It took 22 minutes before the door opened once more. By then, a veritable army could have entered his manor. Time was vital to nobility, so most of them had a persistent time spell granted by a bauble or ornament — his was a ring on his right hand.

The duke saw Jeremy standing on the other side of the door, seemingly hesitant to enter.

The wizard placed a mat on the ground and wiped his feet before entering. He was surprised Jeremy would take time to be considerate, even after the incident at the Corner Shop™.

“How was the —“ he couldn’t even describe what he thought he heard was happening. “Is your shop alright?”

“Just bandits, milord,” Jeremy answered. “Shelby took care of most of them — all of them, really —before I got there. By the way, do you have need for horses? I acquired around a dozen of them, but I already have a mount.”

Duke Cedric couldn’t keep his left eye from twitching. They had cavalry! Yet they couldn’t defeat the wizard’s snail!

“Is your snail — Shelby — doing well?”

“Hardly a scratch, milord” Jeremy answered, his eyes darkening. “It was the sheer audacity of attacking the Corner Shop™ and Shelby that got me riled up.”

“Did you find out who sent them?” he asked. “Was it Randson?”

He knew Randson assembled his troops last night. He didn’t think the attack would be today or target Jeremy, for that matter.

“I did see Lord Randson standing by a burning ceramic shop during the evacuations,” Sebas offered. “Maybe the place was significant to him?”

Cedric frowned. His men were keeping tabs on several ceramic shops after hearing about certain ties to spying activities. So far, they haven’t found signs of illicit activities — maybe they were searching in the wrong places.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jeremy shrugged. “Lord Randson would simply deny his involvement. The bandits didn’t have any markings or insignia on them — and it’s their word against a lord’s.”

“What happened to the… er… bandits?” Cedric asked. Did he massacre four dozen men, or did his snail do it for him?

“They’re perfectly fine,” assured the wizard. “I have a dozen kids tending my fields. I had them take care of the soldiers and provide healing.” Jeremy looked a bit confused. “There were some sobbing and screaming when they went about healing the soldiers — but that was probably the trauma of it all.”

He has kids guarding trained soldiers? Then again, the snail was there.

Duke Cedric sighed. Maybe he should suspend his view of what was normal when it came to the Blackstaff’s son.

“You said something about the cultists.”

“Yes, milord.” Jeremy seemed distracted. “They were the reason I visited in the first place. But then those bandits came to the shop and attacked poor Shelb—“

“Ehem,” Sebas coughed, stopping his master from babbling.

“Of course, the cultists,” Jeremy stopped. “Do you want to see them, milord — they’re in the basement?”

Cedric raised an eyebrow. What basement? My wine cellar?

“Lead on.”

Sebas led them to the wine cellar.

Jeremy kept talking about his poor snail — but Cedric was thinking about the poor soldiers who faced it. A five-foot snail borne from the elemental earth was a juggernaut that could trample small armies.

“Here, milord,” bowed Sebas as he motioned at the door.

Cedric frowned, mentally taking points away from the butler for his inconsiderate decision to house cultists in his wine cellar.

He opened the door — and closed it.

“That’s not my wine cellar.” Duke Cedric did his utmost to keep his composure after seeing the room beyond.

Beyond was the right term to describe the room, as it was more akin to hell than a wine cellar.

“It’s great, right?” Jeremy beamed. “Turn the knob to the left, you’ll get the wine cellar. Turn it to the right, you’ll get a small slice of hell.”

The wizard kept opening and closing the door — showing him the changing rooms.

Cedric wanted to scream. Now the absurdities were in his own home.

“Maybe a key would be better,” he suggested, forcing himself to smile. “You know — kids.”

“Of course, milord,” Jeremy seemed disappointed. “Sebas, kindly make the duke a key.”

Sebas brought out two keys from his pockets. It seemed like the butler was expecting his reaction.

“The red one will open the door to the red room, milord,” Sebas explained. “It’s not hell milord, just a small elemental bubble that we accessed.”

Cedric exhaled, glad that there was no portal to hell in his home.

“You can even use it for gatherings,” the wizard added. “Get your cooks down here to grill and stuff — the fires are perfect.”

He did note that the fires were mostly situated on the sides of the large room, though he could see a few tongues of flame rising from cracks on the ground.

The surprising addition to his home almost made him forget about the cultists. There they were, in a corner of the room, bound and gagged. Two of them encased in ice — or was it glass?

“The cultists, milord,” Jeremy presented them. “They belong to the Serpents of Prophecy. One of the more irritating ones, according to my father.”

So even the Blackstaff has trouble with this cult.

“Father said they tended to whine and cry,” Jeremy spat. “Ugh, so irritating.”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Cedric slumped. Indeed, the Blackstaff and his son should not be held to normal standards.

They were either insane, wholly arrogant, or just disconnected from the thought process of normal people. He turned to the butler and saw the hints of a frown and an eye twitch — it was probably the last one.

“Did you interrogate them?”

“Yes, milord.”

“Do I get to interrogate them?”

“I would rather you didn’t, milord.” Jeremy frowned. “These cultists have knowledge — knowledge that can be poisonous, milord. I suggest you leave them to their fates.”

“Fates?”

“I will be sending them to hell — real hell, this time.” An idea seemed to light up the wizard’s eyes. “Do you have a particular hell you want me to send them to? Fiery? Cold? Boring? Itchy?”

Itchy? There’s an itchy hell?

“I would still prefer to talk to them,” Cedric insisted.

“That would be unwise, milord.” Jeremy darkened. “Once you talk to them, milord — I would be forced to put you in my sights, guarding against the time you turn.”

“The words of cultists won’t sway a cousin of the king’s,” he declared.

“As you will, milord,” the wizard seemed saddened.

He interrogated the cultists for close to half an hour. The wizard had a spell that compelled them to tell the truth — not that it was needed, given the state of the cultists. They were broken and scared, as if they knew their inevitable fate.

The Blackstaff’s son was right — their words were poison. They pleaded with the duke, revealing secrets of their cult. They told of binding their souls to infernal agents to gain power, manipulating the hearts of men with carefully chosen words, even immortality.

The last was the biggest temptation — especially to nobility. Which noble didn’t want to rule his dominion indefinitely — watching it grow and prosper under his constant rule. Even his cousin might be tempted by the lure.

Cedric shook his head.

The wizard was right — there would be no further interrogation.

“Drowning.”

“Pardon, milord?”

“Take them to a hell where they would forever be drowning.”

Jeremy paused, seemingly thinking.

Sebas pulled out a notebook — flipping through pages until he found the right one.

“That would be Demergar, Master Jeremy,” Sebas remarked. “Hell number 592-b.”

“Oh yes, I remember now,” Jeremy beamed. “I keep confusing Demergar with Ocustae.”

The duke merely smiled, uncertain of how to react. They even have a list — how sinister… and efficient.

“One is where you drown in water,” Jeremy went on. “The other is where you drown in insects.”

“Water will do.”

The duke left the room.

He didn’t want to see what would happen next, and he was shaken by the knowledge from the cultists.

The Blackstaff’s son was wrong. He didn’t have to set his sights on him — the knowledge of the cultists would not sway his soul.

For he had a secret — a secret not even his loved ones knew.

He was content and weary of living. Immortality was the last thing he wanted. What he wanted was an end to it all — a calm oblivion.

He wouldn’t end himself for no reason — there was his wife, kids, and grandkids to consider. However, he was content with his life and felt he had accomplished enough.

There was no point in extending his life. Spellcasters grew wicked with age — he didn’t want to distance himself to his family as most old wizards did.

He would accept his death when it came.

He frowned.

The Blackstaff’s son didn’t give him enough credit.

***

“Master,” Sebas hesitated, “why didn’t you press the duke on Lord Randson’s attack?”

“Oh, that?” Jeremy answered. “It wasn’t important. Not that it mattered.”

Sebas blinked. His master had a way of disregarding what other people would note as significant.

“Then there was you.”

“Me?”

“You said you saw Lord Randson watching a shop burn.”

“I did,” Sebas confirmed. “He looked grim — angry, even”

“The shop was probably his,” Jeremy mused. “He wouldn’t send his men if he didn’t lose something significant. He probably blamed me.”

“I see.”

“I would probably feel the same if the Corner Shop™ burned down,” his master admitted. “Especially if the fires went beyond the storefront.”

Sebas figured out his master’s thoughts. The ring of hellfire was under his master’s control and he did his best to limit the scope of its destruction.

“So the lord’s basement is safe?” He asked.

“Probably,” Jeremy answered. “Most likely.”

“Should I head there and alert the duke?” Sebas asked. “Lord Randson was probably hiding his wealth there to avoid paying taxes.”

“Don’t involve the duke,” Jeremy waved. “Take a look for yourself. We could always pay the lord’s taxes ourselves.”

Sebas frowned. It felt a bit like stealing. Then again, Lord Randson didn’t seem to be an upstanding person.

“Take Shelby,” his master suggested. “You two can go swimming like you told me, that way nobody would notice.

Sebas bowed and left the room.

***

The tingling sensation was almost unbearable. This is itchy hell!

Sebas was riding Shelby as the two phased beneath the ground towards the city. The snail agreed to their master’s proposal — seemingly eager to take him with her.

Now he knew why. It was payback for making her wait so long underground when they were hunting a cultist.

“Locus.”

Detect Space * Divination * Space

Effect: Gives the caster an awareness of space, allowing him to determine his location, exact directions, and distances.

The butler guided Shelby with his hands, urging her to delve deeper into the ground.

Bountiful’s walls were surprising. They extended deep into the ground, most likely to discourage sappers.

Sebas made sure to guide Shelby away from basements. A monstrous snail suddenly appearing in your walls would probably be a horrific sight — or a great practical joke.

After a few minutes, they arrived at their destination.

The room was surprisingly large, allowing Shelby to move about as she wished. The snail seemed to be relieved it was out in the open, so to speak, even if they were still technically underground.

Sebas lit one of the lanterns inside the room, allowing him to transition to normal vision.

There were very few ceramics in the room for a ceramic shop’s basement. Instead, it looked more like a study — if a study had piles of gold in one corner.

The butler found a few ledgers on the floor, seemingly thrown or discarded. He picked one up to read.

“This is….”

Sebas hurriedly gathered the other ledgers. It seemed like Lord Randson was bribing multiple officials and servants of various nobility. Some nobles even had some of their kin on the take.

Why didn’t he take them with him?

It was bad. The butler realized what the ledgers meant to Lord Randson. With them, he could corrupt and blackmail specific people to influence the city or glean vital information. If only he knew who he was spying for. He should tell the duke after returning to his master.

The sound of clinking metal made him turn towards the pile of gold.

“Shelby, don’t eat those!”