Chapter 10. The Old Ways

“Conspiracy!” Delilah shouted. She slammed a packet of files on the table, rattling the breakfast dishes.

Jeremiah, Bruno, and Allison cleared away their remaining bits of toast and tea as Delilah began pulling certain pages from the pile to show them. “Look,” she said. “These are some of the first lawsuits we were served, the details of the grievances are laid out here. We were found liable for a couple, partially liable for a couple, but not liable for most of them. Then, in the second round of lawsuits—”

“Delilah,” interrupted Allison, “you’re just going to end up explaining this again, but simpler. Can we skip to that?”

“Would it kill you to—ugh! Fine.” Delilah traced a line of minuscule text. “I realized there are particular turns of phrase, grammatical errors, and even spelling errors repeated between suits. Counselors reuse their writings all the time, but these were all filed by different nobles with different legal teams!” 

She looked around and sighed as no comprehension dawned on her comrades. “Which means we are not being subjected to a chaotic deluge of lawsuits from a bunch of angry nobles—this is a coordinated effort to ruin us. They sue us, the lawsuits resolve, they decide what worked and what didn’t. Then they adjust new suits to be more effective and come at us again!”

“Probe the defenses for weakness,” said Allison, nodding.

“Casing for the big score,” said Bruno.

“I don’t have an analogy, but I know what you mean,” said Jeremiah. “How bad is it?”

Delilah dropped into her chair. “It’s hard to say from this. I know they’re out there, but I don’t know how many, or how well-resourced they are.”

Allison poured a fresh cup of tea and placed it in Delilah’s hands. “Let me and Bruno look into that,” she said. “Between Hector and Bruno’s contacts, we’ll be able to at least figure out who’s involved.”

Delilah sprang to her feet. “Perfect! That gives Jay and me a chance to follow up another loose end. I’ll go get my things.” She gathered up the pages and rushed from the table, leaving her tea untouched and her friends exchanging worried looks.

It had been a challenging negotiation, but Jeremiah was finally able to convince Delilah to let him stop by Thurok’s workshop by reminding her that their found rune could only help them if he learned more about it. Now, he stood before a veritable monument of books, scroll cases, and steel plates, all organized in a system that was indecipherable only to Thurok.

He reached towards a book that seemed promising, but hesitated. Thurok had always personally handed him any book he intended Jeremiah to read, and that made Jeremiah nervous. A mage’s library was the nervecenter of their work, where rare and valuable books co-mingled with personal notes about the very secrets of magic. They were known to have security measures.

His finger hovered over the book’s dusty spine, debating. He could just ask Thurok for information, but if he explained why he needed it, he’d have to show Thurok the rune. He couldn’t risk what might be the most valuable contribution he’d brought to the party in a long time.

A sound from behind him made Jeremiah whirl. Thurok stared dispassionately at him from the doorway. 

“Sir, I, uh, I was…just curious,” Jeremiah said.

“Curiosity kills.” Thurok moved into the room and pulled the door shut without moving his eyes from Jeremiah’s. The library was hardly larger than a closet. Jeremiah became suddenly aware of how much space the half-orc occupied.

His mind cast about for something to say, and he remembered something Bruno had once told him about lying. Tell them what they want to believe . “I…I’m sorry. You caught me. I wanted to learn runes faster than you've been showing me.”

“You’ve been a slow, miserable student. Now you return from that greedy thuggery you call ‘adventuring’ and you’re full of ambition?” Thurok’s face revealed nothing, his gaze unflinching. Jeremiah started to sweat.

Bruno’s voice whispered in his ear. Wrap the lie in a truth, like poison in wine.

“Sir, I was just so useless during the adventure. Without necromancy, I’m no better than…well than a thug with a spear. And until I improve my enchanting, I’m going to remain useless. I only know eight runes. I hoped I could look at some of your books and maybe find—”

“A shortcut,” said Thurok. The venom in his voice was so powerful Jeremiah took an unconscious step back. Thurok’s hand shot out and grabbed Jeremiah by the throat, holding him perfectly still.

Jeremiah waited for the grip to choke the life out of him in a rage, but it was steady. He took a cautious, shallow breath.

“Move. Forward.” Thurok said. His voice had a dangerous edge to it, a warning. Jeremiah sensed something behind him, something moving closer. He heard the groan of wood straining, and the hairs on his neck stood on end. Thurok’s gaze rested on something behind Jeremiah.

Jeremiah stepped forward and Thurok moved aside to allow him to pass. They swapped places Thurok released his throat. Jeremiah dropped to one knee as air rushed into his lungs and he was overcome with a violent coughing fit. He heard the groan of wood once more, but when he looked up, all was as it had been before.

“I blame myself,” said Thurok. “I should have known your laziness would drive you to such means. I’m only glad I did not return too late when my alarms were triggered. You owe me your life, Thorn.”

It was then, with his proximity to the floor, that Jeremiah spotted something he had never noticed. The wood grain on the floor boards, every single line, was enchantment runes. Thousands per board flowed seamlessly, even across the heads of nails. As his eyes traveled up, he followed them to the towering shelves. The runes, no thicker than threads of spider silk, covered everything in the room. Thurok looked down at him, a master framed by his craft.

“I understand your frustration,” said Thurok.

“Huh?” Jeremiah stared. Thurok had never before shown anything approaching empathy. It was eerie.

“Yes. I grew up in savage conditions. Born of the Flayer Clan, farther south than your kind travel. A place of ice and wind. I was small, weak, despised for surviving infancy. Useless.” Thurok’s face remained blank.

“I’m sorry,” said Jeremiah.

“Meaningless,” said Thurok. Then, “You may access my library, Thorn.”

“R-really?”

“Until I declare otherwise. Do not allow this freedom to interfere with your duties.” Thurok swept out of the tiny room, leaving Jeremiah equal parts elated and confused.

Jeremiah accompanied Delilah to the old quarter of Dramir. The homes here were grand but restrained, grouped together like stooped old men sharing memories. Short gates presented patinated coats of arms to signify which once-esteemed family resided within.

“Here we are,” said Delilah. She stopped before the coat of arms that matched the one on the crown, currently tucked away in Delilah’s professional robes. “We are expected. Now, don’t-”

“Slouch, talk out of turn, make jokes, be disrespectful, fidget, fuss, complain, comment, or otherwise embarrass you,” said Jeremiah. They stared at each other for a tense moment. Jeremiah slapped her hand out of the air as it jumped up to fix his hair.

“Fine. Just let me do the talking,” said Delilah.

“Why am I even here?” asked Jeremiah.

“Because Bruno is busy and these old family patriarch types sometimes won’t speak with a woman,” said Delilah. They passed through the modest garden and Delilah rapped the lion headed door knocker. 

Jeremiah had enough time to grow bored before the door opened to a distinguished, albeit gray-looking human. He was dressed not in the typical livery of a butler, but in finery that had seen better days. “Might I help you?” His voice low, nearly a moan.

“Delilah Fortune, Jeremiah Thorn. We’re here to see that master of the Marquette house,” said Delilah with the slightest bow. “Do I have the pleasure of addressing him?”

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“That would be my father,” said the man, with a hint of distaste for the word. “I understand you have something for him? I’ll see Father receives it.”

“With respect sir, we would be remiss to not hand the item over ourselves,” said Delilah, inching forward to make closing the door more difficult. “We have recovered a form of relic belonging to your family, one quite old, and we would like to negotiate its return.”

The man sighed. “Fine. Enter then, I will alert father to your presence. With luck, he will be capable of speaking with you.”

Jeremiah and Delilah entered the dusty foyer, while the scion of the household climbed the narrow carpeted staircase.

“Father!” he bellowed from halfway up the stairs, causing Delilah to jump. “You have callers!” He turned to Delilah and Jeremiah. “Father will join us momentarily, unless he died,” he said, without a hint of humor.

“You damn well wish I was dead, you pathetic rotten spunk of a son!” came a voice. A man as frail and delicate as paper limped to the top of the staircase. He shivered uncontrollably despite the burgundy robe that wrapped him tightly. The son made no attempt to help his father as the elderly man descended, and Jeremiah saw his eyes continuously flick towards his father’s feet.

“Your audience is granted,” said the son with a dismissive wave, and departed.

“Lord Marquette?” asked Delilah.

“Call me Arnold,” said the man, nearing the bottom of the stairs. Jeremiah stepped forward and offered a steadying arm. Arnold looked inquisitively at Jeremiah’s arm before taking it and allowing himself to be helped down the final steps.

“Lord…wait, Lord Arnold Marquette?” said Delilah, looking astonished.

“That’s right, why the surprise?” asked Arnold, he squinted suspiciously at Delilah.

“She’s just surprised you’re still alive,” said Jeremiah.

Delilah’s head whipped to glare at Jeremiah, her ponytail wrapping and hitting her in the face.

Arnold laughed, “You and me both! My son’s been waiting for me to die for at least a decade now, lazy trash. Come to my office. You’ll forgive an old man who loathes leaving his favorite robe.”

“I will kill you,” Delilah hissed at Jeremiah as they followed the elderly lord. “I will kill everyone who looks like you!”

Arnold Marquette’s office was a small library containing a desk, a few trinkets and a thin layer of dust throughout. Whoever cleaned it came around infrequently.

“To what do I owe the visit?” asked Arnold. He produced a bottle and three small glasses from a desk drawer. Whatever liquor was contained within had fermented long past its date, and the cork came loose a bit too easily. The smell overwhelmed the room in a moment.

Delilah cleared her throat. “Lord Marquette, my name is Lady Delilah Fortune, and this is my associate Jeremiah Thorn. We have—”

“The necromancer, right?” said Arnold. He poured three glasses of opaque brown liquid from the bottle.

“Enchanter nowadays,” said Jeremiah.

“Cost a lot of people a lot of money, you did,” said Arnold.

“I apologize,” Jeremiah began, but Arnold waved a hand and passed him a glass.

“Fah, none of my money. Serves them right, with their banks and ledgers. If you’re not holding it, it’s not yours.” He turned towards Delilah with another glass, but she held up a declining hand. Arnold glowered at the hand and set the tumbler between himself and Jeremiah.

“Lord Marquette, we have come into possession of—” started Delilah, but Arnold interrupted her again.

“Pleasure before business,” he said to Jeremiah, and they tapped their glasses together.

Jeremiah didn’t give himself time to think and threw back the liquor. It could only be described as pungent. Thanks to Bruno, it was far from the worst drink he had ever had.

Arnold wiped a dribble from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. “Now then, what’s the business?” he asked Jeremiah.

Delilah cleared her throat again. “We found something belonging to your family.”

“Let’s have it, then,” Arnold said, still speaking to Jeremiah.

Delilah sighed, but produced the crown. 

Arnold took it and flipped it over to inspect. “Hah, you were deep in the weeds when you found this! I recognize it from some old family texts. Passed down for several generations, a legacy treasure.” He hefted it and dug a nail around one of the pink sapphires, as though to check if it would come loose.

“Yes. We’d like to return it,” said Delilah.

“You already did,” said Arnold. He inspected the sapphires closely.

Delilah closed her eyes. In a moment, her demeanor shifted. “We require a reward for its return,” she said curtly.

“There it is,” said Arnold. “I’ve got no time for courtesies and curtsies.” He set the crown atop his head, his neck straining to hold it up. Then he opened a drawer and set a bag of coins onto the desk. At least a dozen gold spilled out.

“We need a favor, not money,” said Delilah, though her gaze lingered on the coins.

“Oooh, she’s a smart one, is she?” Arnold asked Jeremiah.

“Very,” said Jeremiah.

“Hurry up, what sort of favor? The house of Marquette doesn’t have quite the reach it used to, but maybe I can help,” said Arnold. He removed the crown and began fiddling with it again, rubbing the jewels.

“My associates and I are in some legal trouble,” said Delilah. “I have reason to believe there’s a conspiracy to destroy us by means of abuse of the law and its levers. We need to get out from under it.”

Arnold scowled at the request, and regarded the Marquette family crest, framed on a wall. “Was a time the Marquettes would be the ones running that conspiracy. Now we weren't even invited. There’s no house built strong enough that time won’t pull it down eventually.”

“Your house still stands, one way or another,” said Jeremiah.

Arnold nodded. “So it does, so it does. Quite the feat for a line of humans. I fear it ends with my idiot son. That lazy bastard wants all comfort and no responsibility.”

“Surely your house has survived incompetence in the past,” said Delilah.

“Aye,” said Arnold. “I’ll say this, my granddaughter has the old blood in her. She’ll raise us up once more, I’m sure of it. So long as her daddy doesn’t whip the fire out of her.” Arnold continued to nod at the coat of arms, his mood slowly improving, Jeremiah could see him imagining a stronger future.

“I’ve got precious few strings and contacts left to tug on,” Arnold said at last, “but the ones I’ve got are no small-time crooks and bureaucrats. Probably I can’t solve this for you, but I’ll see if I can put you in touch with someone who can.”

Arnold started to extend a hand to Jeremiah, but at the last minute turned toward Delilah. “Deal?”

“Deal,” said Delilah. She shook Arnold’s hand.

Arnold's face broke into a mischievous grin. “Now, forgive an old man for showing you how badly you just got had. I don’t get chances like this often anymore. You’re an enchanter, Mr. Thorn?”

“To a limited degree,” said Jeremiah.

“Can you charge an enchanted item?” asked Arnold, the grin growing wider.

“I can…smaller ones anyways. Wait, is that thing…?” said Jeremiah. He had studied it every which way, inspected the crown closely, and had seen no sign of enchantment at all.

Arnold cackled. “Go on, make it glow!”

Jeremiah looked to Delilah, but she just watched him, her lips a thin line. Jeremiah took the crown from Arnold and spoke the spell to bring an enchantment back to life. 

To his surprise, there was a place for the power to go. The sapphires lit up a brilliant pink as he poured magic into them. Jeremiah staggered from the input, the sheer depth of magic the crown could contain. He let it run through him while Arnold laughed and laughed. 

Finally it was complete. Miniscule lines of enchantment glowed in convoluted patterns inside of the sapphires.

“How?” thought Jeremiah, “how do you inscribe enchantments inside of gemstones?”

“Give it! Give it here!” said Arnold, grasping for the crown, frantic eagerness infusing his frail body. His withered and bony fingers snatched the treasure. With an expression of ecstatic victory, he lowered it onto his brow.

The rosy gems glowed fiercely for a moment, illuminating Arnold’s pallid and delicate skin. His eyes bulged wide, and glistened with a renewed clarity. “My my. I haven’t felt this way for quite some time,” said Lord Marquette. His voice was measured and soft, clear and contemplative.

“Are you okay?” asked Delilah. She was trying to peer beneath the crown at the pink glow, that even now was fading.

“Indeed, Lady Fortune, quite so,” said Lord Marquette. “Previous readings detailed this crown as a source of authority within our family. Supposedly it imparted wisdom and insight to the wearer. I can see now that sometimes legends cannot fully capture the truth.”

Lord Marquette surveyed the room, as if seeing it for the first time. His eyes found the coat of arms and hardened. “Not just yet,” he whispered to himself.

“You’ll keep to your end of the deal?” asked Jeremiah.

“Very much so, Mr. Thorn, and then some,” said Lord Marquette. “I will ask you to take your leave. I may yet have more strings than I previously believed—I have an entire lifetime to remember.”

Jeremiah and Delilah exited the manor the way they’d come. “So, there are magic items that can make you smarter,” said Delilah.

“Seems so,” said Jeremiah.

“And we had one,” said Delilah.

“Mm-hm,” said Jeremiah.

“I’m mad at you,” said Delilah.

“Fair,” said Jeremiah.