“Please,” she whispered, so quietly that he almost missed it. “Please, don’t send me away. This is the only home I have.”
Timmy’s eyes narrowed. Now that he thought about it, Tamara never seemed to take time off, nor did she go home for the holidays or anything like that. “Explain.”
She looked up at him. She was on the verge of tears. Timmy tried not to frown. He’d never seen her cry, not even when his master had turned his wrath on the servants. More than one servant had lost their life – or a limb – when that happened, which might have explained why they threw a party when Timmy formally took over the castle.
“I was only a girl when your master’s master came to my village looking for servants. We knew who he was. We all knew. He wasn’t as bad as your master, but he was close. Some of us fought him. They died. My family was there. I had no choice but to serve.” She smiled thinly. “When your master took over, we servants hoped that he would be better than his master. But we were wrong. He was worse. There were others before you, other apprentices, but they never lasted long, and they all became twisted like your master. And then there was you. You were the one we’d been waiting for.”
He nodded slowly. Tamara had never tended to his wounds when he’d been his master’s apprentice. His master would have killed anyone who helped him without being ordered to. His master had wanted to toughen him up and to force him to learn more about healing. However, Tamara and a few of the other servants had helped smuggle in healing supplies from the local villages, and she’d once looked the other way when she’d caught him sneaking around the castle before he’d gotten good enough to avoid being caught.
“Don’t you have any family to go home to?” he asked.
“No.” She wrung her hands. “They… a dragon.” She took a deep breath and forced herself to speak. “Black Scales.”
Oh. Black Scales had destroyed a lot of villages in his time. Timmy winced and wondered what she thought about Spot. Given the timing and his appearance, only an idiot wouldn’t be able to work out Spot’s parentage.
Tamara must have guessed what he was thinking because she smiled faintly. “Spot is no more Black Scales than you are your master. He once spent a day following me around as I did my duties. He was as helpful as he could be although he did try to eat some of the old, metal railing in one of the courtyards.” She took another deep breath. “I have no family left, Lord Bolton, and this castle has been my home for almost my entire life. I… I do understand. I am a maid. If I cannot carry out my duties, you don’t have a choice…”
Timmy tapped the top of his desk with one finger. True loyalty and dedication were treasures that could not be bought with money or favours. They were far more precious, and only a fool threw them away. He was not a fool. “It is true that you can no longer carry out the duties of a normal maid, but I think I can find work for you elsewhere in the castle.” He shifted in his chair. One of the pointy bits had been digging into his side. “I had planned to give you a hefty sum of money before sending you back to your family to enjoy it, but I think we can come to another arrangement. Given my castle’s new residents, I find myself in need of more staff, and that’s not even counting the staff we’ve hired recently to help Amanda. Our new members of staff are either trained or are being trained, but this castle is not like most places. I need someone who can teach them all about how to live and work in this castle. Naturally, I don’t have the time to do it myself, and Katie would probably become a little tyrant if I put her in charge of that. However, I am confident you will do an excellent job, and that you will not allow any drop in standards.”
“Certainly not!” Tamara cried, aghast at the mere thought of even the slightest decline in standards.
“Indeed. You also have some talent in gardening and landscaping. I should know. I’ve asked for your advice on several occasions. Since you are no longer strong enough to do the gardening and landscaping work yourself, you’ll be giving the orders instead. You will begin by helping Old Man.” Timmy chuckled at her surprise. “He is good with bonsai trees, but his idea of a garden is a tad minimalistic. He wants someone to assist him, and the rats aren’t known for their gardening skills although they should do fine once you tell them what to do.” He paused and gave her his gravest look. “Should you choose not accept these new duties, we shall have no choice but to default to our resident elf for help. That’s right, we’ll have to ask Avraniel to help us.”
Tamara gulped. “I’m not sure we would still have a castle after she was done.”
“Exactly. Which is why it would be great if you could accept.”
She nodded swiftly. “I do, Lord Bolton!”
“Good. But just call me Timmy.” His lips twitched. “Tamara, you’ve known me since I was a child. You’ve seen me crawling across the floor covered in my own blood. It feels a bit odd for you to address me so formally.” His expression turned serious. “I should have realised how you felt sooner. But rest assured, you will always have a place here, as long as you want one. I’ll send a zombie to tell Old Man, and you can report to him tomorrow morning.” He grinned. “Now that I think about it, Katie would not have been pleased if you left. You’re practically her grandmother. She’d probably try to overthrow me again.”
* * *
Tamara made her way toward the area that Old Man occupied. The swordsman was outside his bonsai tree nursery looking through some notes and examining some maps and scrolls. There were also some rats there, and she waited patiently for them to acknowledge her presence. It was a matter of courtesy since she had no doubt that they’d already noticed her. Old Man was an incredible warrior – or so she’d heard – and she’d seen the rats in action before. On the occasions when Lord Bolton could not rely on zombies to escort the servants through potentially dangerous areas, he sent the rats instead. The last group of bandits to run afoul of the rats had been turned over to the authorities for a hefty reward, minus their weapons, clothing, and anything else of value. The ninja rats were nothing if not thorough.
“Ah, good morning.” Old Man looked up from his work and smiled. It was a kind smile. “Tamara, right? I was told to expect you.”
Tamara bowed deeply. “Thank you. It is an honour to work for you. How should I address you?” She paused. “Lord Old Man sounds…”
“Ridiculous, yes.” Old Man chuckled. “I am but a humble cultivator of bonsai trees. Call me Old Man. I had a different name once, but Old Man is the name I go by now.” He stood up, tidied what he was working on, and whispered an instruction to one of the rats. “Please, follow me. I’ll show you to the garden we’ll be working on, but it would be best to start with the bonsai tree nursery.” He glanced over his shoulder, and his lips curved up into another smile. “It is my pride and joy, and I do hope Katie will let me keep it if she ever manages to take over the castle.”
Tamara bit back a smile. Katie’s hopes of taking over the castle one day were well known – as were her many, many failed attempts to outwit or otherwise get the better of Lord Bolton. The Lord of Black Tower Castle might have seemed laidback, but Tamara knew what he’d been through. Katie, as powerful and gifted as she was, would need years more training before she could hope to trouble Lord Bolton. “Please, lead the way.”
Tamara took careful note of everything as Old Man showed her around the bonsai tree nursery. She had read as much as she could about bonsai trees the previous night to ensure she could perform her duties properly although she was already somewhat acquainted with bonsai trees. As someone with an interest in gardening and landscaping, she knew that bonsai trees were incredibly rare and often incredibly difficult to care for. To see so many of them in one place and in such excellent condition was truly remarkable. It spoke volumes about Old Man’s diligence and attention to detail.
However, there was one particular bonsai tree that caught her attention. Its leaves were an incredible shade of bright green with yellow and blue veins. “If you don’t mind my asking, what sort of bonsai tree is that one?”
The tea was a vivid shade of green, and it had a delightful fragrance, albeit one that she wasn’t familiar with. The rats all had teacups too, and they were all savouring the aroma as well. “Would you be able to share that story?”
“Certainly. It begins some time ago. I was already an old man then, but not quite as old as I am now…”
* * *
Old Man adjusted his hat. It was hot, far too hot to be comfortable, which wasn’t too surprising given the location of the village. Summers along the coast in this part of the world had a tendency to be brutally hot and humid. However, he could put up with some heat and humidity. Rumours had spread about an especially rare bonsai tree in this area, one that could be used to make a potion of incredible potency. The heat and humidity were a small price to pay to acquire such a wonderful plant although he would have to venture into the dense jungle further inland, which would undoubtedly be full of things that wanted to kill him. Given his recent run of luck – the ship he’d taken to this area had been attacked by two sea serpents – he was expecting at least one dragon or a den full of ancient hydras.
Oh, well. He’d make do. He always had, and he always would. He was also curious about what sort of potion the bonsai tree could make. He had no intention of using it, but the lore interested him. Who knows? If he was lucky, it might even make a good cup of tea since it had been ages since he’d enjoyed one. It was unfortunate, but the people in this part of the world had a very different idea of what constituted a good cup of tea. There would be fighting ahead, either against monsters or those who also wanted the bonsai tree, but he would manage, and he would not rely on a potion to aid him. His strength was his own, and he’d earned it through hard work and dedication. No potion lasted forever, and such power always came at a steep price. He’d fought more than one madman in his homeland that had enhanced their abilities through potions and the like. They’d all gone mad in the end, either from their sudden increase in power or from problems with the potion itself. He had already lost his homeland. He had no intention of losing his sanity too.
He had yet to encounter anyone else in search of this bonsai tree, but he didn’t think his luck would last. A rare bonsai tree was something certain people would go to great lengths for, and there were many places along the coast where a cunning captain could conceal a ship. There were also other villages within easy reach of the jungle. His brows furrowed. In the past, he’d fought several unscrupulous individuals who had been willing to resort to theft, murder, and treason to get their hands on a bonsai tree. If he encountered any of them today, he might have to do the world a favour and dispose of them.
Old Man left the rest of his things, meagre though his possessions were save for the bonsai trees carefully concealed in a special sack, back at the village with a local innkeeper. He had paid the innkeeper well to keep his possessions safe and added extra coins to keep him quiet too. The jungle was a forbidding place, so it would have been unwise to enter it with more than he needed. As a young man, he might have threatened the innkeeper into compliance. As an old man, he understood that the carrot often worked better than the stick.
Unfortunately for him, he had little in the way of weaponry. He had broken several of his weapons fighting off the sea serpents, and he’d lost several more during his other adventures. All he had now was a sword that couldn’t handle his magic for more than a moment or two and a dagger. To be on the safe side, he did have a stout walking stick, which he’d carved out of an old oar. It wasn’t much, but the wood seemed to handle his magic better, and it had been more than enough to deal with the common riffraff he ran into during his travels.
Constantly replacing swords because of his magic’s tendency to shatter them wasn’t something he could indulge in too often, both because of the time and the money involved in replacing them. A stout walking stick, however, could be made relatively cheaply. He sighed. If only he’d kept his old swords, the ones he’d used in his youth. However, he’d been forced to leave them behind when he’d left his homeland. After all, dead men didn’t need swords. At least, he’d ensured that they were in good, worthy hands. Yet even with his meagre weapons, he was confident in his ability to fight off most opponents. If he couldn’t, his magic would make it easy to retreat.
Old Man made his way into the jungle, the edge of which was only a short stroll from the village. It made him wonder about their safety. Jungles as dark and ominous as this one – it radiated menace, and he was certain there were already at least seven or eight predators preparing to attack him the moment he set foot amongst the trees – typically gave rise to highly dangerous wildlife. The average villager also happened to have a prominent place on the menus of most apex predators. However the village had been here for a while. They must have worked out a solution. Hopefully, it wasn’t a solution that involved sacrificing unwary travellers to the monsters of the jungle.
The jungle itself was certainly an imposing sight. The trees were gigantic, towering over him like spires reaching toward the sky. Their interlocking branches created a thick canopy, which cast an eerie twilight onto the ground below. He didn’t have anything to go on except rumours, but rare bonsai trees often grew in extremely dangerous areas. It would make perfect sense for one to be found in the midst of a place like this. Long vines hung down from the branches above him, and his keen hearing picked up the scampering of countless small animals above and around him.
He could survive for weeks in the jungle if he had to, and he might have to since he had no real idea of where the bonsai tree was. He did know the conditions it preferred, and he had been able to buy several maps of the jungle from people who had braved its depths before. However, he couldn’t be certain of the accuracy of those maps, and conditions could change quite rapidly in the heart of the jungle. With nothing else to go on except a hunch, he decided to take whichever trail seemed the most dangerous. If nothing else, he wouldn’t be bored.
Old Man managed to travel for several days before someone attacked him. He had yet to find any sign of the bonsai tree, and he’d already dealt with several animals that thought he would make an ideal meal. He’d shown them the error of their ways, and the rest of the jungle’s animals had wisely given him a wide berth. He might not be the biggest thing in the jungle, but he might be the scariest.
As a blade that had clearly been forged in his homeland flashed toward his head, he stepped neatly to one side. It had been years since he’d met an actual ninja from his homeland. He smiled. It was rather nostalgic. He’d faced no small number of them in the heady days of his youth. Indeed, he was pleased to know they were still around. Unfortunately, the ninja’s attack had gotten a bit close to his hat. He lifted his walking stick. His hat had been a gift from an old friend. He would not allow any harm to come to it.
“Can I assume that you are here for the bonsai tree too?” Old Man asked. He chose to speak his native tongue instead of the speech more common to this part of the world. Few from his homeland spoke it well, but he’d had plenty of time to learn.
The ninja said nothing, not that Old Man expected him to. A talkative ninja could very quickly become a dead ninja. Instead, the darkly clad warrior took up a familiar stance. Old Man smiled and lazily reached up to wipe some sweat off his brow. He remembered that stance. He was about to ask another question when the ninja spoke. Interesting.
“There are few who can dodge that technique and fewer still who can avoid it without being forewarned. You are skilled.” The ninja inclined his head in a gesture of respect and then tightened his hold on his weapon. “But you can go no further. My orders are clear. I must stop you. Prepare yourself!”
As a child, Old Man had been told many sto
ries of how deadly ninjas were. They were masters of disguise and stealth, capable of infiltrating even the most secure fortresses to strike at their targets with unmatched precision and deadliness. That was true up to a point. Their guile and penchant for sneak attacks gave them the element of surprise, which was a powerful advantage when two people were otherwise evenly matched. Yet if they were discovered, many ninjas had a tendency to either rush things or talk too much.
To be fair, it was a trait shared by many swordsmen. It was as though they believed that talking about their supposedly legendary prowess and incredible techniques counted for anything except wasted breath. He had defeated more than one opponent by simply getting them to talk and then striking midway through their speech. It was the quiet ones he worried about, yet he did enjoy some good banter every now and then. Sea serpents were worthy opponents, but they were poor conversationalists.
“Is that so?” Old Man nodded back. “Then by all means, proceed.”
“Very well.” The ninja’s magic stirred. “Your honour will be your undoing, swordsman. Prepare to face my invincible sword!”
In his entire life, Old Man had seen perhaps two techniques that truly qualified for the title of ‘invincible’. One of those was his, and the other technique had been created by the only swordsman he’d ever faced who’d come close to beating him in his prime. Ah, what a duel that had been. Despite the hate and fury he’d felt toward his opponent, he’d felt only admiration for his skill. It was such a pity that his opponent’s skill, which rightfully deserved the title of Peerless Sword, had belonged to such a detestable person.
This attack? It wasn’t close to being that good. Oh, it wasn’t bad. It would have killed ninety-nine out of a hundred swordsmen who faced it, but Old Man was not one of them. He’d always had outstanding reflexes, and his magic only enhanced them. In the instant it took his opponent to strike, he saw the technique unfold as though in slow motion, every detail visible for study as he slowed time itself to a crawl. The ninja first used magic to attack the senses of his opponent, creating illusions in his opponent’s mind to disguise the true position of his blade. The ninja also created other illusions, ones present in the real world that would be visible to any observer, hiding his weapon behind countless illusionary replicas. It was a double-layered illusionary technique, and it would make it all but impossible to accurately track the ninja’s weapon.
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