Training the next day was interrupted by the arrival of the representative from the Platinum Rose Auction House.
Harald and Sam were engaged in footwork drills in the back patio when she suddenly straightened, face momentarily going blank.
“No time for panic attacks,” drawled Vic from where he lounged in a recliner, a hand towel draped over his face. “Keep at it, young disciple.”
“There’s a guest at the front gate,” she said, tone businesslike. “Harald? I think you should hurry and put something formal on.”
“Who?” asked Harald, rising from his stance, thighs burning, face dripping sweat. “And formal? Now?”
“Now,” agreed Sam, striding toward the patio. “I’ll do my best to delay them while you prepare. I’m getting a sense of great importance and dignity. My guess? It’s the auction house.”
“What’s this?” Vic sat up. “An auction? I love auctions!”
“They’re just taking inventory,” said Harald, and with a groan he set off at a jog. It was hard to rush when all he wanted to do was lie on the floor, but somehow he stripped, stepped into an empty bath and poured cold water over himself, did his best to lather, rinse, then emerged, still sweating, to dress in an elegant but light doublet and breeches. Boots, a belt, and then he went to brush his locks only to remember with a start that they were gone.
Collecting a more robust handkerchief, he descended to the sound of gentle conversation in the first parlor. Sam stood in the doorway beside two women dressed in elegant pink and white robes, and when Harald passed into the airy, sunlit room he saw Vic standing by the bay window, a cup and saucer in hand, an older man seated in an armchair, hands folded in his lap.
The stranger wore an elegant robe of deep crimson stitched with complex and subtle gold patterns, the sleeves voluminous, the cut at once modest but luxurious. His beard was neatly trimmed, his mustache long, and his hair was bound back into a tight bun, and so finely oiled that it appeared lacquered. His features were ageless, his hair a perfect black, so that he could have been anywhere from thirty-five to fifty.
“…and that’s when I realized that it was an expert duplicate,” Vic said, which, to Harald’s surprise, caused the older man to smile. “But despite how much I had paid for it, I had to declare myself content. Can you guess why?”
“To possess a forgery made by his mistress is a rare acquisition,” allowed the older man. “Especially since it is believed that Piragalo’s greatest works were actually created by her.”
“Indeed! Ah, Harald.” Vic turned to him with a broad smile. “I was just regaling Master Ling, the esteemed representative from the Platinum Rose Auction House, with my misadventures in purchasing fine art. Honestly, I’d have fared much better with his aid.”
Master Ling inclined his head. “Your friend is too modest, Master Darrowdelve.”
“Master Ling,” said Harald, moving forward to bow formally. “You honor my house.”
“Master Darrowdelve, it is the Platinum Rose Auction House that is honored.” Master Ling’s manner was easy, calm, and utterly professional. Though he didn’t look Harald up and down, he surely couldn’t help but notice his host’s disheveled appearance. “We received a most intriguing invitation to pay your estate a visit, and I was pleased to personally attend this venture. How have you been?”
Harald accepted a cup of tea from Sam, and then sat. For awhile they engaged in pleasantries, an exchange that was greatly facilitated by Vic’s effortless charm; where Harald was stiff and artless, Vic seemed to know exactly when to be courteous, when to be roguish, and how to make countless allusions to history and art that seemed to delight Master Ling.
Finally, the introductory conversation over, the representative set his cup aside. “Well, as pleasant as this has been, I am, unfortunately, here in a professional capacity. How can the Platinum Rose be of assistance, Master Darrowdelve?”
Harald sat up straight. “My family fortunes have never recovered from my father’s death. I’m afraid that despite my best efforts I must now accept reality and take responsibility for my situation. As such, I was hoping you could survey the contents of my manor, and explain how we might proceed by putting everything but the contents of my father’s study and the gymnasium below up for auction.”
Master Ling raised an eyebrow. “Everything?”
“Everything,” said Harald firmly.
“Everything of value,” said Vic, tone almost careless. “Obviously there’s much within these four walls that are beneath the notice of the Platinum Rose.”
Oh. Harald nodded hurriedly in agreement.
“Very well.” Master Ling rose to his feet. “I am glad to provide what assistance I can.” He nodded to his two assistants, who immediately opened satchels to draw forth leather-bound notebooks and quills. “Shall we begin here?”
“Of course,” said Harald, rising to his feet. “I’m at your service.”
For the next hour they drifted from room to room. Sam took the lead, using her Item Catalog skill to guide the representative to the objects of most value.
To Harald’s regret Vic excused himself, so that he was left to follow the contingent by himself, scrutinizing Master Ling as each item was displayed and trying to gauge how impressed the representative was.
The assistants took diligent notes, copying every comment that Master Ling made as he inspected the furniture, artwork, and books in the library. He seemed mildly interested by the tapestries in the upstairs hallway, and paused to sigh over some of the more exquisite pieces of hand-carved furniture crafted from rare woods and inlaid with precious stones, along with the obvious silverware and gold plate. They spent half a bell in the library, with Master Ling demonstrating a patience and focus that impressed Harald as he went book to book, checking the titles and editions against what had to be an encyclopedic knowledge, though nothing seemed to particularly satisfy him. Finally, Harald’s mother’s harp drew the most approving expression of all, and the assistants spent a good five minutes transcribing Master Ling’s in-depth description.
When they were done, Harald was surprised to find himself exhausted in a completely different manner than before. He felt raw and exposed, as if Master Ling had passed his fingers over the deepest secrets of his family and found them wanting, for as they gathered in the entrance hall, the representative turned to Harald with a polite smile and raised brows.
“Is that all?” His tone was silken and nonjudgemental, but his gaze was piercing. “Your father was a hero in his day, and his deeds are still sung in every noble hall.” That, Harald, knew, was a lie. “Surely he left something behind of note?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Harald. “He wasn’t a collector, and he took all his gear with him on his last venture into the dungeon.”
“A pity.” Master Ling slid his hands into his sleeves. “But the world is as it is. Thank you for your gracious hospitality, Master Darrowdelve. You have honored me far beyond my humble station by granting me access to your illustrious home. We shall confer and provide you with a base estimate for those items that the Platinum Rose would be interested in placing on auction. Please expect to hear from me within a week.”
“Thank you.” Harald knew there was more he should say, but the words eluded him. “You have honored me and my home by your visit. I look forward to hearing from you.”
Master Ling bowed his head, and then he and his assistants departed.
Sam and Harald stood outside on the front landing till their guests were gone from view, and then entered the manor. The moment the front doors closed Harald sagged. “That was excruciating.”
“What an awful old man,” said Sam. “You would think we were showing him rancid cuts of meat.”
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“It was that bad?” Harald stared at her in shock. “He seemed interested, especially in Mother’s harp.”
“Oh, he couldn’t help his salivating over that piece.” Sam blew out her cheeks. “But he must have a powerful Passive skill that made him impossible to read. Even my Guest Acumen was coming up blank.”
“It’s all over?” asked Vic, wandering out of the kitchen with a glass of wine in hand. “What a lovely old poisoner. Delightful.”
“Delightful?” asked Sam. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, but I am.” Vic grinned. “I love old monsters like him. Their scheming, their false ways, their ingratiating smiles, their polite phrases. All the while their minds are spinning as they concoct schemes to defraud the world of every last Copper Moon. In their own way, they’re as predictable as children.”
“Well, he left me feeling like crap,” said Harald. “You’d think I was showing him around a hovel.”
“Oh, that’s his job.” Vic waved around his glass. “Who do you think he works for? You or his miserly auction house? He’ll come back in a week with outrageously low estimates, but offer to give you some prime auction hour if you double the house’s commissions, and darkly intimate that without such a spotlight you might as well not waste his time. Don’t worry, I’ll be on hand.” Vic winked. “I know just how to handle old bastards like him.”
Harald couldn’t help but laugh. “And where did you learn all this?”
“Where?” Vic grinned. “That would be telling, old son. Now. Based off my level of inebriation, you should be at work on your Marheim weights. Am I wrong? Of course not.” And he narrowed his eyes and said in a dangerous tone: “Get to it.”
“Yes maestro,” chuckled Harald, immensely relieved to have to contend with sand bags instead of Master Ling. “With pleasure.”
* * *
Days passed in an agony of sweat and burning muscles.
Life contracted to a continuous state of extended effort and bloody-minded determination.
Pre-dawn runs. The damp and old sweat smell of the gymnasium. The feel of a blade as Harald swung it again and again in mindless routines. Heaping plates of grilled chicken and vegetables. Naps stolen when he could get them. Long afternoon walks wearing a weighted vest. Vic’s endlessly abusive tirades.
Moments when he thought he had nothing left to give. Moments on all fours in the gym, heaving for breath, trying not to vomit. Moments lying in bed at night, too exhausted to sleep, where he wondered if he’d simply gone mad.
But Sam’s presence did wonders to keep him going. Not only did she encourage him, push him, cajole him to keep going when he felt faint or weak or overwhelmed, but her own strength and fortitude, her own enthusiasm for the blade and training inspired him.
He was seeing her in a completely new light. Her speed, her focus, her own boundless reserves of willpower. She still rolled her eyes at Vic, but after his help with Master Ling she was less likely to snap at him.
There was no doubting that she was more physically capable than Harald. Faster, stronger, more resilient. She often did double the workout that he did, such that by the end of their sessions she was just as exhausted and soaked in sweat.
But she never gave up.
Vic’s mood, however, only seemed to sour the closer they got to the seventh day. He drank more, was more cutting with his comments, and each day insisted in ever more from them both.
But that didn’t phase Harald, either. Everything with Vic was a test. From that first day of extreme discouragement to that evening’s offer of warm soup and sleep, Harald realized that Vic was constantly probing, pushing, testing his resolve.
Doing everything he could to make him fail
And knowing that took the sting out of his friend’s jibes, his heart-felt sighs of disappointment, his impatience, his insults.
On the morning of the sixth day they had a new visitor. The three of them were eating lunch in the kitchen—Harald couldn’t remember the last time they’d eaten in the formal dining room—when Sam’s head snapped up and she frowned.
“A new guest.” She stood and smoothed back her hair. “By the Fallen Angel, I look like a mess.”
“Who is it?” asked Harald around a mouthful of grilled beef and onions. “Master Ling?”
“No, it feels different. Familiar, but… one moment.”
And she strode toward the front of the house.
“She’s a keeper,” said Vic, lounging back in his chair. “Which is why I still can’t fathom your ending her oath. She’s too good for you, Harry-boy. You should have kept her lashed to your side.”
“She’s not a dog, Vic.”
“Far better. She’s a little too muscular for my tastes, though her athleticism will be a blessing, I’ll grant you that, and her demeanor too serious, but she’s kept you and this house afloat for years.” Vic sighed dramatically. “Though I guess that’s all going to change regardless. A pity. I’ve enjoyed visiting you here.”
“You can still come visit wherever I end up,” smiled Harald, putting his annoyance aside.
Vic looked affronted. “Do you think I’ll darken the doorway of your hovel in the hopes of a cup of salty water?”
“You saying you only come round because of my wine cellar and manor house?”
“But of course!” Vic laughed, eyes glittering. “You can’t have told yourself it’s your charm, can you?”
This kind of cruel jesting was nothing new; in the past, before Vorakhar, Vic would occasionally engage in this faux-honesty to the amusement of everyone else. Harald would laugh along, uneasy, but not daring to challenge his friend.
But those days were over.
Harald set down his fork. “Are we friends, Vic? Sometimes I can’t tell.”
“Oh no, save me from direct and honest conversation.” Vic rolled his eyes and looked away. “Don’t be a bore, Harald.”
“Seriously. You’re a wastrel and a lethal killer. You can converse with a representative of the Platinum Rose about art, and then spend your nights at the Kitty Kat Club with abandon. You only ever tell me you value my wine and estate, but then you agree to train me for a week. Which are you, Vic? A cold opportunist, or just a cruel friend?”
Vic leveled a flat stare at Harald, and the silence between them drew out until Sam appeared in the doorway. “Ustim Flowervault is in the first parlor. He’s here on official business, he says, but is happy to wait at your convenience.”
“Is he now,” said Harald, wiping his mouth and standing. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
“Flowervault?” Vic smiled. “What an absolutely wonderful name.”
For a second Harald was tempted to invite Vic along; surely his friend—or whatever he was—would know how to both read and handle Ustim. It felt so tempting to just hand over these weighty obligations to Vic.
But instead he simply marched out of the kitchen. He wore his training clothes, and no doubt reeked of sweat, but he’d be damned if he’d run upstairs to bathe like he had for Master Ling.
Ustim stood by the bay window, hands linked behind his back, gazing out over the wild front garden. He turned as Harald entered, and his dark gaze flicked up and down, taking in his appearance.
“Ustim,” said Harald, stepping forward to extend his hand. “I suppose I should have been expecting you.”
“Master Darrowdelve.” Ustim shook his hand gingerly. “My apologies for not coming sooner. It’s been a mess at the offices, what with the last Shuddering and all the deaths. A nasty business.”
“The last Shuddering?” Harald couldn’t control his curiosity. “I hadn’t heard.”
“You haven’t been getting out much, I see. Yes, a Level 7 Shuddering. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but it took place at Fourth Bell, and caught the plaza guards by surprise. It was quickly contained by the scale-golems; we were fortunate that the House Veridian Bronze Eagles were on hand, as well as a competent delegation from the Nihtscua, but still.” Ustim shook his head with grim disapproval.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yes, well.” Ustim inhaled sharply and then smiled. “How are you, Harald? I know we haven’t had much contact, but to be frank, I’m growing ever more concerned about your welfare.”
“I’m well, Ustim. Thank you.”
“Is that so?” Ustim studied him. “Master Yeoric came by my office and asked me to write up an amendment to the charter. It seems you challenged him to a duel, the outcome of which will allow him to end all financial obligations to you?”
Harald bit back his sharp retort, and instead sat in an armchair and leaned back. “Yes, Ustim. I demanded he return the scales he stole from me.”
“I see.” Ustim also sat. “You are aware, of course, that Yeoric is an accomplished raider?”
“I am.”
Ustim hesitated. He clearly wanted to drive the point home, but Harald wasn’t giving him any opportunities. “I… to be clear: have you manifested any advantage of which I’m unaware? Gained a class, perchance? Because if not, Harald, you’ll be fighting a Level 3 warrior. Yeoric is no trifling opponent.”
“I’m well aware, Ustim. Thank you.” Harald smiled. “I’m confident in my ability to defeat him and gain back what was stolen from me. Especially as there seems to be no other legal recourse, given what you told me.”
“Yes.” Ustim opened his briefcase and drew forth a sheaf of papers. “The charter clearly states the terms of the investment you made, which include the amount you claim were stolen.” He sighed dolorously. “This is a nasty business. To think that there can be this kind of corruption in our ministry. A sorry state of affairs.” He glanced at Harald. “Though, after our last conversation, I gathered that you didn’t want me to press forward with an inquiry? I was under the impression that you had decided to simply move on to more lucrative affairs?”
“Your impression was wrong.”
Ustim raised his brows, waiting for Harald to elaborate, and when he didn’t, he frowned. “I see. Well. You have sorely provoked Yeoric. You promised him a second Horizon’s Whisper, but he doesn’t believe you have the scales, thus making a mockery of the terms of the duel.”
“He has to defeat me for the matter to be relevant.”
Ustim winced. “Alas. A law was passed in 745 under the Martial Reformation Act to prevent frivolous dueling terms from clogging up the courts. It was, it seems, a means of civic disruption at the time. According to Article 3, Proviso B, when there is reasonable doubt that a party to a duel will be unable to pay their obligation should they lose, then the courts can be asked to place an injunction on said party to secure the amount wagered and ensure that it is available at the time of the duel in case of a loss.”
Harald’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying, Ustim?”
The old man hesitated, as if pained. “Yeoric has invoked this clause to place a hold on a Horizon’s Whisper worth of scales. Representatives from the Flutic High Court are waiting outside to seize the appropriate amount as soon as you and I are done with our dealings here.” Ustim grimace. “I’m sorry, Harald. But you’re going to need to sign and surrender the scales immediately. Unless.”
“Unless?” asked Harald, trying hard to maintain his neutral expression even as shock made him numb and overwhelmed at the same time.
Ustim leaned forward, his eyes glittering. “Unless you’re willing to listen to a proposition of mine. I’ll be honest. I think it’s your only way out of this wretched mess you’ve gotten yourself into.”