Once Lydia left the room, Drake thumped back on the couch and closed his eyes. He was Lord Gloomwood now. He’d agreed to tackle the challenge of running a whole manor and trying not to get assassinated by people who wanted to claim his title for themselves.
Maybe he really was insane.
No. He remained rational. He’d simply decided to roll the dice for a chance at money and power, but also for other reasons. This challenge appealed to him.
If the other people in this manor were anything like Lydia, he wanted to stop them from getting enslaved by another asshole. Lydia had seemingly endured so much that the thought of tossing her back into the manor lord meat grinder made him feel physically unwell. Given all he’d seen of the former lord’s dickishness, that old fart had put his people through hell.
Also, Drake wanted to prove he was right that a manor lord could run a manor without relying on bullshit blood magic slavery. While he still believed ending this blood pact was right, he’d also used his new power to force these people to change their whole way of life to suit his moral code. His beliefs came from a world very different from their own.
This was, without a doubt, going to be the most difficult challenge he’d tackled in his entire life. Too ambitious? Reckless to a fault? Maybe the descriptions those back home had heaped on him were more accurate than he’d been willing to accept. Still... he’d made his decision, and he wasn’t about to back out. Once he committed to something, he committed.
The first thing he was going to have to do was drastically lower his expectations of comfort. There didn’t seem to be any automobiles here—Lydia had called his truck a carriage—and he doubted they had refrigerators, microwaves, or antibiotics. His new manor, while visibly fancy, still felt like a medieval manor in a medieval world. No central air or heating.
Also, who knew how far behind their medical knowledge was? Going to a dentist in New Mexico was bad enough. Going to a medieval dentist was more terrifying than facing down an enemy assassin. As for healthcare in this world... did they use magic to handle that?
Could magic save him if he caught the plague or got some local stomach virus? He’d never survive as a manor lord if he died of dysentery. He could survive every single assassination attempt and die crapping his guts out because he ate some bad soup.
Worse, he lacked any good way to defend himself. Since he was now the new Lord Gloomwood, everyone wanted to kill him to take his title. He’d played plenty of paintball and was a good shot, and knew how to box, but neither of those would be of much use here.
He doubted this world had guns. What about body armor? Silverweave was nice enough, but did they have Kevlar here? Still... Kevlar likely wouldn’t do shit against magic.
Regardless, fighting anyone up close felt like a bad idea. He’d managed to stab the former Lord Gloomwood to death, but he’d caught the man off guard. Also, the old lord had apparently been some sort of moron. Those golden knights, by comparison, looked competent.
Dueling that pike knight with a spear, mace, or sword might seem noble and exciting to someone who grew up reading fantasy novels, but it was also, in Drake’s opinion, about the stupidest way to fight someone. It would be much safer to shoot any invaders with a hunting rifle from a second-story window. Except there were no hunting rifles here.
What about a bow and arrow? That was sufficiently medieval for this place, wasn’t it? He’d shot a few bows at summer camp but never felt particularly Robin Hood-like. He’d probably freak out and drop the arrow the moment some asshole charged him with a sword.
So maybe a crossbow? A crossbow was at least similar to a gun, in that you pointed it at someone and pulled the trigger. Any idiot could shoot one of those, and crossbow bolts hit hard... but crossbows were also supposed to be a real bitch to reload. Which left magic.
This world had magic. The lord of Gloomwood Manor had also had magic, and... so did he. Drake sat straight up. He had magic, even if it wasn’t throwing fireballs or flying through the air. Everyone in this manor had been bound to obey his orders by blood compulsion magic.
So there had to be more magic in this manor he could use to defend himself.
Drake grinned and considered the question most pertinent to his survival. For people here, a room full of magic books might be the equivalent of a cabinet full of guns. If the old bastard had a study filled with magic spells, could Drake learn those spells?
That possibility, he decided, would be the first thing to explore after he and Lydia had a snack. Also, what mundane or magical weapons were available in this manor? There had to be some magic weapons too. Cresh had a magic weapon, obviously, until Drake gave it away.
He still felt a little bad about that.
Drake had decided to lead this manor, as Lord Gloomwood, so he needed to get his shit together. He was no less determined to not die than he had been when he found himself manacled to that table, and if the old lord had magic books, maybe one of those magic books would have a spell to let him send a message to his mother. Or visit home.
There were countless problems he’d have to overcome as a manor lord. He had no doubt he’d face challenges he hadn’t even begun to consider. Even so, as much as sitting down and considering all he’d bitten off was unnerving, it was also exciting.
The reward, if he survived and pulled this off, would be legendary.
“Lord Gloomwood?” It was Lydia’s voice. “I have tea and a burger.”
His mouth watered at the thought of some cheese and meat. “Bring it in.”
Lydia entered the room as efficiently as she did everything else, somehow balancing a large silver platter in each hand while also pushing the door open with one hip. This woman could wait tables with the best of them. The smell of freshly-cooked meat perked him right up.
This “burger” didn’t really look like one. The kitchen staff had used square bread slices instead of hamburger buns, but maybe they didn’t have hamburger buns here. Also, the meat looked a bit pinker than he was used to, but the manor staff couldn’t poison him, could they? Not until Lydia finished reorganizing the manor and he freed everyone.
It was fine if the meat was a bit rare. So long as it was good.
The important thing was this was food, and it smelled like good food. As Lydia set one silver platter on the table and set the other platter down as well—with some teacups, and a pitcher of steaming tea—Drake frowned as a new concern rose.
Did this world have its own bacteria? He knew that if he ever traveled to another country that drinking water from the tap could make him sick as a dog. His body wasn’t ready to handle the microorganisms in the local water.
So would this meat poison him? What about the tea? As Lydia set down his meal, settled back on the opposite couch, and crossed her legs once more, he looked at her.
“How much do you know about people from other realms? Have you met them?”
Lydia shook her head. “I have seen them briefly whenever the lord brought one back after an abduction, but I have never spoken with one. Not until today. Until you.”
Drake decided not to ask just how many people had been abducted and murdered before he’d come along. “Did you ever feed those people?”
“I did not, but others did. Some prisoners remained here for weeks.”
“And those prisoners, when they ate food here, did any of them ever get sick from it?”
“I do not know if the lord used poisons. I was not allowed in the ritual chamber.”
“Well, sometimes people get sick when they eat the food or drink the water from a place they didn’t grow up. Has that ever happened here before?”
“I am unaware of any such cases, lord. I can gather the staff and make a larger inquiry.”
This meat was smelling better by the second, and tea was tea. This food and this drink had been boiled or cooked. Any bacteria that existed should already be dead, so this was probably all safe to eat and drink. And his own cooks couldn’t poison him... yet.
Drake tentatively poked his so-called burger. “I think I’m just going to trust my immune system for now.” He lifted the seared meat circle and opened his mouth as wide as he could manage. “Now, let’s see how the burgers taste at McGloomwood.”
Lydia looked like she wanted to ask something about that. She refrained.
After Drake took his first bite, his eyes widened. Meat juice dribbled down his chin. He chewed, blinking, and then moaned quietly. This was, without doubt, the best meat he’d ever tasted. They must have used special spices and sauce and... something.
The kitchen staff of Gloomwood Manor were culinary geniuses. If he could find a way to get these burgers back to Earth, he could start his own franchise and make millions. He took another bite, and another. It didn’t get any less delicious.
The meat was cooked enough to remain tender and juicy and seasoned to high heaven. The bread was a little dry and didn’t really taste like a hamburger bun, but Drake didn’t care. Finally, a stroke of luck. Delicious burgers.
As he chewed his fourth bite, he decided to slow down and savor it. He set the burger down and then looked around, belatedly, for a napkin. Meat juice was all over his chin and lips.
Lydia immediately yanked her clean white handkerchief from her apron pocket. She offered it freely. While Drake hesitated to dirty such a clean white garment with smelly meat juice, he imagined she had plenty of others. He nodded his thanks and wiped his mouth.
Meanwhile, Lydia lifted the pitcher and then expertly poured a thin stream of steaming tea into one cup, then the other. Watching her do that was a bit hypnotic. Not because she was an attractive woman, but because she was just so good at it. Like watching an artist make art.
She daintily lifted her teacup in two white-gloved fingers and placed it directly below her nose. She gently blew across it, and steam wafted Drake’s way. His steward really did have a thing for tea. He’d never cared for it, but if their meat was this good...
He finished half the burger before thirst overwhelmed him. He picked up his own teacup and experimentally brought it to his lips, then yelped as it scalded his mouth. “Youch!”
Lydia leaned forward in alarm. “Are you all right?”
He desperately fanned his stinging lips with one hand. “Hot.”
“You should blow on it first,” Lydia instructed. “And take small sips. But first, here.”
She raised one white-gloved hand, and her gloved fingertips flared with small bursts of light. Soothing cool washed across his scalded lips. Any lingering sting from the hot tea faded immediately. He blinked and licked his lips, finding them all tingly.
He gawked at her. “Did you just...”
“Lord?”
“Did you just cast a healing spell?”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Do they not have those in your world?”
“They do not,” Drake said. “But... did you notice how badly I was bleeding earlier?”
Lydia winced. “I did, of course, notice your injuries. However, you immediately ordered Emily to fetch bandages, and so we assumed you wished to have Westin bandage your wounds using traditional gauze. Perhaps as a bonding or negotiating tactic?”
Right. Even if the people here had agreed to help him of their own free will, he’d still have to be careful about giving them stupid orders.
He could get himself killed with stupid orders.
Once Lydia left the room, Drake thumped back on the couch and closed his eyes. He was Lord Gloomwood now. He’d agreed to tackle the challenge of running a whole manor and trying not to get assassinated by people who wanted to claim his title for themselves.
Maybe he really was insane.
No. He remained rational. He’d simply decided to roll the dice for a chance at money and power, but also for other reasons. This challenge appealed to him.
If the other people in this manor were anything like Lydia, he wanted to stop them from getting enslaved by another asshole. Lydia had seemingly endured so much that the thought of tossing her back into the manor lord meat grinder made him feel physically unwell. Given all he’d seen of the former lord’s dickishness, that old fart had put his people through hell.
Also, Drake wanted to prove he was right that a manor lord could run a manor without relying on bullshit blood magic slavery. While he still believed ending this blood pact was right, he’d also used his new power to force these people to change their whole way of life to suit his moral code. His beliefs came from a world very different from their own.
This was, without a doubt, going to be the most difficult challenge he’d tackled in his entire life. Too ambitious? Reckless to a fault? Maybe the descriptions those back home had heaped on him were more accurate than he’d been willing to accept. Still... he’d made his decision, and he wasn’t about to back out. Once he committed to something, he committed.
The first thing he was going to have to do was drastically lower his expectations of comfort. There didn’t seem to be any automobiles here—Lydia had called his truck a carriage—and he doubted they had refrigerators, microwaves, or antibiotics. His new manor, while visibly fancy, still felt like a medieval manor in a medieval world. No central air or heating.
Also, who knew how far behind their medical knowledge was? Going to a dentist in New Mexico was bad enough. Going to a medieval dentist was more terrifying than facing down an enemy assassin. As for healthcare in this world... did they use magic to handle that?
Could magic save him if he caught the plague or got some local stomach virus? He’d never survive as a manor lord if he died of dysentery. He could survive every single assassination attempt and die crapping his guts out because he ate some bad soup.
Worse, he lacked any good way to defend himself. Since he was now the new Lord Gloomwood, everyone wanted to kill him to take his title. He’d played plenty of paintball and was a good shot, and knew how to box, but neither of those would be of much use here.
He doubted this world had guns. What about body armor? Silverweave was nice enough, but did they have Kevlar here? Still... Kevlar likely wouldn’t do shit against magic.
Regardless, fighting anyone up close felt like a bad idea. He’d managed to stab the former Lord Gloomwood to death, but he’d caught the man off guard. Also, the old lord had apparently been some sort of moron. Those golden knights, by comparison, looked competent.
Dueling that pike knight with a spear, mace, or sword might seem noble and exciting to someone who grew up reading fantasy novels, but it was also, in Drake’s opinion, about the stupidest way to fight someone. It would be much safer to shoot any invaders with a hunting rifle from a second-story window. Except there were no hunting rifles here.
What about a bow and arrow? That was sufficiently medieval for this place, wasn’t it? He’d shot a few bows at summer camp but never felt particularly Robin Hood-like. He’d probably freak out and drop the arrow the moment some asshole charged him with a sword.
So maybe a crossbow? A crossbow was at least similar to a gun, in that you pointed it at someone and pulled the trigger. Any idiot could shoot one of those, and crossbow bolts hit hard... but crossbows were also supposed to be a real bitch to reload. Which left magic.
This world had magic. The lord of Gloomwood Manor had also had magic, and... so did he. Drake sat straight up. He had magic, even if it wasn’t throwing fireballs or flying through the air. Everyone in this manor had been bound to obey his orders by blood compulsion magic.
So there had to be more magic in this manor he could use to defend himself.
Drake grinned and considered the question most pertinent to his survival. For people here, a room full of magic books might be the equivalent of a cabinet full of guns. If the old bastard had a study filled with magic spells, could Drake learn those spells?
That possibility, he decided, would be the first thing to explore after he and Lydia had a snack. Also, what mundane or magical weapons were available in this manor? There had to be some magic weapons too. Cresh had a magic weapon, obviously, until Drake gave it away.
He still felt a little bad about that.
Drake had decided to lead this manor, as Lord Gloomwood, so he needed to get his shit together. He was no less determined to not die than he had been when he found himself manacled to that table, and if the old lord had magic books, maybe one of those magic books would have a spell to let him send a message to his mother. Or visit home.
There were countless problems he’d have to overcome as a manor lord. He had no doubt he’d face challenges he hadn’t even begun to consider. Even so, as much as sitting down and considering all he’d bitten off was unnerving, it was also exciting.
The reward, if he survived and pulled this off, would be legendary.
“Lord Gloomwood?” It was Lydia’s voice. “I have tea and a burger.”
His mouth watered at the thought of some cheese and meat. “Bring it in.”
Lydia entered the room as efficiently as she did everything else, somehow balancing a large silver platter in each hand while also pushing the door open with one hip. This woman could wait tables with the best of them. The smell of freshly-cooked meat perked him right up.
This “burger” didn’t really look like one. The kitchen staff had used square bread slices instead of hamburger buns, but maybe they didn’t have hamburger buns here. Also, the meat looked a bit pinker than he was used to, but the manor staff couldn’t poison him, could they? Not until Lydia finished reorganizing the manor and he freed everyone.
It was fine if the meat was a bit rare. So long as it was good.
The important thing was this was food, and it smelled like good food. As Lydia set one silver platter on the table and set the other platter down as well—with some teacups, and a pitcher of steaming tea—Drake frowned as a new concern rose.
Did this world have its own bacteria? He knew that if he ever traveled to another country that drinking water from the tap could make him sick as a dog. His body wasn’t ready to handle the microorganisms in the local water.
So would this meat poison him? What about the tea? As Lydia set down his meal, settled back on the opposite couch, and crossed her legs once more, he looked at her.
“How much do you know about people from other realms? Have you met them?”
Lydia shook her head. “I have seen them briefly whenever the lord brought one back after an abduction, but I have never spoken with one. Not until today. Until you.”
Drake decided not to ask just how many people had been abducted and murdered before he’d come along. “Did you ever feed those people?”
“I did not, but others did. Some prisoners remained here for weeks.”
“And those prisoners, when they ate food here, did any of them ever get sick from it?”
“I do not know if the lord used poisons. I was not allowed in the ritual chamber.”
“Well, sometimes people get sick when they eat the food or drink the water from a place they didn’t grow up. Has that ever happened here before?”
“I am unaware of any such cases, lord. I can gather the staff and make a larger inquiry.”
This meat was smelling better by the second, and tea was tea. This food and this drink had been boiled or cooked. Any bacteria that existed should already be dead, so this was probably all safe to eat and drink. And his own cooks couldn’t poison him... yet.
Drake tentatively poked his so-called burger. “I think I’m just going to trust my immune system for now.” He lifted the seared meat circle and opened his mouth as wide as he could manage. “Now, let’s see how the burgers taste at McGloomwood.”
Lydia looked like she wanted to ask something about that. She refrained.
After Drake took his first bite, his eyes widened. Meat juice dribbled down his chin. He chewed, blinking, and then moaned quietly. This was, without doubt, the best meat he’d ever tasted. They must have used special spices and sauce and... something.
The kitchen staff of Gloomwood Manor were culinary geniuses. If he could find a way to get these burgers back to Earth, he could start his own franchise and make millions. He took another bite, and another. It didn’t get any less delicious.
The meat was cooked enough to remain tender and juicy and seasoned to high heaven. The bread was a little dry and didn’t really taste like a hamburger bun, but Drake didn’t care. Finally, a stroke of luck. Delicious burgers.
As he chewed his fourth bite, he decided to slow down and savor it. He set the burger down and then looked around, belatedly, for a napkin. Meat juice was all over his chin and lips.
Lydia immediately yanked her clean white handkerchief from her apron pocket. She offered it freely. While Drake hesitated to dirty such a clean white garment with smelly meat juice, he imagined she had plenty of others. He nodded his thanks and wiped his mouth.
Meanwhile, Lydia lifted the pitcher and then expertly poured a thin stream of steaming tea into one cup, then the other. Watching her do that was a bit hypnotic. Not because she was an attractive woman, but because she was just so good at it. Like watching an artist make art.
She daintily lifted her teacup in two white-gloved fingers and placed it directly below her nose. She gently blew across it, and steam wafted Drake’s way. His steward really did have a thing for tea. He’d never cared for it, but if their meat was this good...
He finished half the burger before thirst overwhelmed him. He picked up his own teacup and experimentally brought it to his lips, then yelped as it scalded his mouth. “Youch!”
Lydia leaned forward in alarm. “Are you all right?”
He desperately fanned his stinging lips with one hand. “Hot.”
“You should blow on it first,” Lydia instructed. “And take small sips. But first, here.”
She raised one white-gloved hand, and her gloved fingertips flared with small bursts of light. Soothing cool washed across his scalded lips. Any lingering sting from the hot tea faded immediately. He blinked and licked his lips, finding them all tingly.
He gawked at her. “Did you just...”
“Lord?”
“Did you just cast a healing spell?”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Do they not have those in your world?”
“They do not,” Drake said. “But... did you notice how badly I was bleeding earlier?”
Lydia winced. “I did, of course, notice your injuries. However, you immediately ordered Emily to fetch bandages, and so we assumed you wished to have Westin bandage your wounds using traditional gauze. Perhaps as a bonding or negotiating tactic?”
Right. Even if the people here had agreed to help him of their own free will, he’d still have to be careful about giving them stupid orders.
He could get himself killed with stupid orders.
