by Sever Bronny
“It’s all right, sometimes I feel like his older sister,” and Bridget punched Augum’s shoulder, something she was so not used to doing she managed to bungle it and smack his sore elbow.
“No, you’ve got to do it like this, see—” and Leera delivered a solid blow on the other shoulder. She tapped the now tender spot. “Right in this area is ideal. Right … here—”
Augum dodged, grabbed her arm, and drew her in for a wrestling hug and kiss attack. “And supposedly I’m the troublemaker.”
Leera laughed between feeble struggling noises. “Let go of me, you dumb brute!” but it was plain to Augum she did not want him to let go.
Arrivals
Bantering with renewed cheer, the trio made their way to the front of the castle where all was quiet other than the droning sound of crickets. The Ravenwood was readying for the night. It was a beautiful towering forest of spruces, pines, redwoods, and other evergreens. Occasionally a northern oak could be seen, with its irregular-shaped leaves.
As they idled around the ancient fountain—the facade of which they had also repaired—that depicted two warlocks frozen in an epic duel, there came a sudden THWOMP. Before them appeared a group of ten villagers and Mrs. Stone, the latter grunting from the exertion. The villagers were burdened with as many belongings as they could carry, and many immediately dropped to their knees to vomit, a common experience after teleporting.
“Huh, look at that, she went back without telling us,” Leera muttered.
“You’re not really surprised, are you?” Augum asked.
“Did the devil take my soul proper?” a village woman cried out, holding her stomach. “Have I sinned and now am to suffer eternal damnation?”
“That is quite normal, I assure you,” Constable Clouds said. He and his son, Devon, were among the group, but both were a bit peaky themselves from the teleport.
Mrs. Stone bid the trio to draw near. They lined up dutifully before her while some of the villagers argued with Clouds, demanding to know if the arcanery had stolen their souls, when the rest of their belongings would arrive, where they were, and how much danger they were in now.
“I have but a single task for you this evening—you are to comfort the people. Do you believe yourselves capable of managing this simple request?”
“Yes, Mrs. Stone,” the trio chorused, backs straight. They had worked hard in repairing the grounds, but certainly had not atoned in Mrs. Stone’s eyes, nor in the eyes of the villagers.
“Later, you will introduce them to the castle whilst keeping them from getting into trouble. For security reasons, they have not been told where they will be teleported to.”
“Yes, Mrs. Stone,” the trio again chorused.
Mrs. Stone lowered her voice so the villagers could not hear. “The remaining walkers have been disposed of, along with the bodies. The villagers have been given careful instructions not to walk beyond the perimeter wall. They are also to wait here until everyone has arrived safely. Then we shall enter the castle together. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Mrs. Stone.”
Mrs. Stone returned to Milham without another word while the nearby sick villagers gaped at the trio.
“Uh, hi,” Leera said. “Um, maybe if everyone wants to just relax and stay there. We’ll, uh, get you sorted once we have, uh, everything else sorted. Right.”
Seeing Leera flop her arms around like that at the confused crowd was too much for Augum, who had to turn away, unable to help from cracking up. “Looks like public speaking isn’t your thing,” he muttered between wheezes of laughter.
She smacked his arm. “You shut up.”
But their small joy was instantly snuffed by a comment one of the villagers threw out.
“Think they’re drunk right now?” a soot-stained man asked in a loud voice.
“Probably out here drinking while we’re back there scared for our lives,” replied a pot-bellied man, holding his stomach in a queasy fashion.
“I gave up my home for this?” the first said, glancing about.
But before Augum could apologize, there came another THWOMP and ten more villagers appeared, this time brought by Secretary Prudence Klines. As some of the villagers vomited, she greeted the trio in her squeaky voice, apologizing that she could not chat, and promptly teleported back. And then yet another group came, this time brought by Jezebel Terse, a Legion courier warlock Klines had recruited to the Resistance, much to everyone’s delight. High degree warlocks were precious and rare.
“You must be Ms. Terse,” Leera said in subdued tones. “We heard all about you. You once teleported us in a crate.”
Ms. Terse glanced at the trio and seemed to recognize them, for she broke out into a piercing laugh. She was the spitting image of Leera—but older, perhaps in her mid-thirties, and without the freckles. She had the same kind of raven shoulder-length hair, dark eyes, arched brows, and even the same mischievous look on her face.
Ms. Terse extended her hand and shook each of theirs. “Ah, the notorious stowaways. Prudes told me all about you troublemakers. Look forward to working with you in freeing this kingdom from the grip of that lunatic.”
There was another THWOMP as the beetle-like Secretary Klines returned. She wore her usual gray library attendant robe with a crimson gargoyle embroidered on the chest. Augum wished there was some private way to ask her questions about her nephew, Bowlander, without Bridget finding out.
Ms. Terse raised an arched brow at her short friend. “Finally met them, Prudes.”
Klines adjusted giant spectacles that magnified her insect eyes. “Yes, they’re a delight, but we need to hurry up,” she replied in her squeaky voice. “I need to return to Antioc before even more suspicions arise. Oh and Jez, have you heard anything about a Legion investigative squad headed for the village to question the young Miss Haroun?”
“You know they don’t tell me these things.”
“We better go.”
“I’m sure we’ll talk again,” Ms. Terse said warmly to the trio before teleporting away with Secretary Klines.
“I like her, she reminds me of me,” Leera said with an approving nod.
“She reminds me of you too,” Augum said.
“Maybe she’s a long-lost cousin you never knew you had,” Bridget chimed in.
“I’d accept that.”
The trio turned their attention to the assembled gathering of anxious villagers. Augum wondered how to phrase an apology.
“Oh, don’t go that way!” Augum shouted at a miner. “That’s the perimeter wall. Very dangerous.” He accented the point by making a wide explosive gesture with his arms. The miner turned right around.
Meanwhile, Bridget corralled several small children and paraded them back to their anxious parents, and Leera quietly tried to calm a woman who pointed a finger at her face declaring that the teleportation had stolen her soul and she needed it back.
“Where we be at?” asked an olive-skinned peasant woman with gap teeth and a bonnet.
“They didn’t tell us none,” said her husband, wearing loose slacks and a soiled shirt.
“You’re at Castle Arinthian,” Bridget replied.
The man glanced up and down the looming facade of the castle. “Looks haunted, it does.”
“It’s a little run down, but has been made safe by Mrs. Stone. There’s still a lot of work to be done on it though—”
“Made safe? That don’t feel good none.”
A THWOMP indicated another ten had arrived, brought by Mrs. Stone, who was immediately beset by a wracking cough. Among this ten, Augum spotted Bowlander and his stumpy servant, Charles. The former looked a little worse for wear—he had bags under his eyes and scruffy hair, while the latter, overloaded with four heavy cases, couldn’t drop them fast enough before doubling over to vomit.
Bowlander glanced about dully. His face lit up the moment he spotted Bridget. He strode over, arms swinging happily. Augum felt himself stiffen but forced his face to remain impassive. He promi
sed the girls to give him another shot, so that was what he would do, even though his instincts said otherwise.
“Miss Burns, what a pleasure,” Bowlander said, taking Bridget’s hand and bringing it to his lips. “And Miss Jones.” He did the same to Leera. Augum bristled at seeing him touch her but remained mute. Bridget gave a slight curtsy, inclining her head, while Leera merely gave a small smiling nod.
Bowlander raised and jiggled the finger with the Exot ring. “You, uh, seemed busy earlier. I hope I did not—”
“—no, it’s fine,” Bridget blurted a little too quickly, flushing immediately.
“A whole village moved in an evening. What a feat indeed!” Bowlander continued with a broad smile, plainly ignoring Augum. “Mrs. Stone is quite the marvel, is she not?”
“It’s an organized effort between three warlocks, actually,” Augum said, forcing a smile for Bridget’s sake.
“Ah, but we did have fun last night, did we not, my sweet ladies?”
“A little too much, I am afraid, my lord,” Bridget said, cheeks coloring as her twiddling hands traveled behind her back.
Leera crinkled her nose. “And we got into mighty trouble for it too.”
“Which we have to apologize to everybody for,” Augum added.
Bowlander waved the matter aside. “It’ll be fine. People have short memories. Besides, we’ll have plenty more fun now that we’ll be inside a castle!” He took one step past them, nodding approvingly. “A touch dark and old, but I am sure we can manage. Have accommodations been assigned yet?”
“I am not sure, my lord,” Bridget said.
“And who would I lobby for the best room? Would that be Mr. Haroun or Constable Clouds?”
Gods, Augum hadn’t even considered room assignments or who was going to be in charge. He always assumed they were going to go to another village, not his ancestral castle. He hoped Mrs. Stone would be the one responsible for these kinds of decisions. He also hoped Bowlander wouldn’t have a room too close to his (nor Ms. Singh, Mrs. Haroun, Malaika or Charissa). He fantasized having Bowlander booted out, only to stop himself short, reminding himself he had promised Bridget to give the doofus—err, Bowlander—another chance.
“We need to attend to the villagers, excuse us,” Bridget said, running off after a teenager who was wandering too close to the perimeter wall.
Bowlander looked like he wanted to say something more to her but caught himself upon spying Augum watching him. He turned his attention to Leera instead. “My dear lady, you look ravishing as always. Might I inquire as to your plans this evening? I have some divine, rare Solian whisky you all should try.”
“No, no more of that,” Leera said, chuckling. “Hey, no, it doesn’t work—” she suddenly blurted, striding off to stop a curious farmer who was trying to take apart the fountain, perhaps hoping for water.
Bowlander’s face fell in disappointment. He gave Augum a terse smile and was about to walk back to his servant, who was just now recovering from his teleportation sickness, when Augum reached out and grabbed his arm.
“Do you remember much of last night?”
“Not a thing, but I’m sure it was fun.”
“I see. And did the potions turn out all right this morning?”
“Of course they did.”
“And you were … feeling up to the task?”
Bowlander scoffed only to catch himself. He cleared his throat. “Yes, Augum, I was ‘feeling up to the task’, but thank you for your concern. Your great-grandmother is in capable hands, that I assure you.” He glanced down at Augum’s grip. Augum let go. Bowlander flashed a suave smile and calmly strode off, brushing at his arm.
Augum watched Bowlander leave, proud of himself for keeping his cool, for he had really wanted to sarcastically return that smarmy, fake smile. He also wanted to ream him out with a few select words as a reminder of what had happened last night.
There was a flurry of teleports as the trio continued to mind the now burgeoning crowd, until the entirety of the village had been teleported. Then the teleportation of their belongings began.
Meanwhile, there were many villagers to console. Children were crying on their mother’s aprons and against their father’s legs; miners were already drinking fire whisky or ale, arms around each other and singing songs like The Brave and the Broken and A Farmer’s Daughter and the Heir; shopkeepers were lamenting the loss of most of their goods; and so on. Those that were mentally more prepared did what they could to help those that could not fathom losing their homes. Some villagers had never even seen another town, let alone a castle. For those, the transition would be the hardest. Luckily, most seemed to have forgotten the trio’s transgression, at least for the moment.
“But this will all be worth it, right?” a young carpenter asked Augum. “We’re not going have our souls stolen—”
“We’ll do our very best to make this work,” Augum replied with a sympathetic smile. “But we’ll need your help. There’s a lot of rebuilding to be done.”
The questions kept coming from all sides.
“Ain’t got much money, you know, and the folks rely on me for labor. How are we going to survive here?”
“Where’s the food?”
“My children are thirsty, where’s the well?”
“Are we all to live in that black thing? It haunted?”
Augum’s head was spinning trying to reply to these questions, many of which he did not know the answer to. The well was in the cellar (but was it safe down there yet?) and there was another well in the back of the castle, at the far end of the bailey. Food will be teleported in when possible. No, the castle was not haunted. And no, not everyone is going to be living in the castle, some are going to live in the bailey, if security permitted it.
“Excuse me, have to borrow him,” Jengo said, yanking Augum away from the group of villagers.
“Thanks,” Augum said as they strode to a group mostly of people he knew.
“Leera said you needed a hand.”
“Where is she?”
“Busy helping sort people’s stuff.”
“And the attack?”
“Not good. No Legion, but you should have seen the horde of undead. It’s like a whole town got converted somewhere. So strange, and everyone’s freaked out. Word is it’s been happening all over Solia.”
“And … about last night?”
Jengo stopped, took a deep breath. “Well, there have been mutterings.”
“I know. We’ll have to apologize somehow.”
Jengo shrugged. “That’s all you can do.” He spotted his betrothed attending to her sick mother, who was lying in a makeshift stretcher. “Ack, Priya’s at wits’ end with her mother. Ms. Singh seems to think the apocalypse has come and keeps begging her daughter to put an end to her miserable existence. We both think it’s actually a ploy for better accommodations in the castle.” He chortled wearily. “I should attend to Priya, make sure she’s all right.”
“Good luck,” Augum said as he ran off. “And thanks!” Strange how last night didn’t seem like much of a big deal to Jengo.
“Oh, hello, Augum,” Mr. Goss said, blocking the sun with one hand while holding his son, Leland, with the other. “I am very excited to see this castle after hearing so much about it.” Augum thought he might have heard a strained tone in Mr. Goss’ voice.
Leland moaned his agreement. He was, as usual, clutching the Agonex. It was such a common sight people hardly took notice anymore. Yet Leland had apparently tapped into the ancient artifact somehow, and there was to be a demonstration of some kind soon. Mrs. Stone had hinted at it during a Resistance meeting.
“Mr. Goss …” Augum shifted his weight to the other foot uneasily. “Err, about last night—”
“—yes, that, uh, was most unfortunate.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Goss, I exercised poor judgment.”
“Yes you did. Poor judgment that comes with youth and inexperience.”
Augum dropped his gaze. For some
reason, he always felt particularly horrible whenever he let Mr. Goss down.
“You do not have parents to tell you this, but you are too young to drink, all of you.” He expelled a long breath. “But you know what else you did?”
Augum raised his chin.
“You stood up for your friends and took them home safely.” Mr. Goss leaned in closer. “Chaska told me about it.” He clapped Augum’s shoulder. “Let’s, uh, keep a close eye on a certain potion maker, shall we?”
Augum smiled. “Yes, Mr. Goss.” That’s right, Chaska was there. He could back up Augum!
“There are all kinds of villains, Augum. All kinds …”
That simple line made Augum give the man a double take. It suddenly occurred to him why he had so much respect for Mr. Goss—he possessed the kind of quiet wisdom that reminded him of his late guardian, Sir Westwood.
Mr. Goss glanced up at the castle. “What an old beauty. I hope to once more take up the life of a chandler, you know.”
Augum didn’t have the heart to tell him the castle didn’t need candles seeing as it was lit arcanely. “I think you and Leland will fit right in, Mr. Goss,” he said instead, gently ruffling Leland’s wispy scalp before the father and son wandered off. Augum watched them go, suddenly brightening with a change of mind, for some people tended to use candles regardless, especially common folk distrustful of arcanery.
He watched Leland being bounced in his father’s arms. The blind and mute boy tended to keep to himself since receiving the Agonex.
Augum walked over to their group of friends, who were busy sorting belongings and doling them out to villagers.
Mr. Okeke slapped a small wooden crate. “This is yours, Augum. That is, yours, Bridget’s, Leera’s, Haylee’s, and Mrs. Stone’s. You are lucky to travel so light.”
“Yeah, have a look at the Harouns’ stuff,” Haylee said, limping over with a small skin of water, which she shared with Augum.
Augum took a swig and glanced over to a newly-teleported pile of crates. A frantic Mrs. Haroun held a giant straw hat to her head with one hand while shooing away those who got too close with the other. Malaika sat despondently on a crate, chatting with her best friend, Charissa, the pair eyeing Bowlander. Nearby, sorting their belongings, were their pale-skinned servants—the mousy Annelise, her skinny brother, Gabe, and their stiff father, Clayborne, who looked on with distrustful eyes as Bridget arcanely repaired a broken crate.
