The Arcanist (11 page)

Chapter Eight

“What the –?”

Edouard was caught a little by surprise when he returned home later that afternoon. The holding looked pretty much as it always did. But all the people who were supposed to be inside it cleaning and such were standing outside the main gate, milling around like confused sheep. So were the handmaidens. That just didn't seem right. And they weren't standing there waiting for him. They weren't even looking in his direction.

That was a pleasant change from Theria. There, when he'd outlined his theories to the king and his inner circle of advisers, everyone had been staring at him, most of them presumably wondering about his sanity. After all, no one could direct a herd of stampeding mammoths. But they'd listened and even the most ardent of his detractors couldn't find fault with his work. While it seemed impossible the evidence did add up.

The attacks on the food stores had particularly caught the court's attention. Not least because there was already word spreading through the city that Theria was running low on food. Famine was coming. Even in his short time in the city Edouard had noticed the worry on people's faces, as they fought at the markets to get any form of preserved food. Whether or not there would be a famine he didn't know. But he did know that the people certainly thought it would happen. And the court knew that that fear could create panic and undermine the realm.

They also knew that certain deaths in the city following the stampede would add to that panic. Murders as Edouard suspected they truly were.

Consequently the king now had people searching for an agent in the city. Someone who had magic of some sort. Someone who was probably new to the city. Someone with connections to the troll wastes. Whether they would find him Edouard didn't know. He guessed it would be no easy task. But at least they were looking. He had done his part.

With that thought in mind he had made the journey home feeling good about himself. Even with a little pride for all that he had uncovered. It was no minor achievement for a third son with no prospects he thought. And he couldn't have done it at all if he had enlisted in the army or joined one of the faiths as many of his peers had been forced to.

Perhaps even some of those who knew him, if only by name, had been impressed by what he'd uncovered? It would make a change. Normally he was regarded as an oddity. A man who lived in a fort and played with his toys. No one had ever considered him as someone of any significance. And there was some truth in that. He had moved to Breakwater in part because he wanted to be able to lose himself in his pursuits, without being constantly pestered to work in the family business. He had been rendered all but useless by virtue of his birth, and his gift and interests made him an eccentric, never one to be taken seriously. And while the court and many of his peers had dismissed him, he had in turn dismissed them.

He liked being an arcanist. Having a gift and a mind to use it. Though it meant nothing to most, it meant a lot to him. The fact that he had no chance of ever holding any position of responsibility he saw as a bonus. It gave him the freedom he'd needed to explore his gift. It had allowed him to become self-indulgent. But today he had proven to both the court and himself that he wasn't completely useless after all. And that was an unexpectedly good feeling.

But his satisfaction quickly disappeared to be replaced with worry as he saw the small crowd gathered in front of his home. After everything that had happened he didn't need more trouble.

Edouard drove the carriage up to the gates a little cautiously, knowing that there was something wrong and worrying about just how bad it might be.

“Hello.” As he pulled the carriage to a halt just in front of them, he became more certain it was very bad. Especially when no one responded to his greeting.

The two cleaners for a start who were standing there watching him as he got out of the horseless carriage, each wearing identical if strange expressions on their faces. Looks that conveyed either horror or embarrassment. Perhaps it was both? Mrs. Menzies, his cook, looked as though someone had hit her in the head once too often, and he was sure that she should be preparing the evening meal by then. And then there were his house guests, Kyriel and Mara, who were both staring away into the distance. He had the feeling that they couldn't face him for some reason.

“Mrs. Menzies, why is everyone out here?” He tried a more direct approach.

Even though she wasn't in charge of the house she was the eldest of his servants, and usually the most level headed. The others looked up to her, especially when there was a decision to be made. By contrast the cleaning girls could be quite flighty at times – that was the prerogative of youth. Though as she turned to face him Edouard noticed that Mrs. Menzies' eyes were downcast and she was determinedly staring at the ground. Her cheeks were bright red. That did not fill him with confidence.

“I'm sorry m' lord. But we couldn't stay inside for another minute longer we couldn't. Not with all the noise an’ all.”

“What noise?” If anything the colour in her cheeks brightened even more when he asked the question.

“Y'er brother Marcus m' lord.”

“Marcus?” That made no sense to him. Marcus had many faults but he wasn't a particularly noisy person, unless of course he was drunk. And besides, he'd been staying with him for nearly a week now, and no one had said anything about any problems they might have with him. Not even the handmaidens who he'd imagined would find him or at least his behaviour unsavoury. Actually he knew they did. They were quite willing to express their displeasure to his face. Besides, Marcus should have been sleeping. After days in the city directing the guards in their duties without sleep, he had needed to rest.

“And that lady.”

“What lady?”

“Denetta.”

“Denetta?” The name meant nothing to him. He didn't know anyone by that name and in truth it didn't sound like a lady's name anyway.

“Their friend.” The cook cocked a finger squarely at the handmaidens, and by the looks of things seemed relieved to be able to do it. Kyriel and Mara on the other hand seemed less happy, possibly even a little embarrassed.

“Kyriel? Mara?” He turned to them, hoping that they could explain and reluctantly they turned to face him.

“Denetta is a handmaiden as well. She came to bring us a message from the Mother.”

But neither of them was looking at him he noticed. They were both staring anywhere else rather than at him. What sort of message could she have brought that would cause such a reaction? Naturally he had to ask.

“Nothing important. Just some words of guidance. But then she stayed for lunch.”

“And?”

“Marcus came down to lunch.” Kyriel started staring intently at her own feet, and her well-tanned cheeks began to almost glow red.

“And then they went upstairs together.” Mara managed to finish off the tale, more or less, while staring at the distant wall, and he finally got the idea.

“Oh!”

Damn Marcus and his womanising! There wasn't a brothel in the city he didn't know backwards, and probably not a lady of the night he hadn't slept with. That was simply his way. But he was never mean with it. He didn't hurt the women, and he always paid. A sinner perhaps, but not a criminal. But a handmaiden? After everything that they had already been through? That was new and there might be consequences when Tyrel found out.

“They were loud?”

“Screaming, yelling, shouting the place down. Often. For many hours.” That didn't sound like a man and a woman being together. In fact it sounded like a battle. Not a good thing when his brother was a powerful warrior.

“I'm sure my brother would not have hurt your friend. Nor acted against her will.”

“It wasn't our sister we were worried about.” Kyriel suddenly found the strength to stare at him, and he saw the truth in her eyes. She was worried, but not for her sister. She feared for Marcus. How could that be?

“I'll go check.” But he stopped even before he walked through the gate as he saw their sister walking out of the holding and understood.

“Oh dung!”

It was the demoness of course, walking proudly out of the front doors like a conquering heroine. In fact the smile on her face was almost indecent as she walked towards them, hips swaying, skin glowing. Even the horns on her head seemed to stand a little bit taller than he remembered.

“Sisters!” She greeted her friends with a huge hug, almost as though she hadn't seen them in months. They weren't quite so enthusiastic however, trying to be polite as she squeezed them half to death. But Edouard didn't care about that just then. There were more important things to worry about as he realised his brother might be in trouble.

“Marcus?” Edouard was worried. His brother could be dead or dying.

“Magnificent!” She put her sisters down and licked her lips embarrassingly. “He rode me as I have never been ridden before. So many times. So very strong. Tell me, does this skill run in the family?”

It was Edouard's turn to be shocked as he tried to think of something to say, and failed. Demons were always so forthright about private things. They were always happy to talk about matters in public that should not be spoken of outside of the bed chamber. It was embarrassing. Not that his brother wouldn't do exactly the same. But he put aside the shock as he remembered that there was still one thing he had to make sure of.

“Is my brother all right?”

“He's fine. Tired, maybe a few bruises and sore muscles. The odd scratch. But he was the one who rode me. I could not have hurt him if I'd wanted to. Which I didn't.” For the longest time Edouard stood there, trying to think of something to say, and failing. Trying not to turn red and failing in that as well.

Denetta took advantage of his state to walk straight past him and the others, heading for the town at the bottom of the hill, and like a fool he simply let her go. He didn't actually know what else to do. It wasn't until she was half way down the hill that his wits finally returned to him.

“Mrs. Menzies can you please send for the town physician to attend to my brother immediately.”

Because the one thing he was certain of was that as strong as Marcus was, he was not nearly as strong as a demoness. And in bed, undressed with a woman with claws and the strength of a bull, that could not be safe. Eventually he remembered that he had legs and used them, running inside the house like a mad man.

Inside, he took the stairs three at a time, something he'd never done before, and somehow made it to the first floor without falling flat on his face. Then he ran the length of the hallway to Marcus' room. Flinging the door open, he barely even noticed the crash as it smashed into the wall, and rushed in.

“Marcus!”

Edouard yelled his name as he ran to his brother, and when he didn't answer, yelled it again. Then when he still refused to wake up he started shaking him, trying to wake him up any way he could. Maybe it wasn't the cleverest thing to do, because it later occurred to him that he could have made whatever injuries Marcus had sustained worse, but he was desperate.

“What?” Marcus opened his eyes a crack and muttered angrily at him, but Edouard didn't care how angry he was. At least he was alive.

“Are you hurt? Injured? The physician's on the way!”

“Physician? Why?” Marcus was still muttering away angrily at him, half asleep and obviously trying to return to his dreams, but if nothing else Edouard knew his mind was working.

“Because Denetta could have killed you you great oaf! Are you hurt? Move your feet.” He had to keep yelling it at him at the top of his lungs as Marcus it seemed was determined to return to his sleep. But eventually he got something of a response. Marcus tried to bat him away with a hand, and then rolled over to put his back to him before starting to snore again. 

That was good – people with crushed spines couldn't do that so he understood – but Edouard had to wonder why he was so tired. Surely a little bedding couldn't wear out a man so greatly? Even when bedding a demoness.