Chapter Four

Dear knights, I’ve fallen and can’t get up. If you get this scroll attached to a random bird, please make your way over to the rickety tower as fast as your horsepower will allow.

----------------------------------------

“Get off, Prince Charles. You know how I feel about cat hair anywhere near my bed…” James mumbled, brushing aside the furry cat tail swishing against his face.

He tried to roll over, only to gasp in pain when something hard, like a bulky flashlight, smacked into his hip bones. He raised his head blearily. His apartment was plunged in total darkness, except for the front door, which was wide open, revealing several large piles of chopped-up branches.

It all came back a little too quickly, the dust and the clothes and the strange forest and the sword. The terrible sword that wouldn’t come off. He suddenly felt the straw under him poking into his strange tunic and uncomfortable leggings. Well, it probably wasn’t all a dream, given that he’d just taken a very real nap.

A quick glance at the door and the pale light streaming in led James to guess it was probably sometime late in the night, maybe three or four in the morning. The moonlight was strangely blue, or maybe his eyes were still adjusting to being awake.

But if he was still in this dusty world and not back in Chelsea, what had brushed against his face? James wasn’t particularly afraid of animals, but if a raccoon or skunk had been that close to him, he would reconsider his few remaining fears that had lasted seven decades.

The tower was still swathed in blackness, not even the moonlight piercing the convincing darkness. James figured the teetering stone structure likely didn’t have electricity and wondered if he’d be forced to twiddle his thumbs or sit around until the sun came up.

“A big place like this should have a candle or something though,” he said softly, still wary of the creature likely hiding in the tower’s gloom. He took his time climbing out of the hay pile. It was yet more evidence that he wasn’t in a dream when his bones creaked and his skin felt like it had been tenderized. The few dreams he could remember were painless, even if he was still old in them.

After hobbling back outside and relieving himself, he stood in the entrance to the tower, leaning against the cool stone and doing his best to spot a light source. A candle, lamp, even a torch would work. But there was nothing, at least nothing he could see with the scant moonlight.

Suddenly, he saw two round globes of silver light beam up at him and was filled with relief.

“Thank goodness. Just a stray cat. That’s much better than a raccoon.” The cat slowly slunk into the doorway. Its fur was an inky black, but other than that it could have been Prince Charles’ twin. It seemed to be just as plump, seemed to share the same confident, devil-may-care personality, and its fur was just as thick and fluffy, making the cat look more like a baby bear than a feline.

James couldn’t lean down to pet the cat, but it didn’t seem to care, approaching him with curiosity before jumping up into his arms.

“Care to show me around your dark, cluttered home?” he asked the cat. The cat purred like a lively carburetor but made no other comment.

“That’s fine, I’m sure wandering around this deathtrap in the dark won’t result in bodily injury.” The cat meowed its enthusiasm and continued purring like it was a full-time job and it was afraid of getting laid off.

James slowly made his way into the dark, dragging his feet to avoid tripping over something and killing himself. He wouldn’t be the first old man to go that way, but still. Not part of his early-morning plans. This place also seemed far too medieval to have something like Life Alert. And who would he call? Dear knights, I’ve fallen and can’t get up. If you get this scroll attached to a random bird, please make your way over to the rickety tower as fast as your horsepower will allow. Maybe give them each an extra apple to encourage good behavior. Thanks.

“Yeah, that’s likely.” Dragging his feet proved to be genius. He stubbed his toes on countless odds and ends, but he managed to stay upright. Holding the fluffy black cat helped balance out of the weight of the heavy sword still strapped to his waist. James had one hand in front of him, hoping it would detect any bookshelves or walls before his face or body did. As he continued through the darkness, he felt something silky soft and divine. It could have been straight out of a Derek Rose catalog.

“Whatever this is, I want it.” He patted the cat and it seemed to grumble before jumping out of his arms and prowling across the floor, almost invisible.

“Be clothes, be clothes, be clothes,” he chanted like a mantra, able to investigate the fabric now that his hands were free. Whatever it was, it was heavenly, and it had sleeves, so it had to be clothes of some kind. James hadn’t done anything “fast” in the past decade, but the speed with which he switched out of the ill-fitting “hero” clothes and put on the silky robe astounded even him.

The sword was still around his waist, over his underclothes but under the robe. He was starting to become resigned to the probable fact that he would be buried with the ridiculous ornament strapped to his side. He had already slipped the robe on over his head, readjusted the long, billowing sleeves, and was clasping the belt buckle attached to the robe around his torso when a thunderous crack sounded and light started to flood the tower. Blinded and stunned by the sudden explosion of sensation, James covered his eyes with his hands like a toddler taken unwillingly out of an interrupted nap session.

“How many times am I going to be blinded and deafened by magical thunder and lightning!” he cried out, truly exasperated.

“Ahh, master!” a feminine voice purred in delight, “I have been waiting so long to meet you!”

“Meet me? Who and where are you?” James asked, hands on his hips. Suddenly, something heavy thunked down on the ground next to his bare feet and he felt much lighter.

The sword. But, did that mean…

“Down here, Master. Welcome to Beacon Tower. I am your familiar.”

James, who was still blind from the blazing light filling the tower, just kept his eyes shut.

“You are most certainly not familiar. I don’t recognize your voice, and I probably won’t recognize your face either, once I can see again.”

“Are your eyes weak from looking into the future, Master? You truly are an experienced seer!”

“Hah. More like weak from having to look through seventy years of the past.” The blinding light was gradually becoming more manageable, and James slowly started inching his eyes open.

“Are you the housekeeper of this tower, Miss…?”

“No, I’m the familiar. I do not know what a house keeping is, but I’m sure we probably have one stored away somewhere. My previous master, before he left, had collected quite the hoard of valuable, rare, and magical artifacts and belongings.”

“I don’t care if you’re family or familiar to whoever used to live here—you sound younger than me, and I don’t intend to spend one more moment in this cluttered monstrosity until it is swept and cleaned thoroughly from top to bottom. Point me to a broom and I can start down here while you work on the upper floors. And I’ll need a name from you.”

His eyesight had recovered enough to see the black cat sitting in the middle of the crowded space, looking at him with strangely intelligent eyes.

“I can show you where to find a broom, but I don’t think I’ll be able to work one myself.” The cat continued to stare at him intently, and although James could clearly hear the feminine voice’s response, he still couldn’t see who it belonged to.

“Brooms are ancient, ancient technology. Whoever you are, I’m sure it won’t be too difficult. My grandnephew and his little sisters can even work a broom, and one of them is two.”

“I will try, Master,” the voice said helpfully.

“And no more of this ‘master’ business. You can call me James. Just James.”

“Yes, James the Just. It will be as you say. Now, follow me and I will show you to the broom cupboard.”

If James had been waiting for a young woman to appear and guide him through the maze of strange objects to a cupboard, he would still have been waiting, because no one materialized. Shrugging his shoulders, which were really enjoying the silk fabric of the robes, which he could now tell were a dark, rich blue, he settled for following the cat, the only other living thing he’d found so far in Beacon Tower. It slipped over and under the smorgasbord of odds and ends with ease, things James could now tell were all covered in a fine layer of dust that didn’t look like it had been disturbed in months, if not years. The only trace of life was the dainty paw prints tracking hundreds of trails through the dust, leaving a history of everywhere the black cat had probably napped, hunted, and pawed through during the last six months.

Someone would be cleaning up this rickety tower, even if it had to be him. Although he didn’t like the thought of so much work, if he was being honest. His joints probably couldn’t handle any more use for the next few days at least, although a week would be better.

“Here is the broom cupboard, James the Just.” The cat stopped by a skinny door that was half open with various handles falling out and settled itself on its bottom, licking one of its paws with the utmost concentration.

“It’s just James, not James the… you know what, it’s fine. When will I meet whoever you are? Your cat showed me to the broom cupboard, but if you think hiding will get you out of giving this tower a thorough cleaning I can guarantee you’re wrong. Even if you aren’t the housekeeper, certain standards need to be upheld…”

The feminine voice didn’t respond for a moment, and James was about to repeat himself, or at least repeat the most important parts, when the black cat met his gaze and held up the paw it wasn’t licking as if to say, “one moment, please.”

“I’d hate to jump to conclusions here, but… have I been talking to a cat the whole time?”

“I am not sure what a cat is, but I am your familiar, and I have been communicating with you. Is this broom cupboard to your liking? We have another one upstairs if those cleaning instruments would better suit your needs.”

“You know, it could be worse. I could still be talking to the sword. Okay, cat, regardless of whatever I’m suffering, maybe some strange kind of food poisoning or dementia, you’re going to help me get this tower under control. Where is your owner?”

The cat finished grooming and looked up at him.

“You are, James the Just. You are the new owner of Beacon Tower.”

“Why on earth would I be the owner? I just barely got here, and I’m relatively certain I used the back door and am technically trespassed.”

“You wear the robes. Should I retrieve your tome of mysteries?”

“Who wouldn’t want to wear these robes? Your previous owner must have had a high-paying job to afford something this luxurious. And I don’t have a… sure. As long as you hurry back and are willing to help me sort out—” he looked around the cluttered tower, “all of this.” He gestured to the entire room, his robes’ sleeves billowing dramatically.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

“I will hurry back, James the Just.” The cat bobbed its head slightly as though doing a little bow or curtesy and disappeared into the mess of giant pots that looked more like cauldrons; books of every shape and size, all with expensive leather binding; scrolls, some half rolled with diagrams, symbols, and what looked to be lengthy explanations, all written in tiny handwriting with bright-blue ink; a vast collection of smooth rocks, several stacked precariously on top of each other; five long-dead potted plants, although they still managed to look more vibrant than the dust bowl outside; three kettles for boiling water; a small mushroom farm; a coat rack featuring a total of seven wide-brimmed, pointy hats; a basket with several bundles of fabric that could have been blankets or cloaks, hastily stuffed in and probably eternally wrinkled at this point; multiple jars of a glittery substance that would have looked at home in a craft store; and much, much more.

“I’m so glad I have a talking cat to help me do the heavy lifting this project is going to require.”

James cautiously worked his way over to the broom cupboard. Maybe he could make one of the brooms into an impromptu walking stick. If he was going to be traipsing all over this untidy tower, he would need all the support he could get to give his brittle bones a break. He climbed over the rock collection and moved aside one of the potted plants slightly, squeezing himself next to the cupboard door. Most of the brooms were so dusty they would probably only make the crowded space more hazardous, and one of them was so old that the broom head had completely fallen off, leaving little more than a long shaft of polished wood. James removed it from its housing, getting a feel for the heft and weight. It felt sturdy, and the flatter side of the boom handle where the head had once been attached would help keep him steady.

It was perfect.

Now armed with his reappropriated broom handle, he started doing a mental inventory of the tower, taking note of the different sections. There weren’t really any rooms, and the entire space was completely circular, with a narrow spiral staircase leading up to the upper levels. James didn’t know how tall the tower was, but from what he’d seen as he’d walked over from the dirt path he’d woken up on, it seemed to go on for far longer than should have been possible, given that the base of the tower was probably only twenty by twenty feet—even less if you took into account the circular nature of the room and the staircase in the center.

On the main floor there seemed to be two doors, the one he had come in from, which was still ajar, and one directly across from it on the other side of the enclosure. The rest of the room seemed split into four sections. One fourth seemed vaguely dedicated to being a library, although there were more books on the floor than there were on the worn bookshelves.

Another section was designed as a medieval kitchen, complete with a butter churn, multiple wooden ladles hanging on the wall, a rough hole in the wall he assumed was the fireplace, a large, sturdy wood table covered in bits and bobs, and a precarious stack of firewood. He didn’t see any food, which was slightly concerning.

The third section was some kind of indoor garden or greenhouse, but the only things still successfully alive were the mushrooms, which seemed to have greatly enjoyed the utter darkness of the tower before it had suddenly come “alive” and light had infused the space. James still couldn’t tell where the intense brightness was coming from. It seemed to come from the cracks in the wood floor under his feet and the wood ceiling above him.

He shelved that mystery away for later. At least it made the tower much easier to organize. So long as it wasn’t hundreds of tiny candles that would burn through the wood, he was okay not knowing. Electricity had never made sense to him either, so whatever this was was just as mystical as the modern lightbulb.

The final section of the first floor of the tower was truly miscellaneous. If it had served a specific function, James couldn’t puzzle through what it was.

“This is going to take more than a mental plan,” he muttered to himself, using his new walking stick to hike over the various mounds as he searched for pen and paper, or the ancient equivalent.

By the time the cat had returned, dragging over a surprisingly slender tome by one of the silky blue tassels, James had parked himself in one of the chairs at the table and had brushed aside enough junk to comfortably write. The previous owner had stuffed scrolls all over the tower, as though he or she thought it would make for good insulation. The three-foot-thick stone already kept the tower cooler than James was comfortable with, but to each their own. He’d found a piece of charcoal in the fireplace, and although it stained his hands black and was hard to write with, it was better than nothing.

“Here is your tome of mysteries, James the Just.”

“Would you mind dragging it up here for me? I’m a little preoccupied at the moment.”

The cat tilted its head for a moment in consideration before working its way over, somehow managing to lift the book off the ground, the ribbon still in its teeth, and scaling a chair on its side next to James until the book was sitting in his lap.

As strange as it was to be communicating with a feline, James had to admit that if he could talk to Prince Charles, he would definitely take advantage of the situation. Imagine never having to leave his overstuffed armchair again…

“Thank you, umm, cat. Do you have a name? I don’t think you ever told me what it was.”

“My previous owner called me ‘familiar.’ Would you like to call me ‘familiar’ as well?” The cat had curled up in a ball on the overturned chair, its bright blue eyes studying James as it flicked its tail back and forth slowly.

“I think you deserve something a little bit better than ‘familiar.’ Although I’m honestly surprised your previous owner didn’t just name you ‘cat’, given how much of a slob they were.”

“I see you have fashioned yourself a staff,” the cat said, looking at the broom handle resting against James’ chair with interest.

“I’d call it a walking stick, but yes, I figured it would help me stay alive while navigating this place.”

“It is very nice, James the Just.” The cat pricked its ears forward as it seemed to examine what James was drawing out on the scroll in front of him.

“Are you preparing a new incantation?” the cat asked.

“No, I’m preparing an intervention,” James said, humming something tunelessly under his breath as he worked, re-envisioning the space around him. He’d never had the chance to do any interior decorating. He’d shared his apartment with his parents until they had passed, and he hadn’t wanted to change the arrangement afterward, as if moving the bed or reorganizing the books on the sagging bookshelf would solidify the simple fact that Henrie and Sera Blaise would not be returning. That they weren’t just off on another quick trip to add more books to their ever-growing collection.

The thought of redoing the tower was exciting, even though he was tempted to bury his head in his new robe and take a nap just thinking about it.

“Have you thought of a new name for me, James the Just?” the cat asked after several minutes had passed.

“Good question. I suppose since you can communicate you could probably just pick your own name, right?”

He was puzzling over what to do with the fourth section of the room that had no clear purpose currently, tapping the piece of charcoal against the scroll as he debated. A napping area? The cat would probably enjoy that just as much as he would. Or maybe an office of some kind? But what kind of work would he need to do? And how long would he even be here? Who would feed Prince Charles if this, whatever it was, didn’t end?

Bel’s garden party.

Yes, he had been on the fence about going, but now that the choice seemed out of his hands he started to feel his frustration rising. She had never invited him to anything before, and she’d seemed to actually want to see him, like having him there would be important to her.

But—and as odd as it seemed—James was actually enjoying not undergoing his usual strict schedule, a schedule he’d been dutifully following for four decades or more.

And Prince Charles could afford to lose some weight.

“Kat.”

“Cat?”

“I have decided on my name. I would like to be called Kat. With a K. That is how you spell ‘cat,’ right?”

“Sure. Okay, Kat, are you ready to help me tackle this project? And can you describe to me what the upper floors of this tower look like? What’s in them, how big they are, things like that?”

“I am not sure how useful I will be without opposable thumbs, but there are large boys in the village who could likely lend a hand. As for the upper floors, there are as many as you would like there to be. My late master was a man of many interests, so currently there are twenty-six additional floors.”

James felt his mouth open slightly, but he made a conscious effort to keep his jaw from dropping.

“Wouldn’t that make the tower over 180 feet high? That seems like a pretty incredible feat for this… time period. I’m pretty sure one of the world’s tallest castles is only 150 something feet.”

“This tower was not designed for only feet, James the Just. And it can be as tall or short as you desire. If you open your tome of mysteries and go to the third page, you will see…”

“What if I just wanted, say, this bottom floor for now? Would that be a problem?”

“You are the master of Beacon Tower, although the name will not make as much sense if the tower is little more than a small stone hut.”

James rubbed at his eyes. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll just leave it as is for now. Where does a person go to find food here?”

“I can catch you a plump mouse if you like. But my old master did not prefer mice. You should find all the food you could possibly want in the village.”

“Sounds like I need to make a trip to this village you keep talking about.” He scratched at his face. It felt itchier than normal. Maybe something to do with the robe.

“You keep mentioning a ‘tome of mysteriousness’ or something. I suppose I should look into whatever that means. You haven’t happened to have heard of Earth, have you, Kat?”

“I have heard of such a place! My late master went there. He told me to wait until his successor arrived. Did you come from this Earth?”

“So are you trying to tell me we’re not currently on Earth?”

“I do not think so, but my late master had a map of the area. Perhaps that would help. It’s also in your tome of mysteries.”

Even in some fantasy world, I’m reduced to reading a book.

James pushed aside his charcoal sketches and placed the book on the table. He marveled once again at how skinny the book was.

“Is there a reason this book is so small?”

“The tome of mysteries will grow as you do. Right now it contains only the mysteries you are prepared to handle as a novice.”

“A novice what? Tower owner?”

Kat was about to respond when her eyes lit up and her entire body tensed, her ears flicking from side to side. A moment later she was airborne, launching herself at a hole in the wall next to the broom cupboard and darting out of sight. He heard a startled squeak a moment later and decided it was time to focus on something else.

Like the “book of mystery.” Part of him was afraid to even open the book, as if doing so would transport him to an even stranger place, but so far he’d only been lost in a single book, so the odds weren’t too high. Yet. He opened it up to the first page and started dutifully reading from the beginning.

High Magus Harold Lightrod’s

Tome of

Mysteries

So, Harold was the one responsible for this pigsty. The man would be hearing from James, if he ever bothered to come around.

Under the title, which was handwritten, was a note, scribbled in much smaller handwriting and simple black ink.

Welcome to Beacon Tower, my successor.

If you have arrived at my humble tower, that means

you are truly a magus of unlimited power

and means.

The powers of the ancient spellcasters of old

have been carefully recorded in many tomes

and scrolls,

but this book is but my humble contribution to

the complex and wondrous field of magic.

Harold had been into magic? James wondered if that was some kind of code word. After all, this was just a tower… with twenty-six additional floors and a talking Kat. And a mushroom farm. Totally normal. Nothing to do with wizards.

This world is in grave peril.

Only someone with your skills and foresight

will be able to protect the people

and creatures of En—

The rest of the word was covered with a stain that looked suspiciously like chocolate. Harold continued to prattle on for quite a while, so James was about to flip forward and look for a map of “En” when Kat returned.

“Was your old master a wizard?” Perhaps the question was blunt, but James hadn’t eaten in over ten hours at this point and was getting irritable. He wasn’t looking forward to walking to a strange village and scavenging for food with no money.

“Of course. So are you!”