Skyrider of Renegade Point

by Erik Christensen

  Ruskin let out another deep sigh. “There’s only one option left, then.”

  William crossed his arms and stopped pacing, staring into nothing. Eventually he nodded, as though to himself. “Fine. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

  Chapter 3

  The shadows were already lengthening as William and Ruskin rode up the path to Administration Hill. The gravel crunched under their horses’ feet, breaking the cold afternoon silence. At the top of the hill, William stopped a moment and gazed at the white stone of the Library reflecting what little light penetrated the mist. There was no time to visit Cairns today.

  A left turn took them past the meeting hall where William had been denied his childhood dream of being selected to the Guard. How far away those days seemed. And yet, here he was, five years later, about to face the same man who had sealed his fate then—and could do so again now.

  They rounded a corner to find a low, wide mansion, its ornate decorations out of place among the more austere office buildings surrounding it. They slid off their horses, Ruskin taking the reins of both mounts to tie them to the hitching rail while William stretched out the kinks of a long ride. Wordlessly, they climbed the stone steps, and Ruskin reached for the huge door knocker.

  “Wait,” said William. “My head—is the gash still showing? I don’t want to look like a clumsy fool in front of him.”

  Ruskin peered at him in the dim light and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “It’s barely visible, my lord. I don’t think I’ve seen a wound heal so quickly before. Shall I knock?”

  William nodded his assent. Seconds later, the door opened to reveal a gaunt man of about sixty in a clerk’s office robes. “Yes?” he said.

  “Lord William Whitehall, to see Earl Bradford,” announced Ruskin.

  The clerk gazed at William with a critical focus. “You’re the lad who dropped an apple on the floor on Selection Day.”

  William stared back at the man, uncertain how to answer. His face burned at the unjust accusation—someone else had left the apple core by his feet—but he was here to ask for a favor. Now wasn’t the time for denials. “I was young and foolish,” he said finally.

  “You’re still young,” said the clerk. “And foolishness rarely fades more quickly than youth. Come this way. The earl is occupied, but he will see you when time permits.” They followed him through the carpeted hallway to a waiting room. William sucked in his breath as he gawked at the finery laid out before him. Ornate seats rested between polished stone tables with brass lamps. Paintings and tapestries covered the paneled walls, including a picture of what appeared to be the earl in his youth—or an idealized version of him at least.

  The clerk reappeared—William hadn’t even noticed him leaving—and set down a tray of tea and cake. “Earl Bradford sends his compliments and will be with you shortly. In the meantime, help yourself to refreshments. Ring if you need me.” He indicated a pull string near the doorway and departed.

  “How long do you think we’ll have to wait?” asked William as he poured tea for himself and offered one to Ruskin.

  “Hard to say,” said Ruskin, declining the tea. “We have no appointment, and we don’t know how busy the earl is or who else he may have to see. Frankly, we might not even see him.”

  “We can’t wait forever. I have another visit to make before we meet Jack at the Inn.”

  “Also without an appointment, my lord,” said Ruskin with a small grin. “And also with unknown results.”

  “Still, I’m hoping for a better greeting there,” said William.

  “Best go easy on the tea, sir. We may be here for a while.”

  “It was a long ride. I’m famished and thirsty. If I can’t see the earl right away, I’ll at least take advantage of his hospitality.”

  Three cups and several slices of cake later, William was pacing with urgent steps. “How long has it been?” he asked.

  “An hour,” said Ruskin. “Perhaps a bit longer. Maybe you should ring the clerk and ask to be shown the water closet.”

  William waved away the suggestion and resumed pacing. “If I ever treat guests like this, feel free to chastise me, Ruskin.”

  “As you say, sir. But we aren’t guests. Strictly speaking, we’re supplicants.”

  “And how likely is he to grant the request? And what happens if he doesn’t?”

  Ruskin held a finger to his lips and gazed at one of the paintings.

  William’s mouth hung open in disbelief. “You think he’s listening?” he asked in a hushed voice.

  “Not him, but almost certainly one of his clerks. It’s a time-honored practice.”

  “There’s nothing honorable about it,” said William as he whirled and yanked on the bell rope.

  Moments later the door opened to reveal the clerk’s face. “How can I be of service, my lord?”

  “Is there a water closet I can use?” he asked, anger tinging his voice. “I’ve had more tea than I should have.”

  The clerk allowed himself the slightest of smiles. “Oh, but I’m afraid there isn’t time, sir. His Lordship is ready to see you now. Please follow me.”

  Ruskin kept a straight face—barely—as he passed William into the hallway. “Let’s go see the man, sir. The sooner we do this, the sooner you can relieve yourself.”

  The finery of the next room put the first to shame. Huge double doors opened into a long office, the length of which was lined with shelves filled with books, statuettes, and trinkets of all sorts. At the far end hung a cut-glass chandelier that stole William’s breath. Beneath it sat two simple chairs set before a massive carved desk of wood and stone. At the desk sat the equally massive Earl Bradford Masterman.

  “Lord William Whitehall,” announced the clerk.

  The earl rose with a grace that defied his size and approached them with a smug smile. “Oh, come now, Jeffrey—we can make a better announcement than that, can’t we?” He spread his arms wide and bellowed in dramatic fashion. “Lord William Whitehall! Lord of Whitehall Manor, Defender of Rebel Falls, Brother to the Dragon Queen, The Man who Saved Esper—but can’t save his own Barony.” He reached out and shook William’s hand, his grasp just a little too firm, and pulled William closer. “Isn’t that what the books say?” he asked.

  William cleared his throat. “I’m hoping to prove the last one wrong.”

  “Hope won’t do the trick,” said Bradford as he returned to his desk. “Please, sit, both of you. Ruskin, you need no introduction—we’ve met before, and I know your methods, so I have a fair idea of what our young Lord William is going through. Let me see if I can sum it up.” He held up his hand to count on his fat fingers, each of which bore a thick gold or silver ring. “First, Ruskin talked you into spending lavish amounts of money on a manor house far larger than your current needs, rather than starting small and adding on as finances permit. Second, he convinced you to invest in exotic trees that take years to bear fruit. Third, your crop yields are less than expected. Fourth, your livestock has an alarming mortality rate. Fifth—and please correct me if I’m wrong, because it’s almost too much to believe—you smashed a nearly one-thousand-pound millstone to pieces, when you could have settled for a simple eighty-pounder. How am I doing so far, Lord William?”

  William cleared his throat and barely met the earl’s eyes. “All correct, but—”

  “And that’s not all,” continued the earl. “Here’s the most astounding fact of all. You have farmers living rent free while they, too, try to grow crops meant for other climates in an ill-advised attempt to seek their fortune in rare foods. I’m astonished that a man of your intelligence—yes, I called you intelligent; Cairns showed me your reports—that someone with your brains could be fooled into such a scheme. And now, here you are, prepared to entreat me to defer your taxes.” He waited a few moments as William tried to gather his thoughts. “Well, am I correct? You are here to ask for a deferral, are you not?”

  “I had hoped to state it in—better terms,” said Willia
m, his gaze still lowered.

  “Well, out with it, man. Make your best case. I assume you know what happens if you default on your taxes?”

  “I think I do, sir,” said William. “If—”

  “At my discretion, your lands would be forfeit, and your title meaningless, which is exactly what I predicted would happen when Duke Vincent insisted you be made a baron. Your exploits, extraordinary as they were, have nothing in common with running a barony, but I know better than to refuse a duke’s request. Why he made it I’ll never understand, but he wasn’t the only one: Earl Hiram of Rebel Falls put in a word for you as well. Imagine what these men must think of you now, squandering the opportunity they created for you.”

  “I think they’d understand, your Lordship,” said William. “They both expected the dragon trade to last longer than it did—”

  “I know what happened to your dragon-trade income; I own a share too, you’ll recall. You were foolish to count on that alone to save you from your excessive gambling. If you were embarrassed to be chosen by Cairns on Selection Day, imagine what it will be like to work at the Library as a disgraced former baron.”

  “I don’t believe it will come to that, sir,” said William.

  “Why not?” asked the earl. “Explain how you intend to fix this mess. Tell me why I should risk my money to save yours.”

  William nodded and turned to his left. “Ruskin, can you—”

  “No!” said the earl as he slammed his fist on his desk. “I want to hear it from you, Lord William. You are the baron, not Ruskin, and if something happens to your agent—he’s been fired before, after all, by more successful barons than you—then I need to know that you can run the operation yourself. It’s you that I’m being asked to invest in, not Ruskin.”

  William paused and swallowed hard. He was aware of Ruskin’s previous tenures, but now wasn’t the time to remind the earl that the barons who’d fired him were among the richest in Azuria now that Ruskin’s plans had matured in his absence. It wasn’t fair of Bradford to denigrate the man like that, especially since Ruskin would never breach protocol by defending himself. William would have to do it for him, but subtly. “Very well, sir. I’ll begin with your biggest concern first. Yes, I granted rent-deferrals for several farmers who took Ruskin’s suggestions to grow more valuable crops. I expect many of these to begin paying a higher rent this year, or next year at the latest. Those who fail will revert to a standard rent arrangement or be replaced by others. Any losses would be offset by the extra rent we get from the successful ones.”

  “King’s britches, you’re a soft one, aren’t you? Somehow, you’ve gotten the impression that it’s your job to make your tenants’ lives easier. It’s not…it’s their job to make yours easier. Yes, I’m aware of what you think of that statement. I saw the way you looked at this room. It wasn’t admiration or awe that I saw in your eyes; it was disgust. Do what you wish with your own home, be austere as you like, but consider this. A baron’s job is to ensure two things: that food is grown, and that taxes are paid for guards, roads, docks, and all the other benefits of living in a civilized society. Right now, you’re accomplishing neither.”

  “Yes, sir. But the plan is to make up for that and more in the future, just as my tenants will.”

  “Explain. How do you intend to pay a higher share of taxes when you can’t meet the standard rate now?”

  William glanced at Ruskin, who nodded back his encouragement. It didn’t escape his notice that the earl had mentioned taxes twice, but food only once. He knew where his focus must be. “By replacing the broken millstone, sir. A year’s deferral would allow us to buy the same size stone to match the bed stone we already have. It’s a lot of gold, but we’ll be the nearest mill to hundreds of farmers, and we’ll have the capacity to service them all. In exchange for the deferral, we offer one quarter of the mill’s profits for three years. At our most conservative estimates, that would be three times the normal interest on the deferral amount.”

  The earl drummed his fingers on his desk as he stared at William, his lips pursed in contemplation. “No,” he said finally. “Six months’ deferral, and half the profits for five years. No, don’t mention normal interest rates again—they don’t apply. Low rates require collateral, and a failing barony doesn’t qualify. Until you begin to show a profit, you have no security to offer me. If you can’t meet these terms, feel free to borrow elsewhere if you can. But be prepared to lose your land if you default on your taxes. I have several lords with idle second sons ready to replace you.”

  William swallowed hard. He didn’t dare look at Ruskin. This was his decision, and his alone. It was a huge amount to pay, much more than he and Ruskin had anticipated, and even though it gave him breathing room now, he might find himself gasping for air later. It was a huge risk.

  But what other choice did he have? Have the barony taken from him? What sort of lord would the earl put in his place, and how would the tenant farmers fare under him? And what would he do himself? Cairns would take him back, but he couldn’t bear the thought of facing people with such a disgrace hanging over his head. No, he would have to leave town, or possibly stay with his mother and Lord Kevin. Or perhaps Earl Hiram could find him a position in Rebel Falls.

  William clenched his jaw. What was he thinking? How was giving up an improvement over failure? And when did he forget the lesson that uncertainty should never be a factor in any decision, especially one as important as this? He met the earl’s patient gaze and held his head high. “I accept,” he said.

  The earl turned and pulled a rope. “Jeffery!” he called. “The papers, if you please.”

  Jeffrey marched in with the requested documents, handing a copy each to both William and the earl. As William scanned his, he noted that the terms had already been written in, the ink dry. The earl was far cagier than he had given him credit for. Not only had he anticipated William’s request, he had known in advance exactly what the outcome would be. Then again, how could he not? After all, it was less a negotiation than a dictation of terms. He accepted a quill from Jeffery and quickly scrawled his signature at the bottom. The earl did the same, and they exchanged copies.

  “It’s a shame you don’t own those books about you. I’m sure whoever wrote them has no need of a loan,” said the earl as he handed his papers to Jeffrey. “Any fool can borrow money, Lord William, but the wise make sure to repay it. Don’t be one of the fools, because I won’t repeat this kindness.”

  They were ushered out moments later, the door slamming behind him unceremoniously. “Kindness, he calls it,” said William as he untied his horse. “I thought the proper term was usury.”

  Ruskin shrugged as he stored the signed papers in his saddlebag. “I expected no less, sir. He held every trump card, and no finesse on your part could change the result. If I may say, sir, you handled it as well as anyone in your situation could have.”

  William grunted in uncertainty. “Maybe you should save your praise until later; the next meeting will be tougher.”

  Chapter 4

  William wrapped his cloak tight against the cold evening drizzle, pacing as Ruskin tied the horses. “I shouldn’t be arriving at dinnertime. It’s awkward.”

  Ruskin stifled a chuckle. “If that bothers you, my lord, wait until you actually have to speak to her. Awkward won’t begin to describe it.”

  William stopped his pacing and glared at the agent. “Thank you, Ruskin, for the fine way you’ve lifted my spirits on this trip so far.”

  A smirk crept across Ruskin’s face. “Sarcasm isn’t lordly, sir. I hope you won’t use it on Miss Reid.”

  “Was that a joke, Ruskin? I’ve never known you to crack wise before—especially at my expense.”

  “Apologies, sir. I must be giddy from relief.”

  William grunted. “If you’re relieved, imagine how I feel.”

  “That’s what I do, my lord. Now if you’ll take my suggestion—”

  William raised his hand to interrupt. “I
can knock on the door myself. This isn’t the earl’s mansion. I’ve known these people most of my life.”

  “All the more reason to let me announce you, sir. A lifetime’s acquaintance or not, you’re a nobleman now, and they’ll want a few extra moments to make themselves presentable.”

  William sighed. “Presentable to whom? Someone cold and damp from waiting in the rain?”

  “It won’t be long, sir. And properly speaking, a valet should announce you, not your barony agent. We should hire someone soon.”

  “Hang on…I thought you wanted me to hire a butler. Or are they the same thing?”

  Ruskin shook his head. “Not even close, sir. But one or the other will be sufficient for a while. Now, if you’ll wait here, I’ll knock on the door and signal when they’re ready to receive you.”

  William stamped his feet to warm them, trying not to shiver in front of Ruskin, who seemed to find the cold invigorating. “I know the routine, Ruskin. I’d like to get inside before I get soaked through.”

  Ruskin went through the gate and down the path. Lamplight shone into the night as the door opened in answer to the agent’s knock. The sound of muffled voices drifted toward him, followed by a squeal. The light behind the windows brightened, illuminating a flurry of activity in shadow relief. As if by signal, all action stopped, and Ruskin beckoned him.

  Tom Reid grasped his hand and shook it warmly as he entered. “Lord William, it’s been far too long since we’ve had the honor. It’s been…several months, has it not?”

  William glanced to the side where Melissa stood, her expression hopeful and fearful at the same time. Myrna, her mother, stood beside her, her excitement barely controlled, while her younger sister Katie leaned against the kitchen table with a mischievous grin aimed directly his way. With an effort, he turned back to Tom. “Yes, it has.”

  “No doubt you’ve been busy. Running a barony must be a lot of work. What brings you to us this evening?”