Harald stilled.
The world became like fractured glass, a composite of disparate shards that were suddenly revealed to fit together all too well.
Ustim was watching him with avid, hungry intensity.
His question hung in the air.
It prompted an immediate response, whether emotional or a simple demand for more information.
But Harald felt his emotions grow cold. His body, strangely, relaxed. He stared at Ustim, and something in his gaze made the older man narrow his eyes and draw back.
And in his mind’s eye, Harald saw Vorakhar’s leering visage leaning in close, peering him in the eyes, measuring his worth, gauging his potential. He saw the demon’s leer become a grin, saw the hunger in those oil-black eyes, saw the amusement, and felt as if the memory were alive, as if the demon were aware of his predicament, was amused by it.
Ustim coughed into his fist. “I’ll elaborate. I am, unfortunately, well aware of your financial predicament. After all, I myself made the first loan to help you offset living expenses four years ago, to the tune of, oh, let me see…” He drew out another official looking document. “The handsome and not negligible sum of two Horizon Whisper’s. On which, I may add, I charged very little interest, interest which has since compounded to… an additional four Zenith Tides.”
Ustim glanced up, expression alert, apologetic, expectant.
Harald stared at him.
“Thus,” continued Ustim, discomfited, “I have made some discrete inquiries and are aware that you owe something in the area of four to five Twilight Infinitums. Harald.”
He removed his glasses and adopted what he no doubt thought was a grandfatherly expression of concern. “How did it come to this? You cannot hope to keep Darrowdelve Manor. The interest payments must be crippling.”
“What do you want, Ustim?”
“All I’m saying is that I’m aware that you’ve been backed into a corner, through no fault of your own. Life is cruel, and finances unforgiving. I’m as aware as anyone else of your sincere efforts to -”
Harald leaned forward, and now he did smile, but the expression only served to unnerve the older man. “Ustim. Quit the charade. I know now who doctored the charter. Why it looks freshly written. Who advised Yeoric of Article 3. There’s no longer any reason for pretense. Just tell me what you want.”
Ustim fidgeted with his glasses then placed them back on his nose. “I declare I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Harald. Regardless. My loyalty to your father induces me to take extreme measures to help you. I will vouchsafe you the Horizon’s Whisper so that you may duel with Yeoric as you desire, or, if you want me to make this all simply go away, to speak with him and settle the matter privately. Further, I’m willing to look at your finances and lend my considerable acumen in helping restructure your loans, perhaps even come up with a new payment plan that can help you retain some sense of hope in keeping your home.”
Harald waited, still smiling.
“In exchange…” Ustim coughed and sat up straighter. “Allow me full run of the manor for a week. I would bring a team of expert dwarven architects and miners to explore the premises. And should they find any hidden rooms, you would agree to give me the entirety of the contents discovered therein, without qualifications.”
Harald nodded slowly and sat back. Heard, as if whispered in his ear, Master Ling’s words: Your father was a hero in his day, and his deeds are still sung in every noble hall. Surely he left something behind of note?
Ustim waited, expectant, and then quirked his head to one side. “Harald, I’m sure I don’t need to mention how serious this matter is. If the Flutic High Court finds you unable to provide a Horizon’s Whisper worth of scales, they will find you in contempt of Flutic dueling law and place an injunction against your home, commandeering whatever assets they deem necessary to satisfy the proposed wager. And I am sure you don’t have enough to cover such a requisition. Harald.” Ustim leaned forward. “You stand to lose your house, today, now. Unless you agree to my help.”
“Sure.” Harald stood. “Wait here. I’ll be back.”
Ustim bolted to his feet. “If you seek to escape -”
Harald turned back to stare at him.
“I mean,” said Ustim, sitting back down. “Yes. But don’t take long. The Flutic High Court -”
Harald strode from the parlor. Sam was in the entrance hall, her expression pale with fury, but he passed her and made for the kitchen.
Vic wasn’t there, nor was he in the second parlor or the wine cellar. They found him in the back patio, stretched out on a recliner, his towel back over his face, humming as he sipped directly from a bottle.
“Vic.” Harald sat on the recliner next to him. “I need you to do me a favor.”
Vic didn’t move. “What is it, Harry-boy?”
“You work for Countess Sonora.”
Now Vic did lift the corner of his towel. “On occasion. Not that she boasts the fact to polite society. What of it?”
“You can contact her directly.”
Vic sat up smoothly, pulling the towel off his face and eyeing Harald warily. “You’re making me nervous, darling. Spit it out.”
“Secure a loan for me. A single Horizon’s Whisper, to be repaid when I win the duel against Yeoric.”
Vic raised both brows in delighted surprise, then laughed and slapped his knee. “You had me worried there for a second, Harald! You look so serious. A fine jest.”
“I am serious.”
“No, you’re deluded, is what you are. A fine difference.”
“She has the capital.”
“That’s not the issue. The question is: why should she throw it away on a no-account son of a vanished hero who stands not a chance in hell of winning this duel?”
Burning conviction arose within Harald like flame from blown-upon coals. “I don’t know. That’s what you’re going to convince her of.”
“Oh Harald.” Vic’s smile turned pitying. “I fear -”
“Both Master Ling and Ustim are after something hidden in this house. Some wealth of my father’s. Ustim has coordinated an entire sequence of events to force me into allowing him to search the premises with a team of dwarven architects. Has offered to cover the loan himself if I agree to let him keep whatever he discovers, no questions asked.”
Vic stilled, grew wary.
“My father hid something in this house that they’re after. It’s mine. But if you get Countess Sonora to cover my Horizon’s Whisper, I’ll guarantee you to not only cover the payment from whatever we discover, but to double what we’ve already agreed to pay you. Two Zenith Tides.”
Vic tapped his chin, then leaped to his feet and began to pace. “Tell me everything Ustim said.”
Harald did so, his accounting bloodless and factual.
“Now, this is a much more dastardly predator than poor Master Ling,” said Vic. “But yes. I agree. Ustim has gone to some length and risked some official censure by taking these steps. And all to force this issue. Alas! He has played his hand to forcibly.”
“So you’ll secure the loan?”
“But of course.” Vic dropped to one knee before Harald and seized his hand. “Are we not boon companions? Brothers from different mothers? Had you any doubt?”
Harald stared at his friend.
“Just one slight modification.” Vic released Harald as he moved back to his recliner. “I’ll be cashing in a large amount of good will with Countess Sonora. She won’t accept a one-for-one return. We’ll need to provide some recompense. And I myself won’t take such risks without a little more inducement. Say, five Zenith Tides.”
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“You bastard,” hissed Sam from the doorway.
Vic shrugged modestly. “It’s a cruel world, Sam. We all do what we must to keep our chins above the water.”
“A Zenith to Countess Sonora, five to you,” said Harald.
“Highway robbery,” said Sam, her eyes wide, her hatred for Vic blazing. “You stab your friend when he needs you most.”
“He is currently conversing with Victor Carmine the Rapier Regent, esteemed member of Countess Sonora’s little murderous band. Vic the charming wastrel shall return promptly once business is concluded.”
“Fine,” said Harald. “Deal.”
“Then shall we shake? I do love little symbolic gestures.”
Harald shook Vic’s hand and stood. “Come with me.”
Vic glanced to Sam. “When did Harry-boy get so… commanding? I love it. Gives me goosebumps.”
Harald strode back to the first parlor where Ustim was rifling through his papers.
“Ustim, this is Victor Carmine, a representative of Countess Sonora.”
Ustim set his briefcase aside and stood, confused.
“Master Carmine has guaranteed that Countess Sonora will cover the Horizon’s Whisper.” Harald’s stare was cold. He felt himself a statue of living ice. “I’ll sign the amendments to the charter now, and then speak with the Flutic High Court representatives. I’m sure they’ll wish to escort Master Carmine to the Sonora Estate.”
“I—but, I mean, this is preposterous,” spluttered Ustim. “This man—”
“Flowervault, is it not?” Vic snagged Ustim’s hand and began to pump it. “I don’t know what you were about to say, but I’d urge caution. The youth of today has grown terribly lax with their manners and decorum. They have more in common with feral dogs than the esteemed nobility of yore.” All the while he continued to shake Ustim’s hand vigorously. “An ill-considered comment, or worse yet, an accidental insult, could unleash a world of lamentable violence. Consider the upholstery. Neither of us wants to see it ruined, do we?”
Ustim’s eyes had grown wide behind his spectacles. “The… upholstery? I… no, of course not, unhand me, young man!”
Vic did so, his smile wide. “Good, good. We understand each other. Alas, for you to be treated in such a vulgar manner. I can’t wait for you to run home and complain to your wife about it. No wife? Your servants. Are you too miserly to afford any? Your dog, then. Did it die of boredom? But you have the air of a taxidermist. You can vent your spleen to its stuffed corpse. An exciting night for you.”
Bewildered, Ustim gathered his papers and placed them back in his case. “Harald. Think carefully on what you’re doing here. Thus far you’ve been treated with kid gloves. Slap my hand away, and it will not go well for you.”
Harald extended his hand. “Amendment, Ustim. Now.”
The older man extended the form. Vic peered over Harald’s shoulder as they read it together, and then nodded to Harald. “Awful little document, but all seems in order.”
Harald signed it and gave it back. “Now, Ustim. Listen very carefully. I am the master of Darrowdelve Manor. If you step foot on the premises again, I shall kill you.”
“Harald!” Ustim drew back, shock. “I never!”
“I’m quite serious. You’ve made your position quite clear, so now I make mine: you are not welcome nor wanted here. Cross the boundary of my estate and I will do everything I can to cut you down. Now get the fuck out.”
“Well I never!” mimicked Vic.
Ustim glared, stuffed the form back in his case, then marched out of the parlor. Harald and Vic escorted him out, and true to his word, two officials in the colors of the Flutic High Court were standing just outside the main gate, their robin’s egg blue and black uniforms distinctive.
“Leave this with me, Harry.” Vic dusted off Harald’s shoulders. “I’ll have a quick chat with those men, then take them to Countess Sonora. All will be well. Assuming, of course, that you find this hidden treasure vault.” Vic smiled sadly as he stepped back. “If you don’t, then, well. You can imagine.”
“I’ll find it,” said Harald. “Thank you, Vic.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m going to come out of this five Zenith Tides the richer, not to mention what you owe me for my tuition. This may prove more lucrative than any other professional endeavor I’ve ever undertaken. Incredible.” For a moment Vic simply stood there, marveling, and then he laughed and jogged lightly down the steps to approach the officials.
“Gentlemen!” he cried, exuberant. “Let me bend you ear a moment. I’ve some shocking claims to make that you will no doubt be thrilled to verify.”
Harald stared past him to where Ustim stood outside the main gate. The old man clutched his briefcase to his chest, and his expression was hard and cold as he glared back at Harald.
“What a monster,” said Sam quietly, stepping up beside him.
“Worse for having pretended to be my friend all these years,” said Harald softly. “Almost as bad as my having believed him.”
They closed the door, blocking out the High Court officials’ complaints and Vic’s laughter.
Harald pinched the bridge of his nose, letting everything settle.
“Harald.” Sam sounded tentative. “I know the evidence points to there being a room hidden somewhere, but none of my Actives or Passives have ever indicated that to be true. Guardian’s Vigil has never encompassed this hypothetical room, nor has Item Catalogue ever listed anything that could qualify. As a Level 3 Majordomo, my powers should extend to every aspect of the estate.”
“I know.” Harald rubbed at his face then straightened. “But that just means whatever defenses Dad put in place are more powerful than your 3rd Level abilities.”
Sam nodded reluctantly. “True.”
“Are there any blueprints of the manor?” Harald tried to imagine where such a room could be. “Anything that might have been used by Father when he purchased the estate?”
“Nothing that I’ve ever seen,” said Sam. “But there are plenty of folders and files in his old study that I’ve never looked through.”
“I tried going through that stuff, once or twice,” admitted Harry. “It’s all outdated adventuring contracts, correspondence with his old friends, business accounts, financial statements.”
“We might need to take a second look,” said Sam.
Harald grimaced in impatience. “Possibly. But there’s one obvious place he’d have set a secret room.”
Sam raised both brows questioningly, and then nodded. “Around the gymnasium.”
“He had it massively modified when we moved in. If ever he was going to build a secret chamber, it was then.”
“I’ve never seen anything suspicious,” allowed Sam. “But I’ve never actively hunted for anything, either. Shall we go take a look?”
Harald led the way. They descended swiftly, only for Harry to pause halfway down the stairwell. “Wait. Let’s start at the top.”
They fetched hammers and set to exploring every inch of the stairwell, knocking and rapping on the stone blocks and steps.
Nothing. They did the same to the basement landing, moving around and probing and tapping.
“I’m trying to focus my abilities,” said Sam. “But they’re Passives. Steward’s Foresight is tingling, but I think that’s just in reaction to your own intent.”
Harald didn’t answer. From the basement landing there were three short passages: one led to the kitchen storeroom and attached wine cellar; the second to a general storeroom filled with crates and junk that might once have been an actual dungeon; and the third to the gymnasium.
They moved to the gym. The scale of the cavernous room was daunting; eight yards tall, perhaps some thirty deep.
Sam blew out her cheeks. “I just pray it’s not a trap door hidden under the mat.”
“Only one way to find out,” said Harald.
For the next two hours they explored diligently, moving along the walls, then doing a second circuit with a ladder, climbing up and down as they tapped and prodded and pushed. They moved all the equipment but for the Gustav mannequin which was attached to the ground, explored the storage closets, then set to probing at the floor, shifting the ancient mat which shed copious amounts of fiber and noxious dust.
Coughing, exhausted, mouth filmly with gunk, Harald finally was forced to admit defeat. “Not in here.”
Sam raked her dusty hair back. “Or beyond our ability to find.”
“What if he hid it with magic?” asked Harald.
“I don’t know.” Sam frowned. “Magic doesn’t last forever. Even the most powerful of household wards need to be refreshed. It’s been four years since he died. Unless he had a truly powerful dwarven Forge Father cast the spell, it’d have faded by now.”
“Then…” Harald scratched the back of his head.
“The wine cellar, the old dungeon?”
Harald nodded grimly. “On we go.”
They spent another two hours knocking and tapping and pushing and cursing the basement rooms. There was a single moment of excitement when they discovered a lever inside of an ancient barrel at the back of the cellar, but pulling on this only caused a fake wall to swing open to reveal a small room dominated by a tiny round table and four chairs, a single wine rack laden with ancient bottles affixed to the wall.
“A private drinking nook?” asked Sam, voice filled with disappointment.
“These bottles look expensive,” said Harald, refusing to admit how crushed he was. “And let’s search in here. Maybe this is a decoy to hide the real hidden room.”
But it wasn’t.
The Sixth Bell rang when they finally dragged themselves upstairs to drink a glass of water. Exhausted, depleted, furious, Harald couldn’t sit. Not only had Ustim ruined his day and revealed a history of deception and manipulation, but he’d wasted Harald’s sixth day of training. Would Vic insist on repeating it?
Harald sighed and shook his head.
“What?” asked Sam.
“I’m just realizing how messed up my priorities have become.” Harald set down his empty glass. “I’m going to head upstairs and explore Dad’s room. Maybe he wanted it kept close at hand.”
“Good idea!” Sam’s eyes lit up and she stood. “Lead the way, good sir!”
Harald turned away, only to turn back.
“What?” asked Sam.
“Just… thanks.” Harald smiled. “For… everything I guess. Never giving up on me. Not giving up now, either.”
“Aw, you’re getting sentimental in your old age,” said Sam, punching him lightly in the shoulder. “And didn’t I tell you? I’m only helping so I can force you to pay me a thousand Celestials. Don’t think I’m a big softie or anything.”
“Ha,” said Harald. “But seriously. Thank you.”
Sam went to protest again, make another joke, but then stilled. She curled a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and smiled, a smile that caused the corners of her eyes to crinkle. “You’re welcome, Harald.”
For a moment they stood thus, then Harald turned and began marching to the stairs. They searched his Father’s room, long shut and abandoned, then finally turned their attention to his office. The Seventh Bell rang, then the Eighth.
Slowly they went through folios, correspondence, folders, missives, collections of bills and invoices, and finally, just as Harald was about to give up, he found a small hexagonal gem-encrusted box that had fallen behind a pile of folders.
“Oh,” said Sam. “That’s the container that held the finger amulet. It must have fallen when I put it down. It’s empty, though.”
Harald pursed his lips and opened it. A fitted cushion of black velvet still showed the curled imprint of where Vorakhar’s finger had lain, and a musty scent reminded him of the demon as it had leaned over him.
What did it mean, that Vorakhar was still alive, when his father’s fame had rested on his claim to have slain the demonic being?
There is room for merriment here. A continuance of the dance.
A continuance. What did that mean? That Harald could replace his father as Vorakhar’s sworn foe?
You could have been so much more than your father.
His father had never returned from that final raid. Had he gone down to confront Vorakhar and died at the demon’s hands? Had his death disappointed the demon?
Musing, uneasy, Harald turned the box around in his fingers, then, on impulse, plucked the black cushion free.
Only to reveal a small envelope trapped against the bottom of the box, neat and square, with ‘To My Son’ written in faded blue ink upon its face.