A Year Less Three Days, page 8
“That’s lovely, Lias, truly. But if you don’t mind, let us each hold close to our hearts a small bit of paranoia. We each have reason to fear, I think.”
The storm blasted the shutters, flinging drops of rain into the room. In the distance, something that sounded like a child screaming could be heard. Then a great puff of flame rose up in the deep woods. Necromis sipped his drink and cleaned his wounds, heedless of the nightmarish sounds around him.
Lias retreated to his bed as quickly as he was able, which was by no means fast, unable to look away from the window. “That’s putting it very mildly,” he muttered. The unholy shriek sounded nothing like the calf. If anything, it sounded far more frightening. Lias shuddered and drew himself into a ball, sitting with his back flat against the wall. “What is that?”
“Oh, make no mistake, that was the duppy, enraged at being forced from its earthly form. You’d better brace yourself. We have two more nights of this, each worse than the last. The knights are here because the evil is here.”
There came a tap on the door, and Merrigale poked her head in. “You have company my lord.”
“You’re drunk,” exclaimed Necromis.
Merrigale was indignant. “I am not. Some fool by the name of Sir Barton is…”
“Oh, by all the gods and bears that are! What is that idiot doing out on one of the three nights of the duppy?”
“Getting his foolish self lost by the looks of it,” said Merrigale.
Lias glanced at Necromis. “Who is Sir Barton?”
“A moron,” said Necromis flatly. “Bait for bears and nothing more. Send him away. No! Wait! I will speak with him. Then I am going to bed. I’ve had a damned long night and am in no mood for idiots!”
Necromis slowly and painfully dragged himself out of the bath, wrapped himself in a robe, and limped out of the room. Merrigale began cleaning up the blood, spilled water, and towels.
Lias watched for a moment before speaking. “He’s not like the others.”
“What others?” inquired Merrigale, busily cleaning. She seemed to be able to do so at an astounding speed.
“The ones who bought me before him. Necromis is nothing like them.” Lias watched her in awe. “How can you do that so quickly yet so thoroughly?”
“Practice,” she said dryly. “And no, he is nothing at all like any other man. One day, he will find a proper man to love, take in children to raise as heirs, and become king. And we will all be better for it. How dare you accuse him of paying homage to Bonecracker! Lie down, rest yourself. Do you want to undo all of Sir Hawthorne’s work?”
Lias barely stopped himself from saying ‘yes, ma’am.’ He stretched out on his bed. “I told him I was sorry, and I will repeat it to you. I said such things out of anger, but he did not deserve the accusations.”
“No, he did not! What are you wearing? It’s filthy.” She had Lias out of his nightshirt in a second and was shoving a fresh one over his head.
Lias grumbled until the shirt slipped down to cover him. “I’m not a child, you know. I am capable of dressing myself.” He glanced at the tub. “If I might ask, could I possibly wash soon?”
“You cannot wash until your wounds heal a little more. But I will bring you a cloth and a basin, and you can attend to yourself.”
“Thank you,” Lias said quietly.
Merrigale brought him a basin and a cloth, then he was left to his own devices. An hour later, Necromis stumbled in, walked directly to his bed, and fell onto it, sleeping beside his horse, one arm thrown across the mighty animal’s neck.
Lias finished washing, being as quiet as possible. He cleaned as much as he could before he had to stand to take off the nightshirt. His wounds looked awful, but he’d been through much worse. He wet the cloth and dabbed at a few of the larger wounds. He wished he could wash his hair, but doing so would have required far more water, soap, and noise. A snort came from the bed, and he glanced over, no clue if the sound came from his host or the animal in the man’s bed.
“Psst,” said a voice from the window.
Lias grabbed his nightshirt and tugged it on. “Who’s there?” he whispered.
A skinny arm in a nursemaid’s pink-striped sleeve wriggled under the window shutter and waved. Moments later, a huge eye and skull-like face could be seen. “Did you tell him about the present I gave you?”
Lias stumbled backward, tripping over the basin and spilling water onto the floor. The creature smiled, a grotesque expression that sent a chill racing up Lias’ spine.
“You,” he muttered. “What are you? What do you want?”
“I’m the nursemaid, silly. You met me earlier! I watch all the invisible babies! Would you like to know where Sir Barton is?”
Lias shook his head, heart thundering. “No. Leave me alone. You don’t belong here, you don’t work here. I don’t know what or who you really are, but I want nothing from you.”
She giggled, then chanted in a sing-song vice, “He’s in the basement, he’s in the meat locker, he’s going to be sacrificed… How lucky for you that Necromis needs you alive. He needs your warm willing flesh…”
“I don’t believe you,” Lias shot back. “Get out!”
She grinned at him. “Oh, don’t be scared, poor Lias! After he’s had your strong young body beneath his own, he will kill you kindly, I am sure!”
“Leave me alone!” Lias shouted. “I’d just as soon lay beneath him before I ever believe a word you say, demon!”
“Lias…” said Necromis sleepily, “not that the idea of laying with you is not attractive, but why are you shouting at the window?”
“You don’t see her? How can you not see her? She’s right there, in the window! The demon who claimed to be a nursemaid.”
Necromis slowly turned his head to look to the window, staring at the creature leaning through the shutters. He scowled. The demon nursemaid waved.
“Hi.”
“For the love of all the gods, do you know what time it is? I’m tired. Leave my slave alone. He’s had enough for one day. For that matter, so have I, so be gone. We can all be held in awe by your hideous visage later.”
Necromis rolled over and pulled the blankets up.
“You’re no fun,” sulked the demon.
“Not at two in the bloody morning, I’m not,” muttered Necromis.
Lias’ jaw dropped open. He gaped at the Necromis-shaped lump on the bed, then at the demon lady in the window. Thoroughly confused, he flopped down onto his bed. “Just…” He closed his eyes. “Just go. Please. This has to be a dream.”
“Would you like a bedtime story?” crooned the demon.
“Lias, why don’t you show the nice monster your piece of duppy-iron?” asked Necromis.
The monster shrieked and fled.
Lias blinked. “How…?” He picked up the piece of iron nail and studied it before looking back at the window. “Demons are afraid of iron?”
Necromis shifted to get comfortable. “Forged and meteoric iron do ugly things to preternatural creatures, duppy-iron especially. It is iron from the deepest bowels of the netherworlds, forged by demons to inflict pain on demons. Keep it close. And go to sleep.”
“Right,” Lias muttered. Clutching the piece of iron close, he lay down. “Good night, Necromis.”
“Shut up and let me sleep,” grumbled the knight.
Lias held the iron tight in his fist and closed his eyes.
Chapter Six
Morning came too damn early. Lias almost had to force his eyes open. The night had been long and rather frightening, in entirely too many ways. He held up the piece of iron nail that he’d clutched all night long, gazing at it in wonder. Maybe if he made it into a pendant, the nursemaid demon would leave him alone. There wasn’t much he could do about the duppy, but, according to Necromis, demons couldn’t touch iron—especially duppy iron. It gave Lias a bit of security from one demon, at least.
“Necromis?” he whispered from where he still lay on his bed, unsure if the man was even awake yet. For all he knew, Necromis had already awakened and gone out to do… whatever the knight did. “Necromis, are you there?”
“Noooo…” whined the knight. “I’m dead.”
Rufus the horse got off the bed, plodded across the floor, pulled open the bedroom door, and left. Lias stared at the door, one eyebrow raised. This entire household was a bit… odd. Apparently, that included the animals. Lias shook his head.
“Well, can your ghost help me make this iron nail into a pendant, please? I’d feel… safer, at least where the nursemaid demon is concerned.”
Necromis slowly sat up. He looked like something risen from the dead. His white skin showed every scrape and bruise, and his pretty face was blackened. He moved like one who was in great pain. The knight tried to stand. Then he lay down once more.
“Later,” he whispered.
Lias grimaced. “Do you need me to get Hawthorne?” he asked, though he had no idea how or where to find the man to begin with, assuming he could walk that far himself. “Or is there anything else I can do? You look… well… awful.”
Necromis closed his eyes and seemed to sink into the mattress. It became clear very soon that he was not asleep. He was unconscious.
“Shit.”
Lias got up and hissed in pain. His wounds were better, but they were far from healed. Still, he couldn’t just sit there while Necromis was much worse. He got to the door, slowly, and opened it. Doors on either side led to other rooms he’d yet to see, but he figured he’d find someone eventually. He glanced back at Necromis, still as death on the bed. Then he ventured out into the hall and stopped at the first door he came to.
The room was strange to say the least. There was a basin mounted on a stand, as well as an enormous hand-painted and decorated tub mounted to the floor. A pump stood to one end to dispense water into the bath, and a grate of coals underneath the tub would heat the water. Stranger still was an odd little ceramic chair with water in the bottom, and a handle that released the water into the darkened depths of the unknown. Great mirrors adorned the room, and stained-glass windows left images of birds and flowers in coloured light on the floor.
Lias approached the chair and peered into it. “What in the world…?”
“Lias, are you escaping? Because if you are, then I can assure you that the stool-basin is not the exit you wish to use.” The voice was Hawthorne’s.
“What?” Lias turned around. “Uh, no. I’m going to assume, given your statement, that this is akin to a privy.” He glanced at the ‘stool-basin,’ then backed away a bit. “I was looking for you, actually.”
“I’m not down there,” said Hawthorne dryly.
Lias rolled his eyes. “I gathered that. Necromis is…” He sighed. “I don’t know, exactly. I know he was in pain, but he only spoke for a moment this morning and then just… nothing. Can you come see him?”
“Only if you go lie on your bed and stay still. Tell me the truth. Your wife was not stolen; she fled your nonsense.”
Lias shook his head. “No, but she often accused me of being rather stubborn.”
“Fancy that—I cannot imagine why. To your bed. Now let us see to Necromis.”
Moments after Hawthorne looked at Necromis, the shutters and drapes were closed, the whole house took on a feeling of fear and worry, and Lias was in a small room of his own. No one bothered to explain anything to Lias, but it was clear Necromis was dangerously ill.
* * *
For days, Lias lay in his own bed in his own room, slowly healing, while not more than a few feet away, Necromis fought a vengeful fever that threatened to destroy him. Hawthorne had not left the castle once, and Lias sensed others were coming to see how Necromis was faring. If he was to judge by the way one morning Hawthorne drugged him with the lichen and then locked the door to his room, even the king himself had made the trip to see his intended heir. It was not a long journey, but given the health of the man, it was a gesture that truly demonstrated his love for his favoured knight.
* * *
It had been over three weeks, and while Lias was by no means well, he found he could not stay in bed one more moment. He itched to leave the room, to find Hawthorne and ask what was going on. Then again, he didn’t think he really had any right to ask anyway. He sighed and sat on his bed. Head falling back against the wall, he closed his eyes.
“Just don’t let him die,” he muttered.
Merrigale bustled in with a meal for Lias, glaring at him, in no mind for his hard-headedness. “Bed! Now! Lie down! The master may be dying, and no one has time for your foolishness!”
“Dying?” Lias dutifully lay down, but worry set in. “Can anyone do anything? Hawthorne? Another healer? Necromis can’t die!”
Merrigale gave him a very, very hard look. “Indeed, and what do you care? You who have accused him of consorting with demons?”
Lias sighed and dragged his hands down his face. “I don’t know why I care,” he said. “But I do. I apologized for what I said, to him, to you, to anyone who would listen.”
“Then eat your dinner and stay on your bed, lest you find yourself needing a healer as well. But I must say—I’ve seen you looking far worse.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lias answered. He glanced at Merrigale. “I am sorry, for what it’s worth.”
Merrigale gave him a sour look. “You certainly are. Now mind your manners, if you can. His Lordship’s friends will be coming ‘round to visit. I have a full house and no time for nasty slaves! Necromis said the blacksmith was to come up and help you make a pendant.”
“Then he is awake?”
“Somewhat, though why he concerns himself with you, I am sure I do not know.”
Lias just nodded. Nothing he said made any difference. “Thank you.”
“Eat!” she grumbled and departed.
Another woman thrust her head into the room. She smelled of the forge, and her white skin was streaked with soot. “I am looking for the nastiest slave ever to walk. Is that you?”
“Apparently,” Lias grumbled. He sat up and gave the blacksmith the best smile he could muster, given that his aches and pains decided to rear their ugly heads again. “Thank you for coming.”
“Do not thank me. I’ve heard not a single good word about you, and it is your fault Necromis is sick. So save your false smiles and charm. I do this only for Necromis.” She crossed the room to him and seated herself on the floor near his pallet. “Show me your nail.”
Just as she spoke, a great bearded man who looked like a lion entered the room, dressed as a knight and smelling of drink.
“Is this Necromis’ latest pet? You would think he would at least buy the pretty slaves to win over, but no, they all look like rabid beasts.”
“I give up,” Lias grumbled. He handed the blacksmith the iron nail and glanced at the door. The man absolutely reeked. Lias gave the knight a slight smile, even though he figured it’d do no good. “How can I help?” he asked the blacksmith, although he doubted he’d get an even remotely friendly answer. He hated being helpless.
“You can help by not spitting or biting,” she said quietly, examining the nail. “Silver, I think, and a few touches of gold, along with dragon scale to bind. I will return.” She gave him back the nail and left.
The knight stared down at Lias. He was clearly drunk, and there was something that spoke of poor health, but he was not cruel. “I wish I could beg you to give him what he seeks, but human hearts do not work that way,” said the man softly, almost to himself.
Lias studied the man for a moment before speaking. “What does he seek?”
“I don’t know,” said the knight, seating himself heavily in a chair. “Some strange sort of redemption. Five slaves he has raised to fine health and usefulness, though you are by far his hardest task to date. All for the love and forgiveness of one slave. Necromis never forgave himself for failing Sterling. The spear in his heart festers and eats at him. But my manners fail me. I am Sir Blassard, Necromis’ uncle. Not by blood but love.”
For the first time, Lias felt like someone actually wanted to talk to him, instead of down to him. “I am Lias,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir Blassard. Necromis has told me of his late love and what happened.” Lias sighed and stared down at the nail in his hand. “When I came here, I hated him. Just like I’d hated every other person who has bought me. I’ve made mistakes, said and done things to Necromis that I wish I had not. I’ve apologized to him and to anyone else who was offended on his behalf. I never wished him ill, not when I realized he wasn’t like the others.” Lias laughed softly. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you with my troubles, not while Necromis is so gravely ill.”
Blassard sighed heavily, then patted him on the shoulder. “We are all gravely ill, boy. Make no mistake. We all are.”
Blassard shoved a full tankard of ale into Lias’ hands and left the room. Like most beer brewed by the local craftspeople, it was herbed and fragrant, with bits of grain and fruit in it. The scent was like the lemons in the groves of his home, and the colour like sun through a window, with tiny dots of colour from the herbs that gave it flavour.
Lias took a sip. It tasted like no other beer he’d ever had. He continued drinking, slowly, while he waited for the blacksmith to return. His mind, inevitably, wandered to thoughts of Necromis. Despite the troubles they’d had before, Lias worried about Necromis. He didn’t wish the man any bad luck, much less bad health. Lias finished the beer and set the mug down. Head falling back against the wall, he closed his eyes while he sat on his bed, waiting. A part of him wondered if he and Necromis would ever be actual friends. He snorted. Necromis would never trust him to such an extent, and Lias wasn’t sure he could do the same. Not right now, anyway, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned about the man’s well-being.
