Lucien’s only warning was the smell of oiled steel in the air. A whipping sound struck at his throat and his body instinctively produced a dagger from beneath his pillow and blocked. His whole body kicked out of the sheets and at the place his attacker’s head should have been. Instead, his shin met an expectant hand. He finally managed to drag his eyes open to find himself dangling by his shin from his father’s iron grip.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” “Umm… defending myself?” His father looked disgusted. “Tell me something, Lucien. Where does the power of a kick come from? A GOOD kick, mind you.” Lucien looked sheepish. “The, the ground?” “Yes. The ground. More accurately, the support of the earth beneath your feet pushing you up whenever you push down is the only thing that makes your kicks even vaguely impactful. So what the HELL were you thinking, trying to kick me IN THE FACE after jumping 4 FEET IN THE AIR?! I’m going to give you EXACTLY what you deserve for that.” With that, he unceremoniously dumped Lucien onto his head and sheathed his sword. “Do better tomorrow.”
He stopped and looked back over his shoulder as he left the room. “Your mom made hotcakes. They’re still fresh. If you aren’t out in time, I plan to eat your share.”
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The young lord of the manor was coming down the hill again. Lucien resolutely ignored him and continued trimming the tree he was working on. It was springtime again, and that meant that the hedges and trees were, quite literally, bursting with life. In consequence, many trees were growing too wide and entangling their neighbors, while the hedges seemed to grow spikes and protrusions at random intervals, making the whole of the property appear scraggly and unkempt. Lucien knew that it was a beautiful property. Every servant who had ever worked there knew it was a beautiful property. But, until he and Mr. Everest, the head butler, were finished, no guest would ever be able to tell exactly how lovely the property truly was. So he trimmed.
“Oi! Lucien!”
Lucien steeled himself. He ignored the first call. He summoned up as much self restraint as he could muster.
“Lucien!”
Lucien extracted himself from the tree and faced Reynald with his most perfect condescending smile. “How can I be of service, young master?” He leaned forward, so as to be both audibly and visibly looking down on his shorter counterpart.
“The chef has made meat pies,” declared the young man.
“I see. And what does this have to do with us, young master?” Lucien knew, he just didn’t want anything to do with this request. The younger man spoke. “I want one of them.”
“If you wait, I’m sure you will get your share with dinner. I imagine you might get as many portions as you wish, considering how the lord Mayor dotes on you.”
“That may be so. But, I want them now. I don’t want to wait till dinner. I’m hungry now, and all the chef will give me are cucumber sandwiches, and all while the smell of pie is filling the room. No.” He shook his head, to emphasize his point. “I demand pie.”
Lucien just barely choked down a sigh of exasperation and forced his smile wider. “I’m certain that if you simply ask the chef for the pie, he’d be more than willing to accommodate you.”
“No, he wasn’t very helpful when I demanded some earlier. If all the noise I made didn’t sway him, I can’t imagine him changing his mind now. No, you’re going to have to steal it.”
This was not unusual. In fact, this sort of behavior was rather the mark of the young lord. He spent his time in a perpetual cycle of being demanding and temporarily placated. Further, it was not unusual for Lucien to be roped into the young lord’s schemes. Lucien was, officially, young lord Reynard’s personal Hand. He was bound to the young lord for the foreseeable future. What a miserable lot in life it was. Nevertheless, Lucien would always follow the young lord’s wishes in the end. Circumstances had conspired to make him quite the obedient servant. A healthy mix of fear, guilt, duty, and pseudo-precognition granted to him by facing his parents' wrath lent him a distaste for the consequences of shirking these demands; one which was far more powerful than any grievance he may have found with defrauding the rather disagreeable kitchen staff.
There was another reason that Reynald kept returning to Lucien. Lucien had never failed a task.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Lucien set down his tools and strolled slowly towards the manor house. He was in the process of forming a plan of action, a process that would require some thought. As he passed through the entrance, he waved to Cheri, one of the maids of the house. He flashed her a quick grin but resumed his pensive face as he approached the door to the kitchens. He knocked on the door.
The chef opened the door suddenly and forcefully. He was flushed and sweating, and he glared daggers at Lucien as he towered over the boy. “I thought I told the young lord that he would have to wait just like everyone else in the household. Who does he think he is?! And he has the gall not to come himself, but send a messenger instead?! Absurd! You’re not getting any pie until dinner, and neither is he. That’s final.” The chef crossed his arms and redoubled his glaring.
Lucien just smiled a friendly smile.
“Listen, friend. I know the young lord is a stress-inducing individual. I know this all too well. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened, and it most likely won’t be the last.” Lucien’s voice was placating, commiserating, tired. He spoke slowly and quietly. He enunciated every syllable clearly and fully. “I, personally, am sent on missions to appease his selfish wants on almost a daily basis.” He widened his smile a bit, his cheeks briefly forced his eyes closed. Then he resumed, “However, I would like to hold a brief conversation with you, if you wouldn’t mind. Would that be alright?”
This chef was new. He didn’t know much about the household or its staff. He opened the door a bit wider and let Lucien in.
“Now, I wanted to lay out the situation as I see it. If you will permit me a measure of monologue?” The chef sat on a stool, propped his head up with his elbow, and made an annoyed face, but waved Lucien on anyway. “Fantastic. Now, as I see it, you and I have limited options here. There are, of course, options, Everyone has options, always, at all times. Decisions and their consequences, regardless of intention, are the lifeblood of reality as we know it. But the options laid out before us, at the moment, I’m afraid are rather grim.” He widened his smile once more, and retracted it again. It lightened the blow of his words perceptibly. “I could, of course, follow through with your expressed wishes. Let’s call that option one. I could walk away, no pie in hand, and return to the young master with nothing to show. He would become angry, with me, with you. He would complain to his parents. He would have me reprimanded and you... punished.” In reality, the punishment would likely be a mild censuring, but Lucien dragged out the word and put a glint in his eye and a twist in his smile to imply something truly terrifying. “And in the end, he would still get his pie. You, however, would find yourself in a hostile work environment, one that most likely wasn’t your first choice. In fact, I’d wager it was your last. Not many options for a chef in a backwater town like this.” The chef flinched a little and his expression grew darker.
Lucien hurried on. “Option two! Option two is this. Everything is the exact same as option one, but after we’re done and I’ve left, I come back and STEAL the pie. I am well capable of this. My father is training me to become a shadowalker, like himself before me, and I am... quite adept. As such, this option not only eliminates the threat to me, it also invalidates your reason to fight. If you no longer control the pie, your belligerence to the young lord is entirely pointless. He gets his pie, I do not face reprimanding, but you... still... get... punished. Personally, I plan to choose this option, especially as long as you continue to refuse to assist me here.”
Lucien leaned his back against the counter.
“Option three. In option three, you willingly hand over the pie. You might even throw in a topping or garnish or whatnot, as well as a silverware spread, and I take it all back to the young lord, and most likely all is forgiven. No one is punished. No one is reprimanded. No one faces a grueling work environment, at least, no more so than normal. We all go about our day, and no one gets in each other’s way, and everyone has a nice afternoon.”
Lucien stood up again, slowly, as not to spook him. He lifted himself up to his full height, put his friendly smile back on, and adopted a courtier’s stance. “Obviously, option three is the best for everyone involved. However, be made aware that option two is not an empty promise. I will give you two minutes to decide.”