The Dark Lord Cecil

by Wade Adrian

  Contents

  The Dark Lord Cecil

  Copyright

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  Back Matter

  The Dark Lord Cecil

  Wade Adrian

  Copyright © 2017 Wade Adrian

  Cover design © 2017 Wade Adrian

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means - except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews - without written permission from its publisher.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2017 Wade Adrian

  All rights reserved.

  1

  The sun came up like it did every morning, lighting the world and the quaint little farmhouse midst its quaint little fields, set in the quaint countryside around the rather quaint town of Hearthshire. The bright ball of light in the sky moved along, as it does most mornings, interrupting dull dreams of doldrums as it nearly always did. But when the roosters let out their cry, young Cecil’s eyes popped open, his mind clear and crisp. This morning was not like other mornings. Oh no. Not this day.

  “Today is the day!” Cecil hopped out of bed with the speed and vigor of a startled cat. He dressed in only his finest attire and pulled his neatly pressed coat from under his ratty old mattress before making his way down from the sleeping loft of the quaint little farmhouse via the most direct route: over the side. He landed in the kitchen with practiced familiarity, his boots in one hand and his coat in the other.

  “There’s a ladder, you know.” Calder looked up from a flimsy old book lying open on the table, his shaggy gray hair sticking out every which way. He glanced aside at a calender hanging on the wall. It was primarily there as an aid for planting and harvesting, but Cecil was occasionally allowed to write something on it. “Finally going to bother the town magistrate, are we?”

  Cecil nodded even as his fingers combed through his hair, putting it perfectly in place. Hopefully. They didn’t own a mirror. “I made my appointment, just like they asked.”

  “That was four months ago.”

  “Yes.” He nodded, trying to see himself in the side of a metal pan. He could almost tell the reflection was of a person. “ It was the soonest they could see me.”

  Calder rolled his eyes. “Seems about the normal speed of those people. Just to be on the safe side, go have a chat with Erwin and make sure he remembers you.”

  Cecil filled a bowl with hot breakfast mush from the bubbling pot on the stove and sat in one of the four chairs at the table. Their family had more members, but chairs weren’t easy to come by, and the table only had so much room. “Of course he remembers. Don’t be silly.” The mush was quite mushy today. It was reluctant to release his spoon.

  “If he was in his right mind he wouldn’t be retiring, now would he? He’s agreeable enough most days, just make sure today is one of them. Don’t need anyone official coming by when he’s howling at the moon, digging a well with a ladle, or trying to plow a field with his elbow.”

  “He only did that in the flower bed. It worked surprisingly well. Besides…” Loud snoring picked up from the loft overhead as he spoke. Cecil’s eyes turned up to the boards overhead. They didn’t stop a bit of the sound. “Whatever it takes to get out of here.”

  Calder frowned. “Boy’s got to make his own way, sure enough. But you might want to be more careful with your choice of words with Erwin, and in town.”

  “No offense intended, pop. I don’t know how you stand it here.”

  He shrugged. “You get to where you don’t even notice, unless it’s too quiet. But that’s exactly what I mean. There’s no ‘I’m sorry’s or ‘no offense intended’s to be had with those people. Pack your Ps, pack your Qs, and mind them all.”

  “I will.” Cecil mumbled around his spoon as he pulled his boots on.

  Calder just stared for a moment. “And get your chores done before you go.” He turned his eyes back to his book, flipping the page.

  Cecil’s shoulders slumped as he spit out the spoon. The bowl of mush reclaimed it. “But I have an appointment for noon.”

  Calder didn’t look up from his book. “Then you best get moving. You’re not gone yet, boy.”

  The morning’s work went quickly enough. None of his eight siblings were moving yet so no one was in his way. The whole place was quiet and collected at this hour. Quite the oddity. It might have been like this every morning, but he wouldn’t know. Mornings were for sleeping in. He wandered by the calm animal pens, tossing out feed and making sure everything was closed up tight. Probably something best done in the evening, but his chores were his chores. Livestock fed, horses brushed, and eggs collected. It didn’t take him long to find his way back inside the quaint farmhouse. He carefully set the basket of eggs on the kitchen counter.

  Calder hadn’t moved an inch.

  Cecil cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose…”

  “You often do.”

  Cecil was simply in too good of a mood. He let that slide. “…that I might borrow Winston for the day? After all, he could use the exercise and I’ve spent some of my travel time seeing to chores like an upstanding member of the family.”

  Calder rubbed at his chin for an infuriatingly long moment before nodding. “Don’t see why not. Just be nice to him.”

  Cecil was out the door before Calder had finished the word ‘nice.’

  Calder’s voice chased Cecil out the door. “Remember, son: to be a great farmer one must be outstanding in their field!”

  Cecil sighed. That one had almost hurt. The man was known for his… humor. He’d never admit to it though, he said farmer jokes were too corny.

  Just one of the excellent reasons to live anywhere else.

  Winston was standing in his stable, oblivious to the world. He was even oblivious to his breakfast. The feed bag was on the ground in his stall, the contents more or less at the level Cecil had given him before he had wiggled the thing off. Apparently the horse was more of a stickler for schedules than Cecil.

  Well, he’d have no one to blame but himself. There was sure to be grass aplenty for him to much on in town.

  Winston wasn’t exactly the fastest horse in the world, but he was faster than walking and less tiring. He didn’t so much as turn his head to look at Cecil while he was saddled and prepped. The pace at which he exploded out of the stables would certainly put most turtles to shame.

  Chadwick and Candice were up and about by the time Winston was nearing the gate at the edge of their property, but the youngest pair of his siblings just watched with bleary sleep encrusted eyes as he rode on by. Everyone was aware that this day had been coming. Cecil had mentioned it a few times. Well, a few times this week. And several the week before. And for the last four months while he waited for the appointment. And for a year or two before he worked up the courage to make the appointment or even speak to Erwin.

  But only those times.

  Win
ston wasn’t the best company on the road. He had a tendency to veer this way and that, walking toward whatever caught his interest. Usually grass. The road was long and winding through the countryside. Each parcel of farmland was more or less the same, farmhouse close to the road and fields off behind it.

  Cecil was never able to get a clear answer on whether proximity of ones holdings to the town itself was prestigious for a farm or not. His father thought the idea laughable, but he also had the furthest farm out to the east, though he would argue it was also the quietest. Erwin was three in from them, and thought it was terribly important.

  He hadn’t bothered to stop and see Erwin. He was a good man and fully intended to let Cecil take over his holdings. He had no children to do it, and a neighbor was better than some stranger coming and mucking up his works, in his words.

  More importantly, there hadn’t been time. Winston was dragging his hooves and the sun was already higher in the sky than Cecil liked. He did wave when he passed Erwin’s farm, though. He hadn’t seen anyone, of course, it just seemed polite.

  Cecil and Winston stopped in front of the town hall just as the sun was climbing to its peak. He had barely noticed the town outside, making a beeline for the largest building. Aside from the clock tower, of course.

  He’d seen the town a few times before, primarily coming to market, but this part of town always seemed… unfriendly somehow. Truth be told, this was the only building here he’d set foot in and that only so far as the lobby where he had made his appointment. They’d been nice enough as they shooed him out again. Really more nudging than shoving, and there had hardly been any kicking at all.

  Now that he was outside, Winston’s hooves seemed to be planted in the cobblestone street like aged redwoods. Or maybe it was because Cecil was staring and Winston was just being Winston without any input.

  The tall buildings seemed… intimidating all of a sudden. The town hall had four stories. Four! Madness. Only the clock tower was taller, and he was told that was all stairs so it didn’t count.

  Other buildings were tall, too. Surrounding him. Stone and wood heavy enough it must have taken a small army to build the place. Bright blue banners proclaimed fealty to a kingdom he didn’t even know the proper name of.

  He felt tiny.

  Inconsequential.

  Just some dirt farmer that had wandered up from the market stalls. He didn’t belong here. He wasn’t worthy of their time.

  What in the world had he been thinking?

  He would swear he was shrinking…

  “Well it’s about time.”

  He blinked and looked down. An old woman was standing in the open door. “Are you the noon meeting?”

  “Yes.” He squeaked.

  She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “Best get inside then. He’s in no mood to be kept waiting.”

  Oh, good. Already in a foul mood. Saved Cecil the trouble.

  Well, at least it would be a brief meeting. He climbed down from Winston’s back, slowly and carefully, but only because his foot got caught in the stirrup. He wasn’t the most experienced rider.

  Winston moved ahead to the hitching post dutifully enough, and seemed delighted to see a water trough and a flower bed he set into with his teeth.

  The old woman at the door narrowed her eyes at Cecil, but he only shrugged and started for the door. “Sorry. Which way?”

  She held the door wider. “Straight in, up the stairs, third floor, big office, double doors. Can’t miss it.”

  “Thank you.”

  The inside was lit by a number of tall windows, the bottoms of which seemed to be open while the tops were fancifully colored glass that probably never moved, short of some disaster. Blue again. Seemed to be a running theme. Calder didn’t think much of the king or the kingdom, and was absolutely sure he’d never spend so much as an hour in these parts, so he gave him about as much mind as he did most insects. Occasional annoyance.

  Cecil hadn’t realized how much he didn’t know until now.

  He rather dreaded there being some sort of test of knowledge to prove loyalty. That might disqualify him… right after he got out of the jail for being a foreign agent or something.

  The stairs were easy to find, giant central structure and all. He climbed them as swiftly as he dared, only noticing the dirt left in his wake after he topped the first flight.

  Nothing for it now. He’d sweep up on his was out.

  The pair of double doors stretched to the ceiling, polished redwood held together by brass. They were standing open just a crack.

  A tiny desk waited off to the side, but it was empty.

  Cecil was already late, so waiting was probably a bad idea. He wandered up to the door casually and gently placed a hand against it to open it wide enough to see.

  The room within was lined with shelves laden with books, also to the ceiling. The back wall was windows which, of course, stretched to the ceiling. Someone wasn’t keen on dusting the tops of things.

  A large desk sat in the middle of the room, a single chair behind it and a single chair in front of it. The one behind was occupied, a balding man in a blue coat hunched over the desk, a finger absently rubbing against his smooth head.

  Well, he was only getting later for the appointment.

  2

  Cecil cleared his throat and knocked on the open door.

  The balding man glanced up, eyebrows low and eyes narrowed. His gaze cut to a clock on the wall. “Huh.” He looked back down without another word. Or well, any words really, given that ‘huh’ was questionable.

  Cecil let himself in. “I have an appointment for today, you see-”

  “You had an appointment.” The balding man kept his eyes on his paperwork.

  “Umm…” He blinked a few times.

  He wasn’t that late.

  “Though I suppose firing my assistant for even making an appointment at noon isn’t really your fault. The ingrate. If he wasn’t kin to me I would have shipped him to the mines. Noon. Really. Who does that? Not decent lunch fearing people.” He shook his bald head and glanced up again. “Well, you’re still here. Have a seat…” his hands shifted about a disorganized stack of papers on the table, “Cecil.”

  He pronounced it “See-sil.”

  Cecil sat down in the only chair facing the desk. It was nice. Cushy red velvet. Probably worth more than his house. “It’s pronounced Sess-ul, actually.”

  “Really. I’ve always heard See-sil. Hmph.” He picked up a sheet and slapped it with his other hand. “Look Seesil, it’s not just a matter of a ridiculous appointment being set up, we also received this response from Mr… Erwin about your inquiry. According to him, your claim is false because he’s never heard of you, and he’s planning to leave his farmland to…” he flipped the sheet over. “Someone named Lenny. Who is apparently his milk cow? Odd name for a cow. I mean, you’d expect something more girly, you know?” Baldy rubbed at his chin. “Anyway he actually filled out the proper paperwork to make that legally binding before anyone figured it out, so while I’d like to negate it on principle alone, it’s going to take some time. I sent couriers to this effect. You haven’t spoken with Mr. Erwin?”

  Cecil felt like he was shrinking into the chair. “I was going to stop by today, but I got a late start.”

  Baldy rolled his eyes. “And you’re from the… Kyne farm. Not kin to Mr. Erwin at all?”

  “He doesn’t have any family. But we’ve been good neighbors my entire life. Look after each other and all.”

  “Well with his penchant for livestock, I can understand the predicament. But that doesn’t explain why someone from the Kyne farm is looking to take over Mr. Erwin’s plot of land.” He narrowed his eyes at Cecil.

  “It’s nothing nefarious, I assure you.” Cecil held up his hands like he was being robbed. “I’m the oldest of nine siblings. Plenty to carry on our farm. I’m just looking for peace and quiet. Mr. Erwin seems to understand that sentiment, well… on his better days.”

 
“Nine Kynes. Hmm.” Baldy leaned back in his chair. It was a lot like Cecil’s, but bigger and nicer in every possible way. It had shiny brass studs and edging. “So you’re looking to spread out your family influence. Blood is thinker than water and all. Put a Kyne in charge of all the farms you can, use your close familial ties to force a renegotiation of the price of goods by strong-arming the market.”

  Cecil’s eyes couldn’t get any wider. He squeaked out, “Umm?”

  “It’s clever, Seesil, it really is. No doubt your parents were planning it for years before you were even born. Flooding the world with little Kynes like some sort of ant colony. But I’ve seen through the ruse. I know what you’re up to. And as the duly appointed representative of Lord Yale Thorn, I can not allow this sort of thing to transpire…”

  Cecil was choking, trying to find a word to shove in edgewise, but the man was relentless.

  “… for less than thirty percent of the difference.”

  Cecil blinked. “Wait, what?”

  “Business is business, my boy.” The balding man shrugged. “It’s not a bad plan, certainly, but if you want to get ahead in life you’ve got to learn to grease the right palms.”

  “No, no.” Cecil shook his head. “Really, it’s nothing like that. I just want to get away from the constant noise and things being thrown at all hours.”

  Baldy stared across the table with narrowed eyes. “You’re right. We really shouldn’t be discussing this here. No doubt there are unfriendly ears.” He nodded a few times, his eyes sweeping the room. “But if you’re holding out for a better deal, I tell you I won’t take a copper less than twenty five percent.”

  “You said thirty before.”

  “Twenty two.”

  Calder had said not to offend anyone… and poking at this man’s delusions would probably do just that. “So… that means you’re willing to help me get the plot of land?”

  “For twenty percent, yes.”

  Well, if he drug this conversation out much longer, he’d get away scot-free. “You’ll have to take up the details with my father, of course.” Calder might be able to talk some sense into the loon… hopefully after Cecil was relocated.