Lucas spent the rest of the day imagining a grand feast laid out for them, and once the Viscount arose, he explained to him the plan. Unfortunately, Gerwin forbade a grand feast in the house. He said it would be too risky. “If all the servants find out Lord Parin is back, it won’t be long before the guard knows it too!”
He was right, of course. Lucas didn’t try to argue that, especially not when he found out they’d still be served a lovely dinner in the barn.
The Viscount protested that they served their guest in such a miserable place, but nobody paid him much mind at this point. His servant ignored him because the old man obviously knew better. His sister ignored him because she was still concerned about the extent of his injuries, but Lucas ignored him more than the other two combined because he could see that Lord Parin was going downhill fast.
Not healthwise. In terms of healing, the man was almost completely out of the danger zone. He could get up and walk around, and he no longer needed Lucas to be his nursemaid.
Unfortunately, that made him more of a pest than ever, and the lord spent the remainder of that afternoon and the following morning pestering Lucas as he wandered around the grounds. Sometimes, it wasn’t so bad when he told him stories about the area or shared some gossip about their neighbors, but inevitably, the conversation always returned to drugs.
“I’m better now,” the man insisted. “You said so yourself. So if I had my manservant Gerwin fetch a few silver, perhaps I could—”
“I don’t think he intends on listening to a single order you give him until your name is cleared,” Lucas interrupted, dodging the topic. “He’s more like your sister’s servant these days, no offense.”
“Yes, well, be that as it may, a few silvers from the Parin coffers are almost as easily replaced as they are obtained,” the man continued, “and another dose of your little miracle drug should go a long way toward—”
“Are you even listening to yourself?” Lucas asked, suddenly spinning around and pointing his finger in the other man’s face. “One fucking hit, and now you’re down so bad you’re practically begging. That’s pretty weak. Honestly, I’ve seen professional junkies hold up better than you. Get a hold of yourself.”
He hadn’t, actually. What Lucas saw in the disheveled appearance of Lord Parin was pretty much par for the course. He could practically see himself in the man’s shoes back when he’d been hooked on smack, but the man had appearances to keep up, and so he was hoping that pride would be a useful pressure point.
In this case, it turned out that it actually was. Instead of arguing back, as he’d obviously planned to do, the noble crumpled like a cheap suit. “God’s, you're right,” he agreed. “I know I shouldn’t, but I… it haunts my dreams, you know? Part of my mind tells me that just one more taste of heaven would fix that, but it would just make things worse, wouldn’t it?”
“It would,” Lucas agreed. “But if you give it time, that urge will get weaker, and by the time this whole thing with the prince blows over, you won’t even miss it at all.”
“But that’s never going to blow over without money, is it?” Lord Parin asked, picking up a branch and swinging it in frustration. “It’s like you said; we need to make more of your fabulous potion and start selling it. I know more than a few dilettantes that would be eager enough to—”
“Adin, no one ever told you this before, so I don’t blame you for not knowing, but there’s one simple, ironclad rule to this game: ‘Never get high on your own supply,’” Lucas said with a shake of his head. “And right now, if I got all the equipment and set up an operation, there’s no way I could trust you to stay clean.”
“I can,” the noble said earnestly, in a voice that was very nearly pleading. “Maybe if you were to give me a watered-down version to ween me off, I could…”
“See what I mean?” Lucas laughed coldly, but it was for effect. “The first time I turn my back, you’ll be dead in a ditch.”
He’d done what he’d done, both here and on Earth to get by, but there was a difference between knowing the damage he was doing and seeing it firsthand. He’d been making a point not to get too cozy with addicts for years now, and this was why.
“I wouldn’t,” Lord Parin said, shaking his head from side to side, “I wouldn’t…”
His words trailed off as they heard the sounds of someone approaching. His sister had managed to get almost all the way to them before either of them had noticed she was there. The sun was setting now and hanging low and red in the sky, blinding them in that direction.
“Wouldn’t what?” she asked sweetly.
This time, she was wearing a somewhat subdued forest green dress with what looked to be riding boots. For a second, Lucas wondered if this was her version of being incognito or dressing for a stroke through the wilderness, but was quickly distracted by such adorable thoughts when her brother quickly answered, “Would never betray you! I was just letting our guest Lucas know that he could stay here without fear as long as he wanted.”
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“I should hope not, dear brother,” she smiled. “That man saved your life, and the gods damn those who treat their guests poorly.”
“What can we do for you?” Lucas said, trying not to roll his eyes.
“I just came to tell you that our little dinner, simple as it might be, has been served,” she said with a mock bow and a stern imitation of her serious manservant, but halfway through, she folded and ended up laughing all the way to the barn with the two of them in tow.
Lucas had been expecting some cold cuts or maybe some leftovers, but instead, there was a full three-course meal waiting for them in there, complete with wine. Someone had even moved a table large enough for four in there and set it just like the main table Lucas had so recently pilfered.
“Wow,” he said, checking out the roast and the rest of the food, “I’m impressed. You’ve outdone yourself, Jeeves!” Lucas exclaimed.
“Gerwin,” the man said stiffly, standing at one end of the table with his mistress’s seat pulled partway out, “but you can call me sir.”
“Yeah, I know,” Lucas said, sitting down at the opposite end of the table. “Jeeves is a term of respect for servants where I come from. It’s like Alfred, but you know, classier.”
“I see…” the butler said, even though he obviously didn’t. Instead, he sidestepped the conversation and began to serve everyone the first course of salad and dinner rolls.
Lucas dug in immediately. It was good, and so was the squash soup and the pork roast that followed it. It wasn't as good as the ribs at the chop house he’d been frequenting in the meat packing district since he’d started turning a steady profit on his blue, but it was not something he’d ever turn down either.
He left the two Parin siblings to dominate the conversation as they caught up on all that had happened. Adin complained about the cell, the dank conditions, and even the fact that he was home but couldn’t sleep in his own bed. His sister, on the other hand, asked questions about what could be done to fix the situation, but to Lucas, most of the answers that the Viscount gave his sister sounded like bullshit to him.
“I’ve already sent a letter to the magistrate, but I will send another one promptly,” he assured her. “Even though the King should never have been able to take our herds for grazing on the common, the very fact that he’s done so means that we are owed compensation! Between their value and the damages I expect we shall receive, that should be more than enough dragons to clear even our father’s ferocious debts.”
The butler said nothing, but even as Denaria opened her mouth to dispute some part of that, Lucas noticed that the man raised an eyebrow at some part of what the Viscount had said. That didn’t surprise Lucas. The way the man’s story was slowly shifting back and forth certainly seemed to indicate that there were larger things in play here. At the very least, Lord Parin was downplaying them, and worst… well, that wasn’t Lucas’s problem.
Tomorrow, he'd be in the wind. He wished this lovely but dysfunctional family the best, but it wasn’t his problem. At least it wasn’t supposed to be.
“...and if that isn’t enough coins to settle the tax debts, then… Lucas and I will go into business making healing potions to pay off the difference.”
“You will?” Denaria asked with a growing smile.
“We will?” Lucas asked in complete confusion. “I was actually—” He’d tuned out of the conversation for a moment, but he had no idea how things could have gotten to this point.
“We will,” Lord Parin answered in a tone of self-assured finality that made Lucas want to punch him in the nose.
“Why, that’s wonderful news!” Denaria said, fixing Lucas with her beautiful green eyes, “Thank you so much for agreeing to help us with this, Mister Sharpe. We really do appreciate it.”
“I…your brother and I still have some things to work out, and we weren’t supposed to talk about it yet,” Lucas said through gritted teeth. “I have other commitments and…”
“All of that will be worked out,” the noble said with a dismissive gesture that made Lucas’s blood boil even more. As far as he was concerned, this was a conversion that was going to be settled by fists at this point, so he busied himself, stuffing his face with the last of his roast so that he didn’t start cursing up a storm. His fury was building, though, and even Denaria’s unexpected hug when he’d finished and was leaving failed to quell it entirely.
Instead, it just continued to slowly grow, and when Lord Perrin opened his fat mouth to explain when they were nearly at their dilapidated cottage.
“Listen, I know we were still talking around the edges of this, but my sister, she— Ahh! Lucas, what in the pits?” he cried out as Lucas punched him in the mouth without any warning.
“She honestly might be better off without an asshole like you in her life,” Lucas said, shaking his hand to try to get rid of the sting. “I’m not staying. I have no plans to stay, and your problems got nothin’ to do with me, alright?”
“No,” Lord Parin agreed, “But they’re a lot worse than I told my sister. Even before the prince had me locked up, we were teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, and now this. We need your help—”
This time, Lucas didn’t punch him in the mouth. He punched the noble as hard as he could in the stomach, doubling the man over and making him retch. It was a low blow after such a big meal, but he didn’t care.
“You know I’m beginning to see the pattern of behavior in your little sob stories, Adin,” Lucas said, shaking his head in disgust. “And the pattern is, you have no idea what the fuck’s going on, do you? Why would I even work with you? You’ve got no knowledge, no skills, almost no capital to speak of, and you’re already fiending? You’re about the worst possible choice I could imagine.”
“I… I can learn, and I have a place…” he gasped. Lucas raised his fist again, but when the man finished talking, he paused. “Please. This isn’t about the blue. We don’t even have to make it, but you’ve already made half a dozen healing potions with nothing but a cooking pot and the things you found on the ground. If you could just show me how, then I could…”
The man flinched, but Lucas’s blow never landed. Instead, he sighed and said, "you know what? It’s too late for this shit. I’m going to sleep on it. If I’m still here in the morning, well, that’s your answer.”
The Viscount kept talking, but Lucas just waved him off, went into the cider house, and laid down on his bed. Right now, he was completely over it.