another yelled “Stop right there!”
There was a long pause.
“Lord Tucat?” a small, wary voice called to me from out in the hallway. “Are you there?”
“Knights . . . at ease!” I yelled, getting to my feet and heading for the study entrance. “Weapons down, if you please.” I turned and grinned at Cyrus. “Hey! That rhymes!”
“A good mood, you say?” Cyrus said, smirking as he followed me out of the study. “Surely not, Milord . . .”
Connor was at the end of the hallway, about thirty feet away, floating, his familiar brown rags fluttering around him as he watched my knights intently. They were watching the rag-adorned intruder just as intently, practically gaping at this boy whose feet weren't touching the ground, their weapons out and held warningly in his direction.
“I said weapons down, please. He's a guest,” I put a hand on each of the two knight's shoulders. “Relax. In fact, why don't you two take a couple of hours off for dinner? I'm going to be in my study for the next little while, so it should be safe, and I don't think we're going to have any unexpected visitors for a few weeks in any case. Aside from this one, that is.”
Even after Connor had dropped gently to the floor, my knights appeared to need further convincing that he wasn't a threat, looking at him as though he could turn into a demon at any moment. Cyrus eventually managed to calm them down, convincing both knights to accompany him to the kitchen so that I might be able to talk privately with my visitor. After a moment's discussion all three of them turned to leave.
“Cyrus?” I called to him.
Turning, he sent me a question with his eyes.
“If you're going to be that cavalier when it comes to my gold,” I said, gesturing towards the study, “I may have to re-think my offer.”
He looked perplexed for a moment, snapped his fingers a second later, and bolted through the study door. He re-appeared within a few moments, grinning and clutching a leather coin-purse.
“And Talia?” he asked, expression changing slightly. “You said you wanted to speak with her tonight?”
“Yes . . . thank you. Could you please find her and ask her to come up in, say, two hours?”
Cyrus gave me a nod and, smiling, he led the two thoroughly confused knights to the end of the hallway and down the stairs. After a few moments, there was only Connor and myself standing in the hallway.
“Evening, Connor,” I said, cheerfully.
“Hey,” he replied, pulling a neatly folded bundle from a sling sack he wore over his shoulder. “I brought back the clothes you let me borrow, the ones I wore to the palace. I didn't want anything to happen to them – they seemed nice.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Uhm, I wasn't sure if you knew what I meant, with the wink and everything. Plus, I didn't know if you'd be mad, so I figured I'd play it safe, come in through the window.” He gave me an appraising look. “You do know why I did that, back at the palace, right?”
“What, acting like you were angry with me so that Tenarreau wouldn't think I'd encouraged you to talk to him like that? Yeah, I figured it out. Thank you, by the way.” I frowned the tiniest bit. “The Prince will likely figure it out as well, if he hasn't already, but I don't think I'm on his good side at the moment, regardless.”
“Did you get your information? You did bring me to him, after all.”
I shook my head. “No, he ended the audience shortly after you left.”
“Sorry,” he said, glumly. “I kind of hoped he might, but-”
“Don't be sorry, Connor. Like I said, it was your choice – that meeting wasn't about me. In retrospect,” I grinned a little, “I'm kind of glad it happened. Do you know how rare it is to see him taken down a peg or two? Besides, he probably wasn't going to give me what I wanted anyway. The Prince has me busy doing something for him, and if he just gave me what I wanted, I'd have no reason to continue doing what he wishes for the next six months. Some of the shopkeepers and tenants he put me in charge of have been getting away with murder these past few years under their former Lord, and I've been fairly lax about whipping them into shape, what with everything else going on. Tenarreau probably wants me to get angry, so that I might use a firmer hand and take my frustrations out on them, get those problem tenants straightened out. That means he likely never intended to give me the information in the first place, and just wanted to dangle it in front of me to piss me off, so that I'd behave as he wished. Here, come in my study so we can sit, we'll have a bit of a chat.”
“How do you know all that stuff?” asked Connor once we'd made our way past my still-damaged study door and sat down. “Knowing how people will react, and things like that?”
“Experience,” I said, simply. “Watching people. Reading books written by Lords who watched people.” I gave my bookshelves a backhanded wave. “Knowledge. Asking 'why' a lot. The more you know, the more you understand . . . and the better prepared you are to anticipate the future.”
“You've got a lot of books,” Connor nodded, eyes darting around the room. “I almost couldn't believe it when I first came in here, that one night. Are they all like your dad's? Like, stories and whatnot? Most of the stuff I've read are like the notes my dad put in journals, and some of them don't even really make sense to me.”
“They're not all stories like that, no. Some are simply notes, or plans . . . things people noticed and wanted to write down. Some of those books I don't really understand myself, either. Sometimes the writings of other Lords can be downright mystifying.” I sat there and considered him for a moment. “Speaking of things that boggle the mind – how is it you're able to fly? You mentioned letting me know, before . . .”
Connor smiled, and held his palms up in answer.
He appeared to be wearing metal jewelry that looked very much like my climbing spikes, dull metal wrapping around both his wrists like a bracelet, with fairly large black circular pads set into the palm of his hand.
“You activate them, and then they kind of . . . push away from whatever you point your hands at. Dad made them to help with tightrope walking, so you could keep your balance by holding your hands out to either side, but I found a way to make 'em stronger, and since I don't weigh all that much,” Connor said, shrugging his shoulders slightly, “I float. Point them behind you, and you can even run faster, like you're getting a push.”
He said it like it was nothing special, like anybody could do it. He probably had no idea at all that there were people in the city he lived in who would kill him merely for the chance to inspect what was wrapped around his hands, never mind what they might do to own something like that.
I nodded, trying to mimic the same sort of nonchalance Connor was displaying as he held up his remarkable device.
“I see. What about the traps? After you'd robbed me, all of the traps in here were still armed and working. How did you manage? Did you float over them?”
He reached into his rags and pulled out what appeared to be a teak wand. Metal banding ran along it at odd intervals. He set it on the desk before me.
“This,” he gestured towards it, “I can't really explain too well. Near as I can remember, Dad said that it 'displaced the value of time' for anything that had energy. If you have a crossbow, I can show you a neat trick. Put a bolt in it, pull it back, and then one touch of this thing and it's like it forgets how to shoot itself, even when you pull the trigger. The bolt just sits there.”
I tried not to stare in disbelief. Considering how much brainpower I was currently spending on keeping my jaw from hitting the table, I think I did pretty good.
“It, uh-” I began, my voice catching slightly. “It convinces time to go away?”
“For about five minutes, which is kind of strange because if time isn't passing for it, how does it know five minutes are up?” Connor shrugged a little. “But yeah, anything with 'potential energy'. At least, that's what Dad wrote. And to see the energy, you use this stuff,” he said, pulling out a small, softly glowing jar. “Salve, you put some around your eyes, and you can see all sorts of stuff. Traps, alarms, people, anything containing energy kind of glows for you.”
He placed the glowing container on the desk, beside the wand.
I think I forgot how to speak at that point.
For a thief, the implications were staggering. With the stuff he was showing me, even just the two items that were sitting on my desk, I'd be able to break into anywhere I pleased. One trap or a hundred, it wouldn't matter. There was nothing that couldn't be stolen, no matter how secure, no matter how well protected. What might take hours of careful planning, precise information, expert burgling . . . with these, it could be done in minutes.
“Lord Tucat?” Connor asked, looking confused by my reaction.
“It . . . can I?” I managed to croak, reaching towards the small, glowing jar.
“Sure! I've got a couple more containers of it, so feel free,” he said, making a gesture at the jar.
He was giving it away. I had only wanted a closer look, and here he was just giving it to me.
I pulled my hands away, an action that took almost all of my willpower. I shook my head.
“No. Okay, Connor . . . listen to me. Hang on to this stuff – hang on to all your stuff. Don't offer it to me, or anyone, even as a loan. Not yet. It wouldn't be right - you have no idea what these things are worth.”
“It's no big deal, honest! I've got more . . . the stuff lasts a pretty long time, and-”
“Connor,” I said, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose, “how much do you think you would get for a jar of that stuff, if you were to sell it?”
“Don't really know,” he said, giving me a dubious look. “Hadn't thought about it. Eighty grey . . . maybe a gold?”
Gods help him.
“I would pay . . .” I considered the jar briefly. “Eight hundred? Maybe a thousand? Gold, that is.”
Nothing could be heard other than the sound of gently popping torches. Connor looked like the slightest breeze could knock him over. His eyes were positively huge.
I nodded slowly. “And honestly, I'd pay you that amount in a heartbeat . . . because I know some people who would easily pay me three or four times that amount. With just the stuff you've dropped on my desk here, you could probably raise enough cash to retire, find some place in the country, hire some servants . . .”
More silence.
“I think I see what you're saying about knowledge,” he managed to say, finally, retrieving his items from the table.
“Well, as you can see,” I said, waving to the rows upon rows of books surrounding us, “knowledge I've got. In fact . . .”
I stood up from my chair and walked up to my bookshelf. After a few moments I pulled a familiar, well-worn leather bound book from its proper place and, turning, presented it to Connor.
“But, that's-” he began.
“My father's journal. Volume two. Nobody's read these books except you and me, and so,” I smiled at him, “we two may be the only people who know just how hard it is to stop at volume one, considering how Dad ended it.”
He grinned at me briefly, taking the book. Then, he gave me a thoughtful look.
“I don't think I should take this anywhere. Especially with all this rain lately. I don't want it to get damaged. Would it be okay if I came over to read it from time to time?”
“I've asked for a room to be made up for you, and have already told the guards to allow you in. You know, just in case you want to use the front door one of these days,” I said with a smirk. “Feel free to come when you like, as my guest. You can read, or we can talk, whatever. I certainly wouldn't mind getting a look at some of your father's notes, but it's not absolutely necessary. Maybe in time, we'll get you a little better acquainted with how this city works, and what some of your options are. Say, are you hungry by any chance?”
Connor had started nodding vigorously before I'd even finished asking the question.
“Well, here's what you should do. Go down the hall to the right until you get to the stairs, follow them down two flights until you're at the main hall. Head for the arched doorway, go right, then left. Once there, a rather abrupt fellow named Mosond will probably start yelling at you. Tell him that Lord Tucat told you to see him, and then describe to him everything you've had to eat for the past week. Once he's done looking absolutely horrified, he'll make you a few things. In fact, you may have to tell him when to stop, or offer to take some with you or something. He takes food pretty seriously.”
“Thank you,” he said, bobbing his head as he stood up from his chair. “I truly do appreciate all that you've done. Can I ask you a question, Lord Tucat?”
“It's Vincent . . . and yes, provided I can ask you one in return.”
“Why are you doing so much to help me? I mean, I stole from you . . . and even though you've got your book back, it's not like you have to be nice.”
“Well, honestly, I can think of several reasons,” I said, rubbing my stubbled chin, “not the least of which is the fact that I got to see Prince Tenarreau rendered nearly speechless earlier this morning. And, like I mentioned, maybe I want to stay on your good side. I sense a great deal of potential in you.” I smiled at him. “Maybe it's because there's someone you very strongly remind me of.”
“Fair enough,” he smiled. “What's your question?”
“Well, we've barely touched on the stuff you're able to do, and the half-dozen impossible things I've seen this past week . . . well, I'm assuming that you've got all sorts of neat little tricks and devices that can account for all of them. There's just one thing, though, something that still doesn't really make sense in all of this. It's been bugging me this whole time. The wind-whipped translucent rags,” I waved at the abused outfit he was wearing, “the shadowy hood, the glowing eyes. Stealing jewels and grey marks, but leaving the gold. When you were robbing the various Lords about town, the way you looked, the things you did . . . why did you choose to make it appear that you were a wraith of all things? Was it religious? What was the purpose behind it?”
Connor cocked his head at me, frowning slightly.
“Uh, well, grey is easier to spend than gold – nobody remembers a kid spending a couple of grey. Flash some gold and suddenly people want to know where you got it. The outfit was my dad's, and I use it to hide. It got torn plenty over the years, and when I use my grips to float, bits of it just kind of end up going everywhere. The salve makes my eyes glow when I'm using it, and the hood just sort of made sense with all this rain we've had lately.” He looked at me, seeming very puzzled. “Lord Tucat? What's a 'wraith'?”