Michael Manning - The Archmage unbound

“Well before you go getting excited I should tell you first that the job needs someone that knows his letters,” I informed him.

“Ha!” said Peter excitedly. “No problem there.”

“Really?” I said with feigned surprise, for less than a third of the common folk could read.

“My dad taught me, and I even had a job as a clerk for a while,” he said proudly.

I grinned and slapped my leg. “This might be your lucky day then!” I said excitedly. “One of the nobles is looking for a messenger and junior scribe to come work for him, and the pay is supposedly good.”

The younger sister had been listening behind the door, but this news was too good for her to keep her distance. She darted her head around the doorframe, “That would be perfect Peter! Think of what we could…”

“Lily!” he barked. “Go inside and stop eavesdropping!” Her face flinched at his tone and she ducked inside and shut the door. He turned back to me before speaking again, “Which noble is it?”

“The new Protector of the Northern Reach,” I answered loudly, “the Count di’Cameron, don’t ask me to tell you his proper name though, I can never keep it straight.” I told him this with some enthusiasm but I was watching him closely to see his reaction. I needn’t have bothered; he didn’t hide his disdain at all.

Peter spat on the ground in disgust. “Bah! I’d rather work shoveling manure for the rest of my life as take a job for that blood-thirsty whoreson!” he announced.

I gave him a shocked look, “Well I didn’t think you’d be offended…” I was hoping he might feel like elaborating on his reasons.

Peter started to open his mouth but then he shut it again, thinking carefully. Finally he replied, “Sorry, it really isn’t your fault. I’ll let you get back to looking for your friend.” He turned and headed into back inside, but he was visibly upset.

“Let me give you the details in case you change your…,” the door closed before I could finish. I stared blankly at it for a moment. I had hoped to find out more than that. To hell with it, I thought. I knocked on the door again.

Lily opened it and this time she didn’t bother hiding behind it. “I’m sorry. Peter’s not interested in that job.”

“Here, let me at least tell you the address, in case he changes his mind. They might have a job that would suit you as well,” I suggested.

Her face hardened. “There’s no way either one of us would ever work for that bastard,” she said evenly and there was steel in her voice.

My ruse had run its course, and there wasn’t much hope I could get anything else from it so I took a chance on a direct question, “But why not?”

Her expression changed then, it wasn’t the burning fury I had seen the first time she looked upon me… this was a look of despair mixed with resentment, a cooler anger, more acceptable for sharing with a stranger. “He killed our grandfather,” she said coldly, and then she shut the door. There was no doubt in my mind the conversation was over now.

I stood still for a long moment, before turning away. A chill had washed over me, leaving me numb as I started walking toward home. He killed our grandfather, she said over again in my mind. I wasn’t sure who her grandfather was, but a deep sense of guilt welled up. I had killed many men, but I only knew the names of a few.

I walked without paying attention to my direction, wandering aimlessly while my mind ran in circles. He killed our grandfather. I wondered how many families cursed me in Gododdin as well; I had killed many more of their men. Assuming any of their families survived to hate me, considering Mal’goroth’s assertion that he would sacrifice the families of any soldier I killed.

Memories of the past year chased each other through my mind, memories of people that had died. This is the Tucker residence, she had said. Tucker! I screamed inwardly as I remembered. “Jonathan Tucker!”

When I had come to ‘liberate’ my goods from the royal warehouse last year, I had used my power to destroy a steel gate and inadvertently killed an old guard. The heavy metal had been blown backward with incredible force, completely severing his head. The tag carefully sewn into his shirt had read, Jonathan Tucker. Had I just met the girl that had embroidered that tag? Unbidden a vision of a thirteen year old girl diligently working to mend her grandfather’s shirt rose in my mind, tormenting me.

Did they have any other family? Had the old man been their only income? Was young Peter now desperate to find work to support his sister? These questions and many more ate at my conscience. Even if I wanted to help them they would not accept my aid. I walked without purpose or direction for an hour more before I finally resolved to find some way to help them.

It didn’t ease the black cloud in my heart, but it gave me enough purpose to return home at last. Harold was very happy to see me, in the sense that he was fairly put out. Being his lord though he was obliged to keep much of his opinion to himself and when he saw my face he knew better than to try and pester me about abandoning him.

I ignored his questions and sought privacy in my room, locking the door behind me. Then I stared at the ceiling for a long time.

The next day started much as I had anticipated. Rose and Marc were both in good moods and feeling entirely too chatty. I ignored them through most of breakfast. Eventually of course they tired of my reticence and started asking more direct questions. I suspect Marc would have waited, he knew me well enough to recognize my moods, but Rose was having none of it.

“Are you going to tell us what’s wrong or spend the entire day brooding?” Rose said finally.

My first impulse was to lash out at her. I badly wanted to hurt someone, to give vent to my emotion, but I didn’t. Instead I reminded her of that night, when we raided the warehouse, and the man I had killed. The one she had suggested hiding afterward.

“You’re still beating yourself up over something that happened over a year ago?” she interrupted.

“No, if you’ll let me finish, I’ll tell you,” I ground out with some irritation. “I doubt you recall, but the man I killed that night was named Jonathan Tucker.”

She started to argue about my use of the term, ‘killed’, I could see it in her face as she opened her mouth. Luckily Marc stopped her, putting a finger to her lips. As smart as Rose was she still hadn’t picked up on the heart of the problem.

“I met his grandchildren yesterday,” I said at last, and then I stopped. They both stared at me in astonishment. Rose had put her hand over her mouth in an expression of more shock than I could ever recall her showing before. “Their names are Peter and Lily Tucker and they hate me with a passion. Peter came to look for a chance to stick a knife in me during the ceremony yesterday, but his sister forced him to go home.”

“How did you learn their names?” asked Rose.

“I took on another man’s appearance and followed them home,” I answered her, and then I described the conversation I had had with them.

Marc whistled admiringly, “That was quick thinking my friend.”

“It still doesn’t help me help them,” I replied. “From the looks of things they were desperate for money and I don’t think either of them have an income.”

Rose stood up and took my hands. “Stand up,” she said sternly. I humored her, not sure what she had in mind, but after I had risen she put her arms around me and embraced me. Then she leaned up and kissed me on the cheek. “You are a sweet man Mordecai, I can see why Penny loves you, but you cannot take the weight of the world upon your shoulders.”