Chapter 33

  The interior of Michel's house had a cozy feel despite its size and the wealth on display. The rooms were warmly lit by candles and oil lamps. Michel led Dalex into his living room, where a large fireplace crackled happily away. Two finely upholstered couches and an armchair surrounded the fire. Michel’s wife followed after them until they all three stood in the center of the room with a handful of maids and a butler looking in at them.

  "Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" Michel's wife asked. "Though, I must admit, this isn't the best time to be having guests."

  Most of the manor's decor had been taken down, and what wasn't already outside in the wagons was on the floor, waiting to be moved.

  She lowered her voice and leaned toward Dalex. "Or are you here to lend a hand with the trouble my husband has gotten himself into."

  "You could say that," Dalex replied and gestured to Michel. “But your wife is right, I’ll let you handle the introductions.”

  Michel cringed at Dalex’s hand moving in his direction, but he managed to mumble, “Melisende, this is Dalex of the Expedition Seven.”

  “Oh, Lord Dalex,” she said, then she paused and looked confused. “Isn’t that… I thought you said Dalex was the name of the man coming after you.”

  Dalex beamed at her and said, “I’ll step in here, ma’am. Don’t worry, you are not confused. I am that man. It looks like I got here a little earlier than you two expected.”

  The longer he talked, the more her face paled. He looked around the room and inspected a painting resting against one wall, making sure they saw him admiring their home. “Though I think if you were really worried about a visit from me, you would have been a bit hastier in your retreat. You really take after your dragon overlords, don’t you?”

  Both Michel and Melisende looked confused.

  “What does that mean?” Michel asked.

  “That you’re greedy. But that’s not what I came here to talk about.” He gestured to one of the couches. “Why don’t you two take a seat and we’ll talk. Melisende, I’ll give you the same reassurance I gave your husband. I’m not going to kill anyone. No one has to get hurt.”

  Husband and wife sat down together and took each other’s hands.

  How sweet, Dalex thought as he settled back into the armchair and continued, “But there are some conditions.”

  Dalex silently cast {detect lies} and then said, “First, do you know where Jean Castreier is?”

  Michel shook his head. “I have not seen him since yesterday morning.”

  The system’s analysis of the man’s heart rate and other vitals recorded this as the truth.

  “Very good,” Dalex said. “Do you have a way of contacting him.”

  “I do not,” Michel said.

  A lie. Dalex decided to let him get away with it for now. If Michel thought he could get away with telling a fib, it might be useful.

  “Why don’t I have one of the maids get us some coffee?” Melisende asked before Dalex could go on.

  “That would be delightful,” Dalex said, “but you don’t have maids anymore. If you want it, you’ll have to get it yourself.”

  Melisende looked at the row of confused maids waiting nearby as if to confirm they had not vanished into smoke. When she looked back at her husband, he nodded, and she got up to retrieve the tea on her own. One of the maids moved to help her, but Michel raised his voice and said, “Stay where you are.”

  There was no little amount of fear in the room. Most of it emanated from Michel like stink lines, but the elven maids and the beastkin butler were just as afraid of Dalex as any other human. None of them looked like slaves—not that Dalex really knew what a slave looked like in this world—but he guessed that Michel would keep most of the enslaved help outside the main house.

  Dalex turned around in his chair to face the maids and the single butler. “I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad news. Lord Michel will no longer be requiring your services. You’re all being let go.” He saw the fear deepen in their eyes and raised a finger before things got out of hand. “However, he has been generous enough to provide you all with a substantial severance package. For those of you who have no idea what that means, Lord Michel has agreed to pay you all twenty years of double your current contracted salary upon dismissal from his service.”

  He looked back at Michel to see the man’s eyes bugging out of his head.

  “I believe,” Dalex continued, “that should be plenty to take care of your families while you look for new work.” He clapped his hands and added, “Everyone, let’s give a round of applause to Lord Michel.”

  Surprisingly, the maids and butler joined him. Their combined clapping became a respectful if subdued applause. Dalex had thought they might be a bit confused or need more convincing, but apparently, they understood well enough. They were all now quite a bit wealthier than they had been expecting when they woke up that morning, and they weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “Go ahead and wait outside, everyone,” Dalex said. “I’ll discuss the details with Lord Michel alone, thank you.”

  The maids and butler filtered out of the room. Melisende hadn’t yet returned with the coffee.

  Dalex locked eyes with Michel. “The second condition, and it goes for everyone in your employ, including slaves. Since I’m sure you don’t pay the slaves an annual salary, let’s say they get what the butler gets. If you don’t have the liquid funds to compensate everyone, I’m guessing you’ll have to sell off a few items, but that’s the price of doing business.”

  Michel clasped his hands together and bent forward as if he might be sick.

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  “The third condition is more personal to me,” Dalex said. “I want you to tell me the names and locations of every notable human living in and around the Batulan-bar city limits.”

  Now Michel appeared to be shaking. Whether he feared what Dalex might do to these humans or simply worried about reprisals for giving away their personal information, Dalex couldn’t tell. Or maybe the pressure of the situation was getting to him.

  “Don’t worry. I have no intention of hurting them either. I’m just planning some Spring cleaning.”

  Melisende chose that moment to reappear with a porcelain tray of little ornate coffee cups. Dalex was surprised she had actually gone through with making the drinks. When she got up to leave the room, he had thought she might use the opportunity to run away or retrieve the guards. In fact, her return only made him more suspicious.

  When she set a cup and saucer in front of Dalex, he silently cast {detect poisons}, and, sure enough, the system told him the coffee contained a very powerful but tasteless and odorless toxin. The attempt was kind of clumsy, but he applauded her boldness.

  Dalex let one finger dangle slightly over the edge of the cup and summoned a pinch of the {astral mortar}. Dalex cast {purification} and fine grains of dust fell into the coffee, small enough that Michel and Melisende couldn’t see them. The spell neutralized the poison, and, once the {astral mortar} seeped out of the drink, Dalex took a sip. His two hosts looked on in unrestrained glee.

  “Oh,” Dalex said, “that’s very rich. Could use some sugar, but I won’t be a choosing beggar.”

  He rested the cup and its saucer on his lap and looked at his hosts expectantly. They stared at him quietly for several seconds. Michel didn’t offer up any names and locations and Melisende didn’t retrieve any sugar. The latter Dalex could forgive, but the longer Michel waited, the bigger his staffs’ severance package grew.

  Michel finally gave his wife a look. “Did you?”

  She nodded fiercely. “I did.”

  They were very good communicators. Dalex supposed that the poison should have started affecting him by now. But he only felt refreshed and alert.

  “Well?” Dalex asked. “I’m waiting, Michel. I’m sure you don’t want your friends in the city to miss out on a chance to meet me. Here, I’ll make it easy for you.”

  He stood up and walked to their side of the room, posting up next to the couch’s arm rest. “{City map}.”

  His armor projected a visible map of Batulan-bar and the surrounding countryside into the air in front of his hosts. Both Michel and Melisende made surprised choking sounds.

  Dalex explained, “Just give me their names and point on the map where I can find them.”

  “Um,” Michel said, starting to sweat, and not just from the heat of the fire. “High Lord Dampier lives here.”

  He pointed randomly at an area in the heart of Batulan-bar. An alert appeared in Dalex’s peripheral vision. Dalex pointed a finger at the painting he had been admiring earlier and said, “{Fireball}.”

  His armor formed a nozzle off the edge of his finger and shot a little bulb of flame at the work of art. The oily painting lit easily and burned quickly. The flame went out before it could spread to the floor or wall, though Dalex had been ready to extinguish it if necessary.

  “The truth, please, Michel,” Dalex said. “I’m sure there are many precious flammable items in your home.”

  Melisende gaped at him in horror. “That was an original Robertia, you fiend.”

  “I’m sure it was very valuable, both monetarily and culturally.”

  He had considered the latter before burning the painting but had come to two conclusions. Either the artist—be they human, beastkin, or even elven—was just as repugnant as the people who owned the art, in which case Dalex didn’t particularly care what became of their work, or the artist was of a better kinder sort, in which case they probably wouldn’t like knowing it was on display in the home of a man like Michel and might even encourage its destruction.

  Maybe the future historians and collectors of Gaia Eta would condemn him for destroying this realm’s Mona Lisa, but they would have to get over it.

  “All the more reason to give me what I ask for,” he said. “Especially since, if you run out of paintings, I’ll have to start burning something else.”

  He let their imaginations ponder what that something else might be. Michel and Melisende shared a look and finally Michel spilled his guts, pointing at various areas on the map and naming the humans who controlled the territory. The map zoomed in and out so he could more accurately define where each person lived. The map saved all of their locations and only disappeared after Dalex confirmed Michel wasn’t leaving anyone out.

  When it was done, Dalex patted Michel on his shoulder. “Good work there, bud. I’m glad you could see things my way. Now, I want you to gather all of your staff and slaves out front. We’ll give everyone the good news as soon as they’re together.”

  Dalex waited on the porch of the manor while Michel and Melisende went to work rounding up everyone who worked for them. Within fifteen minutes, there were three major groups of people standing out in front of the building—paid household staff, Michel’s personal beastkin guard, and a collection of elven slaves. The beastkin butler stood alone next to the servants, and a little ways away was a tiny woman wearing a wide brimmed hat. Dalex hadn’t seen her when he arrived. Was she family or staff?

  The wagon train and its precious cargo were abandoned for the time being.

  Dalex introduced himself and explained to his new audience the same thing he had told the maids and the butler. They were all getting let go but would be paid handsomely for their trouble. When he was done, he asked, “Does anyone like working for Michel and wish to stay on his staff?”

  Two of the servants raised their hands and most of the guards.

  “I forgot to mention, Michel won’t be allowed to have any weapons on his property, so that means all guards will have to go unarmed while in his service.”

  Most of the guards lowered their hands, though a few remained loyal.

  “You can stay, then.” Dalex clapped his hands together. “Great work everyone; I appreciate your cooperation.” He turned to Michel. “I’ll be back tomorrow to make sure you follow through. And I wouldn’t try to run. I’ve got my eye on you.”

  The man nodded vigorously.

  Dalex was about to fly off when one of the slaves spoke up, “What about the crest?”

  “What’s that now?” Dalex asked. He pointed at the elf who had spoken. “Come over, tell me what’s on your mind.”

  An elven male detached from the crowd and came to the bottom of the steps. He pulled back a shirt sleeve to reveal an intricate red brand in the shape of Michel’s initials using the local alphabet.

  “I didn’t know about a crest,” Dalex said. “Can it be removed?”

  The elf gave him a confused look. It had been a while since Dalex had seen an expression like that. Most of the people around him had gotten used to his ignorance.

  “Please, explain. I don’t know how it works.”

  The elf pointed at Michel. “He paid the Office of Elven Labor in Batulan-bar to form a contract with all of his slaves. It forces us to obey his orders and prevents us from harming him. It can only be removed if he dies by natural causes or if a third party kills him.”

  Dalex turned to Michel. “Oh?”

  The man’s face drained of all color, and he quickly said. “The contract can be annulled!”

  Looking back at the elf, Dalex asked, “Is that true?”

  The elf shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  No one else in the audience backed Michel up, but they might not have much reason to.

  “I swear it’s true,” Michel begged. “We can go to the office. They’ll do it for me. I swear. Please, listen to me.”

  Dalex put a hand out to stop him. “That’s okay, I believe you. For now. We’ll see when we get there.” He looked at Melisende and said, “I’m taking your husband out for an errand. Please see that you meet all of my conditions, yes?”

  She nodded vigorously.

  “Excellent.”

  Dalex walked Michel to the bottom step of his porch and opened the map again so he could point out the location of this “Office of Elven Labor.” Since Dalex wasn’t the least bit interested in carrying Michel in his arms, he used the {astral mortar} to form a basket for the man to sit in during the flight.

  But, before Dalex could take off, the little woman with the big hat appeared before them.

  “Would you allow me to accompany you today?” she asked, her voice slow and even.

  Michel grimaced.

  Dalex asked, “And who are you?”

  The woman took off her hat, revealing long red curls and a pair of horns protruding from her scalp like a goat’s. The elves and the beastkin all shied away from her.

  “I am Balgoth the Boiler, a troubadour patroned by Lord Michel. I would like to travel with you in the hopes that you might become my patron instead.”

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