Will had hoped that the hike would push Bee over the edge to Level 9 before they got to Sheerhome, let her pick up a specialization. No such luck.

They had been gone less than three weeks, but it still felt nostalgic to be back in the city. He didn’t even mind the stink or the stray dogs that terribly. All part of the charm.

Will had never been big on travel, in this life or the one previous. Too prone to homesickness. He would have taken his time passing through Sheerhome, but Mongrel was in a rush. He was anxious to check on Number One. Will couldn’t argue with that.

They trekked back up to the house. Getting close, they could tell that it was still standing, at the very least, and there was smoke coming from the chimney. So that was something.

Mongrel hurried on ahead. Will didn’t think he had ever seen the odd little man run so fast. Sort of like a chicken—neck bobbing, stick legs pumping. The chimps went with him, Number Five riding on his shoulders.

Cries of exultation, raucous laughter, and screaming apes soon confirmed the good news. When the others came into the clearing, they saw Number One sitting on the porch, a mug of tea in his hands, a look of sagely serenity on his face as he endured the violent affections of his brothers. Mongrel looked on, hands on hips, grinning like a proud father.

Will was not so unfeeling that he could look at something like that with a still heart. He smiled. Bee put her hands to her breast, bottom lip quivering. Nix affected indifference, but it was hollow. She felt it, too.

The house was in one piece. The garden had been tended. The chicken had been fed. Number One had done a fine job in their absence.

But the celebrations were short-lived. While Number One was alive, he was not all right. He was aged; gray and wan, with a glassy film over his eyes. Mongrel forced the other chimps to retreat inside with the rest of the team so that Will could have a proper look at him.

“I think it’s just his age catching up with him,” Will admitted. “Not much you can do about that. He wasn’t exactly young when you got him. Familiars’ lives are extended so that they cannot die of old age before their master, but I suppose his years have caught up with him now that he’s no longer in your service.”

Mongrel thought about it for a moment, grasping for solutions like a drowning man for a piece of driftwood. He got an idea, lit up. “It should be fine, though, right? All I have to do is dismiss one of the younger ones, then gain enough levels that I can get him back later. But at least it would make Number One better, right?”

Will frowned at the chimp, considering. “I don’t know about ‘better’, but I suppose it would keep him from getting worse.”

‘It’s okay,’ Number One signed. ‘I’m happy. I’m tired. Let me rest now.’

Mongrel did not accept that at all. There was a furious exchange of hand signs between them, faster than Will could keep up with, only catching snippets. His sign language was rusty compared to Mongrel’s.

But it was clear that Number One was not interested in being re-enlisted into Mongrel’s service. He felt that his end was coming, and he was not afraid to embrace it. Will imagined that he might have been feeling his age for some time.

Mongrel oscillated between furious anger and desperate bargaining. When he didn’t get anywhere with the chimp, he turned to Will. “There’s still the elixir, right?” he said. “Let’s say we use it on him after he dies. That would bring him back good as new, wouldn’t it?”

Will hated to break his brother’s spirit, but he did not back down from the task. He was used to feeding people bitter medicine. “It wouldn’t, Matt. I’m sorry. It just doesn’t work that way.”

“But…”

“Even if it did, I wouldn’t use it.” Will clapped the old chimp on the shoulder, got a gummy smile in return. “It’s his time, Matt. Everyone dies eventually. He’s accepted it. And until you accept it, you’ll only be causing him more pain.”

Mongrel flexed his fists. He wanted to plant one between Will’s eyes, and he couldn’t be blamed for that. He knew that Will was right, he was just having a hard time admitting it to himself. Like a child who could not reconcile the inevitability of death.

“Look at him,” Will said, more harshly than he intended. “He’s happy. And he’s still here. You have time with him yet. I don’t think he will die today, or even tomorrow. Just soon. Until then, cherish your moments with him. Make sure he’s happy and comfortable and surrounded by family. That’s the best you can do.”

“You have no idea how it feels,” Mongrel hissed. His face was screwed up in rage, but he was weeping. Number One put a comforting hand on his leg.

“You’re right, I don’t,” Will admitted freely. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

An outsider might have assumed that Mongrel’s relationship was that of owner and pet. But Will knew that they were all his precious sons. Beyond species, beyond all rationality, such it was. In reality, Number One was likely not many years younger than Mongrel himself. It made no difference.

Will left the two of them to be alone. There was nothing else he could offer. Inside, the others looked up from unpacking, lounging, cooking to hear his verdict. He explained the situation. Bee was upset. Nix looked like she was about to say something insensitive, but held herself back.

He shifted his focus onto more practical concerns. They no longer had enough rooms to put up Oatmeal and Loony unless Nix relinquished hers and bunked up with Mongrel, which she refused to do, citing unsanitary conditions and a preponderance of simian nuisances.

She was not at all moved by the fact that the two freshies would have nowhere to sleep, stating that the two of them could share the kitchen couch. However that was meant to work.

“Have some fucking tact, will you?” Will snapped after a lot of pointless arguing. “If we can’t work something out between the two of us, this is going to fall into your master’s lap. You think he wants to deal with this petty middle school shit right now?”

“I never went to middle school,” Nix pointed out.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“It shows.”

Will was sick of arguing, so he cooked up a temporary solution. He would be headed to Sheerhome that day regardless to meet with Brimstone and collect the bounty on the wretcher, so he would put up the freshies at the Rosy Drake for the night while he was at it.

And, of course, Bee insisted on coming with him to see the lord. Given her track record, that seemed like a fairly terrible idea, but the last thing he wanted right then was another squabble, so he relented. In any case, getting people out of the house would give Mongrel some room to breathe.

The wretcher’s head was a little worse for wear by this point, and it stank something fierce, but there was nothing for it. Carrying the grisly trophy, they made their way into the city. Dropped the kids off at daycare, then headed for the longhouse.

They were stopped at the perimeter of the fortified complex of clustered barracks that surrounded Brimstone’s seat. Guards checked them for weapons. Will had left his at home, and made sure that Bee had done the same. He stated his business, and one of the guards jogged off to get the yea or nay from Brimstone.

Upon his return, he ushered them through with a brusque nod. “The lord’ll see you. He’s in a good mood today. Lucky you.”

Lucky us, indeed.

They climbed the hill atop which the longhouse rested, accompanied by a guard escort. One of them was Rags, the Level 14 Laborer brute who had brought Will to see Brimstone the first time. His reputation was as dark as his scowl. He did most of Brimstone’s dirty work—a right hand man, of sorts. A particularly bloody right hand.

Will grabbed Bee by the arm while they walked and pulled her close. In a low voice, he said: “Remember, behave yourself in there. No matter what Brimstone does, you keep your cool. Let me do the talking. Don’t say a word unless he asks you a question. Got it?”

Bee nodded.

“He’ll expect you to address him as ‘lord’ or ‘my lord’. He’s a stickler for that. Don’t forget.”

“Got it.”

They were taken inside, and the other guards broke away, only Rags following them through the door. They were led directly into the great hall that took up half of the longhouse. It was well lit, with ffife fireplaces and twice as many braziers. Brimstone did like his fire.

The ceiling was high and painted with colorful images of the goddess and her angels performing various miracles and healing men of their troubles. Evidently, the place had been built before the Fall, and no one had bothered to climb all the way up there to paint over it with some new scribbles.

The hall could have entertained forty people comfortably, with plenty of long tables and benches set up, only missing the guests. The place was nearly empty except for a few slaves going about some light cleaning duties and topping up the fires with new wood from a cart.

Brimstone was famously paranoid. Didn’t have a friend in the whole world. Wouldn’t trust his own mother to hand him a cup of wine. Kill someone for blinking treasonously. That kind of paranoid.

It was said that Brimstone never slept for fear of assassination attempts. He had survived nine of them that Will knew of, so maybe his fears weren’t so irrational. Most of what he knew about the lord came second-hand, of course, so none of it was too reliable.

Brimstone lounged at the far end of the hall, a table set up all to himself stacked with plates of food. The fifth fireplace, larger than the others, blazed behind him, making it look like he was surrounded by a ring of flames.

He was an enormous man, equal parts blubber and brawn. He was clad in a sleeveless black and red robe with a thick cord of gold around his neck. His arms and face were ruined by burn scars. He looked melted, like a little girl’s doll put to a lighter by a sadistic older brother. He had no eyebrows left, and only a few strands of long, stripy hair adorned his pate.

There was only one other person in the room, a gray old man standing on the lord’s left-hand side. A Scribe named Shiver. The money man. If there was anyone Brimstone had a modicum of trust for, it was him—if only because he thought him too weak to attempt betrayal.

Will approached the elevated platform upon which Brimstone’s chair-slash-throne stood. He got on his knees and pulled Bee down with him.

“These are the ones, lord,” Rags said. He remained standing next to Will, hands folded behind his back.

“You have something for me?” Brimstone asked through a mouthful of fatty sausage, waving the uneaten half at the two of them.

He did not remark on the fact that Will had gotten his eye back. He probably didn’t even remember putting it out, despite the fact that Will still had the handprint up one side of his head to show for it.

“Yes, my lord,” Will said. He handed the bloody sack to Rags, who in turn gave it to Brimstone. The lord grimaced when he peeked inside, but it evidently did not ruin his appetite, as he finished the sausage and began taking chunks out of a whole roast chicken.

Once he was satisfied, he waved Rags away and told him to dispose of the head. The Laborer stalked out of the hall, moving with all the unrestrained menace of a wolf on the hunt.

Brimstone turned his attention to Will. “What’s your name again?”

“They call me Cancer Ward Will, my lord.”

“Ah, yes. A wretcher, was it?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Its creations?”

“Dead or scattered, my lord.”

Brimstone nodded. “Good. Very well. How much do I owe you?”

“Fifty thousand was the bounty posted, my lord,” Shiver piped up. He stared at the far wall, avoiding any and all potential eye contact.

Brimstone tore another big shred of flesh from the chicken with his teeth and sucked it down. “Fine. My man here will see to the details.” His face and hands dripped with grease, even ran down his arms to his elbows. Evidently, it did not bother him. “And my elixir?”

Will inclined his head, as close to a bow as he could tolerate without sacrificing all his dignity. “Thank you, my lord. The elixir isn’t quite ready yet, I’m afraid. But with the reagents I gathered on my trip, I will have it soon.”

“How soon?”

Will did not know how to respond to that. “Uh… it will be ready within the time frame you had specified.” Then, swiftly, he added: “My lord.” One of these days, he was going to forget that honorific, and Brimstone would blow his head off and have his corpse for dinner. On top of everything, it was said that he had a taste for long pig. Will had no qualms believing that one.

Brimstone looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he shrugged. “Well, whatever. Just get it done.” He cleaned off the last bit of chicken and tossed the mangled carcass smack in front of Will and Bee. She twitched. He sensed a surge of anger in her, threw her a warning glare. She took a breath, calmed down.

Brimstone pointed at her. “Who’s the woman? She wasn’t with you before.”

“Her name is Fumble Bee, my lord. She accompanied me on the expedition.”

“Ah. Laborer, I see.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Build?”

“Brute, my lord.”

Brimstone arched an eyebrow. The lack of hair made it look comical. “She still has her AP crystals.”

“An unconventional kind of brute, my lord. Double attribute point gain in exchange for no skill use.” He was showing too much interest. That could only be unhealthy.

Brimstone considered for a moment, gazing off into the ceiling. He drained a tankard of beer in five long gulps, burped, wiped his chin. “Interesting,” he said, drawing out the word. “I want her to take a spot on my guard. She can report in tomorrow morning.”

Will grimaced. He stared at the floor, did some figuring. Rather, he already knew full well what he had to say. He just dreaded what would inevitably come after. He met the lord’s eye and forced it out. “I’m sorry, my lord, but no. That won’t be possible. She has duties elsewhere.”

“What?” Brimstone did not like to be denied. His face went unnervingly blank except for a twitch of his lip.

Will repeated the words. It did not go over any better the second time.